"Now you return Bullseye's corpse to Kingpin, you'll definitely push him over the edge," Eddie muttered repeatedly, watching Anton as he exited Fisk's company building and approached him.
He couldn't help but add, "From now on, the Daily Bugle won't just be dealing with the usual slapstick. Kingpin isn't like Drake. He clawed his way to the top using brute force. If he thinks Batman is behind this, he might just go on a rampage."
Anton raised an eyebrow and asked, "Are we afraid of things going sideways?"
Eddie burst into laughter, his voice carrying a touch of mockery. "Come on, we're on the right side here, and I've got Venom. What's there to fear?"
The symbiote inside him, Venom, was practically purring with excitement, eager for any confrontation that might come their way.
Every stranger could become its next meal, and Eddie knew that the only thing he truly worried about was the safety of the Daily Bugle employees.
"Don't sweat it. I already told them to take a few days off. If Kingpin has half a brain, he won't harm innocent civilians. Otherwise, those slimy politicians would've booted him out of the underworld throne a long time ago," Anton reassured him with a smile.
"Right now, our main concern should be that Kingpin won't even face us directly."
Eddie nodded but asked, "Are you sure we can actually nail him this time? Get some real evidence?"
"Our goal isn't a direct confrontation. We're after Kingpin's weapon arsenal," Anton replied, his eyes glinting with purpose.
"If we can trace it back, we might even be able to reel in a bigger fish. Connect the dots to Stark Industries and bring down a real storm in New York." Anton paused, clearly calculating the potential rewards.
For him, it was a win-win: he could tackle corruption and score himself some serious justice points in the process.
Eddie sighed, "Can't believe I'm actually playing the hero." Since he and Anton had taken down Carlton Drake and gained control over Venom, life had transformed in unimaginable ways.
"Trust me, it's addictive," Anton said with a grin.
A ringing sound interrupted them. Anton glanced at his phone. It was Winston.
"Anton, my informant just reported that Fisk is gathering his people. He's pulling out heavy weapons and seems ready to make a move. Be careful," Winston warned.
"Got it. Tell your guys to gear up and meet in Hell's Kitchen tonight. We'll strike first," Anton replied, a hint of excitement in his tone.
"What?" Winston sounded shocked. "Are you really planning to go head-to-head with him? We're outnumbered."
"Don't worry. I've got a plan, and I won't use your men as cannon fodder." Anton hung up, his mind already working through the details.
In Hell's Kitchen, a young man with a slight build, dressed in a red mask and a sweater emblazoned with a spider emblem, nervously entered an underground boxing gym.
"Hey, chicken! You here to throw punches too?" the brawny gatekeeper sneered, slapping him on the shoulder.
"What's your ring name? Chicken sounds just right for you."
"Spider… call me Spider," the young man muttered, hesitating before writing his name on the form.
"Alright, kid, you're up." The man shoved him down the hallway with a chuckle.
"Your opponent is Big Mac—the undefeated champ of this place. I hope you don't come out missing an arm," the gatekeeper jeered.
Places like this saw plenty of kids looking to make quick cash, and most didn't fare well. The worst of them left in body bags, forgotten and unclaimed.
The young man entered the boxing area, only to realize this was no ordinary ring. This was an arena for underground, no-rules fighting.
"Wait! I just wanted a regular boxing match, not this!" he said, panicked.
"Too late, kid," sneered a scantily clad girl nearby. "Scared, are ya?"
"Afraid? Me?" His nerves shifted into something else, defiance replacing fear. "Let's get on with it."
"Good. Your opponent's ready to tear you apart," she said, gesturing toward the ring.
As the young man climbed in, an iron cage dropped down from above, trapping him. This was no amateur fight. It was a caged match—a brutal, unforgiving brawl.
Meanwhile, in Hell's Kitchen, an undercurrent of danger was brewing. Kingpin had called for a reckoning, and the gangs were gathering, ready to rain chaos down on New York.
Their targets: the Daily Bugle, the Continental Hotel, and the hero of Hell's Kitchen, Daredevil.
Kingpin's anger had lit a fire within them. His empire was on the line, and his vengeance was a promise.
The Daily Bugle was first, as he suspected Batman was somehow involved. The Continental Hotel was next—he'd discovered that the assassin who had saved Ben worked out of there.
And, of course, Daredevil, his old foe, would not go unpunished.
The gangs armed themselves with guns, bats, and machetes, each member eager to earn Kingpin's favor.
Then, like a true king, Fisk himself emerged. He wore his signature white suit, a cane in hand and a cigar between his teeth. His face was stoic, his gaze calculating.
"Tonight, I'll remind New York that Kingpin hasn't abandoned his throne. This city is still my territory," he declared in a low voice that cut through the noise like a knife.
"Go. Take down our enemies and show everyone that my empire is not to be trifled with."
As his words echoed, the crowd erupted into a thunderous cheer, chanting his name, "Kingpin! Kingpin!"
Then, suddenly, a shadow loomed over the rooftop across the street. A bat-like silhouette projected against the building.
"Batman!"
Fisk flinched, but quickly regained his composure, sneering at the figure above him. "You didn't wait for me to find you, huh? You came right to me!"
"Tonight is your end, Kingpin," Batman's voice boomed from his armor's speaker, amplifying his words for all to hear.
"We'll see about that," Fisk replied, his eyes narrowing. He turned to his men, motioning forward. "Go, finish him."
Just as he spoke, a projectile launched from Batman's shoulder cannon. A rocket, trailing flames, shot toward Kingpin's platform.
At this moment, Anton had switched to his rabbit armor, a lightweight mech suit with high maneuverability for crowded, high-stakes environments.
As the rocket closed in, Kingpin didn't flinch. Raising his cane, he aimed at the rocket, shooting it down mid-air. It exploded in a flash, scattering debris and a wave of heat.
The young man—Spider—had just emerged from his boxing match, gripping his prize money, both elated and exhausted.
But his relief was short-lived. As he exited the underground gym, a blast shook the air, the shockwave rolling over him, carrying the smell of burning fuel.
His spider-sense tingled, and he knew something was horribly wrong.
He glanced up, catching sight of the fireworks-like explosion in the distance. The dark figure above it made his blood run cold.
"What the—Batman?" The young hero hesitated, clutching his money, but his instincts took over. Whatever was happening, it was big, and he couldn't just stand by.
Back at the scene, Kingpin's men advanced on Batman, firing and closing in. But Batman moved like a phantom, his rabbit armor making him faster and more agile than ever.
Bullets bounced off, and the mechsuit's reinforced shielding deflected blows as he took down one thug after another.
"RPG!" someone yelled, frantically trying to rally Kingpin's forces.
But the shell was never meant for them. Batman aimed his rocket directly at Kingpin's platform again, determined to take out the mastermind himself. The second blast was even closer, rattling Fisk, who barely managed to shoot it down.
…
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