Bullseye arrived at the Daily Bugle, his expression cold, but a hint of excitement sparked in his eyes. After two days of seething anger, he was finally about to release it.
Ever since he was beaten by Batman that night, waking up restrained and locked in a police cell, he had been simmering with humiliation. This was beyond a mere setback—it was an insult he couldn't ignore.
The Daily Bugle was well-known for its connections to Batman, especially through Anton Jameson, the behind-the-scenes boss and deputy editor, who had even produced a semi-documentary film about Batman.
It was clear that Jameson was Batman's ally, if not a close friend.
Unable to find Batman, Bullseye decided that venting his anger on Batman's "good brother" was a reasonable alternative.
Bullseye strode into the building, unaware that he'd been spotted the moment he arrived. After learning that Bullseye had been released from police custody, Anton had instructed the security team to stay vigilant for unfamiliar faces.
The Daily Bugle had been around for many years and made plenty of enemies, so its security measures, though not as advanced as Stark Industries or Oscorp, were solid.
Without any disguise, Bullseye's entrance made him easy to identify. He was supremely confident in himself, just like Kingpin, assuming that the Daily Bugle posed no real threat.
Soon enough, Bullseye made it to the front lobby, spotting his target immediately—Anton Jameson, who was standing beside Eddie Brock, the editor-in-chief of the Daily Bugle.
"Bullseye." Anton smiled slightly. "If you want to settle this, we can go to the rooftop. No need to scare my employees."
Bullseye sneered, his eyes sharp as knives. "I'm in a good mood today, and since you're being so considerate, let's do that. But don't try anything funny."
"Of course not," Anton replied with a shrug. "I'm just an ordinary guy. What tricks could I possibly pull?"
Bullseye brushed off the remark, almost hoping that Anton would pull something—perhaps even call Batman to intervene. This time, Bullseye was sure he'd win.
The three of them arrived on the rooftop. With a metallic clank, Bullseye locked the iron door behind him. He turned to Anton and Eddie, a deadly gleam in his eyes. "Where's Batman?"
Anton and Eddie exchanged glances but remained silent.
Following their plan, Eddie stepped forward, putting himself between Anton and Bullseye. In Eddie's mind, a voice growled.
"I can feel it!" Venom snarled. "This guy is definitely a bad one. I'm going to eat him!"
Venom needed a chemical called phenethylamine to stay healthy—a substance found abundantly in the human brain, which was why symbiotes like Venom had an infamous craving for it.
However, Eddie had discovered that phenethylamine could also be found in chocolate, so chocolate had become Venom's main "food." Still, Eddie's agreement with Venom limited him to using human brains as "dessert," not a staple.
Today, though, was a special day, and Venom was itching to claim his "dessert." His excitement to devour Bullseye's head was palpable.
"It seems you have nothing to say." Bullseye was disappointed as he pulled a handful of darts from his belt. His gaze was cold and calculating, a cruel smile tugging at his lips.
"I'll kill you, and Batman will come looking for you soon enough."
Bullseye raised his hand, ready to throw a dart, but froze as Eddie's body transformed into a hulking black creature with white, jagged patterns.
Venom's muscular form, sharp fangs, massive maw, and glaring white eyes exuded a menacing aura.
"What…?" Bullseye's pupils shrank as he sensed imminent danger, instinctively stepping back. His darts had no effect on Venom.
Venom lunged forward, his limbs stretching like tendrils to close the gap, and wrapped Bullseye up, pulling him in.
Without hesitation, Venom devoured Bullseye's head, ending the villain in an instant. The world's top assassin, a notorious figure in Marvel's universe, had been swiftly consumed.
Anton, watching from behind, scoffed. Bullseye had been overrated.
Meanwhile, on the outskirts of New York, at a private nursing home, Matt Murdock, in his Daredevil guise, was locked in a fierce fight with Kingpin.
Despite Matt's heightened senses, Kingpin's extraordinary strength and endurance were overwhelming. Each blow from Fisk landed with brutal force, forcing Matt to retreat, his breath coming in heavy gasps.
As he felt his control slipping, Matt became aware that Ben had made it out under the protection of the High Table's operatives. It was time to fall back.
Kingpin was not an easy opponent; otherwise, he wouldn't loom so large in Matt's mind as a terrifying adversary.
"Leaving so soon?" Fisk growled, not satisfied with the exchange yet. His massive body moved with surprising speed, closing in on Matt to deliver a powerful kick.
Matt narrowly avoided the blow, using the momentum to jump back and make his escape down a narrow alley. Fisk's face contorted with rage, but he held back from pursuing.
Daredevil's swift retreat was unexpected; it wasn't like him. Nonetheless, Fisk was too angry to continue the chase, casting a dark glance at the nursing home.
"Send her abroad," he ordered his men, not sparing his mother another look before getting into his car.
When he arrived back at his Manhattan headquarters, he was greeted by an unfamiliar but smug-looking figure at the entrance.
"Mr. Fisk, a pleasure to meet you." Anton approached with a smile and handed Fisk a suitcase.
"Just a little gift to thank you for your hospitality these past few days." He gave a slight wave and walked away, leaving the suitcase with Kingpin.
Wesley, Fisk's right-hand man, immediately sensed something was wrong. Years of experience in the underworld told him that suitcases of this size were often used to carry "cleaned-up" remains.
"Take it to my office," Fisk commanded, suppressing his anger. "I want to see what he's dared to give me."
A short while later, Wesley's worst fears were confirmed. Inside the suitcase was the headless body of Bullseye, still clad in his trademark leather trench coat.
Kingpin could no longer contain his fury; with a single, powerful slap, he shattered the desk in front of him.
"Arm our people," he growled, his voice filled with cold fury. "I want these people to understand who controls the night in New York City."
He had never been so humiliated.
"New York's underground has always been mine. Over the years, too many have forgotten that," Fisk said through gritted teeth, his words carrying a deadly promise.
"It's time for them to remember the chaos that ruled when I first took power."
Wesley, standing by, was struck by the transformation in Fisk. It was as though he were seeing the young man who'd clawed his way up from Hell's Kitchen, once more ready to seize control of the criminal world.
In the dark underworld, Fisk's infamous declaration echoed, a chilling reminder of his resolve to reclaim his throne:
"The underworld runs on the rules we set… and I am the Kingpin."
…
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"Now you return Bullseye's corpse to Kingpin, you'll definitely push him over the edge," Eddie muttered repeatedly, watching Anton as he exited Fisk's company building and approached him.
He couldn't help but add, "From now on, the Daily Bugle won't just be dealing with the usual slapstick. Kingpin isn't like Drake. He clawed his way to the top using brute force. If he thinks Batman is behind this, he might just go on a rampage."
Anton raised an eyebrow and asked, "Are we afraid of things going sideways?"
Eddie burst into laughter, his voice carrying a touch of mockery. "Come on, we're on the right side here, and I've got Venom. What's there to fear?"
The symbiote inside him, Venom, was practically purring with excitement, eager for any confrontation that might come their way.
Every stranger could become its next meal, and Eddie knew that the only thing he truly worried about was the safety of the Daily Bugle employees.
"Don't sweat it. I already told them to take a few days off. If Kingpin has half a brain, he won't harm innocent civilians. Otherwise, those slimy politicians would've booted him out of the underworld throne a long time ago," Anton reassured him with a smile.
"Right now, our main concern should be that Kingpin won't even face us directly."
Eddie nodded but asked, "Are you sure we can actually nail him this time? Get some real evidence?"
"Our goal isn't a direct confrontation. We're after Kingpin's weapon arsenal," Anton replied, his eyes glinting with purpose.
"If we can trace it back, we might even be able to reel in a bigger fish. Connect the dots to Stark Industries and bring down a real storm in New York." Anton paused, clearly calculating the potential rewards.
For him, it was a win-win: he could tackle corruption and score himself some serious justice points in the process.
Eddie sighed, "Can't believe I'm actually playing the hero." Since he and Anton had taken down Carlton Drake and gained control over Venom, life had transformed in unimaginable ways.
"Trust me, it's addictive," Anton said with a grin.
A ringing sound interrupted them. Anton glanced at his phone. It was Winston.
"Anton, my informant just reported that Fisk is gathering his people. He's pulling out heavy weapons and seems ready to make a move. Be careful," Winston warned.
"Got it. Tell your guys to gear up and meet in Hell's Kitchen tonight. We'll strike first," Anton replied, a hint of excitement in his tone.
"What?" Winston sounded shocked. "Are you really planning to go head-to-head with him? We're outnumbered."
"Don't worry. I've got a plan, and I won't use your men as cannon fodder." Anton hung up, his mind already working through the details.
In Hell's Kitchen, a young man with a slight build, dressed in a red mask and a sweater emblazoned with a spider emblem, nervously entered an underground boxing gym.
"Hey, chicken! You here to throw punches too?" the brawny gatekeeper sneered, slapping him on the shoulder.
"What's your ring name? Chicken sounds just right for you."
"Spider… call me Spider," the young man muttered, hesitating before writing his name on the form.
"Alright, kid, you're up." The man shoved him down the hallway with a chuckle.
"Your opponent is Big Mac—the undefeated champ of this place. I hope you don't come out missing an arm," the gatekeeper jeered.
Places like this saw plenty of kids looking to make quick cash, and most didn't fare well. The worst of them left in body bags, forgotten and unclaimed.
The young man entered the boxing area, only to realize this was no ordinary ring. This was an arena for underground, no-rules fighting.
"Wait! I just wanted a regular boxing match, not this!" he said, panicked.
"Too late, kid," sneered a scantily clad girl nearby. "Scared, are ya?"
"Afraid? Me?" His nerves shifted into something else, defiance replacing fear. "Let's get on with it."
"Good. Your opponent's ready to tear you apart," she said, gesturing toward the ring.
As the young man climbed in, an iron cage dropped down from above, trapping him. This was no amateur fight. It was a caged match—a brutal, unforgiving brawl.
Meanwhile, in Hell's Kitchen, an undercurrent of danger was brewing. Kingpin had called for a reckoning, and the gangs were gathering, ready to rain chaos down on New York.
Their targets: the Daily Bugle, the Continental Hotel, and the hero of Hell's Kitchen, Daredevil.
Kingpin's anger had lit a fire within them. His empire was on the line, and his vengeance was a promise.
The Daily Bugle was first, as he suspected Batman was somehow involved. The Continental Hotel was next—he'd discovered that the assassin who had saved Ben worked out of there.
And, of course, Daredevil, his old foe, would not go unpunished.
The gangs armed themselves with guns, bats, and machetes, each member eager to earn Kingpin's favor.
Then, like a true king, Fisk himself emerged. He wore his signature white suit, a cane in hand and a cigar between his teeth. His face was stoic, his gaze calculating.
"Tonight, I'll remind New York that Kingpin hasn't abandoned his throne. This city is still my territory," he declared in a low voice that cut through the noise like a knife.
"Go. Take down our enemies and show everyone that my empire is not to be trifled with."
As his words echoed, the crowd erupted into a thunderous cheer, chanting his name, "Kingpin! Kingpin!"
Then, suddenly, a shadow loomed over the rooftop across the street. A bat-like silhouette projected against the building.
"Batman!"
Fisk flinched, but quickly regained his composure, sneering at the figure above him. "You didn't wait for me to find you, huh? You came right to me!"
"Tonight is your end, Kingpin," Batman's voice boomed from his armor's speaker, amplifying his words for all to hear.
"We'll see about that," Fisk replied, his eyes narrowing. He turned to his men, motioning forward. "Go, finish him."
Just as he spoke, a projectile launched from Batman's shoulder cannon. A rocket, trailing flames, shot toward Kingpin's platform.
At this moment, Anton had switched to his rabbit armor, a lightweight mech suit with high maneuverability for crowded, high-stakes environments.
As the rocket closed in, Kingpin didn't flinch. Raising his cane, he aimed at the rocket, shooting it down mid-air. It exploded in a flash, scattering debris and a wave of heat.
The young man—Spider—had just emerged from his boxing match, gripping his prize money, both elated and exhausted.
But his relief was short-lived. As he exited the underground gym, a blast shook the air, the shockwave rolling over him, carrying the smell of burning fuel.
His spider-sense tingled, and he knew something was horribly wrong.
He glanced up, catching sight of the fireworks-like explosion in the distance. The dark figure above it made his blood run cold.
"What the—Batman?" The young hero hesitated, clutching his money, but his instincts took over. Whatever was happening, it was big, and he couldn't just stand by.
Back at the scene, Kingpin's men advanced on Batman, firing and closing in. But Batman moved like a phantom, his rabbit armor making him faster and more agile than ever.
Bullets bounced off, and the mechsuit's reinforced shielding deflected blows as he took down one thug after another.
"RPG!" someone yelled, frantically trying to rally Kingpin's forces.
But the shell was never meant for them. Batman aimed his rocket directly at Kingpin's platform again, determined to take out the mastermind himself. The second blast was even closer, rattling Fisk, who barely managed to shoot it down.
…
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