Marvel: A Lazy-Ass Superman

Chapter 479: Chapter 479: Superior to Humans?

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Lilith Arden smiled. ”The right to refuse is a precious privilege—not something everyone possesses. Why do you think you deserve it?”

”Well... perhaps because this is a society governed by law?” Henry replied cautiously.

James Arden said, ”The rule of law exists to protect humans. And in our eyes, humans are no more than livestock—nothing but food.”

Henry noticed the expressions of those present. What he saw wasn’t fear at being likened to cattle—but fervor.

So that was it. They were counting on rising with the tide—one man ascends, and even his chickens and dogs follow.

”—As far as I know, Elder Delagonetti intends to accept you into our ranks. So why would you choose to associate with ordinary humans and lower yourself?”

”Well... maybe because your so-called ’we’ isn’t quite as...” Henry twirled his hand in the air, searching for the word. After a long pause, he finally said, ”...impressive?”

”We are the future of human evolution! A superior species! Tell me—what do you consider impressive?”

James Arden bared his fangs, opening his mouth so wide it looked like he could swallow a man whole. His once refined youthful face twisted into something monstrous.

Lilith followed suit, her expression equally grotesque. At the same time, both casually crushed their wine glasses into fine powder—not merely breaking them, but pulverizing them completely.

The horror of their faces was beyond anything a film director could conceive. If an ordinary person had been sitting here, they would have fainted—or worse.

Henry had already noticed that the mansion’s interior had far fewer surveillance cameras. The dining room had none at all.

Convenient—for doing unspeakable things without leaving evidence.

Unhurried, Henry picked up the cross pendant from his chest. In one swift motion, he yanked it off his neck and flicked it forward.

The silver cross shot through the air and embedded itself cleanly into James Arden’s chest—straight into his heart.

Silver piercing the heart—there was nothing grand about his death. Like any vampire, his entire body ignited in intense heat, burning instantly to ash—bones and all, leaving nothing behind.

Lilith remained frozen mid-snarl, but the ferocity in her eyes turned into stunned disbelief.

What just happened?

Where did that man go?

People often say thoughts flash like lightning in moments of shock—but those countless thoughts rarely help. Most freeze in place, their minds spiraling uselessly.

Lilith, a pampered aristocrat for most of her life, was no trained warrior. Becoming a vampire hadn’t changed that.

As for their security team—James and Lilith’s overconfidence in their own vampire strength had kept them positioned at a distance, reduced to mere decoration.

At that range, Henry didn’t even need super speed.

With a flick of his wrist, he retrieved the cross midair, catching it between his fingers.

At the same time, his thumb scraped off a thin layer at its base as he muttered, ”Honestly... who told you crosses can’t kill vampires?”

Did they really think he brought it for divine protection?

Using his other hand to push off the table, Henry vaulted over it in a fluid motion, landing in front of Lilith.

With a casual backhand, he drove the cross into her temple.

Hidden inside was a small amount of silver nitrate solution, which instantly spread through her brain and into the rest of her body.

She followed her husband’s fate—burning to ash before even managing a scream.

Only then did the bodyguards react.

They drew their weapons and opened fire.

Without using super speed, Henry didn’t evade. Their response was fast and professional—but too slow to save their employers.

The assassin’s movements had been seamless. By the time they reacted, both targets were already gone.

All they could do—true to American tradition—was empty their magazines.

Henry simply hunched forward, covering his head, letting the bullets strike him.

Their aim was good. They didn’t hit each other.

But ricochets from Henry’s body weren’t something they could control.

Several were struck by stray rounds, dropping to the ground.

When the gunfire ceased and the magazines were empty, they stared at Henry—his clothes shredded, yet completely unharmed.

Only then did they fully remember what kind of man they were dealing with.

Letting him walk away? Impossible.

Several burly men rushed forward, pinning his arms behind his back and slamming him onto the table.

With the killer subdued, the remaining guards exchanged uncertain glances.

They had contingency plans—but none clearly applied when both primary clients were dead.

This Montecito mansion wasn’t the Arden family’s main residence. No other family members were present.

There was no one to give orders.

So, without any prompting from Henry, they made the most natural—yet worst possible—decision for the Arden family:

They called the police.

Because to them, if their clients were the perpetrators, there were ways to clean things up. But now that their clients were victims, their priority was self-preservation.

Handing the killer over to law enforcement was the safest option.

Had there been actual family members or senior insiders present, they would never have called the police immediately. They would have handled things internally—deciding what to reveal, or burying the entire incident altogether.

But the guards had already fired everything they had.

And their target couldn’t be killed.

What else could they do?

At the end of the day, they were just employees.

Henry cooperated fully. He didn’t harm anyone. He didn’t resist.

Even when someone punched him, he endured it silently.

As for whether that person’s fist broke—that wasn’t his concern.

After all, no one would believe someone smashed their own fist by hitting another man’s face.

The only thing Henry was careful about was keeping his hands clenched—leaving no fingerprints, no opportunities for someone to frame him.

Even the handprint he’d left while vaulting the table had been wiped away during the chaos.

From the moment he entered, he hadn’t touched anything unnecessarily.

Because if someone slipped a gun into his hand now—one used for something else—there’d be no explaining it.

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