Why is his holy light red?

Chapter 74 People Favored by God

The Radiant One, a former superhero and neighborhood hero who protected the upper district of Auriga City, once had a bright future ahead of him.

Unfortunately, his greed led him down a dead end.

Initially, it was nothing more than someone slipping an extremely generous hush money into his account, asking him to "go to the bathroom" during the few minutes he walked out of the airport in Mercury. This kind of thing is not unusual; such transactions are common in the federal government, capitalist groups, and even within associations.

It's normal for superheroes to leave for a few minutes; everyone needs to have a coffee or go to the bathroom sometimes.

But he never expected that federal agents wouldn't even be able to control a newly awakened brat, and would turn the area around the airport into ruins.

The situation was completely out of control, and even the psychic could not pretend to be blind; he had no choice but to step in.

The result was a humiliating one-sided beating.

Mercury possesses no skill whatsoever, only an unbreakable defense and overwhelming, terrifying strength. The dazzling moves that the Radiant Ones pride themselves on are utterly ineffective against Mercury's red holy light.

If Mercury hadn't stopped attacking, he wouldn't have been able to even parry, and would have had to run away with his head in his hands.

He thought the matter would be over after Mercury's arrest, but unexpectedly, the embarrassing battle video was uploaded online and went viral. A dignified Upper City superhero being humiliated by a mere kid made him an instant laughingstock, and even his upcoming superhero movie suffered.

Netizens ridiculed him without restraint: "A coward who can't even beat a little kid is saving the world on the big screen? This is such a hellish joke."

,””

Immediately afterwards, the producer von Dier's legal team pounced like sharks smelling blood, filing a lawsuit demanding he pay an exorbitant amount in damages for breach of contract. Looking at that dizzying string of zeros, the psychic felt utterly doomed.

Even if he wins the case in the end, the long litigation process and expensive legal fees will be enough to completely drain him.

Who would have thought that accepting such a meager bribe would lead to such a dead end in his life?

Just when he was at his wit's end, federal agents came knocking on his door like ghosts. They had something on him and forced him to control the jury in the Mercury case.

Very few people know that his signature purple aura can not only materialize ferocious beasts, but also transform into hallucinogenic fungi and poisonous insects. After years of secret practice, he can now control the consciousness of an ordinary person in a very short time without anyone noticing.

But he stumbled again, this time in front of the entire city's media, caught red-handed.

He still can't figure out how that kid Mercury could have predicted his actions in advance and so easily broken his mind control with just a special telephone ringtone.

After that, his life began to plummet rapidly.

He no longer had to worry about breach of contract fees, because he was sent straight to prison. Concealing his mind control ability, a first-degree felony; illegally using mind intervention, a first-degree felony; manipulating a jury—these three crimes combined were enough to put him in jail for the rest of his life.

Just when he thought he was destined to rot in his cell for the rest of his life, the two "circus clowns" in their flashy uniforms appeared in his cell without warning. They unlocked his shackles, threw him the ridiculous outfit, and invited him to join the "Black Moon Circus."

The Spirit Messenger had vaguely heard of this name, but he never expected that the other party would come to him.

Being a villain is better than spending your whole life in jail.

The Radiant Messenger readily agreed, but he never expected that these two "clowns" would inexplicably take him to the Tree Roots area and give him the order to clean up these "cannibal gang" thugs.

The Spirit Messenger had no psychological burden regarding killing. He was no longer some glorious hero; as long as he could breathe outside air, killing a few people was better than waiting to die in prison.

But—what does this mean?

Crushing a few drug-addicted street thugs to death—is this the "Black Moon Circus's" way of demanding his in-laws' indemnity?

He had thought this prison break would be a turning point in his life, a turning point from rock bottom. But if the other party went to great lengths to get him out just to do this dirty work that could be done by hiring a random gunman—either the organization didn't care about him at all and would use him and then discard him at any time; or the Black Moon Circus was actually a shoddy operation.

Neither option seems as good as continuing to serve time in prison.

But just as the Radiant Messenger was complaining in frustration, a sound of twisting steel bars and scraping gravel came from behind.

The psychic immediately looked in the direction of the sound, and found that it came from the direction where Hannibal had been knocked away.

Deep within the billowing smoke and dust, an enormous black shadow was slowly straightening its back, its body supported by the shattered concrete.

It was a terrifying behemoth that was over three meters tall.

The dim streetlights shone on it, creating a suffocating feeling that made it almost impossible to breathe—its bones and muscles had long surpassed human limits, like thick steel cables forcibly twisted together, and each heavy breath was accompanied by a muffled thud of tensing muscles.

Thick, bluish-green scales covered his entire body, with sticky mucus and semi-dried blood clinging to the gaps, as if the monster had burst Hannibal's original skin, leaving behind disgusting traces.

"Click-clack—click-clack—"

Sharp toes dug into the ground like scimitars, easily crushing the cement fragments scattered on the ground.

Hannibal emerged from the heavy shadows step by step, his sharp toes leaving holes in the ground with each step. His thick, powerful tail lashed impatiently behind him, casually sweeping away half of the remaining brick wall and shattering it to pieces.

A pair of ferocious vertical pupils locked onto the three people in front of him, and a scarlet forked tongue hissed as it darted out of his lips, as if he couldn't wait to taste the blood of his enemy.

One of the clowns exclaimed excitedly, "My God, how many drugs did this guy inject himself with? How did he even survive?!"

Hannibal seemed to have maintained his sanity; upon hearing this, he held up one hand and said in a hissing voice, "Ten times."

Hannibal surveyed the group of clowns before him and said smugly, "A success rate of nine deaths and one life, God grants me ten successes!"

Hannibal believed deep down that he was God's chosen one.

The "superpower awakening potion" circulating in the underground black market has an extremely high fatality rate and a success rate of less than one in ten. Usually, only those driven to desperation by life would take such a shot, gambling their lives on a vague and uncertain future.

Hannibal, however, was different. When he first heard of its existence, he only thought for three seconds before deciding that he absolutely had to get his hands on it.

Hannibal wasn't dying; he simply didn't want to live as an ordinary person anymore. In this era teeming with superpowered individuals, ordinary people without abilities were nothing more than mud beneath the earth. Now, an opportunity to rise above his humble origins was presented to him, and he would never let it slip away, even if it meant facing certain death.

The moment Hannibal received the medicine box, he plunged the syringe into his vein without hesitation.

After enduring several hours of excruciating pain, as if his flesh and bones had been thrown into a meat grinder, he survived.

As long as he holds his breath and makes a thought, the warm current will pierce the skin where it passes, grow rough, bluish-green scales, harden his nails into dagger-like claws, and unleash several times the strength of an ordinary person from his muscle fibers.

But the potion seemed to be defective; Hannibal only had one arm capable of transforming into a beast.

Looking at the monster in the mirror who seemed to be paralyzed from the waist down, Hannibal didn't hesitate for a second. He grabbed the medicine box and plunged the needle into his body again.

Another round of near-death torture nearly knocked him into shock. When he finally rose a second time, he had completed his full beast transformation. Looking at the reptile covered in blue scales in the mirror, Hannibal opened his mouth, and a forked, scarlet tongue hissed as it licked his sharp fingers.

A normal person would have stopped long ago at this point.

But he barely hesitated, grabbed the remaining medicine from the box, and injected it all into his body, one injection after another.

When he woke up again, Hannibal felt that he had realized a truth—he was favored by God.

Even though he committed murder, robbery, and all sorts of evil deeds, the supreme god still bestowed miracles upon him.

This is just like the current federal government. No matter how many troops they send around the world to burn, kill, loot, and treat human life as worthless, in the end, they still sit firmly on the Iron Throne, enjoying the so-called "God's favor."

From that day on, Hannibal felt fearless.

Even when faced with these three bizarre clowns who suddenly appeared, Hannibal confidently roared, "Accept God's judgment!"

""

A loud bang.

The asphalt road collapsed like a biscuit under his thick hind legs, instantly creating a cracked crater half a meter deep.

Gravel flew everywhere, and dust rose into the air.

Hannibal transformed into a violent afterimage, crashing into the Radiant Messenger like an out-of-control dump truck.

The psychic's eyes twitched wildly, and he pushed his hands forward with a sudden, forceful motion.

The dark purple aura rapidly expanded, transforming into a colossal purple elephant. The elephant raised its thick tusks, let out a silent roar, and crashed headlong into Hannibal's charge.

A dull, resounding crash, like two concrete walls colliding. Hannibal's body only paused slightly, his foot taking a small half-step back, shattering the ground beneath his foot.

The giant elephant formed from purple light had its head flash violently after being hit. Then, spiderweb-like cracks appeared on the elephant's skull, and its entire head was a bloody mess. Its massive body was forced backward, and its four hooves plowed several deep furrows in the ground.

Shocked by Hannibal's immense power, the Radiant One instinctively summoned his eagle, wanting to get away from the monster. He was already traumatized by Mercury, and when faced with such a terrifying opponent, he instinctively wanted to escape.

However, a semi-transparent dome suddenly appeared, like a giant circus tent, trapping Psychic and Hannibal inside.

The Radiant Messenger had just taken off when it was blocked by the transparent tent.

The other two clowns had already jumped onto the top of the tent, looking down at the two people inside the enclosure.

"Stop thinking about running away. Didn't you think today's job was too easy? Only by taking him down will you be qualified to join the Black Moon Circus."