My attributes are increasing infinitely Chapter 458: Black Bull Gang

Previously on My attributes are increasing infinitely...
Ethan awoke as a newborn in a filthy dustbin in the slums of Xylem, a mortal world stripped of cosmic energy, his body weak and abandoned by impoverished parents. Desperate to survive, he cried out weakly several times to attract passersby, but only Liria, a hardened young woman, finally lifted him from the refuse and took him to her cramped home, intending at first to hand him to the beggar syndicate. Over five days, with help from neighbor Sofia providing milk, Ethan grew at an unnatural pace, alarming the women, until he slipped away to avoid scrutiny, leaving Liria in tearful anguish as she searched her empty room. Crouched in hiding amid the debris, he calculated his next moves in the unforgiving slum.

As Ethan navigated the cramped alleyway, a figure abruptly blocked his path.

This individual possessed medium stature and a rugged appearance, his countenance schooled in opportunistic grins. Dressed in soiled rags, his gaunt cheeks spoke of sporadic sustenance.

"Hey there, kid." He squatted to align with Ethan's gaze. "You lost? Where are your parents?"

Ethan regarded him in silence.

The man's grin expanded. "You hungry? I got food. A warm spot to rest. Follow me, and I'll look after you."

Ethan scrutinized him at length. A flicker danced in the man's eyes.

Truth held no value for Ethan—he craved entry. A portal into the underworld's hierarchy. All vast realms demand a bedrock. This fellow served adequately as an initial anchor.

Ethan inclined his head.

The man rose, a gleam of triumph crossing his features before the artificial smile masked it. "Good. Wise choice, kid. Come along, trail me."

They traversed the shantytown, skirting decayed edifices and exposed drains, ignoring vacant-stared youths and elders who peered beyond them as ghosts. The man prattled on their journey, highlighting sights and proclaiming Ethan's fortune in encountering such a magnanimous soul.

Ethan absorbed it all. The configuration. The domains. The countenances.

Twenty minutes on, they approached a huddle of marginally superior structures. Tin sheets gave way to genuine timber. Fractured panes shielded by plastic sheets rather than vacancy.

Crossing an unseen divide, the man's smile morphed—edgier, more vicious.

They halted before a compact edifice. He shoved the entrance ajar and motioned Ethan inward.

Ethan stepped inside.

The chamber stood empty. Earthen flooring. Several timber boxes. A stench of spirits and body odor hung heavy.

The portal crashed shut in his wake.

Upon turning, Ethan found the affable expression erased, supplanted by a savage smirk baring discolored fangs.

"Bastard." The tone shifted harshly now. "You're enslaved to the Black Bull gang from this moment."

His palm descended swiftly, cuffing Ethan's skull with impact to launch an average youth airborne.

Ethan tottered yet held firm. No sobs. No wince.

Serenity cloaked his expression entirely.

The man's smirk wavered momentarily. "Oh? Quite sturdy, eh? Let's test how long that bravado holds."

Bam.

The opening strike hammered Ethan's belly. His slight form buckled. Instantly, crimson welled from his lips.

Bam. Follow-up to the features. Blood erupted from his nostrils.

Bam. To the flank. A fracture resounded.

Amid the barrage, Ethan regarded him with tranquil poise. Like scrutinizing a vermin. Like a heavenly arbiter weighing divine reprisal.

Max was the man's moniker, and after years, an alien twinge stirred—disquiet.

"Enough, Max. He'll perish. The breathing fetch more worth than the lifeless."

A gravelly timbre echoed from the gloom at their rear.

Max ceased, whirling with evident vexation. "Back off, James. I dragged him here. He's mine to toy with."

Another figure filled the threshold. Surpassing Max in height. Slimmer build. Garb frayed but neater. Gaze piercing.

"Step away, or must I summon the boss?" James's delivery stayed even as he locked eyes with Max.

Max's mandible clenched. Briefly, menace crackled between them. Then, with a tongue snap, he yielded ground.

"Tsk." He jabbed a digit at Ethan. "Commence your regimen, scum. Slack, and you're erased permanently."

He barreled past James and vanished into the open.

James advanced to Ethan and knelt. He assessed the lad's visage, the gore, the total void of feeling.

"You absorbed that thrashing soundlessly."

Ethan daubed the blood from his cheek. Then, gradually, a grin unfurled—not youthful innocence, but chilling frost.

"I'll teach him the folly of grasping a deity," he mused inwardly.

James blinked. A curt chuckle followed.

"Oh kid, that's a chilling grin you've flashed."

[Master. He is from a hidden martial family. On a mission here.]

Ethan's inner focus pivoted. "Reveal his stats."

[Name: James Maguire

Strength: 1.2 tonnes

Rank: Force manipulation level 3]

"Just 1.2 tonnes? Modest indeed. Yet in this earthly domain, it's dread-inducing.

And force manipulation?"

[Martial artists on this planet use ancient techniques to absorb sunlight, moonlight, or starlight. This births force inside their bodies. The highest known level is level 9, with strength around 5 tonnes.]

"Five tonnes." Ethan's silent smirk echoed his visible one. "I'll eclipse that within days. This earthly realm may prove more diverting than anticipated."

He lifted his eyes to James, molding his look to fit the scene.

"Gratitude for your intervention earlier, sir." He dipped in a slight, clumsy bow suited to youth.

James eyed him keenly. "You articulate unusually well. Not slum-born?"

"I can't say. No recollections remain."

James mulled it over, then nodded deliberately. "Very well. Align with me. No pleading needed. I've alternative duties for you."

Ethan nodded. "Understood."

"Trail me."

James guided him via labyrinthine lanes to a modest alcove linked to a grander structure. The interior proved austere: bedding mat in the nook, compact hearth, table with pair of seats.

James sealed the entry and approached the hearth. He sparked a modest flame, loaded a vessel with liquid, and tossed in desiccated foliage from his waist pouch.

Half an hour passed before he decanted the infusion into a dish and positioned it before Ethan.

"Consume this."

[Analysis: Low grade healing properties. Safe for consumption.]

Ethan grasped the dish and quaffed it fully, without pause.

James arched a brow. "No wariness of venom?"

Ethan placed the dish aside. "Slaying me directly would be simpler. Why expend effort heating liquid, blending foliage, and dawdling on one such as I?"

James fixed him with a prolonged stare. Then authentic amusement lit his face. "Hahahaha! Splendid!"

He rose and claimed the chamber's core. "I'll demonstrate routines. Perform them daily across seven days. Lodge here. Provisions will arrive."

Ethan nodded once more.

James commenced the display. Basic forms resembling elongations. Actions crafted to boost limberness and corporeal insight.

Across twenty minutes, James cycled the pattern, detailing each stance.

Finishing, he aligned upright and regarded Ethan. "Clear?"

Ethan offered no reply. He merely rose and echoed the motions.

Impeccably.

Each inclination. Each segue. Each nuanced equilibrium. His compact frame navigated the cycle with exactitude beyond James's capability.

James observed, eyes bulging. Lips parted faintly. Shut. Parted anew.

He gulped sharply.

Ethan's execution shone without blemish. Outstripping the lesson. Surpassing every pupil he'd mentored.

"A prodigy unseen in generations." The notion blazed in James's thoughts. "Delivering him to the lineage would unleash madness."

Temptation gripped him briefly. Rewards loomed vast. Position would soar.

Yet he banished it. Reentry barred for now. Task unresolved.

"Lad." His timbre rasped unintended. "Remain confined within. Venture nowhere else. Execute the drills consistently. I'll return in seven days to evaluate."

The portal clicked shut behind him.

Ethan centered himself and scanned the space. Bounding walls. Canopy above. Self-locking ingress. Versus a refuse heap, this equaled opulence.

He settled and pondered it all. Max. James. The Black Bull gang. The concealed martial lineage. The tiers of force manipulation.

Level nine's five tonnes amounted to nil. Utter triviality. In prior existence, he'd shredded cosmic destroyers with mere intent.

Yet this iteration diverged. An earthly sphere governed by mundane edicts, housed in a fragile shell tipping three kilos.

Inception demanded humility. The Black Bull outfit dwindled as inconsequential speck on this world's criminal visage. Still, it marked commencement.

Henceforth, proliferation. Usurp rival crews. Forge alliances. Command streams of wealth, secrets, armaments. Then ascend. Assault structured clans, trafficking empires, transboundary operations.

Next, conglomerates. Those ensconced in crystal spires, deeming global sway. They'd grasp that authentic dominance springs not from ledgers.

Culminating with authorities. Bearing atomic might, legions, instruments of contemporary ruin. They'd topple latest, crashing fiercest.

Upon finale, every rogue, tycoon, lawmaker across this globe would kneel in fealty.

Such sprawled the grand design. The pressing scheme simplified.

Endure the septet of days. Conquer these drills. Cultivate ties with James. And opportune, impart to Max the true horror of his trespass.