While Bul-Kathos and Leoric were busy revisiting the past, Luke Cage finally saw Jessica Jones return.
The two of them found themselves with little to do in Bul-Kathos's forge. Left with no other choice, they huddled together on the long bench outside the shop, seeking a moment of quiet.
"Anything interesting happen over there?" Luke asked, tightening his arm around Jessica's shoulders as he stared into the distance.
Life as a shop assistant over the past few days had been relatively pleasant—provided one ignored the endless stream of personnel from various factions constantly poking around.
"No. None of it was interesting," Jessica muttered, shaking her head before burying her face in Luke's chest.
Luke tilted his head slightly. "You don't sound happy. Want to go grab a drink?"
"Aren't you still on the clock?" Jessica asked, a hint of surprise in her voice. "Planning on cutting class, Mr. Hero?"
"Bul-Kathos wouldn't mind," Luke said, scratching his head. "Though we'd have to take the kid. Frank left Jill in our care, remember?"
"You think taking Jill on a date is a good idea?" Jessica sighed softly, her exhaustion finally becoming impossible to hide. "Let's just stay here. I just need to rest today."
"Alright. I actually have tickets for a Broadway show the day after tomorrow," Luke said, his voice laced with hope.
Since they had fallen in love, they hadn't had a single proper date. Their last trip to London had been a chaotic mess of battles and crisis, leaving them both emotionally and physically drained.
"Don't talk... just let me lean on you for a bit," Jessica whispered. Soon, the soft, rhythmic sound of her snoring drifted through the air.
For her, even hearing news about the Purple Man was a burden that never grew lighter.
Meanwhile, Frank Castle—having entrusted his son to Luke and Jessica—was heading toward one of his secret safehouses. Though his family was safe in this life, he hadn't let go of his old habits or his fortified bases.
"Who's there?"
Frank moved through the gloomy shadows of the sewer, a shotgun already leveled. The black ring on his finger pulsed with the power of Death, a thick, necrotic mist swirling around the barrel of his gun like an ill omen.
"Frank, it's me. Spider-Man."
Peter Parker emerged from the narrow tunnel. In this world, there wasn't much of a history between Spider-Man and the Punisher, but that didn't stop Peter from trying to bridge the gap—especially since their paths both led toward Wilson Fisk.
"I don't recall us being friends," Frank said, the click of the safety disengaging echoing in the damp air.
In such a confined space, Frank didn't believe Spider-Man stood a chance. Even before he had obtained the power of Death, he was confident he could kill the wall-crawler in these conditions. Not defeat—kill.
The Punisher rarely left survivors. It was a philosophy born of his "weakness" as a mortal man. Because he was human, he couldn't afford the risk of his identity leaking. Because he was mortal, he couldn't tolerate villains escaping death only to plot their revenge.
"I just want to talk. It's about taking down Kingpin," Peter said, keeping his mask on. He knew Frank's reputation. If he appeared like a rambling lunatic, Frank would simply end his life to neutralize a potential threat. Peter knew this from his own world; Frank Castle was nothing if not consistent.
"Sounds like you've stumbled onto some big news." Frank took a few steps back, creating a tactical distance to give himself more reaction time. He knew Spider-Man's capabilities: superhuman reflexes and those ever-present webs. Against a target like that, distance was life.
"I don't expect you to trust me right away," Peter said, holding his hands out to show he wasn't armed. "But Kingpin is the bigger problem. He's changed, Frank. He's gained some kind of supernatural power I can't wrap my head around."
Peter didn't beat around the bush. He knew that if he wasted Frank's time, the conversation would end violently.
"Why come to me?" Frank asked. He didn't ask how Peter found him; such questions were beneath him.
"Because you're the only person I'm certain isn't on his payroll," Peter replied. He could feel Frank's patience wearing thin. Even though he didn't know the source, his Spider-Sense was screaming—warning him that Frank was becoming exponentially more dangerous by the second.
"I'll think about it. Now, get out," Frank snapped, his voice tight.
The black ring on his finger was screaming at him to kill the boy. To the personification of Death, Spider-Man's soul was an exquisite prize. If Peter hadn't been so active recently proving he was a "hero," Frank might have pulled the trigger already. A bullet infused with the power of Death was a death sentence for any living being.
"If you need to find me, leave a message here. I'll find a way to get back to you." Peter picked up a stone and scratched an address into the sewer wall—a makeshift base he'd managed to secure as a man without an identity in this world.
Frank didn't move. He kept his shotgun trained on Peter until the hero's silhouette vanished into the darkness.
"An interesting soul? What kind of criteria is that?" Frank muttered. The deathly energy receded, vanishing back into the ring in the blink of an eye.
He had originally planned to gear up and scout Kingpin's territory to see if he could find a "worthy" soul to harvest. But the news of Kingpin's transformation stayed his hand. Frank had dealt with Fisk for a long time; he knew the man didn't change without a reason.
He decided he would check out the Hand's territory tonight. Perhaps it was time to collaborate with that lawyer who was always hanging around Bul-Kathos's forge. Frank wasn't a man who ignored good advice, nor was he prone to reckless curiosity. That was how he had survived so long as an "ordinary" man hunting monsters.
Matthew Murdock was someone he could trust. Almost as much as he trusted Bul-Kathos.
After leaving Frank, Peter headed straight for Matthew Murdock's law office. His strategy was simple: follow his "previous life's" experience and recruit the allies who had fought Fisk before. The Kingpin he had seen—covered in glowing golden patterns—had terrified him.
With a few swings, Peter landed on the roof of the law office. He tapped rhythmically on the concrete to get Matthew's attention. He knew Daredevil's hearing was legendary.
He didn't have to wait long.
"Spider-Man?"
Matthew stepped onto the roof, calling out the name immediately. A stranger on his roof usually meant trouble, and aside from the flying Jessica Jones, he could only think of the new "wall-crawler" everyone was talking about. Tony Stark could fly, too, but that peacock would never visit him so discreetly.
"Nice to see you, Mr. Murdock. I have some 'superhero' business to discuss," Peter said, though he paused, startled. The Matthew Murdock he remembered wasn't this... robust. This man looked like he could wrestle a bear.
"If you're looking for legal aid, my only advice is to turn yourself in," Matthew said, his expression wry. He was reminded of his debates with Luke about the nature of freedom. As a lawyer, he knew "vigilantism" was a legal nightmare.
"It's about Kingpin," Peter said. He suppressed his confusion about Matthew's appearance. In this world, many of his old friends were different, or gone entirely. Ignoring the discrepancies was the only way he stayed sane—something even Death hadn't managed to teach him.
"I don't think a rooftop meeting is a good idea, especially since I'm still on the clock," Matthew said, shaking his head. He pulled a flask from his suit jacket, unscrewed the cap, and took a heavy swig, ignoring Peter's shocked expression.
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