Night, Brooklyn, New York. A fine drizzle fell like silk, and neon lights cast distorted reflections on the wet streets.
Foggy Nelson lay in a pool of blood, his blood mixing with the rain, forming dark red streams on the ground.
Karen Page's hands pressed firmly against his chest, but warm blood continued to gush between her fingers.
"Help! Someone help!"
Her voice was hoarse, almost inaudible, and tears blurred her vision.
"Tap, tap, tap..."
Just then, footsteps came from the darkness behind Karen Page.
Bullseye approached silently, his black combat suit absorbing all light. He looked down at Karen Page's trembling back, slowly raised his pistol, and a twisted, morbid smile formed on his lips.
"Hi, Karen."
His voice was like a rusty blade scraping metal, cold and harsh, morbid and crazed.
Karen Page spun around abruptly, her pupils contracting—the muzzle was aimed directly at her forehead.
"Bang—!"
A split second before the gunshot, a red phantom descended from the sky. Matt Murdock's boot heel slammed into Bullseye's chest, the crisp sound of bone breaking clearly audible.
Bullseye flew backward like a ragdoll, crashing through the bar window, glass shards scattering like a downpour.
"Ahhh—!"
The bar instantly erupted into chaos. Screams, shattering glasses, and overturned tables and chairs mingled together. Drunks pushed and shoved toward the exit; some tripped, some were trampled, and the entire space descended into pandemonium.
Bullseye slowly rose from the broken glass, casually pulling out a glass shard embedded in his shoulder. Blood dripped down his arm, yet he didn't even frown.
Two throwing knives appeared between his fingers at some unknown moment.
"Whoosh! Whoosh!"
A cold glint flashed, and the throats of three bartenders standing between him and Matt Murdock simultaneously burst open with blood. As they clutched their necks and fell, Bullseye had already thrown the knives at Matt Murdock.
"Swish—!"
Matt Murdock tilted his head, and a sharp throwing knife grazed his earlobe before embedding itself in the wall.
"Swish, swish, swish—!"
The second and third followed in quick succession, and he wove through the flurry of knives as if dancing, every inch of his movement precise to the millimeter.
"You've gotten slow, Demon."
Bullseye's voice was like a venomous snake's hiss. Matt Murdock didn't reply, instead throwing three smoke bombs. Thick smoke instantly filled the entire bar, obscuring everyone's vision.
The next second, Matt Murdock appeared like a ghost behind Bullseye, delivering an elbow strike to his nape. Bullseye seemed to have eyes in the back of his head; as he ducked to evade, a dagger thrust at Matt's ribs.
"Clang, clang, clang—!"
The sound of metal clashing rang out repeatedly as Matt Murdock's short bat parried the dagger. The two fought in the smoke, sparks flying with every clash.
Outside the bar, however, Foggy Nelson's breathing grew weaker and weaker. Karen Page's hands were soaked with blood, but she dared not let go.
"Hold on, Foggy... Please, ambulance—"
Her tears fell on Foggy Nelson's pale face.
"The ambulance will be here in twelve minutes."
A strange voice suddenly spoke.
Karen Page looked up warily, only to see a handsome man with red hair in a high Horsetail standing beside her. His trench coat remained motionless in the rain, as if protected by an invisible barrier.
He placed a golden fruit on Foggy Nelson's chest. The fruit emitted a warm, unusual fragrance, and fine lines on its surface glowed faintly.
"Make him eat it, or he won't last until the ambulance arrives."
Looking at her friend, who was barely breathing, Karen Page didn't have time to think. She unhesitatingly pried open Foggy's lips and pushed the fruit in.
The pulp melted instantly in his mouth, and golden juice flowed down Foggy Nelson's lips.
As soon as the fruit entered his stomach, the bleeding from Foggy Nelson's wound visibly slowed, and his chest began to show faint rises and falls. Although his face remained ashen, at least his breathing stabilized.
Karen Page looked up joyfully, wanting to thank the mysterious red-haired man.
But by then, he had already entered the bar behind them. As he closed the door, he specifically flipped the "Open" sign to "Closed."
Inside the bar, the smell of blood mingled with the scent of alcohol.
Matt Murdock knelt on the ground, three throwing knives deeply embedded in his thigh, ribs, and right shoulder.
Blood dripped from his red battle suit, forming dark red streams on the floor. Bullseye was in equally bad shape; his left arm was unnaturally bent, at least three ribs were broken, and blood constantly seeped from the corners of his mouth.
"You're tougher than I imagined."
Bullseye's voice was hoarse like sandpaper rubbing. He slowly approached, his boots crushing glass shards on the floor.
Matt Murdock didn't reply, his breathing heavy and rapid.
Bullseye suddenly lunged, savagely plunging a throwing knife into Matt Murdock's shoulder. The blade twisted once, the sickening crunch of flesh being torn making one's teeth ache.
Matt Murdock grunted, veins bulging on his forehead, but his right hand swiftly pulled out the dagger embedded in his ribs—
"Pfft!"
The dagger pierced through Bullseye's forearm, its tip emerging from the other side. The two stood locked, blood dripping from their intertwined weapons.
"Bang—!"
After Diluc entered the bar, he wasted no words.
He instantly closed the distance, delivering a whip kick to Matt Murdock's chest, sending him flying out of the bar and heavily into the rain beside Foggy Nelson.
Bullseye seized the opportunity to retreat, his left hand reaching for the throwing knives at his waist—
"Swish!"
Diluc's speed was beyond human limits. He gripped Bullseye's injured arm with one hand, violently pulling out the dagger embedded in it, and the moment Bullseye cried out in pain—
He stabbed back!
"Pfft—!"
The blade precisely pierced Bullseye's throat, arterial blood gushing like a fountain, staining the liquor cabinet behind the bar crimson.
Bullseye stumbled backward, his hands futilely clutching his profusely bleeding throat, his eyes filled with disbelief.
"Rumble..."
He collapsed to the ground, convulsing, and in a flash, became a cold corpse.
Diluc flicked the blood from his hands and turned to walk out the door.
In the rain, Matt Murdock struggled to crawl toward Foggy Nelson, leaving a trail of blood behind him... Diluc stepped over Bullseye's corpse, pushed open the bar's broken glass door, and flipped the sign back to "Open."
Matt Murdock knelt in the rain, his fingers tightly gripping Foggy Nelson's wrist.
"Whoever you are, thank you for your help. But you shouldn't have killed him!"
When he heard Diluc's footsteps, Matt Murdock asked in a low voice, weakened by blood loss.
Diluc paused, glanced at him, and replied in a deep voice:
"I'm just a passing intelligence merchant. As for why I helped you... keep that face, and you'll succeed in anything you do."
Matt Murdock frowned, keenly sensing the impatience in the other's words.
But Diluc didn't give him a chance to ask further, continuing:
"One more thing, you'd best redesign your helmet. For example: make the eye structure of the helmet more prominent, so your enemies don't immediately realize you have a visual impairment."
Matt Murdock was stunned, and before he could respond, Diluc's figure vanished into the rain.