Joren walked to the window.
This was no casual glance.
A cold, predatory gaze had been fixed on this spot since before the battle began.
Star Platinum's vision pierced night and distance alike, locking onto a figure standing nearly a hundred meters away.
An elderly Eastern woman in dark violet robes.
She stood motionless.
Small.
Alone.
Yet Joren knew—
the four corpses reduced to ash had moved at her command.
Across the street, Madam Gao stood in silence.
Her composure had shattered.
Eyes that had witnessed centuries of dynasties rise and fall now trembled with shock…
…and something far more dangerous.
Greed.
Through the shared sensory link of her resurrected warriors, she had witnessed everything.
Power like this was not unknown to the Hand.
Across centuries, they had encountered mystics, chi adepts, immortals, and living weapons.
But the final seconds overturned everything she believed.
Golden light.
Warm like dawn.
Sacred like the rising sun.
Yet absolute in its dominion.
The Hand's resurrected assassins — sustained by the dark force known as the Beast — disintegrated like frost beneath sunlight.
"So… that kind of chi."
Iron Fist.
The Hand's eternal nemesis.
Across history, every bearer of that solar force had brought devastation to the Hand's empire.
Yet here…
In the heart of the Western world…
She had found one.
Young.
Unrefined.
But terrifyingly pure.
Fear transformed into fanatic hunger in a heartbeat.
A mortal capable of wielding the power of the sun.
If she could possess him…
If she could unravel his secret…
If she could fuse solar life force with the Beast's dark immortality—
That would not be longevity.
That would be eternity.
Beneath New York
The Hand's hidden sanctum was not merely a base.
It was an underground temple.
Ancient wood.
Stone.
Incense residue layered from decades of ritual.
Madam Gao knelt before a mirror formed of condensed vapor.
Within it, the battle replayed again and again:
Golden light.
Ash drifting.
Purification.
Kingpin stood behind her, massive arms crossed.
"This was your plan?" he said coldly.
"Sending pawns to die?"
Madam Gao did not turn.
The mirror froze on the moment golden lightning gathered at the boy's fingertips.
"Fisk," she said softly, "I take back my earlier assessment."
"You are not a king without claws."
She rose.
The mirror dissolved into mist.
"You simply never understood what true power is."
She turned to face him.
"Commerce. Reputation. Public favor."
"Sandcastles."
"But that boy…"
Her voice lowered.
"He carries power that rivals the divine."
She stepped closer.
Her small frame radiated suffocating pressure.
"Your strategies are too slow."
"To oppose the sun with intrigue?"
"How laughable."
Kingpin's fists tightened until his knuckles cracked.
Madam Gao moved to the center of the chamber.
A massive crimson sigil was carved into the stone floor — ancient, layered, soaked with ritual.
She removed her shoes.
Stepped barefoot into the circle.
From her sleeve, she produced an ancient ritual blade.
Without hesitation, she cut her palm.
Blood fell.
One drop.
Then another.
The sigil ignited.
Crimson light raced along the runes like living veins.
The ground trembled.
"Your order is built on money," she said.
"It is fragile."
"My order is built on death."
"And fear."
Her voice resonated through the stone.
"The Irish who resist."
"The Russians who pretend loyalty."
"The gangs who wage petty wars."
"All will become offerings."
"I will turn this city into a cage."
Her voice descended into something older than language.
A command carried through tunnels, soil, forgotten chambers, and buried foundations.
"Wake."
"Drag the living into hell."
"Until the one who walks in sunlight emerges."
Joren's Room
He finished sweeping the black ash from the floor.
The cracks in the wall remained visible in the lamplight.
He sat.
Picked up his pen.
Returned to calculus.
Silence.
Less than an hour passed.
Then—
A distant explosion.
Sirens.
Another blast.
The night sky outside glowed faintly red.
Hell's Kitchen
Daredevil stood atop an apartment building.
Unease pressed against his senses.
Then—
his world collapsed.
His radar sense dissolved into chaos.
From beneath the city—
abandoned subway lines…
sewers…
bomb shelters sealed since the Cold War…
hundreds of presences emerged.
No heartbeats.
No breath.
No body heat.
Ghosts.
They rose into the streets.
And then the killing began.
Daredevil's world filled with the sounds he hated most.
Screams.
Bone breaking.
Wet impacts.
"No…"
He clutched his head.
This wasn't crime.
This was slaughter.
Queens
Peter Parker had just finished suiting up for patrol.
Then his spider-sense erupted.
Not a sharp warning.
Not a directional threat.
A full-body alarm.
He landed atop a building and froze.
Below—
a ninja stood in the middle of an intersection.
Katana dripping blood.
Cars wrecked and burning.
Smoke choking the street.
A driver crawled from a crushed vehicle.
The ninja raised his blade.
One casual swing.
A head fell.
"No!!!"
Peter's eyes burned.
Web-lines fired.
He launched forward.
Joren's Room
His phone vibrated violently on the desk.
Unknown number.
He answered.
"It's me."
Matt's voice was strained, chaos roaring behind him.
"Something's happened."
"Hells Kitchen… not just there… everywhere…"
"They're crawling out from underground."
"Unkillable."
"They're slaughtering civilians."
Rage trembled in his voice.
Joren listened.
Silent.
His gaze drifted back to the open workbook.
Half-finished equations waited patiently.
He would not finish them tonight.
"Yare yare…"
He ended the call.
He took his coat from the hanger — the one with the gold chain at the collar.
He put it on.
Pressed his cap down low.
Shadow concealed his expression.
Really…
This never ends.