Marvel: DNF Invades

Chapter 12: Throwing Thunder Mother

As soon as he stepped out of the alley, Luke spotted another group of men rushing toward him, each gripping an MP7 submachine gun, their eyes filled with murderous intent.

These men quickly noticed Luke as well.

"That's him! Kill that dwarf!" someone shouted.

Without hesitation, the group raised their submachine guns and unleashed a hail of bullets at Luke.

"Shit…" Luke muttered as he quickly activated his energy shield and sprinted toward the nearest cover, diving behind it just in time.

"Luke! Kill these human bastards who dare to offend the great Apostle!" Ross shouted excitedly.

The sheer firepower from over a dozen submachine guns battered Luke's energy shield, which barely held on for ten seconds before flickering and shattering.

Bullets pounded against the large metal dumpster behind him, the sharp, rapid impacts echoing like popcorn popping in his ears.

Playing it safe, Luke first reinforced himself with a psychic shield before pulling an electric grenade from his storage space. Activating it, he casually tossed it out without even looking.

In the dark night, the grenade rolled to a stop right at the feet of the gunmen.

Unlike the last group, these men had sharper instincts. Even though they couldn't see exactly what had landed near them, they immediately sensed danger.

Then, panic erupted—

"Grenade! Get down!" one of them screamed.

Boom!

The shock grenade detonated, a brilliant flash lighting up the surrounding buildings like a camera flashbulb.

This was Hell's Kitchen—a chaotic, rundown neighborhood filled with cluttered alleyways, graffiti-covered buildings, rusted fire escapes barely holding together, and beat-up cars parked haphazardly.

The explosion sent a shockwave through the street. Windows of the nearest buildings shattered, and alarms from parked cars began blaring in a deafening chorus.

Through the smoke and dust, agonized screams filled the air. Some of the gunmen who hadn't reacted in time were thrown to the ground, writhing in pain. Those unfortunate enough to be at the very center of the blast had been completely obliterated.

The entire block descended into chaos.

"Fuck! Fire! Fire!!"

Before the smoke had even cleared, the surviving gunmen opened fire on Luke again.

The rapid gunfire jolted awake the entire neighborhood. Startled residents of Hell's Kitchen, still groggy from their nightmares, huddled in the supposed safety of their homes, too scared to even peek outside.

Luke, unfazed, casually lobbed another grenade from behind his cover.

"Shit! Grenade! Move—"

Boom!

Less than ten seconds after the last explosion, another blast shook Hell's Kitchen.

The previous grenade had gone off in the alley, muffled slightly by the surrounding walls, but this one? Out in the open, its roar was deafening.

A bright flash burst through the street, instantly shattering windows from the first to the fifth floor of a nearby building. The relentless wailing of car alarms only added to the chaos.

The surviving gunmen groaned, their faces covered in dust and grime. Those still breathing scrambled for cover, some diving behind dumpsters, others crouching behind the remains of a car.

One man, his arm bleeding profusely, struggled to reload his weapon with shaking hands. Others simply lay still, lifeless.

A deep sense of fear crept into the eyes of the survivors.

They hadn't expected this. Who the hell carries this many grenades?

Compared to Luke, their submachine guns suddenly felt downright merciful. At least they weren't trying to blow up the entire damn block.

Gunfire and shouted curses filled the air. A few of the remaining men gestured to each other, two of them deciding to flank Luke under the cover of darkness.

Moving low, they crept behind a dumpster, trying to get into position.

Too bad for them, Ross saw everything.

"There are two over there! Kill them! Kill them!" Ross shouted eagerly from Luke's shoulder.

Not that Luke needed the warning—he was already keeping an eye out for flanking maneuvers. Without hesitation, he tossed another electric grenade in their direction.

The two gunmen barely had time to react. Seeing the grenade rolling toward them, they dived back behind the dumpster, hoping it would shield them.

Luke smirked.

Boom!

A blinding flash filled the alley, followed by another ear-splitting explosion.

The dumpster itself remained intact, but the two men behind it weren't so lucky. Their bodies convulsed violently as the electricity coursed through them. Within moments, they collapsed, motionless.

"Didn't they know metal is conductive?" Luke scoffed.

The remaining gunmen, watching from a distance, were stunned.

What kind of grenades were these? Since when did they come with electric shocks?

Was this some new Stark Military Industries tech?

No one dared to make a move. In less than three minutes, their squad of a dozen had been reduced to just a handful.

One of them, his hands shaking, fumbled for his phone and quickly dialed for backup.

"Send reinforcements! The enemy has heavy firepower! I repeat—request reinforcements!"

The voice on the other end asked, "How many are there?"

"I don't—oh, fuck!"

Another grenade exploded nearby, sending two more men flying and reducing a car to flaming wreckage.

The gunman scrambled to pick up his phone from the ground, coughing on the dust. "Shit! The enemy has heavy firepower! I repeat, heavy firepower! We're being slaughtered! Send backup, now!"

The person on the other end, hearing the chaos in the background, cursed. "Hold on! Support is on the way!"

While waiting for reinforcements, the last two remaining gunmen hunkered down, only daring to fire blindly from behind cover.

Luke, now completely relaxed, activated his energy shield and stood up, surveying the scene.

Then, with a grin, he pulled out two more grenades—one in each hand—and casually tossed them toward the last two gunmen.

Grenades were free, after all. He made them himself. So what if one missed? No big deal.

The two remaining gunmen were terrified. They were used to gang fights—where people pulled out submachine guns at worst. But this?

This wasn't a gang fight. This felt like a war zone.

And they? They were the unlucky militia facing off against an American soldier with superior firepower.

They were fucked.

When reinforcements finally arrived, Luke was still casually tossing grenades. At this point, there wasn't a single intact window in the entire street.

Two vans screeched to a halt as a new wave of armed gang members poured out, guns ready.

But what they saw was a battlefield—nothing but destruction, with no surviving comrades in sight.

Before they could even process what had happened, an electric grenade rolled to a stop at their feet.

Here we go again.

"Grenade! Get down!"

Boom!

"Open fire! Kill that motherfucker!"

Bullets flew in every direction, the gunmen unleashing everything they had in Luke's direction.

Luke, safely behind his telekinetic shield, simply pulled out more grenades and lobbed them one after another.

Thunder and lightning turned the street into hell itself.

The two vans were reduced to flaming wreckage, their fuel tanks igniting into massive explosions. The screams of the gang members echoed through the night.

Panicked, they screamed for backup: "We need more men! The enemy has massive firepower! At least ten of them! We can't hold out! Send everyone—OH FUCK!"

Luke chuckled.

"Ten people? Nah, just one."

With a flick of his wrist, he tossed out two more grenades.

More screams. More explosions.

And just like that, the whole damn street became a war zone.

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