568

Daredevil

Forseti remained silent, scrutinizing the masked man before him.

He quickly deduced that this man, who did not seem to look directly at him, was likely blind.

Could he be Daredevil?

Forseti didn't know much about Daredevil other than his blindness, so he prompted, "Perhaps you should introduce yourself first."

"I..." Matt hesitated, feeling a bit flustered.

His heightened hearing allowed him to scan his surroundings like sonar, and he soon discerned that the person who saved him wasn't entirely human, based on the sound waves he detected—denser and stronger than steel, unlike anything he'd encountered before.

"What's your name?" Forseti inquired again.

"My name is Ma—" Matt began, then abruptly stopped himself, "Sorry, I prefer to keep my true identity hidden."

Forseti nodded.

It seemed likely that this was indeed Daredevil.

"You killed him?" Matt asked incredulously, noticing the thug's lifeless body.

Forseti replied casually, "Yes, he almost sent you to meet god just now."

Matt responded, "You should let the law handle and punish him. Vigilantism goes against the principles of justice."

Realizing that the argument was futile, Forseti didn't engage further, simply stating, "There's truth in what you say."

Matt was at a loss for words.

"Farewell, until fate brings us together again," Forseti said, then turned and departed, returning to his residence to attend to other matters.

Compared to Daredevil's methodical approach to law enforcement, the Punisher's methods were far more intense and decisive.

Elsewhere in New York City, within a cramped, half-abandoned public restroom,

The Punisher shoved a battered gangster against a stall, pointing a gun at him, demanding, "Where's Bruno Costa hiding?"

"I...I don't know," the thug whimpered.

Without a word, the Punisher struck him with a blow.

"Ahh!" the thug cried out in agony.

The Punisher's punch ruptured the thug's eyeball, mixing blood, tears, and vitreous fluid.

Adjusting his tie, the Punisher explained, "During my Marine Corps days, an instructor taught me that when an eyeball ruptures and vitreous leaks out, the body produces antibodies that can attack the healthy eye. If you don't remove the damaged eye promptly, you'll lose sight in both eyes."

"Is...is that true?" the thug asked, terrified, writhing in pain.

"Where is Bruno?" the Punisher demanded again.

"...Can you let me go?" the thug pleaded timidly.

"Speak!" the Punisher growled, pressing the gun to the thug's temple.

"I'll talk! I'll talk!" the thug finally broke, tears streaming down his face, divulging everything he knew and more.

"...Bruno is in Pantabode Castle, Florida," he confessed.

The Punisher fell silent for a moment.

"Can I go now?" the thug asked cautiously.

The Punisher stared at him coldly, "I have bad news and good news. The bad news is what I said is true—you need to remove that damaged eye soon, or you'll lose the other one too."

"And...the good news?"

"The good news is, you won't need to worry about that," the Punisher said, pulling the trigger.

"Bang!" The bullet pierced through the thug's eye socket into his brain, ending his life.

With the man dealt with, the Punisher, dressed in his skull-emblazoned suit, continued his quest for vengeance.

Days later, Pantabode Castle, Florida.

In the stillness of the night, Bruno stood alone on the balcony, uneasily scanning the darkness outside the castle.

Intuition warned him of predatory eyes lurking in the shadows—hungry, wolf-like eyes fixated on him.

Growing more anxious, he paced back and forth before finally making a call.

"Boss, it's me..." The person Bruno called his boss was none other than kingpin, Wilson Fisk.

Wilson Fisk's deep voice rumbled on the other end, "What's the matter?"

Bruno swallowed hard, "Scoley's dead. Frank Castle must've done it. He's killing my men, and I fear he'll come for me next."

"How many men does he have?"

Bruno hesitated, "Just...one."

Fisk's voice held a trace of displeasure, "You can't handle one man?"

"He's a Marine Corps elite, fought in Afghanistan, trained in combat, infiltration, and assassination. He's dangerous. He lurks in the shadows, striking at us," Bruno explained.

There was a pause on the other end before Fisk finally responded, "I understand."

"Boss—" Bruno tried to say more, but Fisk had already hung up, cutting him off abruptly.

Staring at the phone in his hand, Bruno's face darkened with melancholy. He sighed heavily before setting the phone down.

As night deepened, Bruno poured himself a glass of red wine, a nightly ritual of many years.

"Tsk." Savoring the wine's flavor, he momentarily relaxed before heading to the bathroom to freshen up.

However, as he pushed open the bathroom door in the darkness, a sudden wave of impending danger gripped him, as if a wolf had lunged at him from the shadows.

Reacting instinctively, Bruno raised his hand—but a sharp blade pierced through it!

Seeing Bruno still alive, Frank cursed silently in the darkness.

But his frustration quickly dissipated.

Good. Let him suffer a bit longer.

"Help—" Bruno cried out, terrified, seeking aid.

Moving swiftly, Frank thrust the dagger again. This time, it pierced through Bruno's jaw, slicing through his tongue!

"Uh...uh..." Bruno clutched his jaw in pain, blood flowing between his fingers and through his teeth.

"I told you, Bruno, I'll make sure you get what you deserve my way!" Frank hissed, grinding his teeth.

As a Marine Corps elite, Frank understood the human body's vulnerabilities, targeting areas of intense pain.

Each strike inflicted agony on Bruno but deliberately avoided fatal wounds, prolonging his suffering.