Chapter 182: The Terrifying Night Demon

~Thirty-second floor, Star Ring Tower~

James Wesley sat by the window, with his arms crossed. Next to him was a glass of fine red wine. The crimson liquid swirled gently in the crystal goblet...

This bespectacled, well-dressed man exuded the refined demeanor of an elite.

The towering skyscraper on Eighth Avenue was regarded by many gangsters as a 'sacred place', much like the former residence of the late Kingpin, the previous emperor of the underworld...

Rumors circulating in Hell's Kitchen painted James Wesley as a cunning, and scheming villain.

Those who dug deeper could hear detailed accounts; how Wesley had meticulously climbed his way to become Kingpin's legal advisor, infiltrated the heart of the criminal empire, and, when the time was ripe, struck decisively to overthrow the crime lord and seize power for himself.

These stories were shared as casual gossip in late-night bars and street corners. Yet, even if Wesley stood right in front of these storytellers, none would connect the man before them with the sinister mastermind of legend...

"Ramon is dead."

The news from his subordinates made Wesley frown. That mediocre executive from Rand Enterprises had been his chosen puppet.

Though lacking remarkable talent, Ramon had been obedient... He was a loyal dog worth training.

His sudden rise to power at Rand Enterprises had inevitably drawn resentment. Even if the old board members knew who stood behind him, their dissatisfaction would fester.

Isolating his puppet, and ensuring dependence... this was how one trained a hound. Neither overfed nor starved.

Wesley had learned much from his young boss over the years, the most crucial lesson being: Never trust loyalty blindly.

"Reduced to a charred corpse, sulfur traces at the scene… Religious fanaticism? Or has another foolhardy street hero emerged in Hell's Kitchen?" Wesley drummed his fingers on the table.

Something felt off. Since Ramon's death two days ago, others had followed; Vladimir of the Russian mob, key members of the Hand. Some vanished, others were found dead the next morning.

Hell's Kitchen no longer had street heroes. After the death of Iron Fist (Danny Rand), the vigilantes seemed to have abandoned their crusade. Even the Punisher had left the neighborhood, hunting elsewhere.

"Who could it be?" Wesley doubted anyone would dare challenge him now.

At least, not after he had allied with the Hand. With their martial prowess and his own tactics of coercion and division, he had long since tamed the gangs of Hell's Kitchen into something more docile than Chihuahuas.

"Perhaps I should call the boss..." It had been a while since Wesley last contacted Sean.

Once Hell's Kitchen stabilized, the young boss had stepped back. And as Umbrella's influence skyrocketed, the gap between them had widened.

The ever-perceptive Wesley hesitated...

Sean was no longer the obscure figure he once was. Now adorned with multiple accolades, his partnerships had ascended to giants like Stark Industries. Would reaching out uninvited provoke the young boss's ire?

As he pondered, the Daredevil in black had already stormed Star Ring Tower.

He made no effort to conceal his approach, triggering alarms instantly. Elite ninjas swarmed from the lower floors like lethal machines trained to perfection.

Wielding katanas, shurikens, and chains, these assassins turned ancient weapons into instruments of terrifying efficiency. Even a squad of fully armed special forces would struggle to survive.

The tower's lights flickered out. Shadows emerged from the darkness, silent as ghosts, their blades glinting coldly.

Surrounded, the Daredevil let out a cold snort.

The Spirit of Vengeance within him roared, eager to feast on these bloodstained souls. To his enhanced senses, the ninjas' slowed heartbeats, soundless footsteps, and ghostly movements unfolded like a stop-motion film, each frame clear as day.

Twin batons, wreathed in hellfire, slid into his hands. Then he moved.

Like a phantom in the dark, his eyes blazed like the pits of Hell itself.

The elite ninjas stood no chance. Numbers meant nothing.

*CRACK!*

A baton caved in a red-masked ninja's skull, blood and brain matter splattered. Unfazed, the Daredevil seized another by the head and, with a twist, snapped his neck.

Fearless as they were, neither ninjas nor the tower's armed guards could stop the flame-eyed demon. Souls wailed as they were consumed, and the Spirit of Vengeance laughed creepily through its host.

"More! It hungers for MORE!"

Hellfire surged from the Daredevil's eyes, engulfing the red mask until he resembled a true demon of the abyss.

"You. You.. YOU... ALL OF YOU ARE GUILTY!" His rasping voice carried the finality of a judge's decree.

Those who met his gaze burst into flames with their souls scorched to ash.

The hellfire, a gift from Mephisto, could burn any soul. Paired with the Penance Stare, it was an unstoppable weapon.

The demon lord himself couldn't wield full power in the mortal realm, not with the Sorcerers of Kamar-Taj watching. Hence, he created enforcers like this.

Yet Mephisto's luck was foul. Both his Ghost Riders had betrayed him, preferring cursed vengeance over servitude.

150 years ago, Carter Slade had stolen the Contract of San Venganza, a scroll holding thousands of souls. The second Rider had fled to the other side of the world, living as a drifter.

Now, hellfire waves incinerated everything in their path. Bullets from submachine guns tore through the Devil's body harmlessly... There was no blood, no wound. Empowered by the Spirit of Vengeance, modern weapons were useless.

"James Wesley… I FOUND YOU." His amplified senses painted the entire tower in vivid detail.

Every shadow, every whisper... nothing escaped him. With his abilities, monitoring all of Hell's Kitchen would be trivial.

On the thirty-second floor, Wesley read the text on his phone and forced himself to remain calm.

Even as reports confirmed no one could stop the rampaging Daredevil (Ghost Rider), he refused to panic.

His faith never wavered. Because he knew..

The boss would come...

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