Jason was unquestionably injured.
That specialized bullet hadn't been designed to be dodgeable by human reflexes.
However, though his body hadn't reacted in time, his heightened concentration had allowed him to instantly activate his ability: Dragon Chi: Burst.
His physical capabilities doubled, transcending ordinary human limitations.
His defense parameter spiked to 40—not enough to completely stop a bullet, but sufficient to significantly reduce the spiral projectile's tearing force.
Combined with his superhuman agility allowing a last-millisecond adjustment, the bullet had merely created a clean through-and-through wound rather than devastating his internal organs.
No vital areas had been compromised.
After taking refuge behind the reception desk, Jason opened two newly acquired Iron-tier gift packages through the system interface.
Four free attribute points were awarded, which he immediately allocated to Constitution.
After weeks of experimentation, he'd concluded that his healing factor, explosive strength, poison resistance, disease immunity, and various other secondary abilities were all tied to his Constitution parameter.
Thanks to the regenerative effect of the additional attribute points, his wound—while not completely healed—had recovered substantially.
It posed no significant hindrance to combat performance.
This rapid recovery had spelled catastrophic misfortune for the overconfident Leaper and Scorpion.
As they'd approached, Jason had reactivated his explosive power and executed a flawless counterattack.
The engagement had been so brief that residual dragon chi still coursed through his system.
Atop a distant rooftop, 'Hawkeye' Clint Barton had witnessed the entire sequence.
The breathtaking combat display had ignited his competitive spirit—particularly Hell's Butcher's performance, which stirred a profound desire to test his own skills against such a worthy opponent.
He raised his bow, took aim, then reluctantly lowered it again. Finally, he couldn't suppress his frustration any longer.
"Coulson, what's the deal here? Director Fury ordered us to capture Hell's Butcher, but you're keeping me on the sidelines. Why am I not engaging?"
Coulson, who had been studying the battlefield through high-powered binoculars, set them down with deliberate calm.
"Barton, I'm not preventing you from joining the fight. I'm simply waiting for the optimal tactical moment. Rushing in prematurely would only result in unnecessary complications."
Hawkeye's brow furrowed in confusion. "Meaning what, exactly?"
"There's an animal in Africa called the honey badger. Despite its modest size, once provoked, it pursues vengeance with relentless ferocity until its opponent is dead."
Hawkeye's expression remained skeptical. "You're saying he's New York's version of a honey badger?"
Coulson shook his head. "I'm drawing a parallel to his temperament, not his capabilities. In terms of raw combat effectiveness, he's at minimum equivalent to a lion."
Hawkeye paused momentarily before nodding with newfound respect.
"So how do we complete the mission? The Director specifically ordered his capture."
"The Director didn't specify that the objective must be accomplished tonight. If we're going to apprehend someone of this caliber, we need a meticulously constructed operational plan. Tonight's approach has been far too improvisational."
Hawkeye nodded in understanding. "Should we withdraw from the area?"
"That won't be necessary. This provides an excellent opportunity to gather additional intelligence regarding his combat capabilities."
Near the office building's entrance, Mr. X concealed himself in a shadowed alcove.
"Echo, are you confident we should proceed with the operation? If Hell's Butcher remains entrenched behind that reception desk, extracting him will prove exceedingly difficult."
Echo's labored breathing resonated through the comm link—she was clearly on the move.
"I'm approaching an alternative firing position. Once in place, we can establish crossfire with your position. If we maintain sufficient suppressive fire, the surrounding mercenaries can deploy rocket launchers to obliterate his cover. He'll have nowhere to hide."
Mr. X offered a grim smile. "You're overlooking something critical. He could easily retreat to the stairwell adjacent to the reception area and vanish into the building's upper floors. We lack the resources to conduct a comprehensive building search."
"This siege operation has effectively failed."
Echo's silence stretched across the communication channel.
After a prolonged pause, she responded: "Then we stake everything on one final gambit. The short distance between his current position and the stairwell becomes the margin between his survival and demise."
Mr. X exhaled slowly. "Very well. Let's challenge his escape chance and see if he can navigate the gauntlet."
In the distance, Coulson and Hawkeye observed several figures armed with shoulder-mounted launchers advancing stealthily toward the office building.
They recognized that Hell's Butcher's ultimate test had arrived.
Coulson murmured while surveying the battlefield through his optics: "I believe my next report to the Director should include concerns regarding the heavy usage of military-grade weaponry in New York City."
Behind the reception desk, Jason tracked their movements through his infrared vision but exhibited no signs of panic.
Instead, a subtle smile played across his lips, his eyes gleaming with predatory intensity.
Before him lay Scorpion's naked body.
I doubt anyone's noticed that Scorpion and I share remarkably similar physiques.
"BOOM!"
"BOOM!"
Two RPG rounds struck the reception desk with devastating accuracy.
More than half the granite structure disintegrated instantly.
From within the billowing smoke, a green-armored figure erupted with lightning velocity.
Mr. X reacted first, firing two rounds at the figure's center mass from a challenging angle.
Only after squeezing the trigger did he fully process what—or who—was charging toward him.
Green armor... it was Scorpion—no, it was Hell's Butcher wearing Scorpion's combat suit!
Goddamnit, how did I fail to anticipate this?
Jason had prepared thoroughly. His mind remained intensely focused on tracking distant sniper rifles and curved bullets. Against conventional attacks, he could now rely on his stolen protection.
The Scorpion suit represented cutting-edge combat technology, with vital areas reinforced to Level 6 ballistic protection standards—matching U.S. military specifications.
His counteroffensive had begun.
If he could eliminate the operative firing those curved bullets, only one distant sniper would remain—a manageable threat.
As he burst from cover, gunfire erupted from all directions. This was technically New York City, but anyone witnessing the scene would mistake it for an active combat zone.
Jason wielded dual Glock pistols, their muzzle flashes illuminating the darkness in rapid succession.
His Pistol Master skill delivered exceptional accuracy. After emptying two magazines, the attacking gunmen had suffered substantial casualties, temporarily halting their advance.
But these weren't Jason's primary targets.
His heightened senses detected the first volley of six sniper rounds cutting through the air.
Cold. Fast. Seemingly unstoppable.
He executed a series of evasive rolls, narrowly avoiding each projectile.
Then came the follow-up—several curved bullets in rapid succession.
Jason's eyes narrowed as he channeled his remaining dragon chi reserves for one final burst.
His movements accelerated dramatically, leaving afterimages in his wake.
Mr. X, still concealed in his alcove, watched in stunned disbelief.
He had no time for further analysis. His body instinctively entered a heightened state, flooding his system with adrenaline. He stepped forward, deliberately exposing himself to Jason's field of vision, and executed a bizarre swinging motion with his pistol arm.
The hammer fell, the primer ignited, the bullet launched.
His arm movements resembled an esoteric dance form, but those familiar with his techniques recognized it as a lethal choreography.
Jason perceived the incoming bullets interweaving into an intricate matrix, surrounding his forward path.
The corner of his mouth twitched upward slightly as the muscles in his legs compressed with such intensity that his bones audibly protested.
The next instant, he leapt skyward like a gazelle, the deadly projectiles whistling harmlessly beneath his feet.
He descended upon Mr. X with the predatory grace of an eagle striking its target.
"THUD!"
Mr. X reacted with remarkable speed, withdrawing his right arm to intercept Jason's attack with a countering blow.
Nevertheless, the overwhelming force sent him crashing violently to the ground.
Jason followed through, pinning him with crushing pressure. Mr. X screamed as his resistance crumbled.
Jason hoisted him upright, turning toward the distant sniper position—a small black silhouette atop a high-rise building.
A muzzle flash sparked in the darkness, and Jason positioned Mr. X's body as a human shield.
"CRACK!"
Blood sprayed across the pavement.
Discarding Mr. X's lifeless form, Jason glanced again toward the distant building. The dark figure had vanished.
You're quick to retreat. But if you can hide today, can you hide tomorrow?
Kingpin, was it? Just wait.