Chapter 71: Pietro became the number one lackey, buying breakfast for Aaron every day.
Aaron nodded.
He ignored Pietro's face, which had turned the color of pig's liver.
His finger slid across the bar counter, and a light blue sticky note was pushed in front of Pietro.
The handwriting on it was scrawled, carrying a kind of impatient casualness.
"Since you've taken the card, move faster."
Aaron picked up the already cold coffee and poured it into the sink.
"I'm not used to eating things that have been reheated twice."
Pietro lowered his head to look at the list.
First line: London Bond Street, the scones from that century-old shop, they need to be freshly baked.
Second line: Paris Montmartre Highlands, the handmade croissants from the corner cafe, only the flakiest layer.
Third line: New York Queens, Old Wang's breakfast shop's soy milk and fried dough sticks, the soy milk needs to be piping hot, and the fried dough sticks need to be crispy.
Pietro's hand holding the note was trembling.
"Are you serious?"
He looked up and stared at Aaron, his teeth grinding audibly.
"London, Paris, New York... Are you playing with me?"
"Can't Quicksilver even run this little distance?"
Aaron raised an eyebrow.
"If you feel your stamina is no good, you can go back and continue staying in the glass jar."
Wanda pulled at the corner of Pietro's clothes from the side.
She looked at her brother, her eyes carrying a bit of supplication, and a bit of... curiosity about that list.
"Pietro, I want to taste that... blueberry pie."
Pietro forcefully swallowed back the curses that had already reached his lips.
He could flip the middle finger at Aaron, but he couldn't refuse his sister's sparkling eyes.
"Wait."
Pietro squeezed two words out from between his teeth.
The next second.
A weak cyclone stirred up in the living room, and the curtains whipped up abruptly.
Pietro's figure disappeared from where he stood.
The gold card on the bar counter was gone.
Aaron sat back down on the sofa, patting the non-existent dust on his trouser legs.
"Red Queen, turn the home's air filtration System up to maximum."
"I don't want the whole house smelling of Atlantic Oceansea salt in a moment."
Ten minutes later.
The floor-to-ceiling glass windows of the living room hadn't stopped trembling slightly yet.
Another ring of cyclone burst open.
Pietro returned to his original spot.
A fine layer of sweat seeped out on his forehead, and his chest rose and fell violently.
A few droplets of water hung on the hem of his blue sweatshirt, which had been dampened by the wave peaks when crossing the Atlantic Ocean.
Three packaging bags of different colors were neatly stacked on the bar counter.
One was printed with a miniature of London's Big Ben.
One carried the fleur-de-lis pattern of France.
The last one was an ordinary plastic bag containing white soy milk cups.
"Three portions of scones, four croissants."
Pietro's voice carried heavy panting, "And your... soy milk and fried dough sticks."
He slapped that gold card onto the marble slab, making a crisp sound.
"Efficiency is passable."
Aaron reached out and pulled a fried dough stick out of the plastic bag.
Still piping hot.
The golden and crispy skin broke between his fingers, making a pleasing crisp sound.
"Mhm, the heat is just right."
Aaron took a bite, his mouth full of oily fragrance.
He pointed at the remaining bags, "Call them out to eat breakfast."
There was no need for Aaron to call.
Gwen, Felicia, MJ, and Natasha had already appeared in the dining room.
They wore various nightgowns, and the air instantly gained several different layers of floral and fruity fragrances.
"London's scones?"
Gwen's eyes lit up, and she grabbed one, stuffing it into her mouth completely disregarding her image.
"Aaron, you actually let this silver-haired kid be a cross-sea courier?"
"He runs fast, it's a waste to let him stay idle."
Aaron took a sip of soy milk, looking cozy.
Felicia picked up a French croissant, leaning sideways against the bar counter, her gaze sizing up Pietro.
"Kid, nice technique."
She pointed at the layered flaky crust of the croissant, "Actually not broken at all."
Pietro originally wanted to cold-snort and act cool.
But he found that he couldn't chime in at all.
The five women sitting in this living room, the aura exuded by every single one of them made him feel inexplicably suppressed.
That woman in black (Felicia), her shadow twisted beneath her feet.
That girl wearing a hoodie (Gwen), her fingertips slid along the cup wall with astonishing force.
And that red-haired Russian woman (Natasha), the way she looked at people was like a skinning knife.
What made him the most desperate was.
Wanda had completely fallen.
Wanda sat on Aaron's left side, eating in small bites the blueberry pie that Pietro had run thousands of kilometers to buy back.
She peeked at Aaron from time to time.
Whenever Aaron's gaze swept over her, she would quickly lower her head, her earlobes as red as a ripe tomato.
"Wanda, is this delicious?"
Gwen leaned over and handed Wanda a scone.
"Try this, spread with Devonshire cream, Aaron's favorite flavor."
"Thank you... Young Miss Gwen."
Wanda responded softly, taking it somewhat nervously.
"Just call me Gwen."
Gwen generously put her arm around Wanda's shoulder, but her gaze inadvertently swept toward Aaron.
That was a declaration of territorial awareness.
Although she accepted the new member, she had to determine who the "big sister" here was.
Felicia held her coffee, a playful smile hanging on the corners of her lips.
"Aaron, the house is getting livelier and livelier."
She stretched out her long legs and kicked Aaron's sofa leg, "Shouldn't you consider changing to a bigger dining table?"
"Troublesome."
Aaron swallowed the last bite of the fried dough stick.
He felt a subtle atmosphere fermenting in the air.
That was the collision of several different magnetic fields, mixed with dependency, possessiveness, and a little bit of a slightly sour sense of competition.
This was the Shura field.
Previously there was only Gwen and Felicia, later MJ and the Natasha named "bodyguard" were added.
Now there was an extra Wanda who regarded Aaron as a savior.
This kind of atmosphere was even more brain-burning than S.H.I.E.L.D.'s interrogation room.
Aaron couldn't be bothered to care; he was only responsible for providing the eaves to shield from the wind and rain.
As for how they divided their territory, that was their business.
"Go to work once you finish eating."
Aaron looked at Pietro, "Go to Tokyo this afternoon, I want to eat the hand-pressed sushi made by that old man in Ginza."
"Remember to bring an ice pack; if the temperature deviates by even one degree, I'll throw you into the Pacific Ocean to feed the fish."
Pietro was originally rubbing his leg, but upon hearing these words, his hands suddenly stiffened.
He opened his mouth, and finally looking at Wanda's face that had recovered its rosy color, resignedly lowered his head.
"...Got it."
The dignified Quicksilver.
The super-human regarded by HYDRA as the ultimate weapon.
Now became the top errand boy in all of New York, no, the entire Earth.
Breakfast ended.
The girls chirped together to study the latest fashion magazines.
Meanwhile, Natasha was in the corner, using that encrypted phone to handle the subsequent intelligence of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s internal purge.
Aaron stood up, holding a cup of warm black coffee, and walked toward the spacious terrace.
The wind blew across New York's high altitude, whipping up his collar.
This was the top of Manhattan.
Beneath his feet were all living beings, above his head were the stars.
Aaron leaned against the white jade railing, his fingertips gently rubbing the rim of the cup.
Inside his brain, that ability named "God-level Prediction" had not extinguished.
Instead, like a high-frequency flashing neon light, it beat frantically in the depths of his consciousness.
That was a certain early warning of the reality dimension.
An extremely chaotic, cold, and heavily gunpowder-scented violent aura.
Was frantically spreading along the bustling streets from the southwest direction of Manhattan.
Aaron turned his head slightly, his gaze crossing the forest of skyscrapers.
Looking toward that corner forgotten by the neon lights.
Hells Kitchen.
That place was originally Kingpin's territory.
After Kingpin's death, that chaotic quagmire not only failed to calm down.
Instead, like a pot of boiling swill, it was breeding a more disgusting, more distorted monster.
The water vapor in the air seemed to have become heavier.
Aaron smelled a nauseating rot scent.
Like a corpse that had sunk to the bottom of the Hudson River for several years suddenly surfacing.
In his field of vision, a subtle crack appeared in the originally stable Void Realm.
That was the physiological disgust generated by the reality dimension due to the gathering of extremely evil forces.
"Interesting."
Aaron took a sip of coffee.
"Just finished cleaning up a rat hole, and another group of dumpster divers comes?"
On his God-level Prediction screen, red alarms were stacked layer upon layer.
In the direction of Hells Kitchen, a pitch-black pillar of smoke was rising.
At the center of that smoke pillar, countless distorted wills were roaring.
Aaron put down the coffee cup.
The sound of the cup bottom striking the stone material appeared exceptionally abrupt on the silent terrace.
He felt.
There was a pair of muddy, greedy, and evil-filled eyes, right in that dark corner.
Crossing heavy obstacles, attempting to peer into this cloud skyscraper symbolizing power.
That aura did not belong to humans.
Nor did it belong to any technology or Mutant known to Aaron.
That was an even older, stickier malice.
Aaron pulled at his sleeve.
He had originally wanted to continue enjoying this lazy afternoon.
But it seemed that those scum of Hells Kitchen didn't plan to let him quietly finish drinking this cup of coffee.
Chapter 72: Disturbances in Hells Kitchen, Daredevil Matt Comes Looking
The evening wind in Manhattan always carried a scent of metal and gasoline.
Aaron leaned against the white jade railing, the cup of coffee in his hand having gone completely cold.
He glanced down at the cup; the milky-white latte art had already dispersed, looking like a patch of color devoid of any aesthetic appeal.
A thin film had formed on the surface of the coffee.
He casually set the cup down on the stone countertop.
The sound of the collision was somewhat muffled.
Aaron looked toward the direction of Hells Kitchen.
That was the navel of New York, concealing the deepest filth.
Due to Kingpin's sudden death, the order there was like an anthill crushed by a single kick, and chaos was overflowing everywhere along the dark sewers.
"Red Queen."
Aaron spoke, his throat feeling somewhat dry.
"Master, I am here."
A faint blue light outlined the phantom of a little girl at the edge of the terrace.
"Has the commotion over in Hells Kitchen still not stopped?"
Aaron pulled an unopened pack of cigarettes from his pocket, his fingertips brushing across the plastic film and producing a harsh scraping sound.
"According to surveillance analysis, forty-two gunfights have occurred in Hells Kitchen over the past twenty-four hours."
Red Queen's voice was calm and mechanical, devoid of any emotional coloring.
"The docks, casinos, and drug routes previously controlled by Kingpin are being contested by over a dozen small factions."
"Furthermore, high-frequency cold weapon combat fluctuations have been detected, which do not belong to conventional Gangs."
Aaron opened the cigarette pack and pulled out one.
He didn't light it, merely holding it between his lips to feel the faint bitterness of nicotine on the filter.
"Do those rats think that I simply killed Kingpin and then plan to just sit back and ignore what's happening there?"
Aaron sneered.
The building beneath his feet was now the terminus of the entire New York underworld.
Half of the bills Felicia brought back every day were stamped with the bloody handprints of Hells KitchenGangs.
Meanwhile.
Hells Kitchen, the rooftop of the Clinton District.
Matt Murdock wore that dark red battle suit.
The leather material emitted a deep luster in the shadows.
He crouched on the edge of the water tank, rainwater dripping down the sharp corners of his helmet and hitting the floor with pattering sounds.
He was listening.
For Matt, this World was not composed of light, but of countless vibrations, heartbeats, and air currents.
He was Daredevil.
But what he felt now was unprecedented panic.
In the whispers of those Gang members, he heard a name.
Aaron.
Or rather, "the man living in the clouds".
All the money that originally belonged to Kingpin was flowing through covert channels into that skyscraper in the center of Manhattan.
What made Matt even more uneasy were the assassins that had recently appeared in Hells Kitchen.
They wore black tight-fitting clothes, moving like ghosts.
They did not seek wealth, only efficiently reaping those Gang leaders who attempted to resist.
"Order has changed."
Matt muttered to himself softly.
He tightened his grip on the folding baton in his hand, his knuckles turning slightly pale from excessive force.
When Kingpin was in power, New York was a nightmare with rules.
But now, New York seemed to have become a deity's private back garden.
That sense of oppression did not come from violence, but from a "matter-of-fact" takeover.
Matt stood up from the water tank.
He caught an unusual frequency in the wind.
That frequency came from the highest terrace in Manhattan.
There was a heartbeat there.
The frequency was extremely slow, as steady as a mountain, completely unlike a normal human.
He decided to go have a talk.
Not as a lawyer, but as the Guardian of Hells Kitchen.
He wanted to see what kind of "rules" the man who could kill Kingpin like a dog ultimately wanted to set.
Fifteen minutes later.
Outside the bulletproof glass of the Manhattan penthouse.
Matt, like a dark red bat, clung to the exterior facade of the building.
This place was hundreds of meters off the ground.
The strong wind blew his battle suit rustling loudly, but the muscles in his limbs were steady.
He could hear the movement inside the room.
The sound of a few girls turning book pages, and their even breathing.
And that man.
Aaron was still standing on the terrace.
Holding that unlit cigarette in his mouth, he turned his head sideways to look at the shadows outside the glass window.
"You've been clinging to the outside for three minutes."
Aaron's voice was very flat, penetrating the thick bulletproof glass and falling clearly into Matt's ears.
"If your palms are sweating, I don't mind letting Red Queenopen a window for you."
Matt's body stiffened slightly.
He believed his heartbeat frequency had dropped to the lowest, and he had even used the wind to cover all friction sounds.
But the other party was as if they had eyes growing on the back of their head.
Click—
The side sensor door slid open automatically.
The soft indoor lighting spilled out, shining on Matt's face wearing the red mask.
Matt lightly leaped onto the terrace.
His landing posture was very standard, his legs slightly bent, discharging all gravitational inertia.
The two sections of the folding baton in his hand were already joined together, ready to fight at any moment.
"Aaron Parker."
Matt spoke, his voice hoarse, carrying a year-round suppressed heaviness.
Aaron turned around.
He didn't look at Matt's baton, merely reaching his hand into his pocket to pull out a sterling silver lighter.
Clack.
A blue flame surged up.
Smoke rose between the two of them, emitting a scent of high-grade tobacco.
"Mr. Lawyer, visiting in the middle of the night, you shouldn't have brought an indictment, right?"
Aaron bit down on his cigarette, sizing up this "blind man" through the smoke.
In his eyes, Matt's bodily structure was clear at a glance.
The developed auditory nerves, keen sense of touch, and that slightly weary-beating heart.
"Hells Kitchen does not need a new king."
Matt held the short baton horizontally, blocking it in front of him.
"You killed Kingpin, and I thank you. But your people are taking over all the illegal industries there."
"You are creating another Kingpin Empire."
"King?"
Aaron exhaled a puff of smoke, the smoke rings slowly dissipating in the air.
"Matt, your imagination is too lacking."
Aaron took a step forward.
He walked very slowly, his leather shoes making a steady sound on the floor.
But to Matt, this step felt like the Earth's crust moving.
"Kingpin liked to control everything because he was a Mortal; he needed that money and power to fill the fear within his heart."
Aaron stopped one meter in front of Matt.
"I am different."
"I simply dislike having rats squeaking blindly in the middle of the night within my territory."
Matt felt a surge of heat.
That was a terrifying energy level emanating from Aaron's body that did not belong to a living creature.
Subconsciously, he wanted to retreat.
Because his senses were too acute, he could "see" the distortions in the air caused by Aaron's existence.
That was gravity warping.
That was the reality dimension wailing.
"Go back to being your lawyer."
Aaron reached out, his fingertips touching Matt's short baton.
"Hells Kitchen will become very quiet."
"If anyone doesn't plan to be quiet, I will make them disappear forever, in a physical sense."
Matt gritted his teeth, exerting force in his wrists, attempting to push away Aaron's hand.
But he found himself pushing against a solid Vibraniumwall.
Immovable.
"This isn't fair."
Matt growled lowly.
"You cannot decide everyone's life and death."
"I can."
Aaron withdrew his hand, his gaze turning a fraction colder.
"In this New York, I am fairness."
Matt took a deep breath.
He stopped wasting words.
As the Guardian of Hells Kitchen, he could not accept this near-tyrannical logic.
His figure abruptly dropped low, the short batons in his hands striking like two vipers straight for Aaron's ankles and waist.
This was a combination of professional boxing and ninjutsu.
Fast, accurate, and fierce.
However.
At the very instant Matt launched his attack,
his entire person seemed as though a pause button had been pressed on him.
No.
Time had not stopped.
Rather, his senses—that proud, life-dependent Super Hearing—
at this moment, completely turned into utter silence.
This silence was not quietness.
But rather a void stripped of a sense of existence.
Matt leaped onto the terrace.
But just as he landed, he felt an unprecedented pressure.
This pressure did not come from weight, but from the trembling of the Soul.
The "fire-colored World" constructed from sounds in his mind instantly collapsed.
The sound of the wind disappeared.
Aaron's breathing disappeared.
Even the sound of his own heart beating wildly was forcibly erased by some invisible force.
Matt seemed to have fallen into an absolute vacuum with no sound, no vibration, and no feedback of any kind.
Because he lost spatial positioning, his originally fatal blow struck directly into the air.
His legs went soft.
That unprecedented pressure instantly caused this "blind man" accustomed to a noisy World to experience an extreme sense of dizziness.
His World went completely black.
A thorough, physiological blackness where even the Soultrembled.
Chapter 73 Matt: "Your heartbeat is too calm. Are you even human?"
Wind swept through Manhattan's steel jungle, slamming against the floor-to-ceiling glass windows and producing a dull whistling sound.
Matt Murdock stood at the edge of the terrace, his feet locking tightly onto the marble ground.
The red leather battle suit revealed a dull sheen under the moonlight.
The blind cane in his hand had been folded into a short baton, his knuckles pressing out pale-blue marks from excessive force.
"You are Aaron Parker?"
Matt spoke, his voice hoarse as if it had been ground on sandpaper.
He slightly tilted his head, utilizing his superhuman ears to capture the vibrations in the air.
In his sensory World, the World was not colorful, but composed of countless beating red lines.
That was the feedback of heat, airflow, and sound.
This was his "Radar Sense".
Aaron still leaned against the white jade railing.
He pinched an unlit cigarette between his fingertips, flipping a lighter in his palm, producing a crisp metallic clinking sound.
"The watcher of Hells Kitchen, climbing my window in the middle of the night just to ask for a name?"
Matt didn't answer.
He was concentrating with all his might.
He was not only listening to Aaron speak; he was listening to Aaron's heartbeat.
This was his most invincible weapon as a lawyer and vigilante—no one could lie in front of his ears.
Lies would bring about an increase in blood pressure, a delay of a fraction of a second in heart rate, and heavy breathing in the lungs.
However, Matt's cold sweat slid down the edge of his helmet into his neck.
What did he hear?
Silence.
At Aaron's position, where a human heartbeat should have belonged, was utter silence.
Wrong, not utter silence.
Matt held his breath, even forcibly lowering his own heart rate.
He finally heard it.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
That heartbeat was shockingly slow.
Only forty times per minute, as steady as an ancient stone clock deeply buried underground.
There was no noise caused by tension, no acceleration caused by sudden situations.
Even the sound of blood flowing through the blood vessels exuded a nearly mechanical precision and iciness.
"Your heartbeat... is too calm."
Matt's hand holding the baton trembled slightly, the tip of the short baton tapping lightly against the marble.
He had lived for so long and heard countless people's heartbeats.
Dying people, furious people, or even ruthless overlords like Kingpin.
But not a single person was like Aaron.
Aaron's heartbeat didn't feel like a living teenager, but more like a heavy nuclear reactor draped in human skin.
"Are you even human?"
Matt took half a step forward.
At this distance, he could smell a faint herbal fragrance on Aaron, which was the scent of top-tier cigars.
This everyday aura, combined with that non-human heartbeat sensation, gave him an extreme sense of absurdity.
Aaron finally lit the cigarette.
The blue flame flashed by, illuminating his face written full of laziness.
He exhaled a puff of smoke, which dissipated in front of Matt's sensitive nostrils.
"Attorney Matt Murdock."
Aaron spoke, his tone sounding like reading out a verdict with no suspense in a courtroom.
"Partner of the Murdock and Nelson firm in Hells Kitchen."
"You should be in the office accompanying your fat partner to handle tax cases instead of wearing a suit of red leather here acting as a human lie detector."
Matt froze in place entirely.
He felt as if a basin of ice water was poured down from the top of his head, with coldness seeping even into his spine.
His identity had been exposed.
So casually, so indifferently.
"How do you know..."
"Red Queen, show our lawyer friend his file."
Aaron pointed at the air.
A light-blue holographic screen pulled open between the two of them.
Dense text flashed across it.
There were even Matt's transcript from law school and the purchase record of his smashed blind cane.
"Things S.H.I.E.L.D. cannot investigate do not mean I cannot investigate."
Aaron flicked away the cigarette ash.
"In this New York, if you want to play hide-and-seek with me, at least learn how to mask your sweat odor first."
Matt felt a sense of collapse.
The secret he took pride in was as thin as a cheap piece of draft paper in front of this teenager.
He realized that the teenager in front of him was not some new Gang leader.
He was a true deity.
An arbitrary Dominator who treated the entire Manhattanas a chessboard.
"You have taken over the industries of Hells Kitchen."
Matt forced himself to stay spirited, biting the tip of his tongue to let the pain wash away that dizziness.
"That is a crime, Aaron."
"No matter how strong you are, you cannot use your will to override the law."
"Law?"
Aaron looked at Matt, as if he had heard a very funny joke.
"When you wear this skin, jump into dark alleys to shatter the ribs of those drug dealers, have you ever thought about the law?"
"When you have no way to save those poor souls through normal appeal channels and can only use fists to solve problems, where is the law?"
Matt was at a wordless loss.
His fingertips turned white, and the short baton was squeezed by him until it creaked.
He could not refute, because he himself was a rebel of the legal system.
"I brought order to Hells Kitchen."
Aaron took a step forward.
This step of his completely shattered Matt's psychological defense line.
Matt felt a gravitational pull so heavy it was suffocating, emanating from Aaron.
"In the past Hells Kitchen, ten passersby would die every night."
"Now, that number is zero."
Aaron stared at Matt's helmet, his gaze seeming to pierce through the red leather and stab straight into his eyes.
"Because they know that whoever dares to shed blood there, his entire family will become fertilizer in the Hudson River."
"This is my law."
Matt took two steps back.
He felt a tightness in his chest, an illusion caused by the life energy level emanating from Aaron being so high that the surrounding oxygen became thin.
His radar sense began to disorder.
The World twisted crazily in his mind, and the originally stable red lines turned into shattered color blocks.
Just at this moment.
Aaron's fingers suddenly stopped in mid-air.
He did not turn back, but in those black pupils, a rare chill flashed.
"It seems that not only lawyers like to make midnight visits."
Aaron sneered.
Matt also noticed it.
His ears sharply captured the anomaly coming from below.
That was not a single person's heartbeat.
That was hundreds and thousands of them.
Not just heartbeats.
That was a weird, extremely slight scratching sound.
Like countless pairs of straw sandals stepping on the cold metal outer wall.
It also carried a stale smell mixed with dried blood and decaying straw.
Matt abruptly leaned over the edge of the terrace, looking down below the building.
His expression instantly turned paler than paper.
I saw in the shadows below the Stark Industries building...
Countless figures wearing red tight suits, like a swarm of dark red worker ants, were climbing rapidly upward along the vertical outer wall of the building.
Their movements were extremely fast, without safety ropes, relying entirely on the iron claws at their fingertips and astonishing leaping power.
Under the moonlight, the long sabers on the backs of those people refracted a pale white light.
In the silent night veil, this scene was suffocatingly bizarre.
"The Hand..."
Matt's voice trembled.
He gripped the short baton tightly, that bone-deep fear sweeping through his whole body once again.
As Daredevil, he knew very well the horror of these red-robed ninjas—they had no sense of pain, were tireless, and were true killing machines crawled out of Hell.
"Hundreds and thousands of them..."
Matt muttered to himself, he could hear the sound of those ninjas drawing bowstrings and the slight hiss of long sabers being drawn from their scabbards.
This was no longer a Gang shootout.
This was a war.
The red shadows below the building were already approaching the top floor.
And right at the forefront of these ninjas...
A thin, heavily wrinkled old man was clinging to the glass like a gecko, carrying a trace of a cruel smile at the corners of his mouth.
That was Bakuto.
One of the five fingers of The Hand.
Aaron pinched out the cigarette in his hand.
He looked at the first red head popping up at the edge of the terrace, the laziness in his eyes gradually replaced by a violent and fierce aura.
"Soiling my carpet requires paying a price."
Aaron said in a low voice.
Before the words fell.
The red shadows below leaped up instantly, and dozens of kunai gleaming with toxic light came piercing through the air.
Chapter 74: The Hand summons Black Sky? Sorry, the mystery box yields divine thunder.
Red shadows swarmed like locusts.
Hundreds of figures in dark red bodysuits had steel claws reversed on their fingers.
Their nails scratched against the special glass outer wall of Stark Tower, producing a teeth-gritting, screeching sound.
It sounded like hundreds of giant rats grinding their teeth.
Because their movements were too fast, dense white scratches were left on the glass surface.
Matt Murdock pressed against the terrace railing, lowering his center of gravity.
Rainwater hit his red leather mask, dripping down his chin.
The baton in his hand made a slight creaking sound from being squeezed too hard.
"They are here for the Black Sky."
Matt's voice trembled, every word seeming to be forcefully squeezed out from his throat.
"Aaron, you don't know what this group of lunatics is going to do."
"They are going to make a sacrifice under that old clock tower and summon that thing."
In his auditory World, the originally orderly night view of New York had completely collapsed.
Hundreds and thousands of faint, nearly silent heartbeats were rapidly climbing up along the wall.
That was not a human heartbeat, but a rotting rhythm forcibly kept alive by some evil arts.
It was like dry leather rubbing against each other.
Aaron leaned sideways against the railing.
He looked at the first red head popping up from the edge of the terrace and raised his eyebrows slightly.
That ninja wore a black mask and held a poison-laced long blade in his hand, the edge exuding a nauseating blue-green hue.
"Black Sky?"
Aaron casually threw away the cigarette at his fingertips.
The cigarette butt drew a faint spark, accurately hitting the ninja right on the forehead.
"That kind of sludge crawling in the shadows is worthy of making me move?"
He was feeling very unhappy right now.
Just a moment ago, while chatting halfway with this "Blind Man", right when he was enjoying the pleasure of controlling the whole situation...
A group of scum exuding the smell of rotting straw suddenly climbed over the wall.
This feeling was like drinking top-tier Bordeaux red wine, and a fly suddenly falling into the glass.
"Hiss—!"
The ninja hit by the cigarette butt let out a hoarse cry.
He slammed his foot against the wall and leaped up, the long blade drawing a cold arc under the moonlight, aiming straight for Aaron's throat.
Aaron didn't even move.
The air in front of him distorted bizarrely.
Bang!
The long blade crashed into the vector barrier, sending sparks flying everywhere.
A tyrannical kinetic energy rebounded, and a series of crisp bone-shattering sounds instantly came from the ninja's wrist.
The entire person, like a broken cloth bag, was bounced hundreds of meters high into the air, and his screams were instantly swallowed by the wind.
But more red shadows jumped up.
They were like fearless machines, rushing in wave after wave by stepping on their companions' shoulders.
Below the building.
Five aged and chilling auras gathered together.
Bakuto, Madame Gao, Sowande, Murakami, and Alexandra.
The "Five Fingers" of The Hand, this group of old monsters who had lived for several centuries, were standing in the shadows at the bottom of the building at this moment.
Madame Gao leaned on her cane, her full face of wrinkles looking like a crumpled old newspaper.
Her shriveled lips moved slightly, uttering a string of ancient and obscure incantations.
"Pure blood, summoning the eternal shadow."
"The Black Sky is coming, those who shall stand in the way... will all be dust."
On the side of the building, several tightly bound sacrifices were thrown onto the snow.
Fresh blood flowed along the cracks of the floor tiles.
A pitch-black, viscous thing exuding extreme malice was being forcibly pulled out from the depths of the Earth's core.
Matt suddenly covered his ears, dropping to his knees on the ground.
"No... that kind of sound..."
He heard Hell.
That was thousands of wronged Souls screaming, and some indescribable dimensional demon god prying open reality.
Aaron looked at these small pieces of trash.
They left strings of dirty bloody footprints on the floor.
Even a ninja's kunai scratched the white jade railing he had just replaced not long ago.
[Ding!]
The crisp and almost pleasant prompt tone of the Systemrang abruptly in Aaron's mind.
[Large-scale evil dimensional creature invasion detected.]
[The Hand's "Black Sky" summoning ritual detected, seriously disturbing the host's lazy life.]
[Plot deviation degree is soaring crazily!]
[Congratulations to the host for opening a random critical hit mystery box (Purple-Gold tier)!]
Aaron narrowed his eyes.
Purple-Gold tier, one level higher than when he gave buffs to Wanda and the others just now.
"Open."
Aaron recited silently in his heart.
In his mind, a treasure chest entwined with thunder and purple Qi burst open abruptly.
There was no textual description, only a violent, supreme power carrying the aura of judgment.
Flowing along Aaron's spine, it instantly poured into every single one of his cells.
[Congratulations to the host for obtaining: Ultimate Control over the Nine Heavens Thunder (Conceptual Tier)!]
[Effect: The host is divine might itself, able to act on behalf of the heavens to punish. Wherever the fingertips point, thunder will definitely arrive.]
[Note: This ability comes with a "Purification" attribute, dealing 1000% true damage to all dimensional demons and undead spirits.]
Aaron felt a numbness at his fingertips.
That feeling didn't feel like an electric shock, but more like he was now holding the master switch of all positive and negative charges in the entire New York.
He raised his head.
The originally clear, moonlight-drenched night sky of Manhattan changed color in an instant.
A deep, oppressive, and lead-gray textured heavy dark cloud crazily gathered from all directions.
The clouds pressed lower and lower, almost touching the top of the building.
The humidity in the air dropped abruptly.
Dry static electricity crackled and popped at everyone's hair ends and clothing corners.
"What's going on?"
Bakuto downstairs suddenly looked up.
He had lived for five hundred years and had never seen such a bizarre celestial phenomenon.
The center of the dark cloud was not a rotating vortex, but a forming purple thunder pool the size of a millstone.
Matt was also stunned.
Although he couldn't see the clouds, he could hear the sound coming from above the firmament.
That wasn't wind; those were the screeching sounds of countless thunder serpents devouring and rubbing against each other in the clouds.
That sound was sacred and tyrannical, instantly shattering the chilling aura originally belonging to the "Black Sky".
"Aaron..."
Matt supported himself on the railing and stood up, his fingertips trembling.
He felt that the calmness on Aaron's body had disappeared.
Replaced by it was a kind of Creator-like coercion that made him want to worship on his knees.
Aaron extended his left hand, his index finger slightly curled.
He gently tapped towards the five fingers below his feet who were conducting the evil ritual.
"Noisy."
Aaron spoke, his voice not loud, but it seemed to detonate directly in everyone's mind.
"Shut... up."
Crack!
The originally pitch-black cloud layer was forcibly torn apart by a dazzling purple light.
The entire city of New York was as bright as day at this moment.
No.
That was a purple carrying an aura of destruction, even more dazzling than daylight.
Those old monsters of The Hand hadn't even had time to let out an exclamation.
Their summoning ritual had just reached the halfway mark, and that pitch-black demon god phantom had just revealed a corner.
A streak of purple divine thunder, thicker than a water vat and carrying an archaic, vast aura—
Roaring.
Screaming.
It was like a divine spear descending from the Nine Heavens.
Instantly.
It locked onto the shadow beneath Stark Tower.
Bakuto's eyeballs were filled with the reflection of the thunder light.
Madame Gao's cane snapped into pieces directly on the marble floor.
They felt that the thunder wasn't striking the air.
It was following a certain Karma.
Locking onto their Souls.
The divine thunder had not yet arrived.
The surrounding air was already emitting bursts of scorched smells due to the high heat and high pressure.
Aaron stood at the edge of the terrace.
The purple thunder light reflected in his black pupils, making him look like a judge walking out of mythology.
He didn't even look at that group of old monsters.
He merely turned his head and said indifferently to Matt, who still hadn't recovered his wits:
"You said just now that the law decides life and death?"
"Now, I'll let the heavens decide."
Thunder roared.
That was a loud noise capable of shattering the Soul of the entire Manhattan.
The purple thunder light.
Had already touched Bakuto's old face, which was completely distorted with terror.
Chapter 75: Instant Thunder, the Five Old Monsters of The Hand Turned to Ash in a Second
A purple pillar of thunder tore through the night sky of New York.
Without warning, without a long buildup.
In that instant, all the neon lights in Manhattan seemed dim and lightless.
The entire Hells Kitchen was forcibly dragged into a negative World of only purple and white.
Boom—!
The sound only arrived a fraction of a second later.
That was an eardrum-shattering sonic boom.
On several streets below Stark Tower, the street-facing glass windows shattered simultaneously.
Tiny glass shards fell like raindrops onto the marble floor, clinking softly.
Aaron stood at the edge of the terrace.
The purple light reflected on his profile, outlining a nearly cold contour.
One of his hands was still shoved in his pocket.
The index finger of his other hand pointed directly at the shadow below the building.
Thunder poured down from the Nine Heavens.
That was a pure power of judgment without a trace of Impurities.
Bakuto had originally been spreading his arms, chanting a hoarse incantation in his mouth.
In his eyes that had lived for five hundred years, there was first fanaticism, which was then filled with endless purple.
He tried to raise the carbon-fiber longsword in his hand to block.
Snap.
Within one ten-thousandth of a second of contacting the thunderlight, the longsword directly sublimated into a gaseous state.
The purple thunder snake followed his fingertips and instantly pierced through his spine.
Bakuto's body twitched violently in the pillar of light.
His skin became transparent, and the process of his bones turning into fine powder in the thunderlight could be clearly seen.
There was no smell of blood.
Only a thick smell, like scorched old paper of bygone years.
"No... It shouldn't be..."
Madame Gao's voice was abruptly cut off by the thunder.
Her bone-china cane, which never left her side, instantly turned into a pool of pale white powder on the ground.
This old woman who called the wind and rain in Hells Kitchen was curled up like an air-dried orange at this moment.
The thunder brushed past her shoulder.
Half of her body instantly vaporized.
Sowande, Murakami, Alexandra.
These old monsters who had left countless terrifying legends in history.
In front of the heavenly might casually summoned by Aaron, they were as fragile as a piece of straw paper thrown into a stove.
Five fingers, five Souls that had lived for centuries.
Within one second, all of them turned into five pools of grayish-brown powder.
When the wind blew, they completely dissipated in the shadows of Hells Kitchen.
What eternal youth, what forbidden arts of Kunlun.
In front of absolute power, they couldn't even count as a joke.
Those red-clad ninjas who were originally fearless of death all froze at this moment.
Their proud sorcery was shattered into pieces in the aftermath of the thunderlight.
Tiny purple fires leaped on everyone's body.
After the flames burned past, all that was left were smoking mummies.
"Black Sky" had originally been forming.
That viscous, pitch-black energy body exuding ultimate malice.
It had just poked its head out from the center of the Earth, trying to emit its first roar.
The thunder smashed directly into the center of the black vortex.
That was the absolute purification of darkness by light.
The black smoke didn't even have time to struggle before it was forcibly erased by the high temperature.
The rotting smell in the air disappeared.
Replaced by the pungent smell of ozone and the cool, desolate feeling after a thunderstorm.
Matt Murdock slumped on the carpet.
His hands pressed tightly against his ears, and his teeth chattered violently.
Even though he was blind, he felt that light.
That was an intense light that could directly burn his brain perception.
In his radar senses, during that one second just now, the entire World disappeared.
All frequencies were occupied by that single bolt of heavenly thunder.
No heartbeat, no breathing, no sound of wind.
Only that earth-shattering strike.
"Is it over?"
Matt let go of his hands, panting heavily.
His throat was full of the urge to retch.
This kind of power...
He had originally thought Aaron was just a powerful superpower user, or a tyrant proficient in black magic.
But now, he overturned all his own cognitions.
Who could casually command the thunder of the Nine Heavens?
Who could erase the five immortal monsters of The Handlike squashing bedbugs?
Matt stood up, supporting himself against the railing.
His fingers touched the railing, which still carried the lingering warmth after the lightning strike.
He turned his head sideways; although he couldn't see, he could feel Aaron's aura.
Aaron was standing right there.
His aura was still steady.
His heartbeat was still slow.
Even the astonishing strike just now didn't cause his blood pressure to fluctuate even a little bit.
"Is this the power of a god?"
Matt spoke bitterly.
He suddenly felt that his red leather battle suit and those two meticulously crafted short sticks.
and the scenes of him jumping around on the roofs of Hells Kitchen.
were just like a child playing in the mud.
"A god?"
Aaron finally withdrew his finger.
He gently patted a few purple light spots stained on his cuffs.
"Matt, don't think of me as so Advanced."
"I just felt that those few flies made my head a little ache."
He turned around and walked toward the sofa.
"Red Queen, go have the cleaning robot sweep the streets below clean."
"Although that dust is an antique, looking at it is annoying."
"Command confirmed."
The holographic phantom flickered.
The apartment's automatic defense System slowly closed, and everything returned to its previous silence.
Matt stood on the terrace, the cold wind messing up his hair.
He knew that starting tonight, Hells Kitchen had completely changed.
Without The Hand, without Kingpin.
It would usher in a new, absolute rule.
And the maker of that rule was sitting on the sofa, leisurely drinking coffee that had been warmed up again.
Meanwhile.
Behind an old water tank two blocks away from Stark Tower.
A strapping man was kneeling on one knee.
He was draped in a tactical trench coat, inside of which was a body armor sprayed with a huge white skull.
That was the Punisher, Frank Castle.
Beside him stood a heavy tactical case.
Inside was a modified Barrett M82 rifle, as well as several special ammunitions developed against superhumans.
He had originally come to hunt The Hand.
Those villains he had tracked for months, who could never be killed completely.
Frank's palms were full of cold sweat.
The knuckles holding the rifle grip were squeezed into a circle of white marks due to excessive force.
As a top-tier Marine commando, he had witnessed countless cruel battlefields.
But he had never seen this kind of Carnage.
Yes, Carnage.
Not even counting as a "battle".
He watched with his own eyes as the thunder fell.
Watching those elite ninjas who gave him endless headaches turn into a wisp of light smoke in the pillar of light.
In the scope, he clearly captured Aaron's figure standing on the terrace.
That teenager who looked only eighteen or nineteen years old.
Just moved his fingertips.
Frank put down the rifle.
His eyes were as cold as iron, but deep down he hid a trace of dread he had never had before.
He pulled a cheap cigarette from his bosom, and the lighter struck several times before it lit.
He lowered his head and looked at the ruins under his feet.
The shattered glass, the scorched marks still smoking.
In this dark city, he had always believed that he was the ultimate judge.
His muzzle was the truth.
But now, he looked at the lit window on the top floor of Stark Tower.
He discovered.
On this stage called New York.
The gunpowder and smoke of gunpowder he was so proud of.
In front of that teenager, actually appeared so pale and powerless.
Frank exhaled a puff of smoke.
He silently closed the tactical case, clicking the latch shut with a click.
He knew that from now on, a name circled in red pen would be added to his list.
That was not a target.
That was a forbidden zone.
At the edge of the ruins, it was dark and damp.
Frank shouldered the heavy tactical case and took one deep look at the top floor of the building.
Afterwards, he faded into the shadows of the alley.