Cyberpunk Patriarch

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This is Bonus chapter for reaching 40 powerstones🎉🎉🎉🎉

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Fatal mistakes often come from arrogance.

Arthur squinted, cigarette in hand, watching as another poor soul spiraled toward their own destruction.

In Night City, this wasn't unusual. Arrogance and recklessness were daily occurrences here. Arthur didn't feel any guilt about standing back and letting it unfold. After all, he wasn't a saint. Sure, there might be a few good people left in the city, but they were definitely not gang members.

Removing one or two scumbags wouldn't transform Night City into a utopia. Arthur knew that. But maybe, just maybe, it could make life a little easier for someone out there. And for him, that was enough.

"Hey, old man," sneered the Uzumaki Gang member with the mohawk. "Why don't you tell your crazy friend to give up on that big-assed beauty? I've got places to be—like Twisted Street for some fun."

The gang member's taunts were followed by laughter from his crew, who circled the scene like vultures. Meanwhile, Arthur's "patient"—a bald, trench-coat-wearing man—stood silently on the container, his cybernetic pupils flickering erratically.

Arthur could feel it. His patient wasn't just a man anymore. The telltale signs of a cyberpsycho were all there: the irregular blinking, the icy aura, the chaotic twitching. The man's humanity had been completely stripped away, leaving behind nothing but a killing machine. Redemption was no longer possible.

The boy from the Uzumaki Gang climbed onto the container, swaggering like a fool. He even had the nerve to mimic Arthur, patting the patient on the shoulder.

Arthur took another drag of his cigarette, letting the smoke curl lazily around his face. As the gang member joked, Arthur imagined Yama—the King of the Underworld—watching these events unfold. Perhaps Yama was scratching his head, wondering why so many new souls were about to arrive at once.

Then it happened.

"Boom!"

From Arthur's vantage point, time seemed to slow. The gang member's head exploded, the force of the blast sending blood and brain matter flying in every direction. Each droplet of crimson and shard of bone hung suspended in the air like a grotesque work of art.

Arthur watched as the boy's face disintegrated, leaving behind an unrecognizable, headless corpse.

"You bastard! What the hell are you doing?!"

The other gang members roared in anger, oblivious to the danger they faced. They charged toward the container like rabid animals, their cybernetic enhancements humming with power. Weapons appeared in their hands as they prepared to unleash chaos.

Around them, the crowd scattered. Screams filled the air as bystanders ran for their lives. Their movements were almost too precise, as if they had rehearsed this exact scenario countless times.

"Lucky for them," Arthur muttered under his breath. "Fast runners probably won't get caught in the crossfire."

A hail of bullets erupted, tearing through the air like a torrential downpour. The gang members fired indiscriminately, their steel bodies glowing faintly from the heat of their overclocked implants.

Arthur remained untouched, leaning casually against the container. Beside him, his patient stood motionless, ignoring the barrage of gunfire.

Then, the patient raised his right arm.

The transformation was instant. His hand folded away, revealing a massive, integrated missile launcher. The sleek, metallic barrel extended menacingly, aimed at the mob of gang members below.

"Whoosh!"

The missile launched with a trail of flame, cutting through the chaos like the scythe of death itself. It struck the center of the group, detonating in a fiery explosion.

"Boom!"

The blast lit up the entire block, even visible in the daylight. Smoke and fire engulfed the area, leaving behind nothing but scorched pavement and shattered bodies.

Arthur winced, shaking his head. "Figures. Cyberpsychos will install anything on themselves. That's gotta be some top-tier experimental prosthetic. Military-grade, maybe. Probably stolen from a corporate lab."

He straightened up and began walking toward his patient, his boots crunching on bits of debris.

Most of the Uzumaki Gang members were dead, their bodies reduced to smoking wreckage. But one man—a cyborg with a battered but functional frame—lay writhing on the ground, his head still intact.

"Why?!" the man cried, his voice raw with pain. "We didn't do anything to you! Why'd you lie to us?"

Arthur crouched down, exhaling a puff of smoke into the man's face.

"Because it's fun," Arthur said, his tone cold. "Because I'm bored. Or maybe because you're all just too easy to fool."

The man's cybernetic eyes widened in shock. "You... you're the real psycho here! You're worse than him!"

Arthur didn't respond. He simply stomped down, crushing the man's head like a rotting melon. Blood and oil mixed on the ground beneath his boot as he stood and glanced back at his patient.

The cyberpsycho hadn't moved from his perch on the container. His attention was elsewhere, his twitching eyes scanning the horizon as if preparing for another attack.

Arthur sighed. "Guess it's my turn now."

The patient's arm transformed again, this time revealing a high-caliber machine gun. The muzzle flared as bullets sprayed toward Arthur, who barely flinched.

Time slowed.

Arthur flicked his cigarette to the side, his hands curling into fists. With a faint metallic click, two mantis blades shot out from his forearms, their edges glinting with a neon sheen.

In the frozen moment of slowed time, Arthur sidestepped the bullets with practiced ease. His body moved like liquid, each motion deliberate and precise. With a powerful leap, he propelled himself toward the container, closing the distance in an instant.

The cyberpsycho's eyes tracked Arthur's movements, but his body couldn't keep up. Arthur landed behind him, the razor-sharp blades hovering over the patient's shoulder.

"I see those arms of yours aren't original," Arthur muttered. "Let's fix that."

With one swift motion, Arthur's mantis blades severed the patient's arms at the shoulder joints. Sparks flew as the heavy prosthetics clattered to the ground, their deadly weapons rendered useless.

The patient staggered, his body jerking uncontrollably as his systems struggled to compensate for the loss. Arthur stepped back, retracting his blades with a faint hiss.

"You'll thank me later," Arthur said, lighting another cigarette. "If you wake up, that is. And when you do, don't forget to pay me for the surgery."

The patient collapsed, his lifeless body twitching as the last remnants of his cybernetic systems shut down.

Arthur took a long drag, exhaling smoke as he surveyed the carnage around him.

"Just another day in Night City," he muttered, walking away from the wreckage.

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