The first lesson one must adhere to when heading straight into war is never to underestimate your enemy, no matter how weak or strong they are. Didn't Goliath get a stone headshot for taking a small man as a joke?
There was no righteousness in fighting; only winning and surviving mattered. When dealing with enemies, you had to crush them. This wasn't some enlightening wisdom from the Art of War, just an obvious truth drawn from life experience. Joe knew he wasn't David or Goliath. But Wilson Fisk? He was probably a Goliath. Not all brawn and no brains either. To rule as a criminal overlord, with absolute authority and connections throughout New York, Fisk couldn't be just an ordinary man.
Maybe while sitting on his imperial throne, he might have thought over such scenarios of his adversaries attacking him. The thing is, in New York, no one was stupid enough to mess with him. His rivals knew him better than his supposed friends.
Joe's eyes flickered as he contemplated the variables and Fisk's way of retaliation. He briefly closed his eyes for two seconds, maximizing his hearing range into every nook and cranny of the large hall beyond the double doors.
He needed to confirm how many armed thugs they would be up against. If he were alone, the number of opponents wouldn't have mattered. But this time, he had a partner—one who was far from being a liability.
'The number of heartbeats, feet subtly shuffling on the ground, breathing rate... That's quite the line-up, Fisk. How do you expect us to deal with a hundred heavily armed men?' Joe opened his eyes, a smirk stretching his lips. He had never dealt with so many opponents like that. It somehow made him excited. His battle instincts were rekindled, burning with hot precision.
Peter, who was habitually crouching on the ground, sensed the change. 'What got his pants in a twist?'
"Hey, what got you so excited despite our dire situation?" Peter asked in a tense, low voice.
"We are gonna fight an army of a hundred, Spidey? Have you ever dealt with that shit?" Joe spilled the beans.
"W-What??? A hundred bad guys? Aren't we just going to get butchered?" Peter freaked out, clutching his head in mock agony like a schizophrenic patient.
He constantly shook his head in disbelief, thinking that maybe Joe was playing with him.
"I'm not joking. That's the dipshit we are in. And I'm telling you to prepare you mentally. Your Spidey senses should be buzzing right now," Joe answered his doubts in a serious tone.
"H-How am I supposed to dodge hundreds of heavy fires simultaneously?" Peter cluttered his teeth to tame his nervousness.
Joe sighed deeply before picking Peter by the neck, lifting him like a child.
"What does Spider-Man have to be afraid of? Do you want to tap out when you've reached this far?"
Peter's shoulder slumped slightly in embarrassment and hesitation.
"Or maybe, do you want me to create a river of blood using those men?" Joe leaned forward, his voice taking an extremely darker tone, full of undisguised killing intent.
A shiver instinctively ran down Peter's spine as his Spidey senses went into overdrive. In the next moment, he crouched vigilantly, several feet away from Joe.
Fear. It gripped his body the instant Joe's cold words pierced the air. There was no hint of a joke in them—Joe was deadly serious, fully capable of carrying out what he'd just threatened if Peter didn't step up.
Behind the mask, Peter's face tightened with a heavy expression. He couldn't let his friend walk such a dangerous path.
'This is the reason I'm here with him. I don't want to lose him to needless pragmatism. He isn't cold-blooded as he claims himself to be.' Peter pondered as he stood up, his body slightly relaxing.
'I have to be involved no matter what. I can't cower. Believe in yourself, Pete. What are bullets to you? Can't you just dodge them? Yeah, I can do this.'
Joe smiled, sensing the new determination overflowing from Peter.
"I'm Spider-Man. I can flip all day," Peter declared, hands akimbo, his voice lively and full of heroism. He had regained some of his humor back.
Joe couldn't suppress his grin when he heard that. "Badassery isn't going to save your dead ass, bro."
"I have been running this rodeo for a while. I'll do my best. No kidding."
Joe started devising a simple plan. "I'll be the tank and attract all the aggro. Try to sling your way above and evade the stray bullets."
Peter nodded heavily. "Let's do this."
"Man, it feels like we are entering a dungeon," he muttered.
Joe replied in amusement. "It is. Isn't Fisk the boss we want to defeat?"
"Now..." Joe flexed his arm, muscles rippling violently, as his right hand clenched into a fist.
"Get outta my way!" He concentrated all of his physical power into the punch, sending instantaneous vibrations everywhere.
Then...
BOOM!
It was like the atomic bomb had been dropped into the hall as the sturdy metallic double doors were sent zooming across the room. The goons standing on its path were all destructively swept sky-high, before being left half-alive and gravely injured.
"Fuck 'em up!" A strong voice suddenly commanded, startling the goons to begin firing their automatic weapons at the intruding duo.
It was Bullseye. He wore a black suit with a bull's-eye tattoo on his forehead and chest. His eyes gleamed with sadistic glee as multiple hot bullets rained on whoever was on the other side. To send such a huge steel door flying with such overwhelming force, his instincts as an assassin told him that the enemy was hundred percent superhuman.
But can they survive so many bullets?
Bullseye's eyes narrowed as he spotted a silhouette calmly emerging through the smoke, unfazed by the hail of bullets. The clink of spent rounds hitting the floor echoed like an unending rhythm throughout the hall.
"The fuck?!" A random goon spoke out in surprise, echoing the thoughts of fellow thug brothers.
Those bullets were specially made to deal with normal superhumans. They could bypass their durability. But was Joe a normal superhuman?
An enormous man, towering at six-foot-seven, flashed a battle-crazed grin. His disfigured nose and pale skin, marred by albinism, only added to his terrifying presence—his face evoking the same level of intimidation as Freddy Krueger.
"Finally, a worthy opponent just like me," he crazily laughed. "Bulldog, leave that man to me."
Bullseye gave the enormous man a stinky side glance that could kill him a million times over. "It's Bullseye, albino. Bullseye—that's my fucking name, dimwitted mummy."
Black veins of fury throbbed at the man's temples. His steely muscles strained beneath the fabric of his suit, barely containing the force of his palpable rage. It took every ounce of willpower to resist splattering the clown's brains across the floor.
"It's Tombstone. After we're done with this job, don't let me catch you anywhere in the city," Tombstone threatened him, his eyes seething.
"No one who has threatened me has ever lived to tell the tale. You just added yourself to my assassination list... Albino," Bullseye countered fearlessly, his hand tightly holding onto the poisonous shuriken.
"But before that, let's take our jobs seriously," he muttered, restraining himself from acting recklessly. There was a reason: the man who hired him, along with the albino at his side, was watching everything.
For the love of all that was unholy, he couldn't afford any mishap in this operation. A hired assassin should always execute their tasks cleanly and efficiently. The one thing he despised above all was the word "failure" tarnishing his flawless assassination record.
Tombstone grumbled, also controlling his mad impulses.
Who would believe that two insane serial killers could work together?
"What the heck— how can that masked weirdo move that fast? He's even teamed up with the shitty bug?!" Bullseye's almost superhuman vision monitored the white blur moving around the stunned goons.
Fisk, seated tensely behind the massive wooden desk, clenched his large hands, causing cracks to form on its surface. The desk groaned under the pressure of his fists but still held on for dear life.
What he had feared the most had finally come to fruition. An unknown variable had appeared. Their speed was something he had never seen. As the Kingpin, he was well-informed of the superhuman society. And the masked horned devil could be categorized under the elites. If his superspeed wasn't enough, he just had to have super defenses just like Tombstone.
'What a headache. Even the help I have called from the Assassin's Guild won't help me that much. I just hope that masked guy has some limitations. But I should prepare just in case...' Fisk's jaws hardened as he contemplated, his bald head shining bright as ever.
Meanwhile, Spider-Man narrowly dodged a lethal shot that grazed his arm, slicing through his suit and skin. Blood oozed from the wound, but he ignored the sting, focusing solely on the battle.
"That was close," Peter murmured as he webbed the guy holding a machine gun. First, he hurled the machine gun across the hall, striking multiple thugs.
"As for you..." Next, Peter made the machine gun dude experience a bumpy merry-go-round.
"How does it feel to relive your childhood, Kelly?" He innocently asked the unconscious guy who certainly couldn't answer.
"Hey, you guys haven't had any fun, right?" Peter turned his attention to the remaining guys dedicatedly showering him with bullets. He could only constantly flip and cautiously avoid them at heart-stopping angles. Peter's heart raced as the adrenaline kept his senses overclocked.
Joe briefly looked at how Peter was doing.
'So you are enjoying yourself, bud? Guess I should also try to tangle the mess on my side.' He shook his head and simultaneously sent double punches toward two thugs, sending them to the moon. He made sure to control his attacks.
CLANG!
Multiple shurikens hit his neck, precisely aimed at his jugular vein, before dropping to the ground. Whoever had sent them just wanted to finish him off as quickly as possible. Their aim was also flawless.
"How cute," Joe remarked dryly, just in time for a couple of deadly knives to hit his chest. He caught one knife while his other hand effortlessly deflected all the incoming weapons.
"You even soaked them in poison? How typical of a seasoned assassin," Joe commented as he examined the knife.
"I can return this to you, right?" Without waiting for a reply, he threw the knife at supersonic speeds. His aim was casual but accurate as it bombarded Bulleye's hand, turning it into minced meat and bone shards. Blood furiously sprinkled onto the floor.
"Aargh!" Bullseye painfully gritted his teeth to suppress his grunts. He immediately tore a piece of cloth and tied it around the injury point to curb the bleeding.
"Oops, I was going for the head," Joe quipped as he menacingly walked toward the duo.
"Cocky bastard, aren't you treating me so lightly?" It was at that moment that Tombstone lunged at Joe, his speed as terrifying as his physicality. He was like a wild buffalo, seemingly indestructible and mighty.
BOOM!
Two powerful fists met each other causing a blast to send all that were near reeling backwards. At the end of the exchange, Tombstone was sent back a few distances away while Joe stood his ground like an immovable mountain.
Before Tombstone could even get a breather, Joe vanished for a millisecond, appearing in front of the off-balanced giant. Next was a series of rapid martial strikes, targeting weak points. Tombstone was helplessly taking the strikes, unable to resist at all.
Tombstone was a human mutate; his biology was altered by a chemical, Diox-3, which made his skin nearly indestructible. But what was indestructibility before Joe's relentless fists? Even between nigh-indestructible superhumans, there existed level differences. Tombstone's enemy was in a different league of his own.
He was built different.
He was nothing like the web spinner. He was a monster!
THUD!
Finally, Tombstone was rendered unconscious, his heavy figure impacting the ground.
"You really lack situational awareness, bastard," a wicked voice rushed toward Joe, the wind parting violently.
WHOOSH!
Joe calmly sidestepped the strike from the Sai wielded by Bullseye. His eyes narrowed when he noticed something peculiar about the Sai. It shone with a mysterious luster, more vibrant than even pure silver. It gave him a terrifying feeling.
'What metal is infused on the blade?' Joe pondered, 'Adamantium? Anti-metal? Vibranium?'
"Hey, where did you get that blade from?" He asked, not expecting an answer, as he continued to evade the Sai.
"None of your business. Just die! I'll only tell you after you die!" Bullseye howled manically, his movements not all impeded after losing a hand. His balance was still impeccable.
Joe had to admit that Bullseye was truly skillful despite his bloodthirsty nature.
"Okay, I'll get the answer I need from you after dealing with your boss," Joe nonchalantly said before delivering a hefty blow to Bullseye's stomach. Bullseye's figure curved like a prawn, momentarily floating in the air before gravitating to the floor. He vomited all the digested food and bile from his stomach. His mouth couldn't stop frothing.
"I didn't think that I'd ever meet a person like you. What... are you?" Fisk's composed voice cut through the chaos. He didn't show any signs of running away. He seemed confident in himself. Or did he already accept his fate?
"Hmm, interesting. You don't even consider me human," Joe humorlessly muttered as he directed his attention to the huge, bald man behind the desk.
"Wilson Fisk, I have a question. It's a little personal."
Fisk furrowed his brows, taken aback by the mysterious masked man's nonchalance. 'What could he want from me? Didn't he come here to take my life?'
Joe touched his chin thoughtfully. "Um, considering your huge size..."
A fierce expression appeared on Fisk's face, the desk's legs trembling as they tried to resist the possible breakage.
"H-How does your pp, like, handle Vanessa's cookie?"
KACHA!
Fisk destroyed the huge desk with his gigantic fists, cleaving it into two wrecks, splinters, and pieces of wood flying everywhere.
How dare he bring Vanessa into this?!
How dare he humiliate my love?!
How dare he!
Oh boy, the Kingpin was extremely furious! His face reddened, fiery blood rushing to his head as he launched his muscular figure at Joe.
Joe smirked beneath the mask. It was a vicious, psychological tactic he had devised on the spur of the moment.
Anything to do with Vanessa, Fisk's beloved, would always get him riled up. She was his weakness somehow.
Despite Fisk's huge frame, most of his body was cushioned with pure muscles instead of useless fat. He moved at blinding speeds and delivered punches with force far beyond human limits.
Joe happily accommodated the enraged behemoth as they exchanged multiple moves from hapkido to boxing.
'He's incredibly skilled in hand-to-hand combat. What a beast,' Joe thought, silently admiring the fight with a sense of enjoyment.
"But that's enough," Joe murmured, sucker-punching Fisk's nose, fracturing it. Blood profusely poured from Fisk's nostrils as he staggered, losing his balance.
BAM! BAM! BAM!
A relentless barrage of fists pummeled his face as Fisk tried—and failed—to shield himself.
'I can't let him continue like this,' Fisk calculated, his bruised, purple face ruined beyond recognition.
Abandoning his defenses, he discreetly pressed the hidden trigger on his ring. A burst of green gas shot toward Joe, and Fisk held his breath despite the searing pain.
"Oh? Sleeping gas, for real? Do you want to kidnap me?" Joe arched his brows as he deliberately inhaled the gas like it was damn oxygen. The color of the gas reminded him of the kryptonite gas Batman used against Superman.
Fisk stared at him in shock and trepidation. That gas was potent enough to put an elephant to sleep. It was specially crafted for superhuman freaks like Joe.
"Ah, I'm immune to that shit," Joe exhaled with a deep, satisfied sigh.
Fisk recoiled, each motion sending shots of agonizing pain through his battered frame. His whole body couldn't stop aching nonstop as he took labored breaths. All the cells inside him were geared towards one desperate move—flight.
His schemes and fearsome reputation meant nothing in the face of absolute power.
"Are you trembling?"
"Your body's riddled by horripilation."
He couldn't outrun that monster. But what was he supposed to do? His subordinates— even the superhuman ones—were utterly useless. In the end, he couldn't rely on anyone but himself.
He was all alone. That was the dangerous life he, Wilson Grant Fisk, had chosen since his younger days.
'I still have Vanessa.' Fisk gave himself hope as his body impacted the glass window.
Just as he prepared to leap recklessly from the four-story building, a hand shot out of nowhere and clamped over his face. The grip was unyielding, holding his massive frame suspended just inches above the ground. It felt like a cage, inescapable.
The absurdity of it all hit him—he had become prey, toyed with like a helpless mouse caught in the cat's claws.
"Where are you heading to, Mr. Fisk? We aren't done yet," Joe casually said, his grip strength gradually increasing.
"J— Demon mask, don't!" Peter warned as he approached them. He nearly exposed Joe's real identity.
"That wasn't in our agreement, Spider-Man."
"I know. But you can't, just—"
"He has to die. I don't want to do this more than you."
"New York would be in chaos."
"The hole he leaves behind will be filled by someone from my side. Don't worry about that."
"Think about Gwen. Would she have wanted this?"
Joe released a dark chuckle at that question. "Well, I'm not Houdini. I'm tired of repeating the same subject."
Fisk's eyes widened in abject terror, his protests reduced to muffled sounds against Joe's unyielding hand. The primal fear of death gripped the crime lord with unprecedented intensity. For Fisk, this visceral dread was magnified tenfold as he teetered on the precipice between life and oblivion, death's icy breath uncomfortably close.
Looking at the conflicted Peter and the fear-stricken Fisk, Joe sighed heavily, his grip loosening a bit.
"You're lucky. There's an experiment missing only one thing—a powerful test subject," he whispered close to Fisk's ear.
Fisk's eyes widened like a frightened deer caught in headlights.
That was a fate worse than death!
To be nothing more than a toy for a mad scientist.
***
(word count 3097)
P.S. It's good to be back