Daredevil arrived exactly when Locke expected him to.
But Locke didn't stop.
"Boom!"
The third punch came down hard, smashing into Bullseye's face with brutal finality. The body beneath him went completely limp, all resistance gone in an instant.
[Task updated. Available for review.]
Daredevil's voice cut through the air, filled with anger. "He couldn't fight anymore! Why did you kill him?!"
Locke didn't even turn his head at first. He slowly stood up, flexing his fingers as if testing the aftermath of the strike. "I killed him to save you," he said calmly. "And now you're blaming me?"
Daredevil's jaw tightened, his teeth grinding audibly. The truth was undeniable—without that intervention, he would already be dead. Still, the rage in his chest didn't fade.
"Forget him," Daredevil said coldly after a moment, forcing himself to move past it. "But what about everything else? The killings across Hell's Kitchen. Do you even know how many people you've killed?"
"Of course I know," Locke replied with a slight shrug. "I remember every single one better than anyone."
"You're a devil."
"They deserved it."
"They should have been judged by the law!"
Locke finally turned to face him, the mask hiding his expression but not the sharpness in his voice. "You're a violent criminal yourself, so don't lecture me about the law. You've never broken it?"
"I've never killed anyone!"
"That doesn't make you better," Locke shot back immediately. "Crime is crime. Whether someone dies or not doesn't change that."
Daredevil opened his mouth, but no words came out.
In the distance, sirens wailed, growing louder with each passing second. He stared at Locke, hatred and frustration burning behind his mask.
"I will stop you," he said, each word heavy with intent. "No matter what."
Locke let out a quiet laugh. "You're welcome to try."
Before the police could arrive, he was already gone.
By the time the first squad cars reached the scene, there was nothing left but chaos and bodies.
Back at the church, Locke lay on his bed, his body relaxed but his mind already shifting to something else entirely. He opened the system interface, and a series of notifications flooded in.
[Temporary mission: Punish Evil completed.]
[Completion rating: Four stars.]
[Reward: Mastery-Level Skill Upgrade Card, Free Attribute Points +5.]
[Mission accomplished.]
[Character level: Black Iron.]
[Upgrade: Not achieved.]
[Cause of death: Shooting.]
[Freshness: One star.]
[Final emotion: Fear.]
[Emotional rating: Three stars.]
[Overall evaluation: Two stars.]
[Reward: Black Iron Two-Star Gift Pack.]
[Congratulations. First ten-kill streak achieved.]
[Reward: Free Attribute Points +10.]
[Mission accomplished.]
[Character level: Bronze.]
[Upgrade: Not achieved.]
[Cause of death: Blunt force trauma.]
[Freshness: Five stars.]
[Final emotion: Fear.]
[Emotional rating: Five stars.]
[Overall evaluation: Five stars.]
[Special reward unlocked. Gift pack upgrading…]
[Reward: Bronze Five-Star Gift Pack. Double Luck.]
This haul was massive.
The temporary mission, the completion of the seventeen Black Iron kills, the ten-kill streak bonus, and the first Bronze-level kill—all of it stacked together into a single surge of rewards.
The skill upgrade card caught his attention immediately. With a single thought, its function became clear. It could elevate any mastery-level skill to the next tier.
At the moment, he had several candidates—firearms, traps, even swimming—but there was no rush to decide.
First—
The gift packs.
He opened the Black Iron pack without hesitation.
[Reward obtained: Free Attribute Points +3.]
As expected, anything below five stars was underwhelming. The real prize lay elsewhere.
The Bronze five-star pack.
He opened it.
[Reward obtained: Dragon Qi.]
Something surged through his body instantly, a force both heavy and fluid, like molten energy coiling through his veins. With a simple thought, that power flowed into his fist.
The effect was immediate.
His hand glowed faintly, the skin hardening as if it had been forged from heated steel. Strength gathered there, dense and explosive.
Locke blinked.
This was—
Too familiar.
Iron Fist.
But then another thought crossed his mind.
If it could flow to his hands…
He guided the energy downward.
The result made him inhale sharply.
That was insane.
An ability like this from a Bronze-level reward?
That wasn't just good—it was absurd.
For the first time, Locke truly felt like he had the foundation to stand in this world. Not just survive it, but shape it.
He rolled across the bed once, twice, forcing himself to calm down before continuing.
The attribute points came next.
He distributed them quickly, reinforcing his already rising physical stats, then used the skill upgrade card on his firearm mastery without hesitation.
The system interface updated.
[Name: Locke.]
[Age: 22.]
[Bloodline: Human.]
[Status: Normal.]
[Power: 15.]
[Speed: 15.]
[Defense: 10.]
[Constitution: 10.]
[Spirit: 20.]
[Skills: Combat Mastery, Firearms Master, Trap Master, Swimming Master, Sniper Proficiency.]
[Abilities: Night Vision, Compound Eyes, Dragon Qi.]
[Items: None.]
[Instance: Unlocked.]
[Alternate Universe: Unlocked.]
[Main Mission: The guilty must be punished.]
[Iron-level Prey: 0/19.]
[Bronze Prey: 0/3.]
[Latest Mission: Silver Hunt.]
[Silver-level Prey: 0/1.]
[Creed: Kill to gain redemption.]
With stats like this, and the explosive power of Dragon Qi layered on top, Locke could already imagine how the next encounter with Daredevil would go.
This time—
He wouldn't just walk away.
The next morning, Emma Church opened as usual.
Upstairs, David continued monitoring Carson Wolfe's movements, refining plans and gathering data. Even after the first Bronze kill, the remaining targets required precision if he wanted to maintain five-star rewards.
Downstairs, Locke resumed his role.
One confession after another, his voice calm, his demeanor steady. Over the past few days, the church had grown noticeably more popular, the events he organized drawing in more people from the surrounding area.
After finishing with one believer, he sent them off with a gentle smile before turning slightly and calling upstairs.
"David," he said, "add someone named Jack to your priority list. His sins need immediate… correction."
At that moment, the church doors opened again.
A man in a suit stepped inside, his expression polite, his posture relaxed.
Locke recognized him instantly.
Phil Coulson.
The kind of person who always showed up early in the story.
Coulson approached with a friendly smile. "Hello, Father. I'm Phil Coulson, with the Strategic Homeland Defense Attack and Logistics Support Agency. Do you have a moment to talk?"
Locke blinked, tilting his head slightly. "Agent Coulson, right? That department name… I didn't quite catch it. Homeland… something?"
"Strategic Homeland Defense… Logistics…" Coulson hesitated slightly, then cleared his throat. "Strategic Homeland Defense Attack and Logistics Support Bureau."
"Oh, right," Locke said, nodding as if it all made perfect sense.
Coulson smiled awkwardly, then quickly moved on. "Would you mind speaking somewhere private?"
Locke glanced around. Several believers were still in the hall, heads bowed in quiet prayer. "Let's step outside," he said.
They moved into the garden, where flowers were in full bloom, the air filled with a soft fragrance. The once neglected space had come alive, vibrant and peaceful.
Life replacing life.
Locke turned back toward Coulson, his gaze briefly flicking over the man's thinning hairline. The system gave no indication that he was a target, which made him slightly curious. Someone like Nick Fury might be worth checking someday.
"What can I help you with, Agent Coulson?" he asked.
Coulson adjusted his stance slightly. "A killer has been active in Hell's Kitchen recently. Have you heard about it?"
"Of course," Locke said immediately. "You mean the guy in the red suit with the horned mask?"
Coulson blinked. "No, not him. I mean the other one. The… Devil Face."
"Oh," Locke said, as if just realizing something. "Aren't they the same?"
Coulson frowned slightly, suspicion flickering in his eyes. "Why would you think that?"
Locke gestured toward the confession room. "I've heard a lot of confessions lately. Some people were in tears talking about Daredevil, saying he crossed the line." He paused briefly. "But as for the Devil Face… strangely, no one's had anything bad to say."
Coulson stared at him, speechless.
Of course no one complained.
Dead men didn't confess.
He shook his head slightly, pushing the thought aside. "I'm here to see if you've heard anything specific about Devil Face."
Locke's expression tightened just a fraction. "Why ask me?"
"You just said it yourself," Coulson replied. "People talk to you. That means you might have heard something."
Locke hesitated, then slowly shook his head. "I'm sorry. What's said in confession stays in confession. That's my duty."
"You don't have to give names," Coulson pressed gently. "No details. Just a direction. A hint. If it helps, it could save a lot of lives."
Locke let out a quiet sigh, his expression conflicted.
For a moment, it seemed like he wouldn't say anything.
Then—
"I've heard," he said slowly, "that Devil Face might have some connection to Daredevil." He lifted his gaze slightly. "That's all I know. You'll have to investigate the rest yourselves."
Coulson nodded, thoughtful.
That was more than he expected.
After leaving Emma Church, he walked a short distance before pulling out his phone. Something about this didn't sit right. Devil Face alone hadn't drawn much attention at first, but Bullseye's death had changed everything.
Now—
There was a pattern forming.
He made the call.
"Director," Coulson said, his tone serious, "I'd like to add Daredevil as a key target in this investigation. He's already on the watchlist. We should examine both together."
The line was quiet for a few seconds.
Then a deep voice answered.
"I understand."
....
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