Chapter 44 – The Evolution of Judgment

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Jack sat cross-legged atop a rooftop, overlooking his territory as the wind played with the long white robe of his master's likeness.

The news of Kingpin's move had reached him—his clones relayed everything. The false accusations, the smears, the way Fisk weaponized perception against him. The hospital, the shelters, the media... all manipulated to make him look like the villain. 

Jack expected resistance, retaliation—he even expected betrayal. But he hadn't expected this level of underhanded filth. Even for a man like Wilson Fisk, this was low.

Still—Jack remained calm. Or at least, outwardly. He closed his eyes. He needed clarity. So—he went within.

When Jack opened his eyes again, he was no longer on the rooftop.

He stood before his soul. A majestic, towering mountain stretched into the heavens—Mount Huaguo. The air shimmered with golden energy, the atmosphere heavy with the weight of his own existence.

At the peak of the mountain stood the Main Temple—his foundation, his true self.

But his eyes weren't drawn to that. Instead, he turned his attention to the four smaller temples scattered across the mountain.

Each one a testament to his power. Each one a mark of his evolution. The fourth temple—his most recent addition—shimmered with unstable golden energy. It pulsed, flickered, and roared with untamed potential.

Jack walked toward it, his steps slow and deliberate. He could feel it—his hesitation. His uncertainty. For days, he had avoided fully embracing this new power. His Golden Gaze.

Not because he was weak—But because he was afraid. Afraid of what it meant. Afraid of what he might become. 

Jack spoke, his voice echoing through the mountain as if addressing the temple itself. "I'm hesitating."

The temple pulsed in response. Jack gritted his teeth. "I'm afraid of using it. Afraid of what it'll turn me into. The thought of becoming the very thing I despise—the abuser of judgment—keeps playing in my head."

The golden energy flickered. But the temple remained silent. Because deep down, Jack knew—It wasn't the power that corrupted. It was the person wielding it.

Jack exhaled slowly. Then—His eyes gleamed golden. "Why should I hesitate?"

The temple responded—stabilizing. Its shimmer turned from unstable flickers to a steady, brilliant glow.

Jack felt it—the shift, the acceptance, the clarity. He understood now. His Golden Gaze wasn't a burden. It wasn't a curse. It was a gift.

A means to see the truth of this world, to strip away the lies, to peer into the very essence of those around him.

And he wouldn't be afraid of it anymore. Jack threw his head back and laughed. A maniacal, echoing cackle that reverberated through the mountain like thunder. "KEKEKEKEKEKEKEKE!"

Jack's eyes snapped open. He was back on the rooftop. His breath came slow, steady, controlled. But his golden eyes burned with renewed intensity.

He felt it—his power had evolved. He didn't know the full extent of his new abilities yet, but that didn't matter.

What mattered was that the hesitation was gone. Jack grinned, wide and wicked. "Kingpin…" He stood, rolling his shoulders, his muscles tightening with anticipation. "I won't let you see the sunrise."

Then—Jack leaped. He didn't need to strategize. He didn't need to wait. Fisk had played his hand. And now, it was Jack's turn.

With his staff extending beneath his feet, propelling him through the night sky, he shot toward Fisk Tower like a falling star.

Tonight—The King of Hell's Kitchen would fall.

…

Jack landed gracefully in front of Fisk Tower, his golden eyes gleaming with sharpened clarity. His gaze cut through the towering building like a blade, piercing the penthouse at the very top.

There—Wilson Fisk. Even several hundred meters away, Jack could see him clearly. The slight tension in his posture. The way his massive frame stood still, but his fingers twitched just slightly. Kingpin was watching him.

And Jack—Smiled. Casually, he reached into his sleeve and pulled out a burner phone. With a lazy flick, he tossed it into the air—And sent it soaring.

Through the wind, past the stories of glass and steel, the phone arced high—And slammed directly into Kingpin's massive palm. Fisk caught it with a reflex that betrayed his size. For a moment, the King of Crime just stared at the device in his hand.

Then—It rang. A mockingly familiar ringtone played—an old-school Nokia tone, distorted and off-key.

Fisk answered. "Good night, Hou."

Jack's voice came through crisp, casual—"Trick or treat, big guy."

Fisk narrowed his eyes. "What brings you to my building?"

Jack tilted his head, looking up at the skyscraper with an exaggerated squint. "Dunno. Already visited the Chrysler, the Empire... even the World Trade Center. Good thing it's not destroyed."

A long pause. Fisk's expression darkened. "Are you saying you're going to destroy the Twin Towers?"

Jack snorted. "Oh no, no. Just an old man's ramblings."

Fisk's confusion only deepened. "That still doesn't explain why you're at my building."

Jack grinned wider. "I never liked your building's design."

His voice was light, almost teasing, as he continued. "It's an eyesore. Hurts my delicate sensibilities. So, being the ever-generous man I am, I figured I'd offer myself as a demolition crew."

Fisk let out a low, amused exhale. "How considerate."

Then, his voice dipped into something colder. "The elevator is out of service. Take the stairs."

Jack laughed, throwing his head back. "Wow, the lift's broken? Figures. It's like the ice cream machine at McDonald's—always busted when you need it."

Fisk's expression didn't change. "You think you can climb through my tower with my soldiers on every floor?"

Jack's smile vanished. The air around him seemed to darken. When he spoke next, his voice was a deep, guttural growl. "Who do you think you're talking to?"

Even through the phone, Fisk felt it—That shiver of something ancient. Something not of this world. Jack lifted the phone slightly in his grip.

Then—With a flick of his wrist, he hurled it. The burner phone spun through the air—Rocketed straight into Peter Stokes' face.

CRACK!

The commander of Kingpin's public image dropped like a sack of bricks, knocked out cold before he even hit the floor.

Fisk's grip on the phone tightened. Before he could say anything, the line went dead.

Jack strode forward, hands in his robe's wide sleeves, and stepped through the front door of Fisk Tower.

He didn't run. He didn't sneak. He walked. Because—Let them come. It wouldn't make a difference.

…

The Golden Peach shimmered under the night sky, its streets alive with the spirit of Halloween. Lanterns of all shapes and colors hung from shop eaves, casting warm, flickering glows.

Jack's clones and Madame Gao had outdone themselves—The festival was alive with chatter, laughter, and the occasional kid screaming in excitement as they ran from one decorated stall to the next.

Above the rooftops, golden wards hummed softly, keeping watch over the festive streets like unseen guardians.

Even in a city known for its chaos, here—Tonight felt safe.

Tenzin stood at a doorway, beaming as he held out his bucket. The old woman inside squinted, confused.

Kitty Pryde quickly stepped in, giggling. "Tenzin, it's 'Trick or Treat!'"

Tenzin nodded rapidly, still grinning. "Yes! Trick or Threat!"

Kitty sighed, shaking her head, but before she could correct him again, the old woman simply laughed and dropped a handful of candy into his bucket.

"Happy Halloween, Mr. Magoo." 

Tenzin beamed. As he stepped away, Kurt Wagner—aka Nightcrawler—gave him a hearty pat on the back. "Zat vas adorable! And hilarious. Who told you to say zat?"

Tenzin tilted his head, thinking. "You did."

Kurt blinked, then let out a loud laugh. "Oh ja, I did. Mr. Magoo needed a catchphrase!"

Tenzin's costume, a simple homage to the cartoon character, was suggested by Kurt himself. A fake pair of thick round glasses sat crooked on his nose, and a blue coat too big for him flapped slightly as he moved.

Nearby, Anna Marie glanced at Jean Grey with a smirk. She gestured toward Scott Summers, who was walking a short distance behind the group, arms crossed, looking around with a deeply furrowed brow.

"Look at Scott, he's following the kids like a worried uncle."

Jean chuckled softly. "It's his role anyway. He wouldn't be Scott if he wasn't keeping an eye on them."

Suzanne Chan walked up beside them, hands in her pockets. "So, are we just gonna watch the kids, or are we getting some fun in too?"

Anna grinned. "Let's go explore. You're never too old for a little fun."

Suzanne raised an eyebrow. "I thought there was an age rule on trick-or-treating?"

Anna rolled her eyes. "Who cares? The world's ending every other Tuesday. We deserve some free candy."

Jean laughed. "Alright, alright, let's go."

With that, the three of them broke off from the group, slipping into the lively streets. They strolled past stalls selling roasted chestnuts and caramel apples, stopping every now and then to snap pictures of the decorations.

At one stand, a fortune teller waved them over, but Anna just laughed. "Nah, sugar. Last time I got my fortune read, she told me I'd have a 'bright future.'"

She crossed her arms. "Pretty sure she meant literally, with all the nuclear threats these days."

Jean snorted, shaking her head.

Suzanne, chewing on a piece of roasted pumpkin, raised her phone. "Alright, smile!"

Jean and Anna struck dramatic poses, and Suzanne snapped the picture.

Halloween in Golden Peach. Who would've thought this part of Hell's Kitchen could feel like this?

A few stalls down, Remy LeBeau stood with one of Jack's clones, both admiring a rack of long coats and robes.

Remy lifted one, running his fingers over the fabric. "Now, dis here? Dis is some fine craftsmanship, mon ami."

Jack's clone nodded, folding his arms. "Of course. I have standards."

Remy tilted his head. "Y'know, you pull off da whole ancient warrior look, but what if ya switched it up? Somethin' modern, maybe?"

Jack looked at him, offended. "You dare suggest I abandon the flow of fabric? The elegance of tradition? The divine feel of silk against the wind?"

Remy smirked. "Ain't sayin' ditch it, homme. Just sayin'—imagine a good ol' trench coat. You'd look like a proper outlaw.".

"Hmm… You raise an interesting point, swamp rat."

Remy grinned. "Dat's Cajun Swamp Rat to you."

Jack's clone dramatically lifted a hand to the sky. "Very well, Gambit! I shall allow this experiment! But if I do not look cool—there will be CONSEQUENCES."

Remy chuckled. "Fair 'nuff, mon ami. Fair 'nuff."

With that, they continued their ridiculous fashion debate, their words drowning in the lively sounds of the festival.

Halloween in the Golden Peach was a success. The streets were filled with joy. The people—laughing, playing, living.

But above all—They felt safe. At least, for tonight. Because elsewhere—In the heart of Hell's Kitchen—The King was about to fall.

**A/N**

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