It had been two weeks since Juggernaut's rampage tore through New York. The city was left bruised and broken after the behemoth's rampage in the streets, but now the city was beginning to stitch itself back together. Some neighborhoods stood proud again after the reconstruction, their streets freshly paved and some of the buildings looked fully restored. Others were still half-gutted, skeletal frames of collapsed foundations waiting to be rebuilt. Amidst it all, Wilson Fisk had stepped into the light as a benefactor, providing shelter for the displaced. To the public, he was the savior of the broken and the homeless. To those who knew better they were… shocked to say the least as to why in the hell he'd bother with all this.
Inside Fisk Tower
Gojo lounged in Fisk's leather chair, feet kicked up on the polished mahogany desk, spoon digging lazily into a tub of chocolate ice cream. His sky-blue eyes gleamed with idle amusement as he spoke around a mouthful.
"You know what, I've decided. Everything tastes better in chocolate. Ice cream, cake, even damn strawberries dipped in the stuff."
By the window, Fisk stood with his broad shoulders cutting a shadow across the skyline. He didn't turn, but his deep voice rumbled with calm amusement.
"Strawberries do hold their own. But… yes. Cocoa being fermented, roasted, ground into silk. Hmmm, there's a depth to it that strawberries could never rival."
Gojo tilted his head, spoon still between his lips. 'Is it my Kotoamatsukami talking, or does he actually believe what he just said?'
He let the thought drift and finally sighed.
"So. How's the reconstruction going?"
Fisk clasped his hands behind his back. "Well, it's Sixty-seven percent complete. Entire blocks needed their foundations replaced; the rampage cracked most of the supports clean through as well as the concrete's easy. Steel framing, even easier. The structural integrity of most of downtown area were completely destroyed, some of it can't even be repaired or rebuilt so I'm having it all replaced. That slows things down significantly though. My men estimate weeks before stability is fully restored."
Gojo blinked once. Twice. His face went deadpan.
"Ok, ok, I get it. Geez. No need for a TED Talk."
Fisk smirked faintly, but the silence that followed sharpened as Gojo's expression cooled. He lowered the empty tub onto the desk, tapping the spoon against the rim.
"…What can you tell me about the Hand?"
The name alone made Fisk glance back sharply, meeting those piercing blue eyes. "Why would you want to know about them?"
Gojo shrugged, spoon swirling in the air. "Curiosity."
Fisk studied him for a long beat, then exhaled.
"The Hand… they're an old clan of Assassins and mercenaries. Pseudo-religious zealots serving something they call the Beast. My men, before they were killed told me it's no ordinary demon. They're organized into factions, each led by 'chunin' and governed by a jonin. Rank-and-file go by genin. Their structure mirrors ninja ranks."
Gojo chuckled, shaking his head.
'Oh wow, such frauds. At best, they're Iruka-level. Mizuki if they're lucky. Maybe Kotetsu on a good day. But Kakashi? A real jonin? Nah. Not even close.'
Fisk continued, "They've been in my orbit for years now. Madam Gao, one of my associates, is deeply tied to them . She oversees heroin distribution through Rand Enterprises. I assume she's their leader, or at least one of the highest ranking."
"Enough." Gojo slid the tub aside and rose, stretching casually. His tone sharpened. "I don't care about their hierarchy. I care about what they worship."
"The Beast," Fisk rumbled.
Gojo stepped beside him, eyes narrowing as he gazed out at the city.
"More like a god of a sort. And I'm not in the mood to meet another god again anytime soon. So keep an ear out for me will you. Any whisper of that demon or a Black Sky. I want to know about it."
Fisk nodded slowly, turning back to the window. But something gnawed at him. "Wait. 'Again'…? What do you mean, again?"
The room was suddenly empty. Gojo was gone.
Fisk's jaw clenched. He stared back at the city, muttering to himself.
"…What benevolent god did you meet, boy?"
Benevolent indeed.
---
Kamar-Taj
The chamber was still, a sanctum carved into silence. The Ancient One floated cross-legged, suspended a few feet above the floor. Her hands rested in her lap with her palms open.
Then the Eye of Agamotto flared open. Green radiance bled through the room, the Time Stone pulsing as if struggling to contain itself. The Ancient One's face tightened as streams of possibility raced past her sight.
Minutes dragged into eternity. Then the Eye snapped shut causing the light to fade away.
Her eyes opened with her lips pressed thin.
"…Damn it."
She descended slowly, feet brushing the ground as she pushed open the doors of the chamber. Outside, Baron Mordo and Kaecilius straightened at the grim set of her face.
"What is it?" Mordo asked.
She moved past them and they followed.
"There's a calamity upon us."
Kaecilius frowned, quickening his pace. "What kind of calamity?"
"I don't know," she said flatly, and that unsettled them both more than any answer could.
Mordo's brow furrowed. "Perhaps it would be wise to use the Stone—"
"I already did."
They froze.
"The last time you couldn't divine a future with the Stone was…" Mordo began slowly.
"Yes." Her voice was clipped. "It was when I tried to look at the boy."
Kaecilius' eyes narrowed. "So this is about him again."
The Ancient One shook her head. "No, not exactly him. But whatever this is he will be involved."
They reached the library. A particular book vibrated faintly against its bindings, pulsing like a heart. The Ancient One laid her hand against the cover.
Mordo's eyes widened. "The page the rogue stole… it's reacting."
"Which means," Kaecilius murmured, "it's gained enough energy to attempt a summoning."
"Not yet," the Ancient One said. Her eyes were grim. "The page requires an infusion. One that matches the entity it seeks to call forth."
Mordo swallowed. "…You mean—"
"Yes." Her gaze hardened.
"A massive source of negative energy."
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