Soul Split · Transfer

Deep underground.

"He’s dead for sure!"

Sowande, with his dark curly hair, burst into laughter as he looked at the ruins piled high with dirt and rubble, his face and eyes filled with triumph.

Pointing at the people beside him and their weapons, he bragged, "The explosives, firearms, and shells are all premium products from Hammer Industries, picked up straight from the factory and shipped through Fisk’s channels. None of that shoddy small-factory crap. These men were specially trained by me—demolitions experts, firearms experts. Every one of them has dozens of lives on his hands!"

Murakami sneered. A crude brute.

Bokuto chuckled. A nouveau riche.

Hammer Industries products were shoddy to begin with… Alexandra remained silent, staring steadily at the collapsed ruins.

Sowande had been ruthless. From the start, he had intended to kill the Immortal Iron Fist. With so many guns, so many explosives, and now all that rubble and earth burying him, this generation’s Immortal Iron Fist, who had only received a few decades of Shou-Lao’s power, should be dead, right?

Murakami waved a hand, and more than twenty ninjas carrying Japanese swords surrounded them. His voice carried a vicious, sinister edge. "Sowande, those from K’un-Lun should place their faith in the Qi within their bodies and the cold weapons in their hands, not firearms. Ordinary guns cannot deal with the Immortal Iron Fist. The power of bullets is far inferior to the finest Japanese swords!"

Bokuto, dressed in a suit, stood to one side. The ancient monster who styled himself a gentleman suddenly shrugged. "Sowande, Iron Fist cannot die."

If he died, who would open the seal? Who would open the Kunlun Gate?

"Alive or dead, it makes no difference. Iron Fist’s power will not vanish because of death. We can take the Dragon Heart from Iron Fist’s corpse and become the new Iron Fist."

A minute had passed, yet there was still no movement from the ruins. The Immortal Iron Fist should already be dead. Alexandra relaxed slightly, though she still said, "We must be careful. The Immortal Iron Fist is not so easy to deal with."

Sowande could not help but sneer. "A thousand years have passed. Humanity has gone through the agricultural age and the industrial age. Technological progress is beyond anything people a thousand years ago could have imagined, and weaponry has advanced just the same. Yet you people cling stubbornly to your ‘Qi.’ Even if Shou-Lao himself came, an atomic bomb could blow him to pieces!"

Murakami snorted. "That depends on how many years Shou-Lao has lived!"

The two clearly did not get along.

Sowande was an African warlord who placed greater faith in the power of modern technology, while Murakami was the head of the Yamaguchi-gumi and believed more in ancient "Qi."

For thousands of years, the Five Fingers had rarely kept in contact. Each represented a separate power.

Especially in ancient times, before technology had developed significantly, some had been in Africa, some in Europe, some in the Americas, and others in China or Japan. Separated by thousands or even tens of thousands of kilometers, contacting one another had been genuinely difficult, and they had little shared interest.

They joined forces only at the most critical moments.

For example, when they triggered the great eruption of Mount Vesuvius and destroyed Pompeii.

They had joined hands during World War I and World War II. Their shadows had been present behind both world wars:

Hydra served **, while Murakami’s ninjas also served Japanese militarism.

By the modern era, during peacetime, even with transportation incomparably convenient and communication incomparably smooth, they had still had little contact with one another—until now.

To deal with the Immortal Iron Fist, to obtain the Dragon Bone Fossil sealed deep underground, to gain immortality and return to K’un-Lun, they had gathered once more. Yet new conflicts had also arisen:

The Immortal Iron Fist was dead.

There was only one of him.

The Dragon Heart within him could only be transferred to one person, allowing that person to become the new Immortal Iron Fist.

Madame Gao was dead. Without the Dragon Bone Fossil, she could not be revived.

There were now four people here.

Who would obtain the Dragon Heart and become the new Iron Fist?

Alexandra, Murakami, Bokuto, and Sowande.

The four stood far apart from one another, each surrounded by dozens of subordinates. Those people were not only there to deal with the Immortal Iron Fist, but also to deal with each other.

The only reason they had not begun fighting was because they could not yet confirm whether the Immortal Iron Fist was truly dead—and because there were even more enemies outside.

The Five Fingers were stronger when clenched into a fist.

But no matter how strong it was, it was still only a fist of flesh.

Yet once they obtained the Dragon Heart and became Iron Fist, with their thousand years of experience and thousand years of wisdom, they would surely be stronger than any Iron Fist in history.

At that point, there would be no need for The Hand to exist.

"Enough. Let’s dig out Iron Fist’s corpse first. Maybe he isn’t dead and still has a breath left in him. We just need to force him to open the seal."

Alexandra was still the leader in the end. This was New York, her home turf, and she had brought the most people, so everyone showed her some respect.

Each person sent out several subordinates to begin digging.

"Strange. Do any of you feel a little cold?" Alexandra pulled tighter at her nearly revealing top, feeling that something was wrong.

Having lived for more than a thousand years, her spiritual perception remained extremely sharp.

A woman’s intuition told her that a crisis unseen for a millennium was descending. The threat of death enveloped her, as well as everyone here.

But what exactly was it?

Bokuto, who was always cautious, also frowned. "It seems… the temperature has dropped?"

Suddenly, a Black man spun around, raised his submachine gun, and shouted, "Who? Who breathed on my neck?"

The moment he turned around, he froze.

There wasn’t a single damn person within thirty meters behind him. Who could breathe that far? Maybe a kung fu master!

Wait…

A kung fu master?

Thirty meters away was where Alexandra and her people stood. The Black man’s heart immediately began to flutter. Could that ** woman who had lived for over a thousand years have taken a fancy to him?

At the thought, a lecherous grin spread across his face.

Just then, an invisible hand quietly gripped his hand and pulled the trigger.

Ratatatat!

The remaining bullets were instantly emptied.

Alexandra froze.

Is he rebelling? He dares leer at me, and now he dares spray bullets at me? Has he eaten bear guts, or Shou-Lao’s heart?

She raised a hand, and a layer of True Qi blocked the shots. Her subordinates, however, were not so fortunate.

In the few seconds they hesitated, three subordinates were killed and two more were wounded.

"Don’t get worked up, don’t get worked up! It’s a misunderstanding, a misunderstanding!"

Seeing that a shootout was about to erupt, while Murakami and Bokuto retreated with their men, Sowande hurriedly slapped the Black subordinate who had fired and sent him flying. He flashed Alexandra an apologetic smile. "Accidental discharge, it was an accidental discharge…"

Bang!

Before he could finish, one of Alexandra’s men, who was holding his gun ready, pulled the trigger with the "help" of some invisible hand.

He hit another Black man under Sowande.

These Black men were soldiers who had followed Sowande in carving out territory in Africa. Every one of them had a violent temper. When we shoot you, it’s an accidental discharge. When you shoot us, it’s attempted murder. How could they tolerate that?

Without even waiting for Sowande to give the order, they relied on their advantage in firearms and opened fire with submachine guns and shotguns.

Murakami and Bokuto hurriedly led their people farther back.

The problem was, the place was only so big. Where could they retreat to?

With someone’s help, the guns frequently went off by accident, and Murakami and Bokuto’s people were dragged into it as well.

No one could stay out of it.

Even if someone realized something was wrong amid such intense crossfire, there was no way to stop. If they did not shoot the other side, they would be the ones to die.

The fierce gunfight lasted only three minutes.

The area was relatively open, with little cover, and the bullets quickly ran out. The melee came to an end.

Because they had been targeted first, Alexandra’s people suffered the worst. Only two remained alive.

Sowande’s people had the most survivors. If they had had enough ammunition, they might have massacred everyone else with their advantage in firearms.

Fewer than ten of Bokuto’s people remained.

Murakami’s ninjas had been brave and fearless, but they had suffered even worse, with only five left.

The four Fingers all survived thanks to the protection of Qi, their quick reactions, and subordinates taking bullets for them. They stared at one another, all realizing that something was wrong.

But before they could react, they heard a mocking voice.

"Soul Split · Transfer!"

Old Wang’s invisible soul vanished, switching places with his body.

His slightly chubby body appeared behind Alexandra.

It was time to ask for recommendation votes. What position do you all think would be best?