Chapter 17 – Come on, Come on, Give Me Blood

"What are you waiting for?"

Daredevil leaned over the rooftop, whispering impatiently.

"Kingpin is there. You've got a shot, why aren't you acting?"

Aron didn't even blink. His eyes were fixed on the scene below.

"I'm waiting…"

"Waiting for what exactly?"

"Blood."

Aron's voice was serious.

"This few people? Not enough blood to summon what I need."

—

A bit later, boats docked along the shore.

The Mexican cartel had arrived.

Armed, tattooed, all wearing tinted sunglasses and cold stares, typical mercenaries.

The two sides met inside the warehouse.

They counted the packages.

Weapons.

Not just any weapons, Stark Industries weapons.

"Didn't Stark shut down the military division?"

Aron silently observed from the roof.

The crates below, the laser-stamped Stark Group logo still intact.

"Leftovers from a warehouse," Daredevil explained. "A warehouse on Long Island was robbed a month ago. This must be that cargo."

"So now what?"

"Now we can…"

Matt didn't finish his sentence.

Aron was already gone.

—

BAM.

A figure dropped into the center of the warehouse.

Hero pose. Perfect timing. Landing with a crack of concrete.

Everyone froze.

Kingpin.

The Mexican cartel leader.

The mercenaries.

All of them.

Confused. Ready to pull the trigger, but confused.

Eyes met.

"Yours?"

"No, yours?"

Kingpin blinked.

He was the first to realize no, not theirs.

"KILL HIM!"

The Overlord gang raised their weapons.

The Mexicans… hesitated for a moment. But when the first shot rang out, it all turned into chaos.

The warehouse became a war zone.

However.

Aron stood still.

Bullets bounced off. His shirt untouched.

His gaze cold and level.

"I suggest you lower your weapons."

His voice was quiet but cut through the noise like a blade.

"I'm doing this for your own good."

But no one listened.

And even better for him, there were enough people.

Enough blood.

Aron's figure turned into a black shadow as he moved through the warehouse.

He wasn't invisible.

He wasn't even particularly fast, not compared to his brutal strength.

But in the eyes of the mobsters from both gangs, he looked like a wraith, a black silhouette that dropped from the sky and crushed them one by one.

Wherever he passed, men fell.

One by one.

Some with broken bones. Some with dislocated shoulders, concussions...

But no one died.

To Aron, that was already humane enough.

"Okay. Now it's your turn."

He stood in front of two men: Bullseye and Kingpin.

Kingpin stood still, leaning on his thick golden cane.

His body massive, not fat, but packed with pure muscle and brute strength.

Next to him, Bullseye, already nervous, two throwing knives in hand, but hadn't thrown yet.

"Hey, just saying, I got nothing against you personally, okay? I don't even know why I'm a target here."

Bullseye tried to play innocent.

Aron ignored him. He simply walked straight at him.

"Fuck."

Bullseye had no choice.

He threw the knives, straight at Aron's eyes.

Zzzzzng

The metal bounced off his eyelids.

Not a scratch.

"7.62 couldn't hurt me… And you're trying with throwing knives?"

Aron just shrugged.

Then, one strike.

Bullseye flew across the warehouse like a rag doll, soared over pallets of ammo and ended up face-first in a wall.

"Alright. Now it's your turn."

He turned toward Kingpin.

But… the strike came from behind.

"Watch out!"

Daredevil ran in, too late.

Kingpin charged at Aron full force, using pure mass and strength.

Daredevil jumped in the way.

WHAM!

Matt flew several meters, slamming into a container. He hit the ground, bloodied.

Aron stopped. Looked at him.

"Really? You used him as a human shield?"

He looked at Matt's blood on the concrete.

"All that effort to protect it… you could've at least given me some."

—

Kingpin took off his jacket.

Underneath, muscles that didn't match the shape of his body.

Pure steel beneath the skin.

"You think I got here through connections?"

"No. With my own hands."

"And Michelin tires?" Aron grinned.

Kingpin snapped.

Charged.

But Aron was already focusing his energy into a fist.

Fifty percent power.

He didn't need more.

BAM.

A punch.

Direct fist collision.

Result?

Kingpin's arm broken. The wrist bent almost 180 degrees.

Aron's punch didn't stop.

The next wave pushed Kingpin backward.

Like a giant wrecking ball smashing through a row of containers, one after another, like dominoes.

He flew like a cannonball.

Vanished in a cloud of dust and steel.

Still… breathing.

"Impressive," said Aron, slightly surprised.

"You really are tough."

Then he turned to the rest of the survivors.

He scanned the faces of all the wounded, semi-conscious thugs.

"Come on… get up. Don't play dead."

He pulled out needles. Kits. Plastic bags.

Ready. Precise.

"800 milliliters per person."

"When we're done, you'll get orange juice and a small gift."

His smile widened as he prepared the transfusion.

But in his eyes, a demonic glow.

Time for blooded.