Kapitel 175: 175: The Jovanovich Family
Seryozha was the eldest son of the Jovonovich family. Straightforward and generous, he also carried the steadiness expected of an elder brother. His features were classic Slavic—buzz cut, square face, and a thick, prickly beard.
His powerful arms were so imposing that even someone like Neville right now couldn't compare.
Ruffling John's hair with a massive hand, Seryozha grumbled disapprovingly, "Look at our Yadani. He's been starved to skin and bones."
John's gaunt cheeks filled Seryozha with dissatisfaction as he turned his sharp gaze to Watson, who shrank like a scrawny chick.
The look on his face said it all: How dare this Englishman mistreat my nephew?
Watson frantically shook his head. What did this have to do with him? He wasn't the one cooking!
Andrei, the eighth child of the Jovonovich family, narrowed his wolf-like eyes and shot Watson a glare filled with menace.
Though he also sported a buzz cut, his demeanor exuded a savage energy.
Anton, the seventh in line, had come to visit his sister. For the occasion, he'd smoothed back his usually disheveled black hair with gel, the slicked-back look adding a touch of silent intimidation.
Alexei, the ninth child, wore glasses and had a scholarly, refined air. He was lean and long-limbed, a stark contrast to his twin brother, Andrei.
If John hadn't witnessed Alexei impale a wild boar clean through with a single throw of a spear when he was younger, he might have mistaken him for a modal university student.
Anton's expression shifted slightly as he wordlessly exited the room.
Alexei seemed to notice something. Casting a glance at the departing Anton, he signaled Andrei with a subtle nod.
Andrei understood the signal and cracked a feral grin, tilting his head to the side as his neck let out a series of sharp crack sounds.
"Yadani, we brought you a gift. Hope you like it," Alexei said with a smile, casually nudging his sister and Watson toward the living room.
Watson, oblivious to any underlying tension, focused solely on making himself as inconspicuous as possible, desperately hoping the Jovonovich brothers wouldn't find any excuse to target him.
John, however, sensed something was up. His eyes flicked to Alexei's seemingly innocent smile—there was definitely going to these uncles' minds.
Of course. Anyone who managed to stay alive and independent in that place wasn't simple.
Playing along, John called out cheerfully, "Uncles!" His greeting caused Seryozha's face to light up with joy.
From their motherland, Seryozha had brought along a crate of vodka. Originally, there had been several crates, but thanks to a drunken pilot, an engine explosion on the right wing mid-flight, and other complications, only one had made it through.
Watson, catching sight of the vodka, instantly shrank in terror.
He prided himself on being a so-called "man who never gets drunk," but every single time he visited the Jovonovich family, he'd been carried out horizontally.
Alexei had indeed brought a gift. But when he cracked open the lid of the box to reveal it, Mrs. Wick immediately slammed it shut with one swift motion.
"Alexei, your brother-in-law would love to have a proper drink with you," she said with a sweet smile.
If John hadn't been paying close attention, he might have missed the brief glimpse of the contents—something that could go rat-a-tat-tat.
And there wasn't just one.
Meanwhile, Watson had already been pinned down and force-fed vodka.
Seryozha lit his cup of vodka on fire with a lighter, shouted "Ura!" at the top of his lungs, and downed it in one go.
John silently gave Watson a thumbs-up.
Dad, good luck. You're on your own.
Anton and Andrei returned.
Andrei's fists were smeared with blood, and without hesitation, he joined the vodka-fueled "Ura" festivities.
Anton the silent one, headed to wash his hands, his face carrying the chilling look of a predator that had just finished its hunt.
...
"F***! F***! @#￥!"
A man bolted down Privet Drive, panting heavily as he cursed aloud. His face was as pale as a sheet, devoid of the slightest trace of blood.
He stumbled into a narrow alley, hands trembling as he pulled out his phone to make a call.
"They're maniacs—two absolute lunatics!"
Even now, he couldn't steady himself.
Those two men were like demons straight out of hell.
Fifteen well-trained enforcers—gone, just like that.
Beaten to death with bare hands!
Especially that guy with the slicked-back hair. Right in front of him, the man had casually gouged out one of his subordinate's eyes with his bare fingers.
The other one, the crew-cut brute, wasn't any better. He had literally smashed someone's skull open with his fists.
Blood and brain matter splattered all over the driver's face. His knees buckled, and he wet himself on the spot out of sheer terror.
His fingers fumbled helplessly on the phone, pressing the wrong buttons again and again. He was so shaken he wanted to scream.
The driver angrily pounded the wall.
"Let me help you."
A slender hand reached from behind and snatched the phone away. Before the driver could react, he looked up into a pair of cold, reptilian eyes, framed by glasses. The gaze alone sent shivers down his spine.
The driver tried to run, but the man grabbed him by the throat, pinning him against the wall and lifting him effortlessly.
"Shh—be quiet."
The glasses-wearing man scrolled through the call log and redialed the last number.
A deep voice answered on the other end: "Is it done?"
The driver watched in horror as the man with glasses curled his lips into a chilling smile.
"We've found you."
With that, he ended the call—and the driver's life.
A tiny puncture wound was on the driver's neck. He collapsed in the alleyway, his face turning a sickly shade of blue.
...
Late into the night, Seryozha and Watson continued drinking. Well, mostly Seryozha drank. Watson was already unconscious, occasionally roused with a slap to take another sip before passing out again.
"The situation back there isn't great," Seryozha said, leaning back in his chair, holding another glass of vodka. "But St. Petersburg's got a decent mayor now. Father thinks highly of him."
"He's much better than those officials who devour everything and leave nothing behind. I really respect the man. The mayor even invited Father to work with him, but Father declined, saying he was too old."
"Someone near the house kept hearing howls. Valery went to check it out, caught two sneaky guys, and even broke two wooden sticks over them."
"Yadani, do you remember Valery? He's the uncle who took you winter swimming," Seryozha rambled on.
As Seryozha chattered, John caught snippets about what was happening back at his grandfather's place.
The region had just gone through upheaval, and things were still unstable. Fortunately, St. Petersburg had a decent mayor this year. The harsh winter brought some hope of change, though his grandfather had declared himself ill and withdrawn from public matters.
John noticed Alexei step again out and return a while later, now holding a phone.
The rumble of a truck engine sounded outside, and after a while, Anton also returned.
Neither of them mentioned what they had done, but John could guess.
Later, his uncles sprawled across the living room, fast asleep in various positions. John quietly retreated to the basement.
Activating the map and using the playback function, he reviewed what had happened outside.
He saw Anton gouging out someone's eyes with his fingers and then watched as Andrei, like a rabid dog, smashed another person's head to literal pieces.
"..."
John sat in thought.
"Why does it feel like my uncles don't exactly have normal human physiques?"
Smashing someone's skull with their fists—truly, completely pulverizing it—was far from ordinary.
This situation was starting to feel a bit absurd.
No wonder Dad was so afraid of them—look at how casually they treated human lives.
The Jovonovich family… could they even be considered normal?
The next day.
John's uncles left early in the morning, saying they were going out to look around.
But if they were just sightseeing, surely they wouldn't have needed to take that whole box of "gifts" with them, right?
Sure enough, by lunchtime, the uncles returned.
They were chatting and laughing as they came in. Watson greeted them respectfully, though his stomach still hurt from the previous night's "festivities."
Andrei plopped himself onto the couch with a carefree swagger, but under Mrs. Wick's piercing death glare, he immediately corrected himself, sitting upright like a proper child.
Watson turned on the family TV.
The screen showed a news report.
"This morning, a mass death incident occurred. According to informed sources, the deceased were members of a group known as the Jungle Gang. Their bodies were discovered in a gruesome state…"
Watson stared blankly at the image in the top-right corner of the screen. This was before censorship by mosaics became common on television, so the scene was graphic and unmistakable.
None of that mattered as much as one particular detail: the boss of this gang had once threatened Watson.
The police speculated it was the result of a gang war.
John, however, noticed the faint smile playing on Seryozha's face.
His uncles had clearly been the ones to act.
Swift and efficient.
This incident temporarily brought Watson some peace amid the chaos of the Wallace family drama. Meanwhile, in London, the big players were on edge.
They couldn't figure out where this group of ruthless individuals had come from, annihilating an entire gang so decisively.
Their motives were clear, and what made it even more terrifying was their habit of gouging out eyes.
Eyes are the windows to the soul.
Not only were they killing, but they were also breaking spirits.
...
Sean Wallace called, his tone heavy with concern. "Watson, we need to talk."
Watson picked up the phone and, after a brief pause, replied, "Alright."
The death of that gang boss had clearly rattled Sean.
John had originally planned to deal with these matters himself before going on vacation. Now, with his uncles around, there was no need for him to lift a finger.
And so, by the seventh day of the holidays…
The police had dredged up a truck from the river. Inside, it was packed with bodies, shocking all of London.
...
Watson had been extremely busy lately, but with Andrei accompanying him, nothing serious happened.
John, meanwhile, was in his basement, gently shaking a vial of magically infused blood.
Taking a sip, he smacked his lips.
It still had no taste.
The magic-infused blood spread rapidly throughout John's body as he drank it, its power coursing through his veins. He had no fear of its effects spilling outside.
After that incident with Harry, John had reinforced his basement. Now, no trace of magic could escape from it.
This time, he had a specific idea in mind.
Shifting his gaze to a prepared pile of materials, John allowed the magic within him to surge uncontrollably.
Harnessing this wild energy, he focused all his attention on the materials before him.
Under the force of the rampant magic, the pile of materials began to transform rapidly.
Wöchentlicher Energiestatus
-- Power-
Rangliste 
-- Power-
Stein