[Chapter 572: Bloody Massacre]
Upon hearing the full extent of their conspiracy, Linton's fury burned fiercely.
He had believed that his ruthless slaughter of over 300 members of the Bronfman family, followed by the massacre of more than a thousand criminals in Los Angeles, would be enough to intimidate and terrify everyone. Yet, these thieves still thought he was too lenient and naive, dismissing his power as mere bluff.
If that was the case, then this time, Linton vowed to be merciless -- to make everyone feel the chilling fear of life hanging by a thread.
Though Linton had unparalleled strength, his values still made him inherently inclined toward kindness and goodwill. But he hadn't anticipated that such ideals would carry no weight here in these circles, where the law favored the ruthless and preyed on the weak.
Since these guys were all about preying on the kind-hearted and worshiping strength, he decided it was time to change his approach. "When in Rome," he thought, "might as well unleash a massacre to shake things up."
He was prepared to slaughter anyone who dared resist -- if killing a thousand wasn't enough, then ten thousand; if ten thousand still wasn't enough, a hundred thousand -- until no one dared to speak out again.
If killing gang members failed to send the right message, he'd bring down businessmen, politicians, and law enforcement alike -- no one would be safe to harbor foul intentions.
Linton next forced Kester to give him detailed descriptions, office locations, and residences of the other eight conspirators. He also obtained addresses for the headquarters, research bases, and production facilities of the country's top three pharmaceutical giants.
Though Kester could not know every detail of their research or manufacturing sites, identifying their main research and production bases was sufficient.
To Linton's surprise, Hoffman Martin, chairman of Johnson & Johnson, and Gittens Cooper, owner of Pfizer, both lived on Long Island, each with sprawling estates.
Without hesitation, Linton summoned his flying sword. Its gleaming blade danced viciously as it swept through the room where Kester and two women were in bed -- heads severed cleanly from their bodies.
The flying sword roamed the entire mansion indiscriminately. It did not care if the victims were Kester's family, friends, or innocent servants. Anyone staying here tonight was doomed; the blame could be taken up with Kester in the afterlife. Seventeen people were all split in two, heads separated from their bodies.
Satisfied, Linton didn't leave immediately. Extending his spiritual sight, he quickly located the palatial estates of Hoffman and Cooper as described by Kester. Both sprawling properties eclipsed even the grand Chaperco estate that Hillary had seized from the Douglas family.
Compared to these, his own Los Angeles estate looked shabby. Even his farm's gardens couldn't compete -- these estates bordered the ocean with private beaches and luxurious yachts.
...
At Hoffman Martin's 15-acre seaside estate, a private beach and dock hosted a massive luxury yacht. On the north lawn, beside a mini golf course, sat five helicopters. The main mansion was surrounded by more than ten independent villas and four auxiliary buildings.
Truly, these pharmaceutical tycoons embodied old money power.
Inside, 67 family members lived across 11 villas, accompanied by 237 guards, servants, and drivers spread throughout the ancillary buildings.
"Too bad you chose to serve the Martin family," Linton thought grimly. "Consider yourselves funeral company for your masters. Take your grievances underground with them."
Like a fish swimming in the air, his flying sword sliced through the estate, room by room, building by building. In no time, 304 people were severed, heads and bodies split apart, all unaware until death.
Two large wolfhounds and ten other dogs had been spared at first.
But the two wolfhounds awoke at the last moment with savage howls, stirring the other dogs into frenzied barking.
To avoid disturbing the neighbors, Linton decided to play the considerate executioner and ended them all with a single stroke, sending these beasts to join their masters in the afterlife.
Not a single living creature remained on the estate.
Next, he moved to Cooper's estate across Long Island, equally grand with private beaches, yachts, and helicopters. Sixty-one family members lived in its villas, alongside 219 service staff and a pack of fierce pit bulls and dogs.
Linton's flying sword gave no quarter, cutting each person cleanly in half. The estate was utterly wiped clean.
...
After these twin family purges, Linton felt some satisfaction but knew tonight's crusade wasn't over.
The next step was to utterly cripple Johnson & Johnson and Pfizer. But since their offices employed thousands of low-level staff unconnected to his affairs, and to avoid piling up innocent casualties during the day, he chose to act under cover of night.
With few night shift employees present, their fate was sealed.
Following Kester's intelligence, Pfizer's headquarters were split between Manhattan's Midtown New World Headquarters and a separate research and manufacturing complex in Industrial City.
Both locations lay close to Linton's current position.
Flying his sword in stealth, he unleashed a devastating strike on Pfizer's 16-story Manhattan headquarters, splitting it in two. The building collapsed with earth-shaking force, shattering glass and igniting fires.
Though tragically many vehicles were crushed, the midnight hour spared heavy casualties.
New York erupted into chaos; fire, police, and emergency services rushed to the scene while news outlets scrambled to report.
Ignoring the turmoil, Linton steered his flying sword to Pfizer's Industrial City complex, growing it large to strike down every building, reducing the entire site to ashes and flames.
The city's officials -- mayor, council, police, firefighters, paramedics -- were stunned into frenzy by this unprecedented disaster.
Johnson & Johnson was next.
Its New Brunswick campus in New Jersey housed administrative, research, and primary manufacturing facilities all concentrated on one sprawling site only fifty kilometers from Long Island.
This proximity explained why the Martin family headquarters were so close by.
Still sitting in Kester's home, Linton sent his flying sword to New Brunswick, transforming it into a monstrous scythe to fell every building, engulfing the industrial park in fire.
New Brunswick's small city emergency teams were overwhelmed, thrown into utter chaos.
Luckily, the campus's isolation limited collateral damage.
With minimal night staff, casualties were limited to those already present.
Frustrating city leaders, Hoffman Martin was unreachable by phone -- not his cell, landline, assistant, or bodyguards answered.
Meanwhile, media frenzy erupted with twin massive disasters hitting both New York and New Jersey, feeding a frenzy of speculation about coordinated terror strikes.
Unaware to the city officials, the disaster had been self-inflicted by Cooper and Martin, both of whom had already been sent to hell.
Although Pfizer maintained other research and production sites around the world, losing key headquarters and main manufacturing plants spelled disaster for the company's future.
Rivals would quickly seize market share; survival depended on luck and strong leadership. The most likely result: acquisition.
With Pfizer and Johnson & Johnson decimated, Linton targeted AbbVie Pharmaceuticals.
AbbVie's headquarters, research labs, and principal manufacturing base clustered in an independent industrial park north of Chicago by Lake Michigan.
Again, Linton inflated his flying sword to devastating effect, leveling all structures and igniting fierce fires.
Chicago, too, was plunged into a traumatizing, restless night.
Ignoring the chaos in downtown Chicago, Linton quietly returned to his Hilton hotel suite in New York under cover of darkness, slipping inside through a window unnoticed.
With Hoffman Martin, Cooper, Gavin of AbbVie, and Kester all gone to hell, the last remaining obstacle was a notorious underground boss.
His flying sword swept toward Brooklyn Heights and the Rebekah community to the Puff Daddy's villa.
The notorious crime lord housed 73 people in his mansion -- a loyal army.
Destined to join their masters in the underworld, Linton cut them all down with ruthless precision, splitting head from body.
Only then did a sense of relief and clarity wash over him.
Checking the clock, it was just after 4 a.m. Energized, he returned to his chambers to awaken his harem, ready to resume their festive, exhilarating party.
Sweet, joyous choruses rang out -- group songs, duets, and solo performances blended into the vibrant night's soundtrack...
*****
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