Chapter 36 – The Red Death Descends

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The night was dead. Cold, silent, and still. The Tracksuit Mafia had begun to relax their patrols. Jack Hou had done nothing for a week.

No territory claims. No public executions. No unscheduled brawls. Only silence. And silence breeds arrogance.

Inside the Tracksuit Mafia's warehouse base, William Lopez—leader of the gang—sat with Bullseye at a long, worn-out poker table.

Cards scattered. Bottles half-empty. Guns resting casually on the table. The mood was easy, casual. Comfortable.

William poured himself another drink, watching Bullseye struggle to grip his glass with his mutilated hands. "You good with that?" William asked, his Russian accent thick.

Bullseye didn't look up. "All I can do is make do with what I have," he muttered, his voice bitter. Then, his grip on the glass tightened. "But I swear, I'll tear him apart."

William huffed a laugh. "And Mary?"

Bullseye froze mid-drink. For a moment, he didn't answer. Then, slowly, he put the glass down. "She's gone."

William raised a brow. "Gone?"

Bullseye sighed. "I haven't seen her since that day."

William shifted in his chair. "You think he killed her?"

Bullseye shook his head. "If he did, we'd have seen the body."

William thought for a moment, then shrugged. "Maybe he kicked her into the atmosphere."

Bullseye paused. Then, slowly, he turned to William. "Since when did your dumb brain know the word 'atmosphere'?"

William grinned.

But then—

BOOM.

The warehouse shook violently. A massive object crashed through the ceiling like a meteor, sending shockwaves through the building.

Debris scattered. Men screamed. Tables, guns, and drinks flew into the air as the ground trembled.

A staff. Massive. Thick as a tree trunk. Seven meters in diameter. It crushed everything beneath it—men, chairs, weapons—all flattened in an instant.

Then, slowly... it began to shrink. Smaller. Smaller. Until it was just a normal staff, resting in the wreckage like nothing had happened. And on top of it, perfectly balanced, stood a figure in crimson.

The robe swayed in the cold wind. Crimson. Regal. Golden eyes gleamed through the dust and smoke. "Hey, dumbasses."

The voice was light, almost playful. Bullseye and William Lopez stared, frozen. 

Jack grinned. "Miss me?"

The Tracksuit Mafia's warehouse lay in ruins. Dust settled. Smoke curled through the air. Crushed bodies twitched under debris, groaning in pain.

Bullseye gritted his teeth, still gripping the stump where his pinkies used to be.

William Lopez, leader of the Tracksuit Mafia, tried to regain his composure. "You have a death wish, Hou," William growled, stepping forward.

Jack tilted his head. "Death wish?" He chuckled. "Oh no, no, my sweet bear-wrestling, vodka-chugging comrades. I'm not here to die." He hopped off his staff and landed lightly on the broken floor.

Then, he twirled the staff between his fingers, sending sharp whistling sounds through the air. "I'm here to clean house."

The room exploded into action. Guns clicked. Mutants roared. Boots pounded the ground. The Tracksuit Mafia and their enhanced enforcers rushed Jack all at once. Jack grinned wider. Then, he moved.

A towering mutant named Boris, nearly eight feet tall with dense, rock-like skin, charged first. He roared, swinging a fist the size of a bowling ball.

Jack sidestepped effortlessly, watching the fist smash through a metal beam. "Damn, dude," Jack whistled. "You'd be great at demolitions."

Boris snarled and lunged again. 

Jack spun his staff mid-air. It shrank to the size of a baton—then suddenly shot out, expanding mid-swing.

CRACK!

The staff struck Boris' jaw, shattering it instantly. Blood splattered as the massive mutant staggered, clutching his ruined face.

Jack tilted his head. "Oh no," he mocked, eyes wide with false sympathy. "Did I just turn you into a smoothie?"

Boris grunted something unintelligible.

Jack smirked. "Let's finish the blend, shall we?"

With one final swing, the staff extended—and speared straight through Boris' skull.

Before Boris' body hit the ground, two mutants attacked from Jack's left. Twin brothers, Pyotr and Vadim, both wielding flames in their hands.

They moved fast, their bodies surrounded by swirling fire. "Burn, you bastard!" Pyotr roared.

They unleashed twin infernos, twin spirals of roaring flame surging towards Jack.

Jack sighed. Then, he raised a single hand. "Body Freezing Spell." An invisible pulse rippled outward.

In an instant, the flames died—and the twins froze mid-attack, their bodies locked in place.

Their eyes widened in panic as they realized they couldn't move. Jack walked up to them, casual, spinning his staff.

He knelt slightly, peering into Pyotr's frozen face. "You ever wonder why fire goes out when there's no air?"

He tapped the side of Pyotr's head with his staff. "Because I think you're about to find out."

Then, he reached forward—and covered Pyotr's mouth and nose.

Pyotr's lungs spasmed, trying to suck in air.

Nothing.

Vadim watched, terror in his frozen eyes. Pyotr's body convulsed violently, suffocating in absolute stillness. Then, his eyes rolled back.

Dead.

Jack snapped his fingers, breaking the spell—and Vadim collapsed to his knees, gasping in horror.

Jack shrugged. "See? Science lesson complete."

Then, he twirled his staff—and caved Vadim's skull in.

A blur of motion. A mutant with super-speed, barely visible, dashed towards Jack. Jack barely had time to register him before—

BAM!

A blow to his ribs sent him sliding back. The speedster, Alexei, smirked. "Fast enough for you?"

Jack exhaled, rubbing his side. "Damn. That actually tickled."

Alexei grinned. Then—another blur.

Jack didn't even turn. His hand snapped out at just the right moment—and caught Alexei by the throat mid-dash.

Alexei's eyes widened. "Huh—?"

Jack grinned. "Fast." Then, he squeezed. "But not fast enough." With one hand, Jack crushed Alexei's windpipe.

The speedster twitched. Then, he went limp. Jack dropped the corpse. "Should've seen that coming," he mused.

The battle raged on. More gangsters. More bodies piling up. Jack didn't just fight—He painted the walls with their blood. His staff became an extension of his body—smashing, stabbing, extending, shrinking—every motion a dance of death. The warehouse floor was slick with red.

…

Bullseye was breathing heavily, one hand pressed against his bleeding cheek. Jack grinned, stepping closer. "Relax, Benny-boy. I'm not gonna kill you."

Bullseye tensed.

Jack tilted his head. "But I am gonna take something."

Before Bullseye could react, Jack's fingers shot forward and wrapped around his ring fingers.

Rip.

Bullseye screamed. Blood poured from his hands. Bullseye was on the ground, trembling. Two of his fingers—gone. 

Jack held them up, inspecting them. "Aww, poor guy. No pinkies. No ring fingers. No marriage in your future. Oh, wait—you were never getting married anyway"

Bullseye gritted his teeth. "You... psycho...!"

Jack grinned. "Kekekeke. I'll take that as a compliment."

He tossed the fingers aside. Bullseye took his chance and ran. Jack let him go. For now. His attention turned to William Lopez.

The Tracksuit Mafia leader was crawling backward, trying to get away. "Wait! We can talk! We can—!"

Jack cocked his head. Then, he casually kicked a metal pipe lying on the ground.

The pipe shot forward—impaling William's knee. "AHHHHH!" William screamed, collapsing.

Jack walked over. He reached down, grabbed William by the head, and dragged him up to a chair. Then, he tied him down with metal chains.

Jack stood back, inspecting his work. "Alright, Willie," he said, stretching his arms. "Wanna play a game?"

William gasped, trying to control his pain. "W-What…?"

Jack grinned. Then—he plucked a lighter from his pocket.

William blinked. Jack flipped the lighter open—and set William ON FIRE. William SCREAMED as flames engulfed his body.

Jack watched. "Wanna bet how long you'll last?"

The screaming lasted exactly seventeen seconds. Then—silence.

Jack sighed, stretching his arms. "Damn. I was betting on twenty."

When the flames died down, only Jack remained. His crimson robe dripped with fresh blood. The warehouse reeked of death. He stepped forward, letting the silence settle.

Then—he laughed. "KEKEKEKEKEKEKE!"

The moon hung high above Hell's Kitchen, casting a cold silver glow over the city. But tonight, another light burned even brighter. Golden. Blinding. Absolute.

From above, Jack's staff carved through the air, leaving a luminous arc of golden energy that stretched over the entire territory of the Tracksuit Mafia.

The golden barrier hummed with power, its radiance reflecting in the stunned, terrified eyes of every thug, criminal, and lowlife who remained.

Jack hovered above them, bathed in blood and moonlight, his crimson hanfu soaked so deeply in carnage that it clung to him like a second skin.

He let out a laugh—deep, wild, unhinged. "KEKEKEKEKEKE!"

The sound rang out like a twisted hymn, echoing through the streets, sending shivers down the spines of all who heard it.

Then, his golden eyes gleamed as he spoke.

"Hell's Kitchen, rejoice!" Jack's voice boomed, not just with volume—but with weight. With authority. With finality.

People on the streets froze. Those inside their homes peeked through their curtains, whispering in hushed tones. And within the Fisk Tower, Wilson Fisk clenched his fists, his jaw tight as he watched the spectacle unfold.

Jack spread his arms wide, as if embracing the very city itself.

"The time of fear is ending. The chains that bind the weak shall be broken. The cowards who ruled through blood and steel shall find their own hands bound in chains they cannot break."

His staff hummed in his grip, a conduit of power that pulsed with golden energy.

"Tonight, the Tracksuit Mafia—your so-called 'enforcers'—are no more. No longer will their fists shatter bones, their boots crush the helpless. Their era of unchecked brutality is over!"

A wave of golden energy expanded outward, solidifying the barrier as if sealing his declaration into reality.

Then, Jack exhaled—a deep, theatrical breath—as if preparing himself for something grander. And then, his grin sharpened. His voice turned darker.

"Kingpin."

The name carried through the air, slicing through the night like a dagger. In his ivory tower, Wilson Fisk's expression remained unreadable—but his fingers tightened around his glass of whiskey until it cracked.

Jack continued. "You are a man of great sins, Wilson Fisk. And tonight, we speak of the second—"

His staff twisted, the golden energy shifting—forming a single, glowing word in the air above the city.

'WRATH.'

The letters burned, seared into the very night sky itself.

Jack pointed his staff downward, as if driving it through the heart of the earth.

"Your rage, your unyielding hunger for control, your insatiable thirst for power—you have built your empire on the backs of those too weak to resist your fury. And so, as it is written, the wrath you have sown shall now be reaped upon you tenfold."

The golden energy crackled like divine judgment, sending a pulse through the streets.

"Your enforcers are gone. Your human traffickers are gone. And soon, your kingdom will follow them into the abyss."

Jack paused. Letting the silence stretch. Letting the weight of his words settle.

Then, with one last smirk, he raised his staff high above his head.

"This is your second sin, Wilson Fisk."

His voice, dripping with amusement, with certainty, with terrifying joy—rang out one last time.

"See you again in several minutes…"

**A/N**

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