The voice wasn't loud, yet it pierced the ears, causing an unbearable sensation. Ronan's head felt like it was about to explode, as if someone had inserted chopsticks into his ears and was continuously stirring them in his mind.
His AK lay on the ground, barely propped up, but he felt nauseous and uncomfortable.
Outside the villa, the gunmen charging in collapsed in heaps. They clutched their heads, rolling on the ground, blood oozing from their ears.
This eerie, piercing scream was clearly an indiscriminate attack on a wide scale.
Ronan braced himself with one hand on the AK, his other hand holding the Glock 26. He fired shots repeatedly at the source of the sound within the blood mist.
Bullets passed through the mist, striking the wall, but the sound remained unaffected.
Yet the sound couldn't shake Ronan either! Back when he ascended to being a Predator, his spirit had been fortified by the power of absorbed souls!
Finally, the sound ceased, the blood mist faded, and the mist transformed into a head wrapped in a turban out of thin air!
The blood-red face, adorned with a large beard, was directly facing Ronan.
Apart from the all-red hue, it was identical to a real person's face!
Having encountered werewolves, voodoo zombies, and holding the Book of Domination, Ronan felt no fear. Despite the discomfort in his mind, he discarded the Glock 26 with empty bullets, raised his AK with his right hand, and unleashed a fierce spray of bullets at the misty head.
A voice suddenly resounded in his mind: "You're Ronan, I remember you!"
With a bang, the blood-colored head exploded, turning into a rain of blood that pattered onto the ground.
Ronan removed the magazine from the AK, found a new one from a bearded corpse, replaced it, smashed open the front window glass, aimed at the gunmen still rolling around, and pulled the AK trigger, targeting each one with bullets.
These people were either traffickers or terrorists. There was no need to worry about mistakenly killing innocent individuals.
From this day on, the García Group's pursuit was vanquished and gone forever!
Such drug cartels typically disbanded after the demise of their leader, fracturing into smaller gangs.
After the underground tunnel issue was resolved, the García Group's problem was also resolved.
The wails faded, gunshots ceased, and an eerie silence enveloped the villa and the entire estate.
Ronan once again swapped the empty magazine, and from Antonio's bodyguard, he recovered a Glock 22 and its magazine, sliding them into a shoulder holster.
Fetching his own shoulder bag, he emptied useless items and placed the dead spiritual leopard inside, arranging it neatly on his shoulder.
Though he was eager for his first soul cooking experience, the timing and place weren't right now.
Ronan activated his soul vision, and over the bodies scattered around the room, red halos floated. He initiated soul absorption, sweeping his left hand around the halos. Over thirty fragments of souls were added to the fragments within the Book of Domination.
Most were +1 soul fragments, with a few +2 fragments.
The most substantial was Antonio García—his soul fragment count increased by 7!
There were also two pieces of information.
One was a skill.
Fluent in Arabic: This bearded man's Arabic is much better than his marksmanship!
The other was memory information.
Amidst the dark Los Angeles streets, a middle-aged white man with brown hair left a leopard cub, resembling a small cat, behind as he escaped the barrel of a gun. He turned back to mock Antonio García, "You'll never know the whereabouts of the Golden Codex. I won't tell you even if I die!"
Turns out, the spiritual leopard was the one Antonio had obtained from him.
Ronan memorized the appearance of the middle-aged white man but unfortunately didn't have a name.
Antonio hadn't revealed the complete truth, and Ronan was already prepared for this. The person who auctioned the parchment book, the Book of Domination, was still alive.
Summoning the Book of Domination, there were still many unopenable pages. Ronan couldn't determine whether there were any missing or if the Golden Codex was necessary.
This information was crucial; if there was a need, there had to be some leads to find it.
Ronan closed the Book of Domination, casually picked up a cellphone, and took a sheathed dagger. Carrying his bag and rifle, he left the villa.
Police sirens sounded in the distance.
The villa's higher ground allowed Ronan to glimpse a large convoy of police cars flashing red lights as they approached the estate from the southeast.
Returning the same way would undoubtedly lead him to an encounter with Mexican police.
Ronan ran westward. The estate was adjacent to the Pacific Ocean, and on the side facing the sea was a small pier with several motorboats moored there.
He dashed to the pier and boarded a motorboat, starting the engine. He aimed his AK at the engine positions of the other boats and fired shots one after another. Only then did he pilot the motorboat out to sea.
The boat's speed was remarkable, rapidly distancing itself from the coastline.
Ronan glanced back; for now, there were no pursuers.
Turning south, he prepared to find a place to disembark.
Tijuana was populous, with chaotic buildings, rampant gangs, and numerous illegal immigrants. Taking refuge in the city was the best choice.
Approaching the shoreline, Ronan felt something. He looked back towards the distant sky. A black dot was approaching. Although it wasn't clear, it was undoubtedly a helicopter!
The deceased was Antonio García, and he died in Tijuana's wealthy district. The Mexican authorities attached great importance to this, even dispatching helicopters.
Ronan couldn't linger on the sea. Helicopters were too fast and would catch up soon. He tossed the AK into the sea and, as he neared the beach, he dashed inland toward a more crowded area.
Ordinary helicopters weren't a concern, but the possibility of rocket pods or Gatling guns worried him.
Those weapons, when used against infantry, were like adults crushing children.
Ronan was far stronger than an ordinary person but couldn't withstand Gatling guns chanting their mantras.
Blending into the crowd, he relaxed slightly. The tourist-filled area discouraged the Mexican police from using heavy firepower here, no matter how crazed they were.
Ronan fished out some change, bought a common beach sunhat from a stall, placed it on his head, hailed a black taxi, and headed to the area with the most illegal immigrants in the city center.
However, the city had changed compared to before. Some crucial intersections had police checkpoints.
The difference between a pile of grunts dying and the death of an important figure was vast.
Ronan was prepared; he dialed Dees Demon's number on his phone. When the call was answered on the other side, he said, "I need a place to stay for two days, a bigger one, northwest side."
The spiritual leopard's body was in his bag. Despite it being winter, the US-Mexico border wasn't cold, and the body would decay quickly.
Ronan needed a place to deal with the spiritual leopard to prepare for his first soul-cooking session, a feast of plunder.
This place should also have a certain level of independence and safety. It should be convenient to ignite the flame of the soul. In case there's a strong reaction after consuming food cooked with soul-cooking, there should be a place to temporarily hide.
Dees Demon didn't say much, and she directly provided an address.
After deleting the call, Ronan disassembled his cellphone into parts. He tossed the critical components into the fire pit where immigrants were burning fires. He disposed of the other parts in separate trash bins and sewer drains. Passing through the tents erected by illegal immigrants, Ronan headed to his destination.
...
A small yacht left the estate's pier and rapidly distanced itself from the coastline. In Jessica's view, a large yacht bearing the American flag came into sight.
"Where are we going?" Jessica asked.
Ruben gestured to the yacht. "It will take you to international waters, heading north to Los Angeles. You'll be safe inside. Don't worry; all the legal procedures are in place. When you arrive, someone will meet you. Your father made preparations; people will help you establish yourself in Los Angeles."
Jessica asked, "And you?"
Ruben smiled. "Your father and I have matters to attend to." He took out a package and handed it to Jessica. "This is something your father prepared for you. Once you're in Los Angeles, visit a bank and retrieve it from a safety deposit box."
Jessica accepted it. At this point, they reached the side of the yacht and she boarded from the rear.
Ruben escorted her on board. "Take care, Jessica."
Jessica nodded, saying, "What about you and my dad?"
Ruben chuckled. "We'll be fine. Your father can handle it. He's much more capable than you think."
If Ruben hadn't emphasized these points as soon as they got on the boat, Jessica wouldn't have endured until now.
Ruben took out his phone and saw that there was still a signal here. "I'll call your dad and let you two talk for a bit."
He dialed Antonio's phone, but there was no answer.
He tried the bodyguard's phone; it was also unreachable.
Seeing Ruben continuously failing to make a call, Jessica's complexion gradually changed. She muttered to herself, "Dad, is something wrong?"
Ruben felt something amiss too but comforted her, "It's alright, your dad has dozens of people on his side."
Jessica grew more unsettled. "Dozens of people... Uncle Ruben, I need to go back!"
She was about to move but was held by Ruben. "Jessica, leave! You must leave!"
Ruben signaled to the yacht from above, and it started its engines, heading towards international waters.
Jessica stared at Southern California, the coastline getting further away. Tears of pain and regret flowed incessantly.
Was it because her father was a drug lord? Jessica had never considered that to be a problem.
She had witnessed Ronan's immense power, how he had brought her safety in the past. Now her father was facing immense danger.
The yacht entered international waters. Ruben finally got through on a call. However, it was the police in Tijuana who answered, conveying a clear message.
The head figure of the García Group, one of Mexico's most prominent drug lords, Antonio García, had been killed in his mansion!
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