Hawk, who had opened the floodgates of slaughter.

Fifty kilometers north of Quantico lies a remote, secluded town.

Hawk had studied the terrain around Quantico on satellite maps, so he had a general idea of how to drive from the airport to his destination. Therefore, when the young man behind the wheel veered away from the intended route just moments ago, Hawk’s suspicions were immediately piqued. His memory had always been sharp, and since awakening his Cosmo, it had undergone a qualitative leap.

Stepping out of the car, Hawk scanned his surroundings.
Remote.
Muddy.
Hmm. It was a perfect spot for robbery, murder, and disposing of a body. No wonder the kid had driven him out here.

Hawk thought to himself. Behind him, the young man in the car was bruised and battered, though his life was not in immediate danger; he was simply still wailing. Hawk hadn't killed him. At least, not yet.

After a moment, Hawk turned back, opened the car door, and with a single pull of his right hand, dragged the howling youth out of the vehicle and dumped him onto the muddy, rain-soaked dirt road.

"Thump!"

After hitting the ground, the youth felt dizzy and disoriented. Yet, driven by the instinct for survival, he scrambled up, knelt before Hawk, and stammered, "Please, don't kill me! Please, don't kill me, I know I was wrong!"

Hawk looked down at the youth, who was now as pathetic as he had been arrogant moments before. His voice was cold. "You don't know you were wrong. You just know you’re about to die."

The youth’s body stiffened, and his pleas for mercy grew even more tremulous. Hawk narrowed his eyes. "Give me one reason not to kill you."

The youth froze for a second. The next moment, he lifted his battered head to look at Hawk, his voice urgent as he scrambled to find a lifeline. "You can have my car, my money—right, I have money, you can have all my money."

"Not enough. If I kill you, your car and your money are mine anyway." Hawk shook his head expressionlessly. "Try again!"

"…You can’t kill me. If you kill me, you’ll be a wanted man! Just don’t kill me, I promise I won’t say a word about this, please, don’t kill me!" The youth pleaded frantically, his eyes filled with a desperate hunger to live.

Hawk glanced at him, lowering his gaze in thought. He seemed to be weighing the credibility of the youth’s words. Seeing Hawk’s gaze shift away, the youth, still kneeling, felt a spark of hope. While continuing to sob and plead, he cautiously moved his right hand toward his lower back.

The next second.
"Die!"
The youth pulled a switchblade from his waist, let out a guttural shriek, and lunged toward Hawk with a ferocious expression.

As Hawk raised his eyes, his gaze was icy. He simply swung his hand out in a slap.

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.

The youth's head began to spin rapidly, as if wound up by a spring. Faster and tighter it spun, until—

*Snap!*

The neck, twisted like a piece of rope, could no longer hold, and the head was torn clean from the torso.

Hawk looked down again at the head rolling to his feet, the expression of malice still frozen upon its face. A mocking smile touched the corner of his mouth.

"I really was planning to let you go."
"What a pity."
"The inherent flaws in your kind are too deep."
"You fear power, but you do not respect morality."
"I gave you the only chance I might have had in this life to show mercy, but you mistook it for fear."
"Ha!"

Hawk mused, his gaze drifting to the headless corpse, which was still spurting blood like a fountain now that the plug of the head had been removed. He wasn't lying; he had truly been considering letting the kid go. It wasn't just because he had important business here and didn't want the complications of a murder to interfere with his plans.

There was a more important reason: his bottom line. As he had thought before, once a bottom line is broken, one can no longer imagine what they might become in the future. Killing is like a valve. Once that valve is opened, the sanctity of life is no longer respected. Especially for a transmigrator like him, who already possessed a flexible moral compass.

The Chitauri soldiers were different. Hawk had seen their true forms; though they resembled humans, they were essentially insects. Humans don't feel guilty about killing insects, and Hawk wouldn't waste his principles or bottom line on a bunch of vermin.

But this youth was different. In fact, just as Hawk had suspected, even though this was his first actual kill, he felt no discomfort looking at the spurting headless corpse, nor did he feel any internal conflict.

No, wait.
There was something. It felt no different from killing the Chitauri.

Hawk thought to himself, closing his eyes instinctively. He didn't intend to try to close that valve. In life, things are either never done, or they are done countless times. Now that the valve of murder had been opened, whether he liked it or not, from this day forward, taking a life would no longer be something he would shy away from.

With that thought, Hawk turned away. He didn't look back at the head lying in the mud or the headless corpse twitching nearby. He got into the car, glanced up at the clear blue sky, climbed inside, and slammed his foot on the gas, driving away from the narrow path.

He had no interest in digging a hole for the body. The valve was open, and it could not be closed. Since that was the case, whether the body was found or not was no longer a problem for him.

To kill one is to kill. To kill another, or many more, was merely a matter of numbers.

But...
"I can kill."
"But I will not be bloodthirsty."
"A true powerhouse always keeps a humble heart."

Hawk thought silently to himself. Once he drove the taxi out of the secluded path, a quick glance was enough for him to find the right road, and he headed toward the town of Quantico, still some distance away. He might not have a driver's license in this life, but that didn't mean he didn't know how to drive.

As the car pulled away from the path, which rarely saw any passersby, the road gradually returned to its usual silence and seclusion.

About half an hour later, the sound of footsteps once again broke the quiet of the path. Then came a second pair, then a third. Soon, three men in sunglasses arrived at the scene, their eyes landing on the head in the mud and the headless corpse that had long since stopped bleeding.