Lucas turned to stare at John, eyes burning with fury.
Ever since George had taken him ho from that abandoned church, George had treated him like his own flesh and blood. And Lucas, in return, had truly regarded George as a father.
"Let go."
Lucas' face was cold, his voice like ice.
"Kid, save your strength. No one here will give you any information, and I won't let you inside."
John's tone was just as serious. He could tell that Lucas was dead set on seeking vengeance for George. There was no way he could let the boy know anything.
"Leave hunting down the shooter to us. Don't worry—George is our commissioner. We want to catch them more than anyone."
John's eyes were firm, his voice sincere.
Lucas glanced at him but said nothing. He turned and left the precinct.
Back ho, Lucas opened George's safe and pulled out a pistol. George had once given him the code, telling him that if he wasn't ho, Lucas could use the gun to protect Helen and Gwen if danger ever ca knocking.
Lucas weighed the gun in his hand, thoughts racing about how to track down the culprits.
The fastest way would be through that gangster the police had already arrested—but he had no way of getting into the precinct, let alone interrogating anyone.
The other option was to hunt down the gangs himself. But with his current scrawny fra, he could handle a schoolyard fight at best. Facing hardened gangsters? He wouldn't stand a chance.
As he wrestled with his frustration, a sudden voice rang inside his mind. The shock nearly made him topple over.
[Ding~ System has detected host's emotional fluctuations reaching critical level. Loading…]
[10%…]
[20%…]
[30%…]
…
[100%… System loaded. Congratulations, host…]
Lucas sprang to his feet. He'd been waiting eighteen years for this sound. He'd thought that transmigrating here ant he was just an ordinary guy. Turns out the system had just been running late.
"Hah! Finally! The tables have turned—the slave sings, and I soar! It's ti to take off!!"
Overjoyed, Lucas tossed the pistol aside. Who needed that junk when he had a system? Even a dog wouldn't bother with it. Pah!
"System! Tell your functions!"
He shouted impatiently.
Thankfully, no one else was ho—his younger brothers were still at school—otherwise, they might have sent him straight to a psych ward.
[Ding~ This system is called the Demon Hunter System. Its purpose is to mold the host into the strongest demon hunter.]
"Mmhm! Exactly what I wanted!"
Lucas nodded furiously, not even paying attention to the details. He was already drooling at the thought of himself soday punching Thanos with one hand and kicking him with the other, heroic and unstoppable.
And why Thanos, specifically? Because that purple simp wasn't even human. To court Death, he wiped out half the universe, all while spewing nonsense about "balance." The hypocrisy was sickening.
Most importantly—Lucas wasn't sure if he'd be among the half that turned to dust. If so, wouldn't that be utterly unfair?
[Ding~ Host, please draw your Demon Hunter template.]
The emotionless system voice chid again. Lucas finally focused.
On the screen before his eyes appeared three silhouettes:
A white-haired punk in a red coat hefting a skull-shaped broadsword.
A white-haired brooding man in a blue coat.
And a white-haired rascal in a black-blue coat with a chanical arm and a massive sword on his back.
"Holy crap!! Aren't these the three posers from Devil May Cry?!"
Lucas' eyes bulged. Any one of them could walk all over Marvel—not exactly enough to stomp Thanos outright, but they could strut through the universe like kings.
"Ha ha ha—ahahahaha!!"
Lucas laughed maniacally, just like so edgy villain. At last, he hadn't transmigrated for nothing.
"System! Roll the dice for ! Let's go!"
He waved dramatically, his spirit blazing.
A cursor appeared, moving back and forth over the three figures.
[Ding~ Congratulations, host, you have drawn…]
[Warning! Warning! System error detected! Warning!]
Lucas froze, still riding high on excitent, expecting either Dante or Vergil. But suddenly, the screen flashed red, giant error ssages flooding his vision.
"What the—?! What's happening?!"
He panicked. He'd just been fantasizing about conquering Marvel—was the system seriously about to explode already?!
Lucas clasped his hands, muttering frantic prayers like so crazed gambler calling on every deity he could think of.
[Ding~ System auto-repair initiated. Progress: 1%… 2%…]
"Whew… At least it's not exploding. Guess I'm not that unlucky after all."
Lucas wiped the sweat off his forehead, his heart still racing.
"I knew it! I'm a transmigrator. Even if I'm cursed with bad luck, there's gotta be a limit."
He flopped onto the sofa. Not because his knees gave out, of course—he just felt like lying down for a while.
Waiting was torture, especially waiting on a system to self-repair. Ti seed to crawl, like the world had slowed to a crawl around him.
Lucas stared at the screen, watching the numbers climb, one painful tick at a ti.
Finally—after what felt like a year—
[Ding~ System repair complete. Congratulations, host. Template acquired: Clive Rosfield.]
"Wait… what?"
Lucas blinked at the screen. A dark-haired, stubbled man in black and red armor stood there.
"System, are you kidding ?! How the hell is Clive Rosfield a demon hunter? The guy literally dies at the end! You want to end up like him?!"
Lucas leapt to his feet again, higher than before.
[Ding~ The host is advised not to question the system. The Demon Hunter System exists solely to make you the strongest demon hunter.]
"Open your damn eyes, system! Where's my demon hunter? Huh?! Where?!"
Lucas jabbed his finger at the screen, fuming.
[Ding~ System does not accept rebuttal. If the host disagrees, the host may… endure it.]
"You son of a—!!"
Lucas rolled up his sleeves.
"Co out here, I promise I won't hit you!!"
[Ding~ Host must claim the template promptly. Failure to do so will be considered refusal, and the system will automatically unbind.]
Lucas froze. His bravado evaporated instantly. Sitting up straight, he plastered on the most obedient smile.
"Ahem… System, please ignore my earlier outburst. That wasn't —it was my other personality talking. I have no mory of what he said."
He spoke with righteous conviction, shaless as could be.
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