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Chapter 47 : Daredevil

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In the bustling streets of Hell's Kitchen, a fierce battle raged.

Gunfire and shouting intertwined in the night air. For the locals, violence was a grim part of daily life, but tonight's chaos was unlike anything they had seen before.

Matthew Michael Murdock, born and raised in Hell's Kitchen, knew exactly what was going on.

Better known as Daredevil, his name struck fear into the hearts of criminals. Yet by day, he was a newcomer to the legal world—a quiet, rational blind lawyer.

But when darkness fell, he became the devil of Hell's Kitchen—a silent protector who used his fists and unmatched courage to fight the forces that brought destruction to his home.

Matthew had always despised Wilson Fisk, but his feelings toward Alex Ray were far more complicated.

At first, Matthew had lumped Alex in with his godfather, assuming the young man to be cut from the same cloth. But over time, that perspective changed. Alex had done things Matthew could never manage—things that made a real difference.

For one, Matthew didn't have Alex's resources. As the only blind attorney operating out of Hell's Kitchen, paying rent was a monthly struggle. Helping the community financially was simply out of reach.

And while Daredevil's vigilantism had left an impression, the tangible change Alex had created—such as building a school—was something Matthew admired deeply. His own efforts, while noble, often felt like throwing pebbles into an ocean.

So when Matthew heard Alex had been targeted by criminal factions because of his efforts to better the community, he knew he couldn't sit idly by.

If he could only take out one gang, he'd make it the worst of them—the Mexican cartel that had sunk its claws deepest into the neighborhood.

"Looks like you're worn out," Daredevil said to the exhausted Marcus. "You should catch your breath. Let me handle this."

Marcus didn't take kindly to that. Straightening up, he glared at Daredevil and scoffed.

"I could fight this kind of war all day without a break," he declared, defiant as ever, before unleashing a renewed volley of gunfire on the cartel soldiers.

Seeing Marcus's resolve, Matthew didn't argue. He simply turned and sprinted headlong into the thick of the chaos.

As bullets flew and enemies fell, Marcus muttered under his breath. "Why is it always blind guys? Am I destined to team up with them?"

His tone was dry, but the look on his face betrayed a mix of exasperation and awe.

With the unexpected arrival of Daredevil, Marcus quickly noticed the tide turning. The cartel's gunfire was thinning out. Reinforcements had become liabilities.

It wouldn't be long now.

Watching Daredevil slice through enemy ranks with raw efficiency, Marcus couldn't help but marvel. "Does going blind make you stronger or something?"

Indeed, Daredevil fought with remarkable grace and instinct.

He anticipated every move his opponents made, dodging and striking with uncanny precision. His blows landed like hammers, swift and decisive, turning the battlefield into his domain.

He and Marcus quickly found rhythm—covering each other, advancing together, dismantling the cartel's defenses step by step.

Elsewhere, Caine and Crossbones were locked in brutal one-on-one combat. The rest of the S.H.I.E.L.D. Rapid Response team had already been incapacitated, their bodies scattered across the bloodied concrete.

Crossbones looked exhilarated.

It had been a long time since he faced someone who could match him. Not since the days of fighting alongside—or against—Captain America during World War II had he felt this rush.

"Not bad," Crossbones said, grinning behind his helmet. "It's been ages since I had a fight like this. Why aren't you using your powers yet?"

Caine gave a small smile in return. "Appreciate the compliment. I wanted to keep it fair… but I'm realizing that might be a mistake. You're no pushover. I'll have to step it up."

He meant it.

Crossbones' combat instincts were razor-sharp, and Caine had initially held back to avoid unnecessary destruction. His powers, after all, had… consequences. And the last thing he wanted was to rack up another favor owed to Alex Ray.

He already owed the man enough.

But this was no longer about fairness. Caine was being pushed to his limits, and if he didn't unleash his abilities soon, he'd lose.

Crossbones, ever the opportunist, seized the moment of hesitation.

He lunged, fists flying in a blur. One punch landed squarely—hard enough to rattle Caine's core.

"Thinking about something else in the middle of a fight?" Crossbones sneered.

But Caine recovered quickly, steadying himself.

No more holding back.

As Crossbones launched another assault, Caine activated Gravity Chaos—an ability that warped gravitational fields around him, sending opponents into disarray.

Crossbones staggered.

His state-of-the-art gear wasn't enough to shield him from the disorienting effects. One moment his body felt impossibly light, the next, like it weighed a ton. His balance was gone.

Suddenly, even the basics—attacking, defending, moving—became monumental tasks.

Veteran though he was, Crossbones found himself struggling in a battleground he no longer understood. Every swing missed, every dodge was mistimed.

And Caine was relentless.

With each passing second, he pressed harder, driving Crossbones back with graceful, lethal strikes. His movements were fluid and swift, like a dance, each one laced with elegance and devastation.

Crossbones, formidable as he was, couldn't keep up.

Eventually, he fell—defeated, breathless, bruised.

But Caine didn't finish him off.

Despite everything, Crossbones wasn't just another street thug. Killing a S.H.I.E.L.D. operative—even one aligned with Hydra—would ignite consequences far greater than tonight's mission.

And besides, Caine had a different target.

Gust Alvarez.

The Mexican cartel boss who had turned Hell's Kitchen into a drug-fueled warzone.

As Crossbones lay incapacitated, Caine turned his gaze toward a distant building—the safe house where Gust was hiding.

Inside, Gust had already initiated an escape. He rushed into a helicopter, barking orders to the pilot as the rotors whirred to life.

When he spotted Caine outside, approaching fast, panic overtook him.

"Go, go! Take off! NOW!" he shouted, desperation etched into every word.

As the helicopter began to rise, Gust leaned out and yelled down at Caine, his voice echoing with rage and fear. "I'll be back! You hear me? I'll come back for you!"

Caine simply sighed.

"Your only destination is hell."

He drew his staff-sword and raised it toward the sky. "Hell Brigade!"

Without a second glance, he turned and walked away.

And in that moment, gravity vanished.

The helicopter bucked wildly in midair, engines whining in protest—then it dropped like a stone.

A deafening explosion rocked the block, flames piercing the night and painting the sky in shades of red and gold.

Gust Alvarez was consumed in the inferno, his reign of terror finally ended in a sea of fire.

Caine watched from a distance, scratching the back of his head.

"Damn. Am I gonna have to pay for that too?"

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