Tonight marked my fourth-night moonlighting as a vigilante in the gritty underworld of New York. By day, I worked on my projects, trained Karen to defend herself, and tried to maintain a semblance of normalcy. But when the sun dipped below the horizon, I shed that life and became something else. Something darker. I roamed the streets, my actions blending vigilante justice with my personal obsession: mapping Fisk's empire. My AI was good, but Fisk and his partners were far too smart to let anything stay on the grid for long. Still, I kept poking at his operations, just being a pain in his ass wherever I could.
The first few nights? They were a brutal wake-up call, even for me. This city—this hell—was built on human lives. They were currency, bargaining chips, and stepping stones to power. I saw a mugger shoot an innocent bystander in cold blood, right between the eyes. I found unmarked alleys with broken bodies of young women, discarded like trash. Every scene added fuel to the fire in my chest. This was survival of the fittest. Hesitate, and you'd end up like one of those poor bastards—lying cold and lifeless on the pavement.
It made me question everything. How the hell did heroes like Daredevil and Spider-Man stick so hard to their ideals in a world like this? For every Batman who held back, there was a Punisher who'd decided enough was enough. Hell, I wasn't a saint. Far from it.
Eventually, I reached my breaking point. Stopping robberies, breaking up drug deals, even getting in the middle of a gang shootout—it all wore me down. Some of these criminals didn't deserve a second chance, even the petty ones. I started testing my life-draining magic, at first hesitantly, like dipping my toes into an ocean of darkness. Not every thief I caught met that fate. The ones who hadn't spilled blood got a warning and were sent on their way. But the others? The ones who reveled in pain, the predators who hunted the weak? They didn't get a second chance. I didn't hesitate to pull the trigger with my magic, marking them for good.
My nights became a mix of experimenting with my abilities—testing limits that didn't require magic—raiding Fisk's warehouses and exacting small acts of justice. My moral compass, once a murky grey, had shifted deeper into the shadows. I wasn't Spider-Man. I wasn't Daredevil. And I was okay with that.
Tonight, perched on a rooftop above a quiet street, I watched a young couple stroll hand-in-hand beneath me. I didn't interfere. Lovebirds weren't my concern—unless they decided to make out in public. Then, I'd probably scare them off just out of pure annoyance. (Yeah, I'd done that before. Maybe I was petty, but after our initial intimacy Karen and I were in an awkward limbo.)
The peace didn't last. A screech of tires shattered the silence. Below, three men in black suits spilled out of a car, blocking the couple's path. Guns gleamed under the streetlights.
"End of the road, James," one of them sneered. "You're on our turf. And now, thanks to you, your girl's got a front-row ticket to hell."
My body went stiff. From my vantage point, I saw a trembling man—James—clutching his girlfriend's hands, pleading with the mobsters. This wasn't going to end well for them.
"Looks like it's showtime," I muttered under my breath, pulling my hood low and leaping into action.
"Please, just let her go! I'll come back with you willingly!" James's voice cracked, desperation spilling from every word as he shielded his girlfriend behind him.
"Sorry, James. Boss's orders are clear—no traitors left alive," one thug growled.
The guy in the middle—David, I guessed, cigarette dangling from his lips—chuckled darkly. His gaze flicked over to the terrified woman behind James. "As for your little sweetheart? Maybe I'll let her live… for a while. Heh."
"You can't do this, David! You'll rot in hell for this!" James roared, his voice cracking with a mixture of rage and despair.
David took a long drag on his cigarette, blowing the smoke into the cool night air. "Oh, I can do whatever I want," he drawled. "And as for rotting in hell? You'll be long dead before you find out."
He raised his pistol, aiming it straight at James.
"No! James!" The woman screamed, clutching at him.
"I'm sorry, my love," James whispered, pulling her into a brief, desperate embrace. Then, with sudden determination, he shoved her away, yelling, "Run!"
He charged forward, throwing himself at the three men with reckless abandon. "If there's any chance, Emily, I hope you escape. Don't let them get their hands on you."
David laughed darkly, shaking his head. "How naive," he sneered, raising his gun.
Bang.
The gunshot rang out, but before the bullet could find its target, a surge of dark energy rippled through the air, materializing into a pitch-black shield that absorbed the bullet like it was nothing.
James stumbled backward in shock, his momentum cut off. The air seemed to grow heavy as a figure stepped into view. A woman, cloaked in a scarlet hoodie dress, black knee-high boots, her face hidden in the shadows. Tendrils of darkness coiled around her like ribbons, flowing lazily from her body.
Was it her? Did she save me?
James's eyes widened in awe, staring at the mysterious figure that had just saved his life. For a brief moment, he thought he might have seen an angel—except this angel was more the angel of death than anything else, their aura of danger made him shrink
The three men froze, their eyes wide with disbelief. For a moment, the street was silent except for the distant hum of the city.
"What the hell…?" David muttered, his cigarette teetering on his lips as he stared at the impenetrable shield.
The spell broke quickly. The other two gangsters snapped to action, raising their weapons and emptying their clips at the figure below. The street erupted in chaos—flashes of gunfire lit the dim alley like a strobe light.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
But no matter how many bullets they fired, not a single one reached its target. The dark shield absorbed every round effortlessly, each impact vanishing into its inky void. By the time the last gun clicked empty, the street fell eerily quiet again.
The gangsters exchanged panicked glances, the confidence they carried earlier dissolving into unease.
"Who the hell are you?" David demanded, his voice cracking as he tried—and failed—to sound intimidating.
The figure tilted their head, letting the shield fade away into tendrils of dissipating shadows. With hands planted firmly on their hips, they let out a laugh—loud, theatrical, and almost too good to be true. "Oh, so you're curious? Well, since you asked so politely…"
They straightened up dramatically, the shadows swirling around them in anticipation. "I am the Red Reaper!"
Silence.
The gangsters stared at each other, dumbfounded. One of them finally broke the awkward tension. "Do you know her?"
"Nope."
"Never seen her before."
Even I cringed, an involuntary shiver running down my spine. Was it the cold air or the secondhand embarrassment? God, I hoped it was the cold. Titles should be earned, not thrown out there like some B-movie trailer.
The leader was the first to recover, his bravado kicking in like a faulty engine. "This is our business. You'd better stay out of it if you know what's good for you. Our boss won't let this slide."
I raised an eyebrow, tilting my head in mock curiosity. "Oh? Or what? You'll send me a sternly worded email?" My voice dripped with sarcasm, a smirk playing on my lips. "Look, threats are cute and all, but they're not exactly keeping me awake at night."
Turning my gaze to David, I let my smirk fade into a cold, venomous stare. "As for you," I growled, each word slicing through the air, "you're not walking away from this. Tonight, I'm making sure you don't have a good death. Not in front of James."
David's confidence cracked. His hands shook as he fumbled with his gun, slamming a fresh clip into place. "F—ck you!" he spat, raising the weapon. "Die, you witch!"
He fired. Too slow. I was already in motion. With a flick of my wrist, a dark barrier materialized, swallowing the bullets like raindrops into the ocean. My other hand surged with power as I conjured a spear of writhing shadow and hurled it straight into David's chest.
His scream pierced the night, raw and guttural, as the spear latched on, draining the life force from his body. Shadows danced around him like vultures circling their prey.
The other two gangsters? They didn't stick around to play hero. They bolted for the car like rats scrambling from a sinking ship.
"Smart move," I muttered, my voice cold. But their retreat wasn't fast enough. With a casual wave, two shadowy tendrils uncoiled from the darkness, snaking toward the fleeing men.
Seconds later, it was over. Their bodies crumbled into ash, their energy absorbed into the swirling void around me. I exhaled, relishing the surge of power that coursed through my veins. Hades' Touch. A personal favorite—a perfect blend of 'Lifeforce Absorption' and shadow manipulation. Only worked at night though due to my Darkness Empowerment.
The street grew deathly quiet. Only then did I turn back to James and Emily. They clung to each other, trembling like leaves in a storm.
I rolled my eyes, brushing a stray lock of hair from my face. "Oh, relax. If I wanted to kill you, I would've started already."
They nodded frantically, their terror palpable. I couldn't help but smirk. A little fear was good for the soul.
"Now, if you'll excuse me," I said, stepping back into the enveloping shadows, "try not to get yourselves killed before sunrise."
And just like that, I was gone, the lingering tendrils of darkness swallowing me whole, leaving James and Emily to their shaken relief—and the silence of the night.
...
Over the past few nights, James had been slinking through the shadowy streets, sticking to the kind of back alleys where the streetlights had long since given up. This city didn't sleep—it prowled. Even at night, it teemed with people who weren't afraid of the chaos, probably because they were the chaos.
The cops? They didn't step in unless they had to. The brass higher up were too busy cashing checks from all the wrong people, leaving the rookies to play hero. But let's be real—no one was throwing themselves in front of a bullet for a paycheck that could barely cover rent. So, order? That was more like a polite suggestion.
Which made the whole "superhero" thing stick out like a sore thumb.
James had heard stories back when he was still rolling with his gang. Rumors about vigilantes like Daredevil. Supposedly, the guy didn't just crack skulls; he dismantled entire operations. A walking, talking nightmare in red tights. But, like urban legends and half-priced steaks, James figured Daredevil was just too good—or too bad—to be true.
Tonight, though? Tonight James met something—or someone—else entirely.
And if this was what "saving people" looked like, he wasn't sure he wanted any part of it.
He stared, slack-jawed, at the scene in front of him. Three men—big, bad, armed-to-the-teeth types—were gone. Not knocked out. Not cuffed. Gone. Reduced to ash and scattered like cigarette butts in the wind.
The woman responsible for the carnage stood in the middle of it all, cool as a cucumber. No, scratch that. She looked pleased with herself.
"W-what the hell?" James whispered to no one in particular, clutching his girlfriend closer.
This... was a superhero?
If so, she made Daredevil look like a friendly mall cop. Even James's old boss—who once torched a guy's car with the guy still in it—wasn't this twisted.
She wore a scarlet hoodie dress, her silhouette both mesmerizing and menacing. Her voice, honey-smooth, was almost hypnotic like she could talk you into anything if you weren't careful. But it wasn't just the voice. The shadows around her seemed... alive. They clung to her, and moved with her, like she was their queen. And her eyes? Normally a piercing blue, they'd flicker crimson every now and then, just to remind you how very screwed you were.
The laughter didn't help. Low, chilling, and just unhinged enough to make your skin crawl. She'd called herself the "Red Reaper," and James didn't have the guts to argue.
Sure, he was grateful she'd taken out those guys before they could do God-knows-what. But this wasn't the rescue he'd imagined.
If she'd just come in swinging fists or firing off some futuristic gadget, he might've been able to wrap his head around it. But no. She'd waltzed in, summoned some shadowy shield that ate bullets for breakfast, and then—poof. The guys were gone. Just like that.
James held his girlfriend tighter, praying to every deity he could think of that the Red Reaper wouldn't decide they were next.
...
As my shadows retreated, curling back around me like a loyal cloak, the suffocating darkness of the alley lifted. The place was grimy, but at least you could see your hand in front of your face now. I turned to the two figures still trembling behind me.
"It's okay now. Don't be afraid. I've taken care of the bad guys for you," I said, my tone light and reassuring—like I hadn't just turned three armed thugs into dust motes. From where I was standing, I'd just saved their lives. If I hadn't stepped in, James would be a chalk outline, and who knew what horrors the woman beside him might've faced.
But what Sarah didn't realize at that moment was this: to them, she was the thing to fear.
Still, I silently patted myself on the back. Another good deed was done. Helping people one dark alley at a time. Starting small, keeping it simple—that was the plan. Never mind that this approach hadn't exactly panned out in any of my previous lives, but hey, you live and learn.
"Um... thank you so much for saving us! We're really grateful!" James stammered, his voice about as steady as gelatin in an earthquake. His head stayed bowed, his eyes glued to the ground.
I tilted my head, frowning. "Why aren't you looking at me? Am I that scary?"
"No! No, it's just... we're... so, so emotional right now!" James blurted, still avoiding eye contact like it might get him vaporized too.
I blinked at him, genuinely puzzled. "Jeez, I forgot how ungrateful people could be!" I muttered under my breath.
Turning to the now-ashen remains of the men I'd just "handled," I added, "Stay out of trouble, okay? You don't want to end up like those guys." I jerked my chin toward the mess on the ground.
"Yes, yes! Totally! Trouble-free from now on!" James nodded so hard I worried he might sprain something.
I sighed, shaking my head. What was I even supposed to say to these people? "Fine. Just... take care of yourselves. Oh, and spread the word: the Red Reaper is coming for Fisk."
With that, I let my shadows wrap around me again, as I entered my shadow dimension.
The last thing I heard as I vanished was James's girlfriend whispering, "She's not very hero-like, isn't she?"
And honestly? I kinda wished I knew the answer myself.
...
James glanced around the deserted street, his heart still hammering in his chest. She was gone—like she'd never been there in the first place. The only signs that something insane had just happened were the open car door, its interior light casting a dim glow, and the pavement littered with spent bullet casings. Three guns lay abandoned nearby, their owners reduced to... well, nothing.
He clenched his girlfriend's trembling hand and helped her to her feet. Neither of them spoke. What could they even say? Without a word, they turned and bolted, disappearing around the corner, not daring to look back.
...
Back at home, I kicked off my boots and pulled off my hoodie, trading it for an oversized T-shirt and sweats. A little less "Red Reaper" and a little more... "exhausted twenty-something trying to decompress." Grabbing a cold beer from the fridge, I headed to the living room, ready to unwind.
There she was—Karen lying on the couch, sound asleep. Her soft breathing filled the quiet room, and I felt a little grin tug at my lips. "So sweet that you waited for me," I muttered under my breath, careful not to wake her.
Her face looked so peaceful, framed by golden waves, and her nightwear—a simple satin number—made her look like something straight out of a fairy tale. For a split second, I entertained the idea of pulling off some cheesy "Sleeping Beauty" reenactment. But no, even I knew when to draw the line.
Instead, I slid my arms under her, lifting her as gently as possible. She stirred for a moment, murmuring something I couldn't quite catch, then settled back into sleep. Carrying her upstairs, I carefully laid her down on her bed, tucking the blanket around her like a protective cocoon.
"Sweet dreams, Karen," I whispered, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face before slipping back downstairs.
The couch still held a trace of her warmth as I collapsed onto it, letting out a long sigh. I grabbed my beer from the coffee table and took a slow sip, as my thought wandered to the events of the past couple of days