Ron's foot touched the iron threshold of the safe house, and he swayed.
Frank sprang up from the cot and grabbed his arm.
Ron's body temperature was off. Frank's half-beastly senses detected it—the skin beneath his palm was burning red, heat seeping from deep within the muscles, but Ron's face was ashen.
A system notification flashed twice in his field of vision.
[Warning: Host's stamina has dropped to 12%. At 30% synchronization rate with the Akainu template, continuous high-intensity combat has exceeded the safety threshold. Immediate 24-hour rest is recommended.] Ron reached out to push Frank away.
"I didn't—" Frank didn't let go. He pulled Ron a step towards the cot, using his other hand to pull out a folding chair to block his path.
"You're not made of iron. Sleep first." Ron's knee hit the edge of the folding chair, his leg buckled, and he sat down.
He tried to stand up. His thigh muscles spasmed, and he couldn't muster the strength.
Absorbing all the heat from the flames on floors one through five of the Crown Hotel, maintaining full Armament Haki coverage for four minutes, and capturing the Purple Man—these three tasks combined drained his body.
Frank pulled a blanket from the cot and threw it on Ron.
"Twelve hours. One minute less and I'll weld the door shut."
Ron didn't struggle anymore. He leaned against the wall, bringing up the system panel before closing his eyes.
[Purple Man Kilgrave Capture Reward Settlement Complete.]
[Justice Value +5000. Total Justice Value: 10200.]
[Transcendental Source "Pheromone Mind Control" Extracted. Rating: SS.]
[Refining Option Selected: Paramecia-type Soul-Soul Fruit (Soul Control).]
[Estimated Furnace Completion Time: 48 hours.] Ron closed the panel.
His consciousness sank into darkness.
— Midtown Manhattan. Fisk Tower. Basement Level 3.
This level didn't appear on any architectural blueprints.
Wilson Fisk sat in a custom-made steel-framed chair, his hands resting on his knees. His size made a regular chair too bulky, so the four legs were welded from solid steel tubing.
On the screen in front of him, surveillance footage from the Crown Hotel rooftop was being played back frame by frame.
The technician froze the image on frame forty-seven—the instant the concrete floor cracked. The edges of the crack glowed with a dark red light, its frequency at the lowest end of the visible spectrum.
"Zoom in." The image zoomed in. The structure inside the crack became clear—not a geological fracture, not an energy explosion. The edges were clean, the rotation direction consistent, with clear spatial folding characteristics.
The technician adjusted his glasses.
"Mr. Fisk, this isn't any known mutation. It's not magic—at least not any of those in our database."
He switched to the next analysis chart.
"The closest reference point for the spectral characteristics of the energy fluctuations is… the edge radiation from the alien portal during the 2012 New York incident. But the attenuation curve is completely different." Fisk didn't look at the technician. He stared at the crack on the screen.
"Speak like a human." The technician swallowed.
"It's an entrance to another dimension. But not built with alien technology. That person opened it himself." Fisk tapped his right index finger on his knee.
"If I get this technology—"
He didn't finish. He didn't need to.
Send the barrier to another world. No lawyers, no judges, no assassins.
Vanish.
Fisk stood up. The steel-framed chair behind him creaked wearily.
He picked up the encrypted phone on the table and dialed three numbers in quick succession.
The first.
"Lazarev. When will your men arrive in New York?"
On the other end, a Russian-accented English voice: "Forty-eight hours. Thirty men. Heavy equipment."
"Add money. Fifty men."
The second.
"The Hand's New York branch. I want to see Venom."
The other end was silent for five seconds.
"Mr. Fisk, Lord Venom doesn't see outsiders."
"Tell him I have something exactly like the 'Chains of the Sealed Beast' from the Hand's legend." A pause was heard on the other end of the line.
"…Please wait a moment." Fisk dialed the third number and waited a long time.
It rang twelve times before being answered.
The other person didn't speak.
Fisk spoke: "I need all of Hydra's technical data on the 'Dimensional Portal'." A very soft laugh came from the other end of the line.
"Mr. Fisk, can you afford the price for this request?"
"Name your price."
— Twelve hours later. Safehouse.
Ron opened his eyes.
His stamina had returned to 58%. Not full, but he could move.
Frank sat at a folding table, a handwritten intelligence report spread out in front of him. His vertical pupils hadn't fully returned to round, indicating that he had maintained his half-beast form all night.
"The Hand has entered the city." Ron sat up in bed and took the intelligence report.
Frank's handwriting was terrible, but the information was clear—the informant confirmed at four in the morning that at least thirty unidentified Asian men had arrived in New York in batches, lodging in an abandoned office building in Midtown. All were dressed in black, and none carried any electronic devices.
"The Hand's 'Black Clothes'." Ron put down the intelligence report.
"They're not ordinary criminals. They're a ninja organization that uses 'dark power' to resurrect the dead. Group cooperation, assassination, poison—they're on a completely different level from the usual gangsters." Frank's claws scratched across the table.
"How strong?"
"Individually, weaker than Bullseye. But thirty of them together, using poison and assassination tactics—" Ron didn't finish.
Jessica stood up from the corner. She had been sitting on the ammunition box, her arms wrapped around her knees, her left foot bandaged by Frank.
"I overheard him making a phone call while I was being controlled by the Purple Man." Ron turned his head.
"He mentioned the Hand has an 'altar' in Hell's Kitchen. Underground in Chinatown. They use that altar for some kind of ritual." Ron's spine tensed.
The Hand wasn't just here to help Kingpin. They had their own purposes in New York.
He closed his eyes and activated the system scan.
[Target: Poison Eater. Hand New York Chapter Leader. Sin Value: 3200. Can be imprisoned in Impel Down Level 2.]
[Hand "Black-Clad" Ninjas x30. Average Sin Value: 200-500.] Ron opened his eyes and brought up the Justice Value panel.
[Current Justice Value: 10200.]
[Impel Down Level 3 Unlock Condition: Justice Value 10000.] Enough.
[Consume 10000 Justice Value to unlock Impel Down Level 3 – "Hunger Hell"?] Confirm.
His consciousness was pulled into a dimensional space.
The ground of Level 2, "Beast Hell," cracked open into an abyss once more. In the darkness, the third layer emerged.
The temperature plummeted. A dry, dehumidifying chill filled the air. The cage walls were no longer ordinary metal—the entire wall was engraved with swirling patterns of Seastone.
Concept Seastone Cage. The confinement area has its own Seastone effect, no handcuffs needed.
[Third layer unlocked successfully. Can hold targets with a sin value below 15000.]
[Additional function: Sin value extraction efficiency +50%.]
[Bonus reward: Concept Seastone handcuffs x5. Current inventory: 4+5=9 pairs.] Ron exited the dimensional space and opened his eyes.
Frank and Jessica were both looking at him.
"Done." Ron stood up, walked to the folding table, and spread out a map of Hell's Kitchen.
"Two-pronged attack. Kingpin's business empire is a slow knife, the Hand's assassinations are a fast knife. Take care of the fast one first." He picked up a red pen and drew a circle around Chinatown.
"The altar is their lifeline. Remove the altar, and the Venomous will have no way out." The iron door was pushed open.
Jack Reynolds stood in the doorway.
His complexion was completely different from forty-eight hours ago. His back was straight, his jaw was clenched, and the WS-07 serial number on the inside of his right arm was bandaged.
"Mr. Ron." Ron looked up.
"I want to join you." There was a two-second silence in the safe house. Frank's hand, which was wiping his gun, stopped. Jessica turned her head to look at him.
Ron put down the red pen.
"Do you know what joining means?" Jack walked in and stood in front of the folding table.
"Hydra used me as an experiment. You treat me like a human being." His right hand clenched, then relaxed. His knuckles didn't turn white—the muscle control enhanced by the serum allowed him to express his resolve without effort.
"I won't forget." Ron stared at him for five seconds.
A confirmation box popped up on the left side of his vision.
[Agree to the rank of Navy Lieutenant Commander for Jack Reynolds?] [Confirmed.]
A white cloak materialized behind Jack, draping down to his calves, with two large black characters on the back—"Justice."
Frank took a spare pistol from the weapon rack and slammed it down in front of Jack.
"Welcome on in. Learn to shoot first."
Jack picked up the gun, ejected the magazine to check, reinserted it, and cocked it. His movements were fluid.
Frank raised an eyebrow.
"Hydra?"
"NYU Shooting Club."
Frank snorted and said nothing more.
Ron called Jack to the corner and had him extend his right fist.
"The foundation of Armament Haki is focused willpower. Concentrate all your attention on your fist, imagine your fist is harder than steel."
Jack closed his eyes. Beads of sweat appeared on his forehead.
Ten seconds. Twenty seconds.
A very faint gray sheen appeared on his fist, flashed, and disappeared.
"Again." Jack gritted his teeth. The second attempt, the gray sheen lasted three seconds.
"Not bad." Ron withdrew his hand. "The serum enhanced your nerve conduction speed; you'll learn Armament Haki three times faster than an average person." Jack opened his eyes, looking at his fist.
Ron was about to explain the next training plan when Frank's body suddenly tensed.
His vertical pupils abruptly contracted into two golden lines, and his nostrils flared violently.
The makeshift alarm system around the safe house sounded simultaneously—four of the six vibration sensors Frank had planted within a 300-meter radius triggered at the same time.
But the triggering method was wrong.
It wasn't the impact vibration of footsteps. It was an extremely slight, continuous change in pressure. Something was moving on the ground, but it had almost no weight.
Frank's nose twitched twice.
His face changed.
"Rotting flesh." Ron's Observation Haki exploded in an instant.
Within a 300-meter radius—twenty-three life forms.
No. They couldn't be called "life forms."
Their heartbeats were less than twenty per minute. Their body temperature was fifteen degrees lower than normal. Their breathing rate was almost nonexistent.
But they were moving. Three layers of encirclement.
First layer: Seven underground drainage pipes, climbing upwards from the pipe network directly beneath the safe house.
Second layer: Eight rooftops of adjacent buildings, already in place, arranged in a fan shape.
Third layer: Eight towards the main entrance, advancing along the walls on both sides of the alley, clinging to the shadows. Less than sixty meters from the safe house's iron gate.
The ninja at the forefront held a dagger in his right hand.
Observation Haki detected an extremely faint energy fluctuation emanating from the coating on the dagger's surface—not a chemical toxin, but some kind of supernatural corrosive force field.
The system automatically popped up an analysis.
[Warning: "Dark Power" toxin detected. This toxin can corrode all living organic tissue.]
[Additional Analysis: Has a restraining effect on Logia-type abilities—contact can forcibly interrupt the elemental state, causing magma to solidify within three seconds.] Ron spread his five fingers.
Magma seeped from between his fingers, condensing into a fist-sized ball of light in his palm.
The temperature of the sphere of light began to rise.
One thousand degrees. One thousand two hundred. One thousand five hundred.
Frank had completed his full beast transformation. The gray wolf's four legs braced against the ground, its claws carving eight white marks into the concrete.
Jack retreated to the corner, cocked his pistol, and aimed it at the iron door.
The first faint metallic scraping sound came from outside the safe house's iron door.
Someone was picking the lock.
The temperature of the magma sphere in Ron's palm stabilized at one thousand eight hundred degrees.
He looked up, staring at the iron door.
The lock on the iron door snapped—it broke.
Through the crack, a blade coated with black poison was slowly pushing the iron door open.