Matt's voice was exceptionally clear in the chaotic bar, carrying an unquestionable sense of oppression.
However, he was facing three guys who completely ignored all conventions.
" Who are we? " Sakata Gintoki lazily picked his ear, looking at him with the expression one might use for an idiot.
" We are, of course, law-abiding citizens. Seeing an illegal gathering here, we came in to help call the Police, and incidentally, provide some humanitarian persuasion. Look, haven't they all realized their mistakes now and started reflecting deeply on their lives? "
Gintoki pointed to the burly men on the ground who were still crying and shouting about wanting to go back to the countryside to raise pigs.
" That's right, that's right! "
Sato Kazuma nodded repeatedly, stuffing his bulging pockets a bit further in, looking perfectly sincere.
" Hero, you have to testify for us. We risked our lives to protect the people's property from these heinous criminals. "
He shook the gold chain he had just " borrowed " in his hand, then quickly tucked it away.
Matt Murdock's hearing caught his rapidly accelerating heartbeat as he lied, as well as the faint rustling of metal and banknotes rubbing together in his pocket.
" Hollow, hollow, hollow... " Perona held up her small parasol, lifting her chin haughtily.
" A mere mortal has no right to know this princess's name. But considering you're dressed like a red chili pepper, this princess will allow you to kneel and kiss the tips of my shoes. "
Matt fell silent.
In his " World, " the heartbeats, breathing, and emotions of these three people were like a mass of uninterpretable garbled code.
Hidden within their laziness were sharp blades, their tension was laced with greed, and beneath their pride lay pure willfulness.
They didn't look like criminals, and even less like heroes; rather, they seemed like three patients who had escaped from a mental asylum and just happened to possess bizarre abilities.
Just then, the sound of sirens approached from the distance.
" Oh my, the Police are here. " Gintoki patted Kazuma on the shoulder.
" Looks like our award for righteous action will have to be mailed to the Yorozuya. Let's go, let's go, time for a late-night snack. "
" Wait a second! " Matt stepped forward, trying to stop them.
" Stop right there! "
Perona pointed her small parasol, and a Negative Hollow silently passed through Matt's body.
Matt felt an indescribable, bone-chilling fatigue and despair instantly seize his heart.
" Why do I even bother being Daredevil... " His figure swayed, and he dropped to one knee, his fists hanging limply.
" Matt Murdock is just a piece of trash... A blind lawyer by day, getting beaten up at night... I can't even afford rent anymore... I'm a total failure... "
" Hey! Perona! " Kazuma was startled.
" Why are you using that move on a hero! "
" He was blocking the way. " Perona said righteously.
" Wow, you can even take down a hero; your move really is an indiscriminate attack. " Gintoki clicked his tongue in wonder, then signaled.
" Forget about him, he'll be fine in two minutes. Let's bolt, otherwise, when the Police arrive, we won't be able to explain all this ' stolen loot. ' "
The three of them didn't linger; taking advantage of the night, they quickly disappeared at the other end of the alley.
A few minutes later, Matt snapped out of that negative emotional state. He gasped for air, his back soaked with cold sweat. He stood up, looked in the direction where the three had disappeared, and the expression beneath his mask was graver than ever before.
What on Earth... was that?
Meanwhile, on the top floor of a skyscraper in Manhattan.
The massive floor-to-ceiling windows offered a panoramic view of the dazzling night scene of the entire New York, as if the whole city were prostrate at the feet of the room's owner.
There were no lights on in the room; only the city's neon glow filtered through the glass, casting mottled light and shadows on a figure as massive as a mountain.
Wilson Fisk, known as " Kingpin, " stood with his back to the door, quietly gazing at his kingdom.
He wore a custom-tailored white suit, holding a cane inlaid with a massive diamond in his hand. The air was so quiet it felt as if it had frozen.
A man dressed appropriately, wearing gold-rimmed glasses, James Wesley, walked in cautiously, even deliberately softening his breathing.
" Boss, " he said in a low voice, with a hint of imperceptible trembling.
" The ' Black Swan ' in Hells Kitchen... has had an incident. "
Kingpin did not turn around. His voice was as calm as a deep pool of water, yet it carried a heart-stopping chill.
" Speak. "
" Just half an hour ago, the Butcher Gang was attacked in a bar. According to... according to the survivors' descriptions, Daredevil broke in first. " Wesley paused, choosing his words carefully.
" Then, three people of unknown identity appeared. "
He took a deep breath and repeated the nearly absurd intelligence gathered from the survivors.
"...One of them, a little girl dressed in gothic style, just waved her hand, and our men fell to their knees crying, completely losing their will to fight. "
" Another, a teenager who looked like a student, could steal anything off a person out of thin air... from pistols to... underwear. "
" The last one was a man with natural silver curly hair who, using only a wooden sword, took down the best fighter among the ' Butcher ''s men in an instant. "
After finishing, Wesley waited nervously. He knew how ridiculous these words sounded.
The silence in the room lasted for a long time.
Kingpin turned around slowly. His massive frame cast a mountainous shadow in the dim light, and the expression on his fat face betrayed neither joy nor anger.
" I don't care about the loss of money. "
He finally spoke, every word squeezed out from between his teeth.
" My men, on my own turf, were cleaned out like trash by a persistent vigilante and three circus clowns who popped out of nowhere. "
" This is a slap in my face. "
He was not roaring, but Wesley felt a chill shoot from the soles of his feet straight to his skull. He knew Kingpin was truly enraged. The anger of this underground emperor was never expressed through volume, but through this icy, extreme calmness.
" Boss, those people's abilities are very bizarre, our men... "
" Enough. " Kingpin raised his hand, interrupting Wesley.
" I don't need excuses. I only want results. "
He walked behind his massive desk, interlaced his fingers, and placed them in front of him.
" Daredevil, this rat scurrying in the gutter, has challenged my order again and again. Now there are three more unstable ' variables. ' "
A flash of coldness and ruthlessness, typical of a strategist, flickered in Kingpin's eyes.
" To deal with chaos, one must use stronger force to completely erase it. Once and for all. "
He looked at Wesley.
" Go contact someone. "
" Who? "
" Three months ago, he wiped out an entire warlord's Base in the Middle East all by himself, using only one knife and two pistols. "
" Two months ago, he assassinated a heavily guarded Yakuza leader in Tokyo, leaving no trace of his existence at the scene afterward. "
" A month ago, in Europe, he made an international criminal syndicate completely disappear from the list. "
Kingpin's voice was without a ripple, as if he were stating an insignificant fact.
" He is called ' Deathstroke. ' A newly emerged mercenary who, in just three short months, with a 100% mission completion rate, has topped every underground dark web list. Some call him the ' King of Mercenaries. ' "
Wesley's heart skipped a beat. He had certainly heard of the name Deathstroke. It was a legend rapidly rising in the Dark Dimension, a symbol representing death and efficiency. It's just that no one expected him to be this strong.
" Go contact him. " Kingpin repeated, his tone unquestionable.
" Tell him he can name his price; he can fill in the number on the check himself. "
He paused, and the tip of his diamond cane tapped lightly on the smooth desktop, making a crisp sound.
" I only want four heads. "
" Daredevil's, and those of the three clowns. I want their heads placed on this table. "
" Yes, Boss. "
Wesley lowered his head and quickly exited the room.
In the empty office, Kingpin was once again the only one left. He turned back around, looking out at the imperial night scene outside the window, his eyes filled with bottomless darkness and murderous intent.
---
On the other side of the Earth, in an abandoned warehouse that had just experienced a bloody battle.
Slade Wilson, also known as Deathstroke, was sitting on an ammunition crate, meticulously wiping the blade of his high-frequency vibration sword with a clean white cloth.
The blade was as clean as new, reflecting not a single drop of blood, as if the dozens of throats he had just severed were merely an illusion.
His tactical suit, made of mesh-woven metal, was stained with a little dust, but not a single tear could be seen. Underneath his signature two-toned helmet, the red eyepiece of his left eye flickered with a cold light.
[ Congratulations to Raid Faction player — — Deathstroke, for successfully completing the mission to wipe out the " Blood Scorpion " mercenary group Base, obtaining 10,000 Reputation Points. ]
Deathstroke had no reaction to the system panel that popped up before him, simply slowly sheathing the cleaned longsword into the scabbard on his back.
To him, this was just another job completed.
Just then, a prompt for an encrypted message connection sounded in his helmet's built-in communicator.
He extended his finger and tapped lightly on the side of the helmet.
A humble and respectful voice, processed through a voice changer, rang out.
" Good evening, Mr. Deathstroke. I am Wilson Fisk's agent. My boss has a commission he hopes you will execute. "
Deathstroke did not speak, simply listening quietly.
" The targets are in New York. There are four in total. One of them is a local vigilante, codenamed ' Daredevil. ' The other three are of unknown identity but possess some kind of... special ability. "
" Regarding the remuneration, Mr. Fisk said that the price is not an issue. "
The voice on the other end of the communicator paused, seemingly waiting for a response.
Deathstroke remained silent. He stood up, walked to the warehouse door, and looked at the sky outside, which was dyed red by the flames of war.
New York... that city full of freaks in strange costumes and self-righteous heroes, just like Metropolis and Gotham in his own World.
"...Mr. Fisk's exact words were, " the voice in the communicator sounded again, carrying the awe of conveying an order.
" He wants to see the heads of these four people. "
The corners of Deathstroke's mouth, beneath the helmet, finally curled into an almost imperceptible arc.
Special abilities?
That sounds much more interesting than cleaning up these trash who only know how to use guns.
He raised his hand and tapped the helmet again.
" Send the data over. "
His voice was hoarse and cold, like metal grinding against metal.
" The mission, I accept. "