It felt terrible.

But Mephisto was a powerhouse who had experienced success and failure countless times. A moment later, he restrained his fury and considered the most important question: Who did it?

Odin? That was unlikely.

Although someone from Asgard had recently gone to Earth, it definitely wasn't Odin.

Odin, a top powerhouse in the universe who had conquered the Nine Realms, had already settled down in Asgard thousands of years ago; there were no more records of him going out on war campaigns.

The Ancient One? That… was both possible and not.

This mysterious Sorcerer Supreme could make the special altar completely disappear in an instant with her skills, but she was mostly focused on guarding against the Dark Dimension's Dormammu.

After years of low-key operations, Mephisto was clear on this point.

The reason he had only sent his clone to Earth to make a fuss was because it stopped just short of touching the Ancient One's bottom line.

If he dared descend in his real form, the Ancient One wouldn't mind beating him up as if he was Dormammu.

Women shouldn't be provoked, much less this bald female bigshot.

This female bigshot had Sorcerer Supreme magic that could shake multiple dimensions; she absolutely couldn't be provoked.

As he pondered, Mephisto couldn't think of any likely suspects.

There were plenty of suspicious targets, but they were unlikely to take action.

Mephisto's already black face turned even blacker.

Wave after wave of black smoke spread out from his face, and countless howls rang out.

The special altar was no ordinary thing. It was the only magic tool that he had made a thousand years ago, and it contained a core spell.

Using this thing, he had obtained millions of souls from Earth.

It could change form, and took shape according to a person's thoughts. Then, it could use various methods to tempt people into falling and collecting premium souls for him.

He remembered that more than 200 years ago, the altar had been picked up by bogus believers of some goddess of fate, and it took on the appearance of a loom.

Since then, those brainless, bogus believers had been giving him premium souls nonstop, which pleased him immensely.

Anyone who used the special altar was also selling their own soul.

Once these bogus believers who profited from the special altar died, their souls belonged to him.

In this way, Mephisto, this black-hearted businessman, ate everyone in the game; nobody was spared.

Naturally, he was very pleased with this special altar.

If the clone was a customer service employee that he sent out, then the special altar was a customer service robot that could automatically answer simple questions.

The altar wasn't as flexible as a clone, but it was a stable source of income that he didn't have to worry about for a long time.

Now that this fuss-free source of income was gone, Mephisto could only lament, "Forget it. I'll try to make another one when I have the chance."

He wasn't in a good mood about that.

The altar was special to him and truly wasn't ordinary.

Putting aside the bizarre and precious raw materials it required, he himself would have to take 300 to 500 years to finish making one.

He had suffered a huge loss!

…

Luke didn't know that he had tripped up the high and mighty Demon Lord once again.

After a moment of shock, he didn't immediately choose to use the loom, but tried to suppress his emotions.

When his inventory was modified last time, he had been locked out for half a day.

If the interface was modified this time, what if Daddy System itself went on strike?

Luke was here tonight to earn experience points and level up.

Since he was already here, he should finish what he set out to do.

He said he was going to dispose of the Fraternity, so he should do so.

He said he was going to earn experience and credit points, so he should earn enough.

What he didn't know was that the moment the Loom of Fate disappeared from the room, many people around the world suddenly felt their minds jolt and like something was missing, and they started to panic.

This included all the assassins in No. 17 Textile Mill.

Sloan closed his eyes for a moment and frowned. "Can you feel it?"

The dozen or so elite assassins in front of him nodded in unison. A woman couldn't help but ask, "Sloan, what's going on?"

Sloan's mind whirled, but he could only shake his head. "I don't know, but I feel like I'm missing something."

Most of them subconsciously nodded since they felt the same thing.

For a moment, everybody looked at Sloan, hoping he could give them an answer.

This old man controlled classified information in the Fraternity. He might know something about what just happened.

Unfortunately, Sloan's face darkened, and in the end, he simply said, "I'm tired. Disperse." He then turned around and left.

The dozen people looked at each other in bewilderment. After exchanging glances, they could only get up and prepare to leave.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Pa! Pa! Pa!

Suddenly, sporadic gunfire rang out.

Everybody looked at the door.

"What's going on? Is this an enemy attack?"

"Let's go and take a look."

With two simple sentences, everybody hurried to the door.

They were fast and had numbers on their side. They weren't scared even if it was Cross who had come.

Gunshots rang out a few more times, but then abruptly stopped.

Hearing the gunshots, everybody knew that the person was trading fire with the guards, but wasn't going on the offensive; the person was only firing back when the guards attacked him.

What was even more frightening was that the enemy only fired once for every several shots fired by the guards.

Clearly, several guards had lost their lives in the fight.

The assassins soon reached the front entrance, and saw that the guards on the wall and in the towers had stopped firing.

Bodies had fallen from the towers.

Alarmed, the assassins scattered and went up onto the surrounding wall to look outside.

They saw a man in a black suit with a beard and slicked back hair standing in the dark.

He didn't raise the gun in his hand, but simply looked at the people on the wall.

Seeing the dozen or so elite assassins, the man in the suit finally said, "Tell Sloan to come out."

His voice was calm and emotionless, like how most people spoke to the cashiers in fast food restaurants — flat and indifferent, neither happy nor sad.

Everybody was silent. The group looked at each other but didn't say anything.

Finally, the Gunsmith asked, "Who are you?"

The man in the suit finally tilted his head and looked at him. "John Wick. You can also call me the Boogeyman."

Everybody's hearts skipped a beat, and they were shocked. Was he crazy? He had gotten someone to send a message yesterday, and he already came knocking today. Did he think he could take on the Fraternity? Then why call yourself the Boogeyman? Might as well call yourself Death.

Eventually, it was the Gunsmith who spoke again. "State your business."

The man in the suit didn't reply, and even looked away, as if the Gunsmith suddenly didn't exist.

F*ck you! Everybody cursed.

This was just asking to die… Do you think this is a movie?!

What they didn't know was that although there were no cameras rolling, Luke was indeed here to act.