Dean’s expression did not change as he leaned against the rock where he was hiding, motionless.
From this position, he could cover the entire area where the bait was and block the view and attack path from behind. Even if the other party knew he was right here, unless they threw a bomb, they would have no choice but to take him on head-on.
After the noise erupted, it vanished without a trace. Quiet returned to the surroundings once more. Only the cold wind that came with the dim sky brushed past the distant Pine Needle Forest, making a rustling sound.
Dean’s breathing became increasingly faint. He seemed to blend into the rocks behind him. Silently, he watched everything before him, quietly waiting for the prey to finish probing and make its move.
It was the sound of a small stone hitting the ground again, this time from the other side.
Dean suddenly leaped up, pistols appearing in his hands while he was still in the air. Following the triangulation principle, he continuously pulled the triggers towards a deserted slope behind him.
Bullets struck the bare rocks, sparking as they hit. Amidst the rising rock dust, a dark muzzle emerged, attempting to retaliate.
The next moment, a massive force struck, accompanied by the sound of a gunshot, wrenching the rifle from the man’s grip.
He looked in shock at the rifle’s deformed muzzle, astonished to find a bright, shiny bullet lodged right in it...
"Hey, buddy, look at the camera."
He twisted his head to look back. BANG! BANG! BANG! A dozen bullets showered down, ripping through the flesh of his limbs from top to bottom as if sewn by a tailor.
The man was about to scream.
Dean grabbed a rock and smashed it hard across the man’s mouth, forcing the scream back down his throat.
"Your face is a bit deformed, but it shouldn’t affect the bounty."
He dragged the man, now a lump of battered flesh, next to his brother, who had already fainted from the pain. Dean took out a syringe of morphine from his waist and administered a shot to each of them.
Not long after, the man whose limbs Dean had broken and twisted into the shape of a human basketball regained consciousness. He looked somewhat dazedly at his condition, his face turning pale. Then, noticing a familiar voice groaning weakly beside him, he fell into deeper despair.
Extreme psychopaths are, after all, a minority. Faced with death and the unknown torments to come, one truly comes to recognize oneself. The man before him was just such a case. He could normally peel the skin off a living being with laughter and conversation, but now, faced with Dean’s smiling visage, he couldn’t muster the courage to utter a single curse.
Fearfully, he tucked his head between his contorted legs. "You’re not killing us. What do you want?"
"I admire your artistry; it’s just a pity you didn’t welcome me. As punishment, I think I’ll take your spoils."
"What?" The man lifted his head, doubting if he was hallucinating.
Could this man, as he claimed, also be a sadistic psychopath who enjoyed torturing others for fun? Thinking of his own predicament, and his brother lying on the ground like a useless heap... The man believed he understood.
He licked his lips and said with some hesitation, "Okay. It’s about one kilometer from here, in the direction of the setting sun. There’s a very old pine needle tree there, and our dwelling is in a cave behind that tree."
Dean nodded in satisfaction and said warmly, "You still have one minute."
With that, he whistled and walked towards the place the man had indicated.
Even after Dean disappeared from his view, the man still couldn’t comprehend the meaning behind Dean’s last sentence.
A minute later, the painkilling effect of the drug wore off.
The man screamed again in agony!
He hoped he would pass out. But under the sedative effects of the drug, not only was he unable to faint again, his sensitivity to the tearing pain throughout his body became even more acute...
Massa, following the traces Dean had deliberately left behind, chased breathlessly after him. Even with his body trained over many years, crossing mountains and ridges in such a short time had taken its toll.
After a brief rest, Massa gripped his semi-automatic rifle and continued searching ahead. He looked fierce but was actually terrified of death. Coupled with a heritage of hunting skills, he’d insinuated himself into the FBI’s logistics. Relying on shameless tenacity and solid technical skills, he had climbed the ranks. However, head-on confrontations were rare for him.
Suddenly, Massa twitched his nose. The scent of blood!
Following the scent, he crept forward, shocked by what he saw.
Below a long trail of dragged bloodstains, two motionless figures lay under a large rock.
One lay in a large pool of blood. His limbs were torn to shreds and riddled with bullet holes, his cheeks were caved in, and his chest no longer rose and fell. He had apparently bled to death.
The other was in an even more ghastly state. His legs were folded and crossed over his shoulders in a grotesque manner. His arms were wrapped around them, fingers interlocked, his knuckles twisted and deformed. The man’s face was contorted into a hideous grimace; it looked as if he had died from sheer agony!
Were these the Skinning Brothers?
Massa licked his dark lips, moved closer, and after a thorough examination, confirmed that the man, riddled with over twenty bullets, had been killed by shots from a Glock 19 and Dean’s M1911 loaded with steel-core bullets.
He killed them in an exceedingly brutal manner. But where was Dean?
Massa scanned his surroundings and spotted the traces of Dean’s departure.
He initially wanted to continue the chase, but after thinking it over, he found a place to sit down and silently lit a cigarette.
Teacher Anthony, you’ve really taken on a ruthless apprentice this time!