The East End was worse than the Bowery—denser, filthier, and run by men who thought they were kings because they owned a few city blocks. I didn't care about their money; I cared about their hatred.
I moved through the rooftops, my boots silent on the cold stone. Every time a stray bullet from a turf war caught me, or a desperate mugger managed to slide a blade between my ribs, the world would reset. Ten kilometers away, I would wake up, stronger, tougher, and more resilient.
My body was changing. My skin felt like cured leather, and my bones were becoming as dense as industrial pipes.
The Fortress of Flesh
I stood before the "Iron Heights" social club, the primary hub for the East End's most violent crew. I didn't carry the Glock anymore. I had dropped it in a sewer three blocks back. It was a crutch for the weak.
"Hey! No entry!" a massive bouncer yelled, stepping into my path. He swung a lead pipe with enough force to crack a skull.
I didn't dodge. I let the pipe slam into my temple.
Clang.
It sounded like metal hitting metal. My head didn't snap back. I didn't even bruise. I just looked at him, my eyes reflecting the dull red glow of my Shadow Warriors lurking in his peripheral vision.
[DEATH PREVENTION ACTIVE]
Attribute Update:
Strength: 15
Agility: 15
Defense: 35 (Priority Focus: Tanking)
Spirit: 15
Note: Defense focus will remain until 100.
I grabbed the lead pipe, my fingers crushing the metal like it was made of tin foil. I ripped it out of his hands and drove the jagged end through his chest, pinning him to the heavy oak door behind him. He didn't even have time to scream before I twisted it, making sure the mess was visible for anyone watching.
The Massacre at Iron Heights
I kicked the doors open. Inside, twenty men froze, their drinks halfway to their mouths.
"Who sent you? Falcone? Penguin?" the man at the center table demanded, reaching for a submachine gun.
"Death sent me," I replied. "And I've come to collect."
They opened fire. A storm of lead filled the room. In the past, this would have killed me instantly, sending me ten kilometers away to respawn. But now, my Defense was climbing. The bullets hit my chest and flattened, dropping to the floor like harmless pebbles. Some drew blood, but the wounds closed as fast as they opened.
I walked through the hail of gunfire, a literal juggernaut of flesh and shadow.
I raised both hands, and the shadows in the room didn't just rise—they screamed. Ten Shadow Warriors tore out of the floorboards, their obsidian claws disemboweling the gunmen in a frantic, bloody ballet. I reached the boss, grabbed his head with both hands, and slowly applied pressure.
The sound of his skull fracturing was the only thing heard over the dying groans of his men. I didn't stop until his head was a pulp.
The New King of the East End
By the time the sirens began to wail in the distance, I was the only thing standing. The walls were painted in the gang's failures. I looked at the flickering blue screen in my mind.
[BATTLE OVERVIEW]
Casualties: 22
Brutality Rating: S-Tier
Defense: 42 (+7 from sustained impact)
System Alert: 58 points remaining until Defense cap. Equal distribution will resume at Defense 100.
I felt the power humming. I was becoming a fortress. Soon, even a tank shell wouldn't be enough to send me to the respawn point. I was carving my name into Gotham's history with the blood of its criminals.
The East End was mine. The shadows were growing longer, and I could feel a presence watching from the gargoyles above. The "Bat" had finally noticed the butcher in his backyard.