The Strongest Villain of the Apocalypse

Lin Huai leaned against a broken section of concrete wall riddled with bullet holes, a nearly burnt-out cigarette pinched between his fingers. The flame flickered in his eyes, revealing a face that was not exactly handsome, but undeniably intimidating: high brow bones, deep-set eyes, a nose as straight and sharp as a knife, and thin lips habitually pressed into a hard, cold line. He wore a black combat uniform faded from countless washes. His exposed forearms were covered in crisscrossing scars, one stretching from his elbow to his wrist, an old wound that looked as if it had been torn open by some beast’s claws. It rose and fell faintly with his steady breathing.