Maguire walked forward at an unhurried pace, his shadow stretching over Kingpin.
Kingpin's expression didn't flicker.
*This kid looks like he's barely in his teens. If he's here, he has a goal. And if he has a goal… he has a weakness.*
Strength or no strength, Wilson Fisk had ruled New York's underworld for years. He'd dealt with all kinds of people.
Surely, one cocky punk wasn't beyond him.
Maguire stopped right in front of him, wearing a genial smile.
"You want to talk? Fine by me," he said.
Then, without warning, Maguire's hand shot out, seizing Kingpin by the collar.
Before Fisk could react, a terrifying surge of power lifted him clean off his feet — and hurled him over the desk.
**BANG!**
With Kingpin's massive bulk meeting Maguire's inhuman force, the floor beneath him cracked open.
Even the crime lord's head spun from the impact.
Maguire strolled over and dropped himself into the boss's chair, leaning back, legs crossed atop the desk.
A cigar appeared in his hand with a casual flick.
The same motion.
The same aroma.
He lit it, took a slow drag, and exhaled a thick ring of smoke while gazing down at Fisk, sprawled on the floor.
"Alright," he said, voice calm but edged with danger.
"Now we can talk."
Daring to posture in front of Bully Maguire was… not a wise move.
---
Fisk shook the dizziness from his head, glancing up at the intruder now sitting in *his* seat.
*That strength… I'm nowhere near his level. Fighting him is pointless.*
He tried to stand — and then Maguire's right hand flared with a white sphere of energy.
One sweep of the palm, and an invisible quake-force slammed into Kingpin, blasting him off his feet and into the reinforced wall.
The thick, custom-built panels split with jagged cracks.
Pain lanced through Fisk's ribs, his organs feeling like they'd been rattled apart.
He blinked at Maguire in disbelief.
*Weren't we going to talk? How did this turn into a beating?*
From the chair, Maguire blew out another lazy stream of smoke.
"I said we'd talk," he replied. "I never said you could stand up."
Fisk stayed down this time.
There was no mistaking it — this man was brutal, unpredictable, and far too strong.
"What do you want?" Fisk asked at last.
"Money, women — I can give you both."
Maguire scoffed.
"Your life is in my hands right now. What can you *give* me? Don't make me laugh."
Fisk's lips curled into a thin smile.
"You won't kill me. If I die, this city will be thrown into chaos. You'll have the entire underworld hunting you… and the authorities won't let it slide either."
That earned a genuine laugh from Maguire.
"Chaos? Destruction? If killing you wipes New York off the map… what's that to me?"
Fisk's heart skipped. *Is this guy insane?*
Truth was, Maguire was still holding back.
With his mastery of the Quake-Quake Fruit at an A-level, taking out a man like Fisk was the same as swatting a fly.
"So, what do you want?" Fisk pressed.
Maguire stood, walking toward him slowly.
Fisk's pulse quickened.
*Is he going to finish me off? Then I'll have to—*
But Maguire reached into his system space and pulled out the Puppet Talisman.
A sheet of imperial-gold paper appeared in his hand, inscribed with strange, flowing characters.
Fisk's brow furrowed. *What's that supposed to be?*
Selecting his target — Wilson Fisk — Maguire activated it.
The talisman dissolved into a streak of golden light that darted into Fisk's body faster than the eye could follow.
In an instant, Fisk's gaze shifted.
Gone was the guarded calculation.
In its place — burning, unshakable loyalty.
He dropped to one knee, head bowed.
"Fisk greets his master."
Maguire's mouth curved in satisfaction.
"Not bad. This Puppet Talisman works nicely."
"Stand," Maguire ordered. "From now on, call me Boss."
"Yes, Boss!" Fisk replied without hesitation.
---
*PS: The black suit can repair itself rapidly after damage, but it does **not** protect against bullets, blades, or heat-based attacks.*
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