The newly-refurbished Anti-Hulk armor stood tall like a silver tower, gleaming with a dazzling brilliance.
White Night flexed the mech's fingers and found no resistance at all. A satisfied smile curved his lips. The advanced material, capable of absorbing external impact, was proving to be incredibly useful.
As for whether it was a waste to coat the Anti-Hulk armor in such material… Well, the great Ultron once gave a scathing review of how Earthlings used vibranium:
"The most versatile metal in the universe, and you inferior %$#@&?! use it… to make a frisbee?"
Compared to making a shield, this at least seemed more cost-effective.
"Mr. Ethan, the old monk and the others have arrived. Should we let them in?"
A burst of static crackled from the wall speaker before a slightly anxious voice came through.
White Night looked up and raised a hand toward the speaker. "Let them in."
The voice replied almost immediately, now tinged with relief. "Understood. Opening the gate now."
"Keep the temperature above the melting point. Let's go." White Night turned to a small robot that was drifting about in a leisurely manner.
The bot promptly flipped midair, and the lights on the control console began to blink as it adjusted the temperature of the plasma furnace.
Once the vibranium had returned to a smooth, liquid state, the two of them—along with the little robot—left the furnace room and headed toward the chamber where Venom was being kept.
They hadn't even fully stepped into the room when a thunderous scream suddenly pierced the air, shattering the calm like a bolt of lightning through the night.
"I WAS WRONG! I WAS SO WRONG!"
The voice was filled with deep regret and anguish, echoing down the empty corridor.
Soon after, sobbing followed—low and pitiful, like a flood pouring straight into their ears.
"You hear that?" White Night opened his helmet and smiled at the Scarlet Witch beside him. "The path to redemption begins here."
"Yeah… sure." Wanda's facial muscles twitched as she replied perfunctorily.
Rounding the corner into the room, they saw a man covered in bizarre tattoos curled up on the floor, furiously slapping himself in the face.
And he wasn't faking it either. The sharp smack smack smack echoed through the air, making Wanda grimace as if those slaps were landing on her own cheeks.
Nearby, a previously "purified" Ronnie was crouched beside the man, gently patting his shoulder and murmuring, "It's okay, brother. We all understand what you're feeling."
A little farther away, seven or eight brawny, sorrowful-looking men stood silently—judging from their appearance, they were probably members of some gang as well.
"Sob sob sob… I should be dead… I'm a living piece of garbage…"
The tattooed man struggled to stand with Ronnie's support, only to burst into tears again.
"…This is… hard to describe," came a familiar voice from the right.
White Night and Wanda turned simultaneously to see Old Daredevil standing beside the Punisher and the elder Hawkeye. All three of them wore strange, unreadable expressions.
Frank in particular looked conflicted. His hand hovered near his holster, unsure whether or not to draw.
By his usual standards, there was no forgiveness for criminals—remorse or not. If you'd done evil, you were a target. But Walter had claimed the White Queen's brainwashing had truly changed these people.
Normally, Frank wouldn't care and would've still put a bullet in them.
But for White Night's sake… he chose to hold back. For now.
"My monks aren't going to get brainwashed too, are they?" Matt Murdock stepped up beside White Night, his clouded eyes peering through the red lenses at the Anti-Hulk armor.
He couldn't actually see, of course—but he liked to do little things like this to seem like he could.
Then he gestured toward the glass chamber, where Venom had retreated and the White Queen now lay on a couch, enjoying a relaxing massage.
"Ah, no need for 'brainwashing'," White Night popped his helmet and shook his head. He preferred the more elegant term—purification.
He then gestured at Venom, who looked a bit sulky. "But the serum is still only a semi-finished product. Everyone who gets injected needs a symbiote to repair their internal tissues and suppress rejection."
"Sigh…"
Staring—figuratively—at Venom and the crying gangsters, Old Daredevil didn't voice his doubts.
He had waited far too long. Decades of watching the world fall apart had frozen his once-burning blood. He had grown numb to everything.
But now… there was a glimmer of hope. A chance to fight back against the supervillains.
His long-dormant heart could not stay still any longer.
"Bring them in."
With a sweeping gesture, dozens upon dozens of monks appeared from the direction he came. Their appearances varied—some young, some old—but every one of them carried a presence that was serene and otherworldly.
Their steps were even and coordinated as they approached Daredevil, forming a wide circle before bowing to him in unison.
Matt turned to White Night, a solemn look in his eyes.
"This is everyone the Chastity Wall Monastery can send," he said, his voice steady and low—but resonating with deep power.
"They've all undergone rigorous combat training and possess extraordinary willpower and endurance. They are ready for you. Ready to follow your command."
He even used honorifics at the end.
White Night gazed deeply at Daredevil. No matter how much time passed, deep down… the old monk was still a superhero.
"Then let's begin. After today, a new army—one capable of ending everything—will rise from these wastelands."
He stepped aside, opening a path for the monks to proceed forward, toward Venom.
One monk stepped up and took the serum Walter handed him. Without hesitation, he jabbed the syringe into his arm.
The moment the serum entered his bloodstream, his eyes bulged violently. Blood gushed from his nostrils as he clutched his head, groaning in pain.
Just then, Venom shot toward him like a streak of black lightning. The fluid black body stretched out and gently enveloped the monk.
From the side, Hawkeye watched in silence, his gaze filled with complex emotions.
He had lived through countless battles and revolutions—seen too many lives lost and heroes fall. But now, watching this…
Something stirred within him.
It felt like the beginning of a new story—one filled with uncertainty, and hope.
Clint extended his hand toward the towering Anti-Hulk armor.
With grave sincerity, he said:
"Inject me too."
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