The knife, propelled by immense force, struck Bullseye's forehead dead-center, shattering the handle with its sheer power. His skull caved in, leaving only a mist of blood drifting slowly to the ground.
The air crackled with the stench of scorched flesh, courtesy of the lightning imbued in the throw.
Luke Cage, approaching with a plastic bag in hand, froze in shock. Jessica Jones stood rooted to the spot.
"I sense a soul's aura—the kind demons crave, steeped in sin."
A voice echoed from the plastic bag.
Bul-Kathos frowned, looking like an old man squinting at a phone on the subway.
"You still haven't dealt with this scum?"
Bul-Kathos clapped his hands, glancing at Luke Cage.
As for Jessica Jones, he paid her little mind.
She wasn't the type to lose her nerve at the sight of a corpse, despite her lingering trauma from combat.
Bul-Kathos had no patience for those who dealt with demons.
Back in the day, that fool Resard bragged he could control any summoned demon—only to have his head eaten by one. A passing barbarian dispatched the creature, forging its skull into the legendary Resounding Skull helmet.
It sat on the hood of Bul-Kathos' pickup, adding a certain flair.
"I was about to ask if keeping this guy around would cause any trouble."
Luke, still reeling from Bullseye's gruesome demise, hadn't fully processed the scene.
He was used to slaughter in the secret realms, but watching a human's head explode was a bit much.
He lifted the plastic bag, pulling out Baal's head and tossing it lightly.
"Clean this up."
Bul-Kathos spoke casually to the lingering agent before turning back to his blacksmith shop.
Luke shook his head, gripping Baal's skull by the crown, and followed Bul-Kathos.
Jessica lingered outside for a moment before steeling herself to enter the shop.
"Call the cleaners. It's by the blacksmith shop near the park."
The agent sighed, already dreading another report.
Bullseye's death needed to stay under wraps—handling it would be a hassle.
Fisk might have some pull, but against S.H.I.E.L.D., he was powerless.
Worst case, the agent mused, he'd flash a tax bureau badge and have a "chat" with Mr. Fisk.
"Some Nephalem keep harmless little demons as pets, sending them to fetch coins or trinkets. But no Nephalem keeps a thing that can't even move as a pet."
Bul-Kathos sat at a table, munching on a black loaf of bread as he spoke.
In his younger days, he'd kept a chubby little demon as a pet, even a hound with demon blood.
He'd named the demon Ten Pounds of Meat, but it vanished in some battle—maybe pulped into ten pounds of mush during one of his whirlwinds.
Just a demon. Bul-Kathos hadn't cared much.
"I figured I could learn some Hell lore from this guy's mouth. I don't like that motormouth Constantine, but the knowledge he spouts seems worth learning."
Luke mumbled, hesitant.
"Prove to Mardoc you've got a human's knack for learning first," Bul-Kathos said, pausing mid-sentence. Repeating Mardoc's crude insults in front of Luke felt inappropriate.
"That I'm no better than a donkey? I get it. I'm no genius. If I was, I wouldn't have been a aimless thug."
Luke took it in stride, unfazed.
"He said you're one of the least promising barbarian warriors he's seen. Stiff as a board, like that head on your shoulders is just decoration. Swap it for a bristly rat's head, and it'd control your body better."
Seeing Luke's nonchalance, Bul-Kathos continued.
Baal wanted to shout he could control the body, but the growing pressure from Luke's grip on his skull kept him silent.
"He thinks you'll never inherit his legacy or forge your own legend from his glory. But you're the only successor he's chosen in all these years."
Bul-Kathos set down the bread, the loaf thumping on the table.
Baal sighed in relief, feeling cracks in his skull but spared as Luke eased his grip.
"Why'd he pick me?"
Luke met Bul-Kathos' gaze, unflinching, fearless.
"Do you know his name, his legend?"
Bul-Kathos held Luke's stare, speaking slowly.
Combat Prophet Mardoc lost only once in his life—the battle that claimed it.
His record stood at 486,913 victories, one defeat.
Daily battles were routine for barbarians.
Over centuries, the demons he'd slain were beyond counting.
Luke Cage knew his mentor as Mardoc, nothing more.
The Combat Prophet always foresaw battle outcomes.
In all his years, he never saw defeat—except in his final fight, when he glimpsed his own death.
He'd watched countless barbarian warriors descend the Sacred Mountain but never chose a successor.
Now, he'd chosen Luke Cage, despite doubting Luke could match his strength.
But Luke wasn't as hopeless as Mardoc claimed.
He was boasting to the other ancestor spirits, proud of finding a worthy heir, pinning high hopes on him.
"I… don't."
"Then ask the other ancestors. One will tell you what Mardoc's name means. Then you'll understand why he chose you."
Bul-Kathos rose, taking Baal's head from Luke. He stuffed a Shimmering Crystal into its mouth and tossed it into the forge.
Born of fire, Baal wouldn't burn, but he'd become what Luke needed.
A glowing blue portal opened before Luke.
(Chapter End)
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