Ivan didn't give Daredevil even a second to speak, let alone explain himself. From his perspective, there was nothing to talk about in the first place. This was the same man who had interfered earlier, forced him to disengage, and humiliated him in the process. Retaliation wasn't just justified—it was expected. If anything, Ivan believed he was being generous by simply beating him into the ground before moving on.
The crack of energy splitting the air came a heartbeat later, followed by a deafening impact. When the whip slammed into the ground, the sheer force behind it carved a jagged scar several centimeters deep into the pavement. Pebbles and debris exploded outward, scattering across the battlefield and skidding to a stop near Matt's boots.
Matt inhaled sharply, his chest heaving as he struggled to steady his breathing. Even without sight, the destruction was unmistakable, painted vividly through the vibrations and heat rippling through the air. The sheer lethality of the weapon sent a chill down his spine. If that strike had landed cleanly, there wouldn't have been anything left of him to stand here and think about it.
Ivan didn't let up, not even for a second. He flicked his wrist, the energy whip snapping through the air again as he advanced with predatory intent. "You're quick for a little bug," he sneered, his voice laced with irritation. Then he lunged forward, the glowing lash cutting a lethal arc toward his target.
Matt reacted purely on instinct, forcing his body into motion despite the strain already building in his muscles. He darted backward, weaving between shattered debris and broken terrain, using whatever remained of the environment to buy himself a few precious seconds. Every step was calculated, every movement driven by survival.
But it wasn't enough.
The whip tore through everything in its path, smashing obstacles apart as if they were nothing more than paper. Cover became meaningless under that kind of raw destructive power, and the battlefield rapidly transformed into an open killing ground. With each passing moment, Daredevil found himself with fewer and fewer places to hide.
Then came the mistake.
A slight delay, a fraction of a second too slow, and the whip grazed his ankle. The contact was brief, but the damage was immediate and brutal. The fabric of his suit blackened, the flesh beneath scorched by searing heat. Pain surged up his leg, sharp and unforgiving, forcing a strained grunt from his throat.
Ivan didn't hesitate. Seeing blood in the water, he pressed forward with even greater aggression, determined to finish what he had started. The energy whip rose again, crackling with power as it came down for what should have been the final strike.
Matt braced himself, his senses screaming warnings that there was no way out this time.
And then—
"Clang."
A sharp, slicing sound cut through the air as something invisible collided with the whip. The glowing lash shuddered, then split apart mid-strike, its energy dispersing into harmless sparks.
Ivan froze for a fraction of a second, disbelief flashing across his face. He immediately re-engaged, swinging again with even more force, but before the attack could land, another unseen blade carved through the whip, severing it cleanly.
This time, Ivan stopped completely.
His expression darkened as he drew the remaining energy back toward himself, letting it coil at his feet like a restless serpent. He scanned the surroundings, voice low and dangerous. "If you're going to interfere, stop hiding and come out."
A calm voice answered from above, casual and almost amused. "Hiding? No, no, you've got that wrong. I'm not doing anything sneaky."
A figure dropped from the sky, landing lightly beside Matt. Donnie straightened, wooden staff in hand, positioning himself between Daredevil and Ivan without hesitation. His stance was relaxed, but there was no mistaking the intent behind it.
"I'm right here," he added, tone easy and open.
Ivan's jaw tightened, anger flaring instantly. In his eyes, this wasn't just interference—it was mockery. First Nightmare had provoked him, and now this strange turtle-like figure was stepping in as if Ivan was nothing more than a nuisance. The insult burned hotter than any physical wound.
"I'll make you regret that," Ivan said coldly.
The whip lashed out again, faster and more vicious than before, aimed directly at Donnie.
Behind him, Matt forced himself to step back despite the pain radiating from his injured leg. "Watch out for that whip," he warned, his voice tight. After a brief pause, he added more quietly, "I owe you one after this."
That admission didn't come easily. Matt had always handled things alone, whether it meant enduring injuries or pushing through overwhelming odds. But this fight had crossed a line. Against someone like Whiplash, stubbornness alone wasn't enough.
Donnie, however, seemed more pleased than anything else. In his mind, this wasn't just a rescue—it was an opportunity. A connection had been established, and that meant possibilities. Maybe, just maybe, this could be the start of pulling Matt into Locke's growing circle.
Even if the guy was blind and clearly outmatched, he still had potential. And besides, plans were already in motion to gather allies. Getting someone like this on board would only help.
Ivan's patience snapped.
"To stand there and daydream in the middle of a fight—unforgivable!" he roared, the whip cutting down with lethal force.
Donnie didn't move.
For a split second, it looked like he was frozen in place, completely exposed. Matt's senses flared in alarm, interpreting the situation as a fatal mistake. A wooden staff against a weapon like that was suicide. The outcome seemed inevitable.
But just as the whip descended, Donnie's chakra surged.
It flowed from his body into the staff, coating the wood in an unseen layer of energy. Then, with precise timing, he raised it to meet the attack head-on.
The collision didn't end in destruction.
Instead, the air filled with a harsh, grinding sound as energy clashed against reinforced wood. Sparks burst outward, but neither side gave way. The whip strained, the staff held firm, and for a moment, they were locked in perfect balance.
Matt's head snapped up, disbelief written across his face. This wasn't supposed to happen.
Ivan felt it too, confusion creeping in despite his anger. His gaze dropped to the staff, eyes narrowing as he tried to make sense of what he was seeing. "What is that… some kind of new weapon?"
If it wasn't, then how could something so ordinary withstand his attack?
Donnie didn't answer directly. Instead, he spoke softly, almost to himself. "Feel the rhythm of the wind."
Then he closed his eyes.
That single action pushed Ivan over the edge. Losing a fight was one thing—being looked down on was another entirely. To him, this was blatant disrespect.
Rage took over.
He unleashed a flurry of attacks, the whip slamming into the ground again and again, each strike tearing apart what little remained of the battlefield. The impacts came in rapid succession, each one more forceful than the last.
But Donnie moved like he wasn't even trying.
His body shifted with the airflow, light and effortless, slipping past each strike at the last possible moment. It wasn't speed or strength that guided him—it was timing. Every motion was minimal, every adjustment precise, as if he were being carried rather than acting on his own.
No matter how powerful Ivan's attacks were, they meant nothing if they couldn't connect.
Sweat began to bead on Ivan's forehead, then poured down in steady streams. The strain of maintaining the weapon, combined with the relentless assault, was taking its toll. Unlike someone like Tony Stark, he didn't have a fully automated system to rely on. Everything was powered by his own effort.
And that effort was running out.
His swings slowed.
His breathing grew heavier.
Matt sensed it immediately, his expression shifting as realization set in. The opponent who had seemed unstoppable moments ago was being worn down, step by step, by someone who wasn't even meeting force with force.
Then Donnie moved.
"Guess there's no other choice," he said, opening his eyes. "My turn."
His hands came together, fingers forming precise seals in a practiced sequence. Chakra gathered, swirling into form as he prepared the technique.
"Wind Release: Gale Palm."
With a sharp clap, the compressed air burst forward, transforming into a violent gust that surged across the battlefield. It struck Ivan head-on, lifting him off his feet and sending him spinning through the air.
He rotated a full circle before crashing face-first into the ground.
The fight ended there.
Ivan lay motionless, his body slack as unconsciousness claimed him instantly.
Matt stood frozen, trying to process what he had just witnessed. The man who had pushed him to his limits, who had seemed nearly impossible to defeat, had been taken down in a single decisive move.
And not just defeated—overwhelmed.
"This… this guy is incredible," Matt muttered under his breath.
Donnie, however, had already moved on. He crouched beside Ivan, examining the equipment with keen interest, his expression shifting into that of a focused inventor. His fingers traced the components, analyzing the design with growing appreciation.
"This is seriously impressive," he said, almost admiringly. "The energy transmission alone is genius. Locke's definitely going to like this."
He didn't know what Locke and Dr. Otto had been working on recently, but even without that knowledge, he could recognize the value of what lay in front of him.
If this kind of portable energy tech could be integrated properly…
It would be like adding wings to a tiger.
.....
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