Marvel Saiyans - Chapter 22

The wreckage of infantry fighting vehicles almost filled the entire street, their remaining fuel burning, sparks flying, and steel glowing red-hot amidst the flames and billowing smoke rising into the sky.

The entire Mexico City was like a cauldron boiling over with chaos.

Broly sat atop the turret of an infantry fighting vehicle, his clothes reduced to tattered rags, barely covering his body.

He had finally exited his rage mode, regaining his sanity, though his mind was still as chaotic as a pot of porridge. He had lost most of his memories from his enraged state, and upon checking his system interface, he realized he had unknowingly leveled up to 9 and was only a little over fifty experience points away from level 10. Who knows how many he had killed in the recent chaos to accumulate that experience?

His Satanic Combat Technique was already maxed at level 12, and unbeknownst to him, his Wolf Fang Fist had reached level 8. In his enraged state, his martial arts talent had terrifyingly enhanced, rapidly leveling up his Wolf Fang Fist.

**Wolf Fang Fist Lv4: Gale Fist, with prolonged punching allowing you unmatched punching speed, increasing your attack speed by +5**

**Wolf Fang Fist Lv7: Wolf Fist, a technique only mastered by the utmost fighters, creates a wolf-shaped energy that tears at the enemy, the sharp wolf teeth ripping through all foes in front of you**

(In the movie “Dragon Fist Explosion, Who Else But Me,” Goku uses the Dragon Fist to defeat the final boss, Hildergan. This movie is pretty good; it even explains the origin of the sword Trunks uses to kill Frieza.)

He looked down at his hands, now much weaker than before, wrapped in a faint aura.

“Whoo!”

An energy blast roared and struck a relatively intact infantry fighting vehicle wreckage, causing a dull explosion and a significant dent in the armor.

The power of his usual Splitting Palm had diminished significantly.

The next moment, a white wolf formed from energy burst out, instantly piercing the vehicle’s armor and leaving a clean, narrow streak of energy, neatly slicing through the tough steel.

The penetrating power of Wolf Fist was significantly more potent than Splitting Palm, though it lacked the latter’s splash damage; each skill had its advantages.

Looking up at a building at the end of the street, he finally understood how he had neatly bisected the structure.

The area was eerily quiet, as if post-apocalyptic, with only flames crackling. The Mexican Army he had been fighting had utterly collapsed and withdrawn from the area. Even most civilians had fled, with the remaining ones hiding indoors, too afraid to come out.

His earpiece had been damaged in the battle, cutting off contact with Alejandro, leaving Broly clueless about the situation inside Mexico City—a dreadful feeling.

Although rage mode could tremendously increase his strength, losing his sanity was a fatally severe drawback. Forget destroying the Reyes Group; he struggled to establish a foothold in Mexico.

Suddenly, a motorbike engine broke the silence on the deserted street, and a motorcycle approached from afar. The rider raised a hand from afar, signaling no ill intent.

“I’m Alejandro’s friend, and he’s waiting for you at this location. The retreating Mexican Army has blockaded several blocks around here with barricades and barbed wire. The U.S. Army will arrive in half an hour, equipped with the most advanced heavy weaponry and air support. They’ll comb every corner of this area to find your hiding place. We have a safe way to get you out of this encirclement.”

The rider said, carefully handing Broly a piece of paper with an address.

Broly took the note. He could re-enter rage mode at any time, not without a chance to break directly out of the encirclement. Even if he couldn’t, the Oolong Transformation Technique could deceive the soldiers coming to search. He was far from being at his wit’s end, but meeting up with Alejandro was a better choice.

“How can I trust you?”

The rider quickly pulled out a walkie-talkie. Alejandro’s voice came from the other side, his breathing steady and his tone normal, not sounding like he was in any constrained situation.

The location was not far from here, and Broly quickly arrived at the hideout.

It was a basement in an apartment building where Alejandro and Wade were present. Other mercenaries had not participated in this operation, so they were not trapped within the blockade.

They gathered around a small table, eating pizza.

“Hello.”

Matt, a tall man, swallowed the remaining piece of pizza in his hand, wiped his greasy hands, and shook hands with Broly. He did not show any unease from Broly’s previous terrifying performance, proving himself as stubborn as steel.

“His name is Matt. He’s with the CIA,” Alejandro said as he put down his pizza to introduce him.

Matt handed over a bag.

“Put this on, and we can get you out of here.”

Broly tore open the bag and found a set of U.S. Army camouflage, perfectly his size, complete with dog tags and standard soldier gear.

“The dog tag is real, the name on it is authentic, and the service record can be verified in the Pentagon’s database; it’s all flawless,” Matt said with some pride, a testament to the CIA’s terrifying efficiency and capability.

“What do I need to give?” Broly asked.

He was no child; he knew the resources the CIA had expended were substantial, and they had their demands.

“It’s simple: serve the CIA. If you agree to join, you could immediately become my boss,” Matt proposed. His rank within the CIA was not low, and the offer was quite generous, especially since the CIA was desperately lacking high-end combat forces like Broly.

(The Hulk had once destroyed a street in New York with many victims, yet still was recruited by S.H.I.E.L.D., a testament to how little the lives of Mexicans likely mattered in the eyes of the CIA’s upper echelon.)

“Serving the CIA is out of the question. Although it might be more difficult, it’s not hard for me to leave here alone,” Broly stated as white energy burst from his palms like flames.

Seeing the energy in Broly’s hands, Matt’s pupils shrank, showing a profoundly wary expression. The CIA had assessed that Broly’s strange energy attack was as powerful as a 105mm howitzer shell.

“However, if the CIA encounters a tough situation and the compensation is right, I’m not unwilling to lend a hand,” Broly conceded. If possible, he preferred not to conflict with the CIA. His previous battle with the Mexican Army had escalated due to his loss of control in his rage mode.

Stabilizing his power required a relatively stable external environment; he couldn’t have the world as his enemy. Constantly bombarded and attacked with missiles would be a headache, even for a belligerent Saiyan.

Matt pulled out a satellite phone and stepped out of the room to report Broly’s conditions to his superiors, returning after more than ten minutes.

“I hope we can have a fruitful cooperation, Mr. Broly.”

The CIA wasn’t usually this negotiable with ordinary people, but clearly, Broly was no ordinary person.

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