"Iron Legs! So you're the Iron Legs!"
Inside the private box, gunshots and Hammerhead's miserable screams rose and fell in rapid succession. Daniel only holstered his Golden Desert Eagle once the entire magazine was empty—yet even then, he felt oddly unsatisfied.
He wasn't the type to remember grudges for long.That was why he preferred to settle everything on the spot.
And he definitely hadn't forgotten Hammerhead's smug, mocking expression earlier.A mere NPC dared provoke the Fourth Great Calamity—players?He was pretty much begging to be turned into a respawnable corpse.
Hammerhead's legs were a grotesque sight: riddled with holes, blood soaking through his pants and staining the carpet a dark, horrifying brown. The agony he had endured in those brief seconds was practically inhuman.
Now, sprawled on the floor, Hammerhead's eyes had lost focus. His lips trembled, repeating endlessly:
"I have the Iron Head technique… not the Iron Legs technique… Iron Head… not Iron Legs…"
Under the sofa, Wesley watched all of this unfold with a numb, trembling gaze. His throat bobbed hard.
Too brutal.
He had been in the underworld for years.He'd seen plenty of corpses.He'd witnessed countless shootouts.
But this?He had never seen anything like this.
One man had nearly wiped out the entire Maggia gang.And he toyed with Hammerhead—one of the most notorious gang bosses—like a child tormenting an ant.
This wasn't a fight.It was a slaughter.
For the first time in ages, Wesley silently prayed.Not for salvation.But for this demon-like man to simply not notice him.
Perhaps the gods were listening.
Daniel didn't spare him a glance. He simply grabbed Hammerhead by the ankle and dragged him out of the private room like hauling out a piece of trash.
Only when Daniel's footsteps grew distant did Wesley's heart begin beating again.
"Hallelujah…"
He crawled out, forcing himself not to look at the corpses and blood pooling across the floor. Hands shaking, he dialed a number.
"What is it?"A deep, authoritative voice answered.
"Mister Fisk," Wesley swallowed. "Something happened. The Maggia is… gone. And Hammerhead has been captured."
"Hmm?"A hint of surprise."The Devil's Gang? The Russians?"
"No… neither." Wesley's voice trembled. "It was one man. He wiped out the entire gang by himself. Even Hammerhead fell. And based on what he said… he seems to be with the NYPD."
Fisk: "?"
Since when was the NYPD this terrifying?
Meanwhile, Daniel dragged the unconscious Hammerhead through a dark alley.As for the little rat who'd escaped the room earlier—Wesley—Daniel didn't bother. He wasn't a "Red Name" target; killing him wouldn't drop any loot anyway.
"System, why can't I use the map for fast travel?" Daniel complained inwardly.
[When carrying live organisms—or items exceeding 10 kg—map travel is disabled.]
"Got it." Daniel glanced at Hammerhead. "Then I'll just chop him up and take ten kilograms of meat with me."
[…]
Before Daniel and the system could continue their bizarre debate, a sharp sound sliced through the air.
Something was coming—fast!
A dark red baton shot downward like a venomous snake, aimed precisely at Daniel's wrist.
Bang!
The gunshot and impact rang out almost simultaneously.Daniel didn't even turn his head—his hand simply lifted, and the Desert Eagle roared.The bullet struck the baton mid-air, sparks flying as the weapon clattered to the ground.
Daniel raised his gaze.
Above the club entrance, standing atop a tall streetlight, was a figure clad entirely in dark red leather. A horned mask covered the upper half of his face; the lower half revealed a rugged, unshaven jaw.
The dim yellow streetlight cast his silhouette in stark contrast against the night—like a demon lurking in the shadows.
Daredevil.
The Devil of Hell's Kitchen.
"Hand him over."Daredevil's voice was low, hoarse, and commanding. He pointed at the unconscious Hammerhead.
Daniel grinned."You tell me to hand him over, and I just obey? That'd make me look bad."
Daredevil's brow tightened under the mask."He deserves to be judged by the law—not tortured by you."
"What a coincidence," Daniel said with a shrug. "I am the law. NYPD."
"No. You are not."Daredevil's tone hardened."A real officer wouldn't act like you. I can smell the blood on you."
As God shuts one door, sometimes he opens a back door.For Daredevil, every sense except sight had become superhuman.
He could hear heartbeats.Track breathing.Sense danger through vibrations.Smell the faintest scents clinging to a person.
And the scent of blood on Daniel——it wasn't something you got from killing ten or twenty men.
It was the scent of someone who had slaughtered hundreds.Maybe thousands.
"How many people have you killed?" Daredevil couldn't help asking.
Daniel chuckled."Do you remember how many loaves of bread you've eaten in your life?"
The casual cruelty of the answer made Daredevil inhale sharply.
As a devout Catholic, he lived under an absolute no-kill rule.What Daniel treated as a game—a massacre—was blasphemy to him.
"That was a living human life!" Daredevil's voice rose in fury.
"Human life?"Daniel laughed lightly."Just data. They won't truly die."
Then he lowered the muzzle toward Hammerhead.
"Like this."
Bang!!
Daredevil's breath froze.
The bullet ripped through Hammerhead's neck cleanly—
Iron Head or not, his protection didn't extend that far.
Blood erupted in a violent spray.
Hammerhead twitched once, then lay completely still.
Daniel sighed.
"A shame. The mission score would've been higher if he stayed alive. But dragging him was annoying."
On the streetlight, Daredevil stood completely frozen.
He killed…
casually.
Without hesitation.
Because it was inconvenient?
A chill crawled up Daredevil's spine.
He was facing something far worse than a criminal.
He was facing a monster.