A dozen well-trained enforcers stood frozen in place.
Their understanding of reality had shattered along with the clanging pile of deformed brass at the boy's feet.
For the first time, James Wesley lost his composure.
Behind his glasses, his gaze locked onto the teenager… and the empty space in front of him.
This was not technology he recognized.
Not armor.
Not magnetics.
Not any defensive system Fisk Industries had ever encountered.
Some form of absolute interception field.
He forced his voice steady.
"Hold your ground!"
It came out hoarse, but carried authority.
"He's projecting a defensive barrier — limited range! Surround him! Close combat!"
It was the only tactical conclusion available.
Every defense has limits.
Training overcame fear.
The men exchanged glances, forcing down their terror.
Firearms clattered to the floor.
Knives slid free.
Batons extended.
They roared and surged forward like cornered wolves, attempting to overwhelm the unseen defense with brute proximity.
Joren kept walking.
Yare yare.
Why do people believe dying differently leads to a different outcome?
He raised his head.
His eyes passed through the advancing men and settled on Wesley at the rear.
The look one gives a corpse.
"Ora."
A deep, explosive shout split the air.
The lead attacker was still two meters away, steel pipe raised high—
An invisible fist struck his face.
THUD
The sound of cartilage collapsing cracked through the warehouse.
Teeth scattered.
He launched backward like a ball struck by a bat, crashing into two men before dropping unconscious.
That was only the beginning.
"Ora ora ora ora ora ora ora ora ora!"
A blue-violet phantom erupted into motion.
Star Platinum blurred through the formation, leaving only streaks of afterimages.
In Wesley's vision, reality fractured.
His men — hardened, disciplined operators — were thrown aside in grotesque trajectories.
One folded inward as his chest collapsed.
Another was seized by the ankle and slammed against a cargo container with crushing force.
A third, lunging from behind, lifted clean off the ground by the throat before being hurled aside like refuse.
No screams.
The blows were too fast.
Consciousness left before pain could arrive.
THUMP!
BANG!
CLANG!
Bone cracks.
Metal reverberation.
Bodies striking concrete.
The sounds merged into a brutal mechanical rhythm.
Wesley stood motionless.
He could not see the attacker.
Only his men being dismantled by an invisible executioner.
It was not a fight.
It was controlled annihilation.
Less than ten seconds.
Silence returned.
No one stood but Joren and Wesley.
Bodies lay scattered across the warehouse floor.
Joren walked past them and stopped beside the tables stacked with cash.
He looked at the only man left conscious.
"You… what are you?" Wesley whispered.
"A high school student passing by."
They stood less than two meters apart.
Inside Star Platinum's absolute range.
"Go back and tell your boss," Joren said calmly,
"I hate trouble. Bullseye was trouble. So are you."
"I crippled him. I ruined your business."
He lifted his head slightly, eyes cold beneath the hat brim.
"Don't bother me again."
"Next time… I won't come to Hell's Kitchen for information."
"I'll go to his office."
"I'll dismantle his desk."
"And crush his head."
Silence fell.
Star Platinum manifested behind him, fist drawing back beside the mountains of cash.
"Ora."
One punch.
WHOOSH—!!!
The shockwave erupted like a contained hurricane.
Bundles of currency shredded instantly into green confetti.
Millions of dollars exploded into airborne fragments, raining down like a grotesque financial blizzard.
Wesley was thrown backward by the force and hit the floor hard.
Paper fragments drifted through the air like the ashes of Fisk's insult.
At that moment, the skylight shattered open.
A dark red figure dropped silently into the warehouse.
Daredevil landed in a crouch.
He scanned the room.
Unconscious men.
Weapon debris.
Shredded currency.
The lingering vibration of overwhelming force.
He had prepared for a prolonged engagement.
Strategic sabotage.
Tactical disruption.
Instead—
The battlefield was already finished.
From the moment he diverted the guards…
less than three minutes had passed.
He looked toward Joren.
"You…"
For once, the Man Without Fear had no words.
Joren ignored him.
He walked out through the ruined doorway and into the dockside night.
His figure disappeared into darkness.
Finally… quiet.
If he hurried home, he might still catch the end of the ocean documentary.
Inside the warehouse, only Wesley remained seated amid shredded money…
and Daredevil stood in stunned silence.