Latvia, a barren town.

The boy in tattered clothes was thrown into the garbage heap and rolled into the street with a stinking smell. Several men in guard uniforms surrounded him. One of them grabbed him by the collar and lifted him up, then threw him to the ground again. The soldiers put their long rifles on their backs and kicked the boy over and over again with their mud-stained boots.

The child's body curled up in a ball. He fended off most of the attacks with his arms and knees, but his internal organs were still out of place as if they had been kicked. At first his internal organs were burning hotly, but soon it seemed to be less painful again.

It was a teenager who was beaten by several soldiers on a bluestone path. Maybe he was a gypsy child, maybe he had a debt to someone powerful, but no one cared why. This happens almost every day in Latvia, and there is nothing worth mentioning. When people in the passing have seen it, they will only take a detour in amusement, look away and pretend not to see.

But today is unusual.

A soldier was kicking hard, and the palm of his black leather glove suddenly pressed against his shoulder without warning. Before the soldier could even realize what was happening, he was dragged back with great force, and then he was kicked in the chest with a powerful roundhouse kick, and his body flew out as if struck by lightning, and flew all the way out of most of the street, and rolled all the way to the intersection of the corner, where he lay like a dead pig.

All the soldiers stopped, and the pedestrians passing by the intersection stopped and looked curiously in this direction.

What age is it, and there are still people who dare to meddle with the affairs of the army

It was a handsome man, dressed in a fine black coat and leather gloves, with a resolute face as cold as a knife, and eyes as cold as a dark ice cave.

The guards at the head narrowed their eyes.

The "nosy" guard walked up with an interested expression, looking the man up and down. He wasn't angry, or rather he was more curious than angry.

They had been working for the country's supreme barons for many years, when the baron's army was already rampant throughout Latvia. And now that the barons have been supported by other governments, they have eliminated all their political enemies and sat directly on the throne of Latvia in one fell swoop, which has made them even more unscrupulous.

No one dared to stand in front of them for so many years, and this man was the first.

"Interesting, you must be a foreigner," the leader of the guard squeezed out a smile, and his men shrewdly surrounded the man without an order. One by one, they rubbed their hands together, as if they had seen rare prey.

Such prey is more interesting to them than to bully a child who has no ability to resist.

The man lifted his eyelids and swept them indifferently.

The whole process seems to happen only in a split second.

No one could see exactly how it happened, but everyone saw the bloody outcome. One of the guards was hit by something and flew upside down in the air, shooting through the stone wall and into a house on the side of the street; One of the guards suddenly burst into blood, and thirty or forty wounds deep into the bone marrow appeared all over his body from head to toe at the same moment, and bloody arrows flew out. And the leader of the guards—the worst of the few—was burned to ashes by the strange green flames in a heart-rending howl, and not a single horn was left, and the miserable cry echoed throughout the street for a long time.

Everyone present was stupidly scared.

Even in Latvia, such scenes are not seen every day.

In fact, this is the first time they have seen such a tragic situation.

The man stood there lightly, put his hands back in his coat pockets when he was done, turned around indifferently, and didn't even bother to look at the dying child on the ground, as if he had just done a little thing that was not worth it. He walked away slowly under the dull gaze of everyone, and his back seemed to be as huge as a mountain peak in an instant, leaving behind a cold, boundless majesty.

This man is simply the god of death!

Michael leaned against the wall of a bungalow across the street and watched indifferently as it all happened. It wasn't until Victor von Dum walked back to him unhurriedly.

"Don't get me wrong, I didn't want to save that little ghost on a whim." Dom didn't wait for him to open his mouth before explaining, "It's just a matter of seeing those idiots upset." ”

As Michael walked side by side with him on the streets of the town, he asked lightly, "It reminds you of your childhood self"

He knew that Doom was born into a gypsy family in Latvia and had also lived a life of being chased around by the baron's army since he was a child. If it weren't for those abominable soldiers, his mother wouldn't have been forced to resort to demonic powers. If it weren't for these soldiers, his father wouldn't have had to freeze to death in the snowy mountains to protect him.

Doom snorted heavily, "I've never compared myself to anyone here. I'm completely different from them. The people who live here are numb, sluggish, and worthless, and to me they are almost like a swarm of noisy mosquitoes. ”

He glanced sideways at Michael.

"In fact, most humans are pretty much the same." He said, "I have been feeling more and more lately that it must be a rare miracle that people like you and me would come out of mortal wombs." ”

"We're all human, Victor." Michael said lightly, "We go further and see more than others, but that doesn't change who we are." ”

"Maybe."

Doom obviously disagrees, but he doesn't continue to dwell on the subject.

"What I did wasn't just revenge, it was a warning."

Doom said, leading the way in front of him and turning a few corners into an empty industrial area.

"This is a warning to my enemies, to let some idiot who hides in his castle all day enjoying himself know that his good days are coming to an end."

He walked through the alley and came to the outside of a warehouse with a closed door. In front of the door stood two locals of five big and three thick, with strong muscles and semi-automatic rifles, who looked like they were "very difficult to mess with".

Two janitors stopped in front of them.

"Is there anything wrong?" asked one of them, intentionally or unintentionally, as if it would increase his momentum.

"I've had an appointment." Doom said coldly, "Send a message to your boss that Dr. von Doom wants to see him." ”

The two looked at him for a moment, then lowered their guns and gestured inside.

"Come in." One said, "The boss is waiting for you inside." ”