Originally, Mike's plan was simple: rescue Chloe and maybe grab some of the Bigfoot Gang's loot to cover the system's commission loss. That's why he chose to become the stealthy assassin, Momochi Zabuza—master of infiltration.
But now…
Don't forget, Zabuza is also a master of silent killing, and this skill was about to come in handy.
Anger surged through Mike, awakening a crimson chakra within him.
A thick, white mist appeared out of nowhere, spreading rapidly to fill the entire warehouse.
Ninjutsu—Hidden Mist Technique.
Sean "Stinky Feet" Sack, leader of the Bigfoot Gang, was of Irish descent. Recently, he had allied with Maginta, a member of the Irish crime syndicate. In Hell's Kitchen, the Maginta crew's influence rivaled even New York's notorious Gucci family.
Now, the Bigfoot Gang wanted only one thing: money, power, and guns. Ambitious Sean's empire was growing rapidly.
At this moment, he grabbed a voluptuous Black girl, roughly groping her, until his vision was swallowed by an eerie white fog.
"Damn, what's going on? Smoke bomb? Got it!" Sean shoved the girl aside and pulled out his famed AK-47 from under the sofa. "Brothers, let's move!"
The fog was so thick that visibility dropped to less than a meter. Sean recalled a rumor: when the mist thickens, the Reaper silently collects lives.
He had always scoffed at such tales, assuming rival gangs spread them to intimidate him.
"No… no…"
Sean muttered repeatedly, trying to calm himself, his hands shaking on the gun.
"Eagle!" he called, shouting a subordinate's code name.
"I'm here!"
"What?!"
Sean's response came in short bursts, tense and panicked.
Finally, one man could take it no longer and fired indiscriminately. It was as if someone had flipped a switch—gunshots erupted, bullets flying in every direction, screams echoing.
"Damn it!"
Sean, still rational, dove behind the sofa, curling up as much as possible.
Time seemed to lose all meaning. Minutes? Hours? He couldn't tell. Eventually, the gunfire stopped, leaving the warehouse eerily quiet, punctuated only by stifled sobs.
Sean cautiously peeked from behind the sofa. The mist hadn't cleared. Black Pearl lay on the ground, surrounded by a pool of blood.
Sean froze. He sensed someone standing behind him.
"I am the Magenta Man. Kill me, and he won't let you leave," a voice said.
"I have cash in my safe, at least a hundred thousand dollars. Only I can open it."
Sean's mind raced, weighing the options in a few sharp seconds. His tongue remained sharp, but…
Thunk!
A sharp blade pierced his right upper abdomen.
Mike's icy voice echoed:
"I've pierced your liver and cut your vessels. That's why your blood is deep red. If you get treatment within fifteen minutes, you might survive; otherwise, you'll suffer a fate worse than death from blood loss. Considering how you've turned Hell's Kitchen into a mess, do you think an ambulance will arrive in time? Hahaha…"
Thunk!
The knife was withdrawn.
Pain seared through Sean, forcing him to his knees. He struggled to turn—only to find no one there.
The white mist gradually dissipated.
When Mike left the warehouse, he held a small girl in his arms. Her eyes were wide with fear, lips pressed tight.
This was Chloe—the girl the old Earl had mentioned. Barely five or six, frail and light in his arms, evoking a deep, protective instinct.
Suddenly, Mike stopped and glanced toward a rooftop several hundred meters away.
A figure aimed a modified Barrett M82 sniper rifle, equipped with a military night vision scope.
Seeing Mike look up, Frank Castle hesitated behind the scope.
Sharp-eyed, he had noticed.
Mike didn't linger on Frank, instead scanning the nearby building. A figure in a deep red suit was hidden in the shadows.
"The Punisher hunts the Bigfoot Gang, while Daredevil tries to stop him—a superhero fighting killing with killing, an anti-hero fighting violence with violence. Interesting…"
Mike smiled, holding Chloe as he returned to the supermarket.
"Who's there?"
Hearing noise upstairs, Old Earl raised his Remington, nervous and tense.
"It's me," Mike called out, calming him before he could misfire.
Old Earl visibly relaxed, excitement replacing tension as he saw Mike carrying Chloe down the stairs.
"Chloe… poor little Chloe."
Old Earl crouched, gently hugging the girl, tears streaming down his face.
"Grandpa Earl," Chloe whispered, crying softly into his chest.
The system notification appeared: [Mission Complete. Soul Energy +1]
The old Earl's soul energy surged again, sinking into Mike's mind.
Hum…
Combined with his previous energy, it multiplied tenfold, forming a mysterious grey Soul Fruit etched with strange runes.
"What will it produce? A decapitation sword would pair well with Momochi Zabuza," Mike thought silently.
Sadly, though the system creates objects based on his memory and understanding, the results are random.
Otherwise—
An ice-element fruit could freeze the Pacific for fun. Or maybe just launch a planetary blast to vent stress and check if Nick Fury's panicking.
"Fridge has milk and sandwiches. Chloe's been hungry all day—don't let her eat too much at once. I'll be back shortly…"
Snapping out of his thoughts, Mike sensed something unusual nearby.
At a corner near the supermarket, Daredevil, Matthew Murdock, stared at the sign with a complex expression.
He had originally been monitoring the Punisher, trying to stop him from continuing his massacre. Yet someone had beaten Frank to the Bigfoot Gang—and with surgical efficiency—before Daredevil even reacted.
"You followed me… not happy about this," Mike whispered, startling Matthew.
Blinded as a child by radioactive exposure, Matthew's other four senses had sharpened extraordinarily.
Super-sensitive touch and hearing gave him exceptional balance, strength, and reflexes. He could detect movement through subtle shifts in temperature and pressure, forming a type of "360-degree vision" akin to sonar.
For the first time, someone had approached so closely without his notice.
From this perspective, Mike's silent-kill skills perfectly matched Matthew's perception. Had Mike intended to attack, he would already be dead.
Mike stood less than two meters away, leaning against a lamppost, exuding a silent, deadly aura.
"Sorry," Matthew admitted, his voice low. "Your goal is to save lives, not kill indiscriminately."
"You mean… the Bigfoot Gang members shouldn't die?" Mike asked.
"No. Every single member deserved it—but that's not your call."
"Who decides then? The law? God?"
Mike smiled. "I'm surprised you intervene after all the victims they've created. When the Bigfoot Gang dies, you suddenly question my actions? What's that about?"
"Forget it. Some things can't be explained in a few words. I respect your 'no-kill' principle—just don't interfere," Matthew said.
"Otherwise, either call the police and let justice take its course, or we settle it with fists. What do you think, Matthew Murdock?"
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