Chapter 16 – The Eyes That See Sin

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Jack walked through the streets, hands tucked into his sleeves, his golden eyes lazily scanning his surroundings. Even outside his claimed territory, the city felt the same.

The streets of New York were always filled with people—some minding their business, some up to no good.

And right now? Jack felt eyes on him. Too many. From alleyways, from parked cars, from windows.

Suspicious figures loitered nearby. Some pretended to smoke, some pretended to check their phones, some just sat in cars with tinted windows, doing a shit job of being inconspicuous.

Jack rubbed his chin. "Huh. Either I got famous real quick, or the city's got some real nosy bastards."

Then—he caught a whiff of himself. His nose wrinkled. "Right. Still stink." He muttered to himself. "I can't go out looking like this. Let's just wait 'til tomorrow for Auntie Vivi to finish my clothes."

Without another word—he crouched low. And then—he leapt. In a single bound, Jack soared onto the nearest rooftop, landing lightly.

…

Inside a nondescript black SUV, Agent Phil Coulson sat calmly, his eyes tracking Jack through the car's tinted windows.

The moment Jack leapt onto the rooftop, Coulson's hand moved to his notepad.

Target exhibits meta-human capabilities. Possibility of enhanced physiology. Agility comparable to high-level acrobatics. Investigation warranted.

He tapped his pen thoughtfully. "Interesting."

The junior agent beside him gulped. "Sir, should we request backup?"

Coulson didn't look away from his notes. "No. Not yet."

He closed his notepad. "For now, we observe."

…

In a sleek black limousine, Wilson Fisk—Kingpin—sat in silence. His massive hands rested on his cane, his expression blank, but his eyes burning with irritation.

This was supposed to be simple. Some idiot had the nerve to claim his territory? Crushing him should have been easy.

Then—he saw the man move. A single jump—dozens of feet into the air. The way he moved… it wasn't human.

Kingpin's jaw tightened. "Mutant."

The word dripped with disgust. 

He turned to his driver. "Take me to Madame Gao's meeting."

The driver hesitated. "Sir, we'll be late—"

Kingpin's voice was low, but absolute. "I. Don't. Care."

Madame Gao was just a tool, another piece in his grand scheme to control New York. And right now? He had a far bigger problem to deal with.

…

Jack landed gracefully on the rooftop, settling into a comfortable sitting position. The city stretched out before him, a ray of morning lights, noise, and endless motion.

He closed his eyes.

And for the second time that day—he reflected. 

Was this the right call? Turning gangsters into workers? Giving criminals a second chance? It wasn't exactly a hero's move. Hell—he wasn't a hero.

But deep down, he knew why he did it. A voice echoed in his mind—his own voice, but from another time. "You were a gangster once." "You had subordinates once." "And they were people." Jack's fingers tapped idly against his knee.

Yeah.

They were people. Some good, some bad—but all of them just… surviving. And if someone like him could change—Maybe they could too.

He exhaled slowly. What he did today—that was the best he could do. And somehow…

That was enough.

As Jack sat in deep meditation, something shifted in his soul. The mountain of Huaguo within him trembled. A fourth temple formed—the mark of another unlocking of himself.

And then—his eyes changed. His golden irises shimmered, glowing brighter than ever before. His vision sharpened, focusing beyond mere sight. The world became clear—too clear.

Jack opened his eyes. And for the first time—he saw. At first, it was just people. A man sitting on a park bench. A woman walking her dog. A homeless guy digging through trash.

But then—he saw something else.

A stain.

Not physical—but a weight, a mark, a presence. A residue of wrongdoing. He turned his gaze toward the homeless man.

For a moment, he thought—this guy's just a poor soul trying to survive. Then—he saw it. The man had just stolen a wallet from the sidewalk—not out of desperation, but because he enjoyed it.

Jack's gaze snapped to the woman walking her dog. On the surface, she was just an ordinary pedestrian. But he saw it. The stain of sin. She abused her husband at home—verbally, physically—and she felt no remorse.

His gaze moved again.

A taxi driver. His crime? He had run over a cat on his way home today… and laughed about it.

Jack clenched his jaw. This… was different. He wasn't just seeing people anymore. He was seeing their sins.

His eyes burned.

A sharp sting spread across his vision, and a faint wisp of smoke curled from the corners of his eyes. Jack hissed, rubbing his temples. "Ow. Ow. Fuck, that stings."

He blinked rapidly, the golden glow dimming slightly.

Then, he grinned.

"Well… I guess that's useful."

His vision had changed. His Golden Gaze could now see the sins of men. And that? That was gonna make keeping his territory safe a whole lot easier.

Jack plucked a strand of his long hair, feeling its texture between his fingers.

"One's not enough."

He took the strand between his teeth, biting down, dividing it into smaller pieces. As each tiny strand fell to the ground, they shivered, pulsed with golden energy—And then—They became him.

Dozens of Jacks now stood around him, each wearing the same lazy grin, the same golden gaze flickering in the dim city light.

The clones stretched, cracking their necks.

One of them whistled. "Damn, I look good."

Another nudged the real Jack. "So what's the plan, boss?"

Jack crossed his arms. "Simple. Patrol the territory. Keep the people safe. Make sure nobody tries anything stupid."

The clones grinned, already itching to get moving.

One of them raised a brow. "And you? What are you gonna do?"

Jack's smile widened. "I think I'll bother our new friend."

The clones nodded. Then—in perfect synchronization—they leapt onto the rooftops, scattering into the night.

The city had just gained many more sets of eyes.

Jack had barely started moving when he heard it—A commotion.

His sharpened hearing picked up the struggle, the sharp exhales of a fight, the dull impacts of fists meeting flesh.

A few hundred meters away.

Jack grinned. "Well, that was fast."

With a single bound, he shot through the night, leaping effortlessly from rooftop to rooftop. In seconds, he landed silently on the edge of a fire escape, peering down into a dark alley below.

There—Daredevil was beating the absolute hell out of some guy. The man coughed blood, already bruised and struggling to stay conscious. 

Jack smirked. "Hoooh, we got ourselves a show."

Daredevil's head snapped up immediately. Even before Jack spoke, he had felt him. The presence was immense—not just strong, but weighty, like a massive storm compressed into a single being.

Then—Jack spoke. "You ever think about how the world's just one big revolving door? We go in, we come out, but we never really change the building we're stuck in."

Daredevil furrowed his brow. "…What?"

Jack shrugged. "I dunno. Just felt like the right thing to say."

Daredevil's expression remained unreadable. "You're the voice I heard this morning."

Jack grinned. "Kekekeke, yeah, got a little too into it. Happens sometimes."

Daredevil faced him fully now, his stance shifting slightly. "You're not scared."

Jack tilted his head. "Should I be?"

Daredevil didn't answer. Jack turned his golden gaze toward the man on the ground. And then—he saw. The man's sins unraveled before his eyes. The filth. The violence, the predation, the cruelty.

Jack exhaled. "Ah. A rapist."

Daredevil tensed. "How did you know that?"

Jack grinned. "Fight me and I'll tell you."

Daredevil frowned. "Why would I—"

Jack blurred forward, attacking without warning. Daredevil barely had time to react. Jack moved too fast. Daredevil's instincts screamed, and he dodged—but just barely.

Even that first exchange told him everything he needed to know. This man was beyond him.

He could hear it—the way Jack's muscles shifted, the air around him bending unnaturally, the weight behind each movement.

Even as Jack held back, the sheer pressure of his existence was immense. Daredevil gritted his teeth. "Shit."

Jack attacked again—faster. Daredevil blocked with his forearm, twisting to counter, but—Jack was already behind him. 

A palm strike landed lightly on Daredevil's back—just a tap. Daredevil immediately rolled forward, instinctively putting distance between them.

Jack tilted his head. "Sorry. Still too much?"

Daredevil's breathing was controlled, measured. "You're holding back."

Jack grinned. "I keep breaking people when I don't."

Daredevil lunged forward, aiming for the liver—a perfect strike. Jack sidestepped effortlessly, brushing the punch away like a leaf in the wind. Daredevil pushed forward, adjusting his strikes mid-motion.

His movements were precise, refined, brutal—every attack aimed for something vital. Jack watched. Studied. Then—he started copying.

Daredevil noticed it immediately. The way Jack moved—at first, his motions were unfamiliar, unorthodox. But now—his stance shifted. His strikes became sharper. He was adapting. Fast.

Daredevil narrowed his eyes. "You're learning my style?"

Jack smirked. "I learn fast."

Daredevil took a deep breath. "Then I lose fast."

Jack lunged—but Daredevil didn't dodge. He let the impact come. Jack's strike landed clean, but Daredevil used the force to twist his body midair, kicking off the alley wall to gain distance.

But—his legs nearly buckled upon landing. Jack noticed immediately. Daredevil's breathing was labored now, his exhaustion evident. Jack grinned. Then—he stepped back.

"Alright, we're done."

Daredevil straightened, his fists still raised. "You're stopping?"

Jack shrugged. "You're out of gas."

Daredevil exhaled heavily. "That was… one hell of a fight."

Jack grinned. "Yeah. I liked it. Never watched your series, but I still like you."

Daredevil paused.

"...What?"

Jack yoinked one of Daredevil's batons. Daredevil instinctively reached for it—But before he could react, Jack was gone.

Vanished.

Daredevil stood there, breathing heavily, confused as hell. He looked at the empty space where Jack had just been. He didn't know what that guy meant by 'watching his series.'

But—he knew one thing. That man wasn't lying. And he was one hell of a fighter.