"Stick, our paths may differ, but the boundaries are clear," Daniel said coldly, his eyes narrowing. "Kunlun, the Alps, Asgard—these are some of the most mysterious realms in existence, yet we all know better than to pry into each other's depths. There's no need to keep testing my bottom line."
Stick's lips pressed into a thin line. His urge to control everything grated on Daniel's nerves. Stick acted as if he alone could handle the Hand, as if no one else could possibly understand the threat. Yet he had no idea how far above his league this game truly was.
None of the five leaders of the Hand had revealed themselves yet. Perhaps they were outside New York, or perhaps they were lurking in the shadows, using lesser pawns to bait their enemies.
Stick might believe Daniel was just another weapon to throw at them, a convenient pawn to clear the Hand's foot soldiers. But Daniel was no pawn. If Stick thought he could place him before the five leaders like some sacrificial lamb, he'd be gravely mistaken.
'Perhaps Stick would swoop in for a heroic rescue when the time came,' Daniel mused, 'but why should I risk my life for his plans?'
If the true leaders of the Hand were to be slain, Daniel would do it on his own terms—no one else's.
And if necessary, he could escalate this entire war, dragging the Avengers into it, or even the American government.
After all, no one—not even Washington—would tolerate the destruction of New York.
Daniel recalled history. Two towers once fell, and the United States had launched wars lasting decades. Now, someone dared threaten an entire metropolis? The President would lose his mind.
Daniel also had a card Stick didn't—his U.S. military status. He wasn't a man of politics, but he had channels that could lead directly to the White House if he needed to pull that trigger. With one call, he could bring down more firepower on the Hand than they could ever imagine.
But Daniel wasn't prepared to make that move yet.
Not until he knew what the Hand truly sought in New York.
Something that could drive an ancient organization, with centuries of history, to stake everything on this single gamble. It had to be more than just a "blood sacrifice" or awakening Black Sky. They could attempt that anywhere—Tokyo, Shanghai, or any forgotten city in the world. Why here? Why risk provoking a nation that would hunt them to extinction?
'The prize must be extraordinary,' Daniel realized. 'Something beyond mere mortal greed. Something that leads… to the realm of gods.'
Stick's blind face was unreadable, but Daniel could sense the shift in his thoughts. The old man had not expected Daniel to know so much—not just about the Hand, but about Kunlun. And Daniel's knowledge ran deeper than most.
Stick himself knew a little of the higher mysteries. During his time in Kunlun, whispers of Asgard and Olympus had reached his ears—realms of divine power that even Kunlun respected. But to meet someone who wielded that magic? That was beyond his expectations.
The air in the small clinic turned cold and tense. One wrong word, and blood would spill.
And then—unexpectedly—Stick was the first to step back.
"How much do you know about Kunlun?" Stick's voice was hoarse, his blind gaze fixing on Daniel with unshakable resolve. There was even a glimmer of murder in his tone. Kunlun, to Stick, was sacred. If anything threatened it, he would destroy it—no matter what.
Daniel gave a small shake of his head. "Nothing beyond what's commonly known," he admitted. "If I told you I had no interest in Kunlun, I'd be lying. But beyond the scraps of information I've gathered here and there, I know very little. I know of Shou-Lao. I know of the Iron Fist. That's all."
There was no reason to hide anymore. The cards were already on the table.
Stick listened closely, weighing Daniel's words. He believed him. Even among the ancient circles of power, knowledge of Kunlun was scarce. Shou-Lao and the Iron Fist were known to outsiders only as legends.
Iron Fist had guarded Kunlun's gates for generations, and every veteran organization had heard whispers of that immortal champion. Shou-Lao, the dragon, was the source of Iron Fist's power and the guardian of Kunlun's heritage. But beyond that? Nothing.
Stick himself knew only fragments—having once lived on the outer edges of Kunlun. He'd seen but one of the seven cities that formed its outer defense. And even he had only heard rumors of the eighth city, a place even more mysterious and feared.
"If you knew more," Stick said darkly, "then one of us wouldn't be leaving this room alive."
The murderous intent in his voice faded as he exhaled, choosing—for now—to trust Daniel's words.
Daniel's eyes remained steady. "What I know now is enough. But make no mistake… I will learn more. One day, I'll walk into Kunlun myself and ask my questions to its strongest warriors."
Stick gave a bitter laugh, though his tension eased slightly. He could see that Daniel's knowledge of Kunlun was coupled with respect. He knew that even a fully trained Iron Fist was but a disciple compared to the true masters of Kunlun. Some of those beings… their power was said to rival even Merlin, or the Sorcerer Supreme.
Of course, they never left Kunlun. Like Asgard, Kunlun was its own realm, tethered to Earth but separated by powerful dimensional barriers. Time flowed differently there. Magic thrived there. Life extended beyond normal mortal years.
And this was precisely why the Hand feared to attack it openly. They had tried many times over the centuries, but they dared not bring their true leaders into Kunlun's killing grounds. Without insider betrayal, every incursion ended in death.
Daniel's voice broke the silence. "That's all I know of Kunlun. Now, Stick… what's your plan for the Hand?"
Stick straightened. "The Hand," he said, his tone dropping to a growl. "In New York, their operations are led by Alexandra. She's the strategist. Nobu Yoshioka and Madame Gao are merely her instruments, sent to execute her will. Gao is focused on her empire in the Far East—her drug networks and business ventures. She's less interested in the battles here."
Daniel's jaw tightened. Madame Gao was a name he'd heard before—an ancient schemer with roots running across continents.
"And Nobu?" Daniel asked. "Is he the one I fought?"
"Possibly," Stick said. "But Nobu Yoshioka is alive. He's operating out of Hell's Kitchen—an abandoned building near the East River."
Daniel raised an eyebrow. If Nobu had survived their last encounter, then Daniel had not hit him hard enough. It was also possible that the man he'd fought was just a shadow of the true Nobu—a proxy, a resurrected warrior.
"How do we kill them permanently?" Daniel asked, his voice cutting through the tension.
"Cut off their heads," Stick said flatly.
Daniel blinked, then smirked. 'Of course. So simple, and yet so easy to overlook.'
For mortals, the heart or the head is life. But for those with supernatural resilience, the heart can regenerate. Healing factors, forbidden elixirs, and dark magic can all regrow flesh and bone. But the head? Destroy that, and even the strongest cannot return—at least not with their mind intact.
Even Logan—with his healing factor—would be crippled if his brain was obliterated. The Hand's so-called immortality was no different.