That single word, "brother," crashed down.
The wind in the alley stopped.
The distant city's clamor, the wail of sirens, Elektra's hurried breathing—everything was instantly stripped away.
The World became a silent, static black-and-white painting.
In the center of the frame were a fist that had pierced the enemy's chest and a pair of eyes, hidden behind the mask, revealing an eerie calm.
Moon Knight's body froze there.
The White fury that burned everything, the pure killing intent originating from the deepest part of Jack Lockley, was rapidly dissipating.
In its place was a cold, sharp... confusion.
Brother?
Who was calling him?
The word, like a rusty key, plunged into a long-sealed lock deep within his mind, and then, slowly turned.
"Creak—"
The door opened a crack.
Behind the door was endless darkness and some blurry fragments he desperately wanted to forget.
Rain.
Cold rain.
A pitch-Black hole.
And a hand... slipping away.
"No..."
A voice, not Jack's, not Stephen's, but his own, most primal voice, echoed deep within his soul.
He slowly, mechanically, pulled out his arm.
His movements were as stiff as a rusty robot.
"Thud."
Shadow Knight's body, losing its support, softly knelt to the ground and then fell forward.
His mask hit the dirty puddles.
Moon Knight looked at his left hand, covered in blood and broken flesh.
Sticky, warm.
This wasn't the first time.
As Marc Spector, he had far more blood on his hands than this.
But this time... it was different.
An unprecedented panic, like a cold tide, engulfed his heart.
He had to... confirm.
He had to see that face.
He knelt, his trembling hand reaching for the Black mask.
Elektra stood not far away, her palms, gripping her twin sai, clammy with cold sweat.
She didn't know what was happening.
But she could feel that the aura around Moon Knight had changed.
The rabid ferocity of a mad dog had vanished.
In its place was a... precarious fragility.
Like a towering building on the verge of collapse.
The mask was removed.
Beneath the mask was a familiar face.
Pale, stained with blood, but the features were remarkably clear.
A face Marc Spector knew intimately.
A face he thought he would never see again.
A face... that appeared in his nightmares every night.
Randall Spector.
His brother.
"..."
Marc's mind was blank.
Time, at this moment, completely stopped.
No.
Impossible.
Randall... was dead.
Many years ago, he died in that dark cave during the torrential rain.
He had seen it with his own eyes.
He... was responsible for his death.
But this face before him... this face... "Ah..."
A discordant sound, like a leaky bellows, squeezed from his throat.
The floodgates of memory were completely breached.
Countless suppressed, forgotten images, sealed by Khonshu's divine power, surged into his mind like a bursting dam!
"Brother, let's explore that cave! They say there's treasure inside!"
"Brother, the Water... the Water is rising! I'm so scared!"
"Brother, hold me! Quick, hold me!"
"Mark—!"
That cold little hand slipped from his palm.
His brother's desperate face was instantly swallowed by the muddy floodwaters.
He crawled out of the cave alone.
Covered in mud and Water, and burdened with sin.
From that day on, his mother's gaze towards him was filled with venom and hatred.
From that day on, he became the sinner of the family.
From that day on, he split into Stephen Grant, that gentle, kind, ignorant "other person."
He fled his family, joined the army, became a mercenary, numbing himself with slaughter and blood.
He thought he had buried that memory.
But now, it was back.
In the most cruel, most bloody way, it returned before him.
He hadn't caused his brother's death.
He had personally... killed him.
A second time.
"Ah—ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah—!"
A non-human roar, filled with endless pain and despair, erupted from the depths of Marc's throat, tearing through the night sky of Hell's Kitchen!
That wasn't a roar of anger.
That was the sound of a soul being utterly crushed.
The power in his body, the physical abilities brought by Khonshu's divine power, everything was drained in that instant.
Like a puppet with its spine removed, his knees buckled, and he fell heavily to the ground.
Kneeling beside his brother's corpse.
He reached out, wanting to touch that pale face, but his hand trembled uncontrollably.
That hand, stained with his brother's blood.
"Randall..."
He finally uttered the name.
His voice was hoarse, broken, filled with endless regret.
"I'm sorry..."
"I'm sorry..."
"I'm sorry..."
He repeated it over and over, like a broken tape recorder.
He picked up his brother's cold body, holding him tightly in his arms, as if that could make him warm again.
But that body was rapidly losing its temperature.
Just like many years ago, in that cold cave.
Elektra stared blankly at the scene.
She was accustomed to death.
She herself had crawled back from the abyss of death.
But the sight before her still sent a chill to her bones.
This wasn't a battle.
This was a meticulously planned, years-long, most malicious curse targeting a person's soul... In William's office.
On the holographic screen, everything happening in the alley was clearly displayed.
When Shadow Knight's mask was removed, William's expression became solemn.
"contract."
"I'm here, sir."
"Immediately perform facial data comparison. I need to know who he is." William's voice was cold.
"Comparing... Facial data highly matches Mr. Marc Spector's family member archives."
"Randall Spector. Marc Spector's brother. Official records show he died 15 years ago from accidental drowning."
William looked at the completely broken White figure on the screen, cradling the corpse and weeping.
He understood.
Everything became clear.
The Hand's resurrection technique.
Alexandra.
They weren't just trying to create an enemy for Moon Knight.
They dug out Marc Spector's deepest original sin, resurrected it, and then brought it before him, making him kill it again with his own hands.
What a brilliant scheme to destroy his heart.
"Sir, the target's mental state is extremely unstable, and physiological indicators are rapidly declining."
"He is self-destructing."
William took a deep breath.
An out-of-control client was already troublesome.
A completely broken client was a nuclear bomb that could detonate at any moment.
"Contact Dr. Connors." William issued new instructions, "I need a psychological isolation room of the highest security level, and the most advanced neuro and mental trauma treatment plan."
He paused, his gaze shifting to the helpless red figure on the screen.
"contract, notify Elektra."
"Tell her to bring him back."
"Bring both of them back."
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