Wilson Fisk tensed immediately at Kurogai's declaration. His fingers clenched around the armrest, indenting the leather. To make such a demand—in Fisk's own territory—was shockingly audacious. He'd agreed to talk, but only under the assumption of mutual respect. Now Kurogai's words made clear that compromise was off the table.
"You've gone too far," Fisk said at length, his face a storm of controlled rage. But Kurogai spoke without hesitation, eyes steady, words measured: Surrender to me, Fisk. The aim was clear—he intended to absorb Kingpin's entire empire, turning Fisk into a subordinate and an informant in his new network.
"You're seeking your own end, boy," Fisk roared, fury ignited. He rose abruptly, ripping the chair from its place and hurling it at Kurogai. But the attempt was laughable. The chair passed through Kurogai's form as though it were made of smoke, embedding itself in the wall behind him.
Angered but calculating, Fisk turned and seized a machine gun hidden nearby. Without a second's pause, he pulled the trigger and opened fire—bullets tearing through the poolside terrace with lethal intent.
The hail of rounds was merciless—spread, aimed to cut off any escape. Yet something strange happened: no matter how he fired, each bullet passed through Kurogai's form, as though shooting at air.
Kurogai's hair fell over his eyes. Then they changed. His irises turned blood-red as a black pupil formed a slowly swirling triangular pattern. The Sharingan Kamui activated.
Fisk paused mid-spray, cold sweat on his brow as he realized what he was seeing—or failing to see. The bullets didn't hit. Kurogai was moving beyond perception.
"Speed," Fisk murmured in disbelief. Faster than a bullet.
Before Fisk could reset his aim, Kurogai had closed the distance. A single punch struck Fisk in the abdomen, a blow so precise and devastating it sent Fisk crashing to the ground. But Kurogai didn't kill him—he was incapacitated, not executed. After all, a living Fisk could serve more purpose than a corpse.
"Surrender to me, Fisk, and swear never to betray me," Kurogai commanded. He tossed his hair back and his eyes glowed bright crimson. He activated Geass—the mythical power of binding contracts through gaze and will.
A red aura flickered in Fisk's eyes. Anger dissolved into dulled acceptance. He nodded shakily.
"Yes, I submit."
Thus, Fisk became bound to Kurogai's will—not as a mindless puppet, but as a willing lieutenant so long as Kurogai remained present.
Kurogai offered his first order. "Find me Victor von Doom. Lead me to Doom."
Fisk's eyes shone with unwavering obedience under the aura's influence. He rose onto trembling knees. "Yes, master."
Without another word, Fisk turned and vanished into the compound to execute the command. Kurogai allowed himself a moment's satisfaction before revealing a silent golden glow that marked his departure. He teleported to his orbital base—a sleek, high-altitude ship cloaked from Earth's sensors.
The journey took only seconds. Soon, he descended into the sterile corridors of his onboard research lab. A woman in a crisp lab coat approached—Dr. Helen Cho, chief scientist on his classified experiment.
"Kurogai," she greeted, curiosity clear in her tone. "You've returned to the facility. Are you checking on the experiment's progress?"
He nodded, interest piqued. After all, the experiment's success would define the next phase of his strategy.
"We've made significant progress these past days," Dr. Cho said, excitement infusing her voice. "Although we're not at full completion, the breakthroughs have accelerated. Our control over temporal framing is more stable than before."
Kurogai allowed himself a small smile. Scientific leaps delighted him nearly as much as gaining a crime syndicate. The better the progress... the greater the advantage.