A sharp, grating voice suddenly cut through the room, breaking the fragile silence. It came from behind, cold and laced with mockery. Madame Gao had arrived.
"I hear you've fallen for a woman lately, Kingpin," she said slowly, each word deliberate. "I hope she doesn't become your weakness."
The moment those words landed, Wilson Fisk felt something dark flare inside his chest. He turned around, his expression eerily blank, but his eyes were lifeless and cold, like stagnant water. "Nothing can make me weak," he said in a low voice. "If anything, I'm stronger than I've ever been."
Madame Gao studied him for a moment, then let out a soft, knowing chuckle. She shifted her gaze toward Daredevil, her tone turning almost instructive. "For someone like you, falling in love is a mistake," she said calmly. "And even worse, you chose a killer. You might be able to give her money, status, even care—but you can never give her what matters most. Security."
Her eyes narrowed slightly, her voice dropping into something colder. "The smartest thing you can do is walk away before tragedy becomes inevitable."
Her words lingered heavily in the room, pressing down on both men. Daredevil fell silent, his breathing uneven as he processed what she said. After a moment, he glanced toward Fisk, hesitation flickering across his face. "You… you have someone too, don't you?"
"Shut up." Fisk's voice snapped like a whip as he shot him a glare, instantly cutting him off.
He turned back to Madame Gao, his patience clearly thinning. "I didn't come here to listen to your riddles," he said coldly. "You mentioned something earlier. Reviving… the Beast?"
A faint smile spread across Madame Gao's face, and for the first time, there was a trace of reverence in her tone. "To be precise," she corrected, "we intend to bring the power of an ancient demon god into this world." Her gaze flicked briefly toward Daredevil. "He's still alive for one reason—he's the perfect vessel."
Daredevil's eyes widened in shock, the realization hitting him instantly. "Are you insane?" he shouted, struggling violently against his restraints. "You'll destroy all of New York! This isn't something you can control!"
Fisk bent down, picking up Daredevil's discarded mask from the floor. As he walked closer, there was a strange calmness in his expression, one that felt almost detached. "We don't have a choice," he said, his voice steady. "That Devil… he's too dangerous. For the future of New York's underworld, this is the only option we have."
He leaned in slightly, his tone turning colder. "If you want someone to blame, blame him."
Before Daredevil could respond, Fisk stuffed the mask into his mouth, muffling his voice into a strained, helpless sound. Straightening up, he turned away as if the matter was already decided. "So," he said, glancing back at Madame Gao, "what exactly do we need to do to summon this… Beast?"
…
Before the Nine Spider Bride could finish her report, Locke shot upright in bed, his expression shifting sharply. The information hit him like a sudden jolt.
The Hand wanted to summon a demon.
That wasn't just reckless—it was suicidal.
His mind immediately jumped to Ancient One. If something like this was about to happen, shouldn't she step in? But then again, when he'd tried to seek her help before, she hadn't responded at all. For all he knew, she was off meddling in some other dimension again.
Clicking his tongue, Locke gestured toward the woman in front of him. She moved without hesitation, lying down obediently. Without a word, he leaned in and bit into her neck.
This time, what flowed into her wasn't ordinary vampiric blood—it was his refined, enhanced version.
The effect was immediate.
After becoming a vampire, her physical abilities had improved significantly, but the weaknesses had come with it—sunlight, detection, instability. Now, as his blood merged with hers, those weaknesses began to fade. Her body stabilized, her strength rising again, but more importantly, her dependence on blood diminished drastically.
Combined with her natural toxins and assassin training, her combat effectiveness surged to a completely different level.
If she returned to The Hand now, there would be very few who could stand against her.
Once she left, Locke leaned back slightly, his mind already moving ahead.
This wasn't something he could handle alone—not because he couldn't, but because it wasn't efficient. If there was going to be chaos on a city-wide scale, then S.H.I.E.L.D. needed to do its job.
They didn't get to sit this one out.
He reached over and nudged David awake, instructing him to dial the number from before.
The call connected quickly.
"Hello?" came Phil Coulson's slightly groggy voice.
"Are Hawkeye and Black Widow in New York?" Locke asked directly, skipping any formality. "Tell them to stop looking for Dreykov for now. There's something bigger coming."
He didn't pause, his tone turning firm, almost commanding. "Have them stand by and wait for my orders. S.H.I.E.L.D. needs to prepare evacuation and rescue operations immediately. When the time comes, follow my lead."
Before Coulson could respond—
Click.
The call ended.
Coulson stared at his phone, blinking in confusion as the line went dead. The silence in the room felt almost surreal.
Had that just been Devil Face… or the Director?
He frowned, trying to process what had just happened. The authority in that voice—it wasn't something just anyone could pull off. Even as a Level Eight agent, very few people spoke to him like that.
His jaw tightened slightly, irritation creeping in despite himself.
Still… work was work.
With a sigh, he scrolled through his contacts and tapped on one particular name.
The line connected.
"Yeah?" came the familiar voice of Nick Fury.
"Sir," Coulson said, his tone carrying a hint of restrained frustration, "we've got a situation. And this Devil Face guy… he's starting to go too far."
…
The next morning, an unexpected visitor arrived at the church.
Wesley stood at the entrance, looking slightly out of place. He had recently completed his training with the Brotherhood, mastering their techniques—but he hadn't taken his first contract yet.
And that was exactly why he was here.
The previous day, he'd been assigned his first kill. But when the moment came, he hesitated. The thought of killing a stranger—someone he didn't even know—had stopped him cold.
More than that, he remembered what Locke had told him before.
When you face your first kill, come find me.
After explaining everything, Wesley watched nervously as Locke listened. When he finished, Locke nodded, a faint hint of approval in his expression.
"Good," he said calmly. "You followed my instructions."
His tone shifted slightly, becoming colder. "Otherwise, I would've killed you myself."
Wesley froze, convinced he must have misheard.
The man in front of him—the priest who had always been calm and kind—how could he say something like that so casually?
Seeing the disbelief on his face, Locke smiled faintly. Then, without warning, he raised his hand, his fingers forming a sharp, blade-like shape.
"Come on," he said. "Try to stop me."
Before Wesley could react, Locke's arm blurred.
A shadow flashed forward, stopping just millimeters from Wesley's eye.
Wesley staggered back instinctively, his heart slamming against his ribs. He had trained with countless skilled assassins, but none of them felt like this. Standing in front of Locke felt like facing something ancient and terrifying—something far beyond human.
Locke stepped forward slowly, his voice calm but commanding. "I said… stop me."
The world seemed to distort.
Wesley's senses sharpened, adrenaline flooding his body as everything around him slowed. Every detail became clear—every movement, every breath.
Everything except that finger.
It came again.
He stumbled backward, barely managing to avoid it, his movements clumsy despite his heightened perception.
Again.
The finger stopped just short of his eye, precise and absolute.
By the third time, Wesley was drenched in cold sweat, his chest heaving as if he had just crawled out of the ocean.
Locke finally withdrew his hand, standing straight with his hands clasped behind his back, as if nothing had happened.
"Father…" Wesley's voice trembled slightly. "Who are you?"
Locke looked at him, his expression calm yet imposing.
"I am a knight of God."
Wesley blinked, confusion filling his face. "A… what does that even mean?"
Locke's gaze hardened slightly, his voice carrying a quiet, unshakable conviction. "I am the blade sent to punish evil."
He paused briefly, letting the words settle before continuing.
"This world will either be cleansed by me… or destroyed by me."
Wesley stood there, speechless, his mind struggling to keep up.
And just like that—
He believed.
It wasn't because Locke had become more persuasive. It was because Wesley himself was too inexperienced, too easily influenced. After all, even in his original path, he had been manipulated into killing his own father.
Locke had already planted the seeds long ago.
Now, they simply bore fruit.
Later, in the backyard, Locke revealed the truth about the Brotherhood.
Wesley listened in stunned silence.
"You're saying…" his voice wavered, "they trained me just so I could kill my own father?"
"Yes."
Locke nodded without hesitation. "Sloan betrayed the Brotherhood for money. He forged the kill lists and turned them into tools for murder. Every death ordered by that organization—every one of them—is tied to him."
He continued, his tone steady and certain. "Your father discovered the truth. That's why he left—to stop Sloan."
Wesley's thoughts raced, one realization colliding into another. "Then Fox…"
"She believed in the system," Locke said quietly. "But belief doesn't save you."
Wesley collapsed into a chair, his body going slack as the weight of everything hit him at once. The man he had trusted, the organization he had admired—it was all built on lies.
His hands clenched tightly as anger and confusion twisted together inside him.
"That bastard…" he muttered under his breath. "He fooled everyone."
After a long silence, he finally looked up.
"What do I do now?"
Locke met his gaze without hesitation.
"Find your real father first," he said calmly. "After that… the Brotherhood needs to be purified."
....
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