Creak, creak.
The old, decrepit iron staircase protested shrilly underfoot.
One by one, people appeared at the highest point of the entire garbage disposal workshop.
Each one wore a fierce expression, their eyes filled with ferocity and arrogance.
Clutching clubs and machetes, they created chilling "ding ding dang dang" collision noises.
Yet, Ma Donghe stared fearlessly ahead, defiantly glaring at the gang of villains before him.
As if he were the one in control, and they were merely a bunch of jumping clowns.
Then, another series of heavy footsteps sounded.
The crowd quickly parted, making way for a burly man with a face covered in brutal scars.
A hideous scar stretched from the corner of his eye to his mouth, becoming particularly terrifying under the light.
It resembled a sinuous blood centipede, telling tales of cruel battles from the past.
He strode forward, each step deliberate and powerful, as if treading through his own territory.
