He fell silent.
Blood trickled from his fingertips, splashing onto the cold floor beneath him.
Before him, Madam Gao's face—twisted in the final moment of death—was frozen in horror.
The entire scene felt unreal. Like something out of a nightmare.
For someone like her, the greatest torment wasn't dying...
It was watching death approach, powerless to stop it.
Sanjid looked down at the old woman with a heart as still as stone.
No anger. No pride.
Only a quiet mercy... for the innocent she had destroyed.
He tilted his head to the sky—black, cloudless—and turned slowly, walking toward his Ducati, its sleek body glinting under the streetlights.
> This night... would be remembered in Hell's Kitchen.
---
In less than ten minutes, the streets had been shaken by what felt like an earthquake.
Madam Gao was dead.
And not just dead—obliterated.
Kingpin, Bullseye, and an entire team of superhumans had fled without looking back. The so-called titans of the underworld had tucked their tails and run.
Soon after, gangs and underground operatives arrived to assess the scene.
What they found stunned even the most hardened criminals:
Madam Gao, crucified against the wall, lifeless.
The building's interior, flooded with corpses.
Severed limbs. Blood trails. Horror written in every corner.
A lifelike ice sculpture at the entrance—frozen in mid-scream.
The building hadn't been leveled—there was no grand explosion, no chaotic destruction.
Only precise, surgical slaughter.
Whoever had made Kingpin run, and killed Madam Gao with ease, had done so without breaking a sweat.
And then the whispers began:
> Someone attacked the Hand.
Not just any gang—the Hand.
A global network of elite assassins. Ninjas trained to kill in silence and vanish like smoke.
Even the boldest gangs in Hell's Kitchen rarely dared provoke them.
But someone had not only provoked the Hand...
They had kicked in their front door and started killing.
---
South Hell's Kitchen – Hand Headquarters
The Hand's base—a looming, ancient Japanese-style castle—stood quietly under the moonlight.
Normally it was impenetrable. Guarded by elite warriors. Hidden in plain sight.
But tonight?
It had become a warzone.
BOOM!
The main gate exploded inward in a storm of shrapnel and broken wood.
Corpses flew with it, hurled like rag dolls.
The castle's great hall, lit dimly by iron braziers, was eerie and vast. Shadows danced along the walls. The scent of blood crept into the flames.
> "Ba'ka! Someone dares attack the Hand?!"
> "Kill him!!"
Dozens of red-and-black-clad ninjas surged into the room. Their blades glimmered. Their eyes bled crimson fury.
They moved like shadows—wind demons—fast enough to slice the average man to ribbons in seconds.
But the man who stood at the center of the breach...
Was not average.
---
Sanjid walked forward, eyes cold.
In his right hand, a silver cross-shaped sword shimmered into existence.
He stepped once.
BOOM.
The ground cracked.
And then, he moved.
In a blur of silver light, Sanjid tore into the swarm of ninjas like a living tempest.
---
Slash! Slash! Slash!
Silver arcs flashed across the hall like brushstrokes of a grim artist.
Each stroke painted the floor red.
Each strike brought a scream. A severed limb. A life ended.
It was brutal.
It was elegant.
It was merciless.
Within seconds, the elite guard of the Hand were little more than corpses and blood puddles.
> "Ghhhkk...!"
A final ninja stumbled as Sanjid's blade pierced his neck. Blood gushed like a fountain.
The body slumped.
Sanjid flicked the sword once.
The corpse flew backward like a sack of meat.
---
Only one ninja remained.
Shaking. Whimpering.
His eyes wide with panic, he looked at the boy in the red coat approaching him—surrounded by death, soaked in blood.
> "D-Devil... You're a devil...!"
The ninja's voice cracked.
In his mind, Sanjid was no longer human.
He could almost see it—a spectral demon looming behind the boy, smirking down with hunger in its eyes.
In blind desperation, the ninja rushed forward with a scream:
> "Aaaagh—!"
SHING!
A silver flash.
Silence.
Another body hit the floor.
---
Sanjid didn't even blink. His breathing was calm. His heart, undisturbed.
To him, these weren't people.
They were monsters in human skin.
He glanced around. His powerful senses swept the castle.
> Empty.
No commanders. No upper echelon. They were gone.
He frowned.
> "Looks like I'm early."
"Maybe someone else can explain…"
A new presence stirred behind him.
He turned—
And saw figures entering the ruined gate.
---
At the front:
A man in a tight red combat suit, his face hidden beneath a horned mask.
> Daredevil.
Beside him:
Jessica Jones, the fierce woman with a temper to match her strength.
Luke Cage, the unbreakable wall of muscle.
Iron Fist, the martial artist with a glowing fist of power.
The Defenders had arrived.
And behind them, looming in silence, was the one man gangsters feared even more than Kingpin:
> The Punisher.
Dressed in black.
A skull stretched across his vest.
Eyes cold and unforgiving.
---
The two sides met, tension crackling in the air.
But there was no confrontation.
Their eyes dropped to the silver cross sword in Sanjid's hand.
Recognition dawned.
Daredevil took a cautious step forward.
> "...Is the Goddess of Judgment alright?"
Sanjid gave a faint nod.
> "She's fine."
The group relaxed slightly.
They had once fought alongside the Goddess of Judgment. They knew her—and they recognized the one standing before them.
Jessica Jones folded her arms, unfazed by the massacre around her.
> "Nice job, kid. I've wanted to take down these freaks for years."
Daredevil let out a sigh and shook his head with a weary smile.