Why is his holy light red?

Chapter 109 The Meteor Flying Backwards

Mercury's tall figure was quickly swallowed up by the torrential rain.

Vincent stood in knee-deep black sewage, clutching a metal lighter that had run out of oil, his knuckles turning bluish-white from the excessive force.

His chest heaved violently, his heart pounding wildly in his chest cavity, unable to distinguish whether it was tension, excitement, or fear.

This was the first time he was treated as a hero.

During his frustrating internship, the association always gave him the orders to "stay put," "not use superpowers without authorization," and "report his mental state at all times."

Everyone looked at him as if he were a bomb that could explode at any moment.

But just now, Mercury didn't warn him to follow the rules; instead, he handed dozens of lives to him.

The phrase "burn it to ashes" made Vincent feel trusted for the first time.

But—Vincent wiped the icy rain from his face and looked down at his palm. A tiny flame flickered and leaped, only to be mercilessly extinguished by the raging wind and rain.

This damned downpour is the natural nemesis of his fire-based abilities.

Here, his power was suppressed to the extreme. "If gangs from the Tree Root District really came to attack, could I stop them?"

'

Vincent was freezing cold and shivered uncontrollably in the rain.

What suffocated him even more was the gaze of the ordinary people around him.

Forty or fifty people, soaking wet and with their lips turning purple from the cold mud at the bottom of the tree root area, were staring at him expectantly.

In the past, people only looked at him with wariness and disgust; but now, their eyes are full of awe, pleading and reliance on the strong.

But this only brought him a little bit of joy. He felt an immense pressure. These people's lives were in his hands. Could he really protect them?

Just as Vincent was at a loss, not knowing what to do, a tattered waterproof tarpaulin with a strong smell of disinfectant and machine oil was suddenly draped over his shoulders.

Vincent turned around abruptly.

It was old George. This black market doctor, who had been involved in both the underworld and legitimate businesses in the Root District for decades, was holding his little granddaughter and using one hand to tug at the tarpaulin covering Vincent from the rain.

"Young man, you're very nervous." Old George wiped the rain off his face, his voice hoarse but revealing a calmness that comes from having seen life and death many times.

Even though his whole family had just been captured and he was almost shot in the head with a shotgun, he was much calmer than Vincent.

People who can work as doctors in the root zone must have skills that ordinary people don't possess.

"I----"

Vincent opened his mouth, instinctively wanting to tell a lie.

He couldn't let others doubt his abilities. In the past, everyone looked down on him. If he showed even the slightest weakness, he would never have a chance to get ahead in his life.

But when faced with the elderly man in need of protection, Vincent only opened his mouth before speaking his true feelings: "My power is fire—but the rain is too heavy. If we really encounter danger, I'm afraid I won't be able to protect you. I'm afraid I'll mess things up—"

Old George looked at the young man in front of him, whose face was tense and whose body was trembling slightly, and suddenly laughed.

Old George, seeing Vincent's confusion, said, "Son, you've already saved me once, and my family too. Tonight, you've saved at least five people. As far as I know, many superheroes don't save more than a few people in their entire lives."

Vincent froze, rainwater running down his eyelashes and into his eyes, stinging painfully.

Before he could answer, old George pointed to the trembling neighbors behind him: "In the Upper East Side, heroes are gods who can punch buildings to pieces and fly through the air. But here—in the sewers of the Roots District, the standard for heroes isn't that high."

The old man's cloudy eyes stared straight at Vincent: "You're already a very great hero."

Old George's blunt and blunt words made Vincent's eyes sting with tears.

Vincent clenched his fists and said firmly, "I can't abandon you all!"

Old George patted Vincent on the shoulder, his tone softening. "The water's too cold, everyone's freezing. You're the one who plays with fire, aren't you?"

Old George pointed to his dilapidated little clinic: "Could we go there and light a brazier for everyone? It doesn't need to be big, just big enough to warm them up."

Although the small clinic's door was broken, the space inside was quite large, which was better than getting caught in the rain on the street.

Vincent looked at old George, then at the women and children who were hugging their arms and shivering from the cold.

He took a deep breath, and the cold rain poured into his lungs, miraculously suppressing all his panic.

"it is good."

Vincent pulled several discarded iron gasoline drums from the truck bed, picked up some wooden crates that weren't completely soaked, and carried these things into the small clinic.

Vincent casually tossed the kerosene lighter aside, then reached out and pressed his fingertips against the damp wooden board.

"call""

A ball of high-temperature flame ignited inside the iron bucket, quickly evaporating all the moisture and setting everything inside ablaze.

The firelight dispelled the surrounding darkness, and the warm orange-red light illuminated this small area in the downpour.

After doing all this, Vincent finally saw the charred corpses inside the clinic.

Before, even a glance at it would make his stomach churn, but now when he looks at it again, he only frowns slightly.

It turns out that murder isn't so disgusting after all.

"There's a fire! It's so warm!" Old George's granddaughter was the first to run over, stretching out her red, frozen hands to the metal bucket, a relieved smile on her face.

Soon, forty or fifty refugees spontaneously gathered around. No one pushed or shoved; everyone carefully approached the fire, looking gratefully at Vincent standing beside the flames.

"Thank you, hero." A woman holding a baby bowed deeply to him.

Feeling the intense heat rushing towards him and hearing the word "hero," Vincent felt a sudden pang of sadness.

Previously, his flames were firmly restrained by the Association, like a plague, not allowing him to unleash them freely, as if he might lose control at any moment and become an inhuman criminal like his father.

But today, his fire has given others the warmth to live on.

Vincent turned around, his back to the firelight, facing the dark street outside, churning with foul-smelling sewage.

He tried to reach out and touch the torrential rain.

A small flame ignited in the palm of his hand. Although it flickered in the heavy rain, it never went out.

After bidding farewell to everyone, Mercury took off running like a runaway train, cutting a white wave through the flooded road. Not far away, there was an abandoned heavy-duty auto parts factory.

There are several dormitory buildings with more than ten floors and production areas with four or five floors, which are suitable for nearby residents to avoid the flood.

Unfortunately, this place has already been occupied.

As Mercury approached the factory area, several bullets landed at his feet, splashing water everywhere.

The thugs' warnings and threats came, but they did not stop Mercury.

Instead, Mercury aimed at the second-floor balcony and pushed off with both feet.

Water splashed and burst, the immense force creating a large crater in the flooded road, briefly revealing the spiderweb-like cracks in the ground—

It appears in public, but is immediately covered by sewage.

In that short time, Mercury had already jumped up to the second floor.

The rusty iron gate couldn't withstand the violent kick of the dark red holy light. The gate flew out and crashed onto the cement ground covered in machine oil.

On the steel corridor on the second floor, twenty or thirty Rust Gang henchmen instantly erupted into chaos, simultaneously pulling back their bolts, the dark muzzles all aimed at Mercury. Cases of bottled water, canned goods, and ammunition were piled behind them; these scumbags had clearly been preparing to use this place as a doomsday fortress.

Mercury walked in through the water, not even bothering to activate his Holy Light Shield.

He looked up at the group of gang members in front of him and said, "The water outside has risen, and many people need to take refuge."

I'm giving you two choices.

He held up one finger.

"Now, throw away your guns, retreat to the corner and become refugees, everyone squeeze in. As long as you do as you say, I'll treat you as civilians."

Then, he raised his second finger.

"If you still have guns in your hands and want to occupy this place like lords ten seconds from now, then I will consider you criminals who are taking advantage of the chaos, and I will send you all to hell."

There was a two-second silence in the factory.

"Damn it! Are you out of your mind?" The Rust Gang leader, a bald man with a face full of scars, pointed a submachine gun at Mercury and cursed, "The world is going to end! Whoever has a gun is the law now! I'll give you a brainwave first."

"Boss! Let's just forget about it!"

At the back of the group, a thin young man suddenly shouted, trembling.

He held a broken hunting rifle in his hand, looking out at the dark, torrential rain, his voice trembling: "People are really going to drown outside—we're all from the Tree Root District, we're all familiar neighbors—let's leave those people outside a way to survive—"

"You son of a bitch! Traitor?!" The bald leader roared in fury, smashing the young man's head with the butt of his rifle and shoving the gun directly into his face. "This little bit of stuff is enough for us to eat for days, and you let others in? I'll kill you, you coward, first!"

"Bang!"

The gun didn't fire.

Because a fraction of a second before the bald man pulled the trigger, Mercury had already grabbed the bald man's neck, snapped it with a snap, and then threw the body outside.

"Thump!"

A muffled thud was heard as the bald man's head slammed into the ground. The body twitched twice before finally coming to a stop moving.

The entire process took less than a second.

There was no unnecessary chatter.

Mercury's palm emitted red holy light as he turned to look at the remaining group of stunned gang members.

"Now, if I say put down your guns, who agrees and who disagrees?"

— "Zong, "Zong, twenty or thirty guns were thrown on the ground like hot potatoes. Everyone covered their heads with their hands, trembling and shrinking into the corner. No one dared to look up at the man standing in the pool of blood.

Mercury didn't bother with these terrified scumbags.

He walked straight to the pile of supplies that looked like a small mountain and inspected them carefully.

Inside were boxes full of various foods, emergency medicines, and even several portable generators.

These low-level scourges are quite adept at scavenging resources.

"What the hell are you all standing there for?"

Mercury casually pulled a clean towel from the box and wiped the dirty water off his face. His voice echoed in the empty factory, "Since we're all disaster victims, let's do some disaster victim work."

"Move all these supplies to the top. The water level is about to rise again, so start the generator and light some braziers. You have a few working vehicles, so come with me to pick up people! Don't try anything funny. You should know who I am. Elm Street was bombed into ruins, but I'm unharmed. Don't try to provoke me with your crappy guns. I'm not going to give you a chance to argue."

Everyone in the corner shivered involuntarily.

The skinny young man who had been beaten bloody earlier was the first to react. He scrambled towards the supply crate, picked up a large crate, and ran upstairs.

The others, as if waking from a dream, instantly burst forth with unprecedented "work enthusiasm." These gangsters, who usually roamed the streets like tyrants and couldn't be bothered to walk an extra step, were transformed into the city's most efficient porters. To compete for the chance to carry heavy loads, two henchmen almost came to blows, each afraid of showing the slightest sign of slacking off in front of this killing machine.

Carrying boxes, tying up power lines and generators, setting up moisture-proof tents—this group of people was quite well-prepared to become the tyrants of the apocalypse. A few clever thugs had already braved the rain, started two heavily modified pickup trucks with extremely high chassis, floored the gas pedal, and plunged into the water to pick up Old George and his gang, following the address given by Mercury.

Looking at this extremely magical yet orderly "labor reform" scene, Mercury snorted coldly and said no more.

Suddenly, a dull tremor came from beneath my feet.

The entire huge auto parts factory shook, dust fell from above, and the vibration lasted for more than ten seconds before gradually subsiding.

earthquake?

The city of Yaliu Tree is not located on an earthquake zone at all. If such a clear tremor can be felt here, then the epicenter must be a massive, devastating earthquake.

Mercury strode to the broken window frame on the second floor, glanced out, and immediately frowned.

The situation is worse than expected.

In just a few minutes, the streets outside had completely disappeared, replaced by a raging black torrent, the water level visibly approaching thigh-deep. This was definitely not just simple flooding; the main river outside the city of Yaliu Tree had surely breached its banks and was pouring water into the low-lying areas.

At this rate, the entire root zone will be completely transformed into Venice in less than two hours.

Just as Mercury was filled with worry, the specially made cell phone in his pocket suddenly started vibrating violently.

He took out his phone and immediately saw the latest news released by the Hero Association.

There were no unnecessary words, only a stunning video that had just been transmitted back.

At a special base within the territory of a major Eastern power, flames soared into the sky. Thirteen super-heavy lunar landing vehicles, named "Jun Tian Long Zhou," simultaneously ignited and took off, braving apocalyptic thunderstorms and hurricanes.

Ignoring the natural disasters raging on Earth, they flew like shooting stars against the current toward the fleeing moon.