Bab 65: The Wolf’s Return
Wilson Fisk sat at his massive mahogany desk, his thick fingers drumming impatiently against the polished surface. The dim light of his private office highlighted the deep lines on his face, etched from years of ruthless ambition and unrelenting stress. Tonight, however, those lines were heavier than usual.
The reports were maddening. Someone—or something—had been targeting his operations with the precision of a scalpel. Shipments were missing, money laundering schemes disrupted, and warehouses cleared out.
Fisk clenched his fists, his jaw tightening as he stared at the stack of papers in front of him. He had meticulously built this empire, ensuring every cog in the machine ran smoothly. Yet now, chaos was spreading like a disease.
"This has to be a copycat," he growled, his voice a low rumble.
The guards stationed by the door exchanged uneasy glances but said nothing.
Fisk continued, speaking more to himself than to anyone else. "The masked man... he said the matter was handled. That the Wolf had been dealt with."
He paused, his eyes narrowing. "But that man disappeared without a trace. And now..."
He slammed a meaty fist onto the desk, making the guards flinch. "And now this! Someone is daring to impersonate that damned vigilante to dismantle my work!"
Fisk leaned back in his chair, his massive frame filling the space as he glared at the ceiling. His mind churned, trying to piece together the puzzle. The timing didn't make sense. If this was the Wolf, why return now? And if it wasn't, who had the resources and audacity to mimic his methods?
One of the guards spoke hesitantly, his voice trembling. "Sir, do you think... do you think it might really be him? The Wolf?"
Fisk's glare snapped to the man, silencing him instantly.
"It can't be," Fisk growled. "The man I trusted assured me the Wolf was taken care of. This is an impersonator—a pest who doesn't understand the rules of this city."
As Fisk stewed in his frustration, the lights in the office flickered once before plunging into darkness.
"What the hell?" Fisk barked, his voice booming in the sudden silence.
The guards scrambled, drawing their weapons as shadows seemed to stretch and shift around them.
A faint, almost imperceptible sound echoed through the room—a soft thud followed by the unmistakable sound of a body hitting the floor.
"What's going on?!" Fisk demanded, his voice rising.
No one answered.
Another guard let out a strangled cry before a sickening crack echoed through the room.
Panic set in. The remaining guards moved closer to Fisk, their breaths shallow and quick.
"Stay calm!" Fisk barked, though his own pulse was hammering in his chest.
But calm was impossible.
The shadows seemed alive, shifting unnaturally as if mocking their fear. One guard whispered a shaky prayer under his breath, his hands trembling so badly he almost dropped his gun.
Then came the voice.
"You're scared."
The words were soft, almost a whisper, but they carried a chilling weight.
Another guard let out a yelp, his weapon clattering to the ground as he backed away from the darkness.
"You should be."
The voice moved, its location impossible to pinpoint.
Another guard broke, bolting for the door. He didn't make it far before an unseen force yanked him backward, his scream cut short by a sharp thud.
One of the guards dropped to his knees, his breath coming in shallow gasps.
"I... I can't..." he muttered before the distinct sound of liquid hitting the floor filled the air.
Fisk's fury turned to something colder, sharper. Fear.
"Show yourself!" he roared, rising to his feet. "Stop hiding in the shadows like a coward!"
The response was immediate.
A figure stepped into the faint glow of a nearby monitor, his jagged helmet gleaming menacingly.
The Violet Wolf.
"It's you..." Fisk breathed, his voice low and filled with disbelief.
"Miss me?" Tyr's voice was calm, almost conversational, but the edge of malice in his tone was unmistakable.
The guards reacted instantly, firing at the figure. Tyr moved with precision, his Force-enhanced reflexes making the attacks look almost sluggish. He deflected the bullets with the steel blade in his hand before dispatching the remaining guards with ruthless efficiency.
When the last guard fell, Tyr turned his gaze to Fisk, his helmet tilting slightly as he stepped forward.
Fisk, despite his immense size and strength, felt his pulse quicken. This wasn't just a man standing before him. This was something else entirely—something darker, more unrelenting.
"You've been busy," Tyr said, his voice calm as he gestured to the papers on Fisk's desk.
"Do you think you can scare me?" Fisk growled, forcing bravado into his voice. "I've faced worse than you."
Tyr chuckled softly, the sound devoid of warmth. "I'm not here to scare you, Fisk. I'm here to end you."
Fisk's bravado faltered. "You don't know who you're dealing with, boy."
Tyr's helmet tilted, his voice lowering. "Neither do you."
Without warning, Tyr surged forward, slamming Fisk against the wall with a Force-enhanced shove. The impact cracked the plaster, and Fisk let out a grunt of pain.
Tyr's blade pressed against Fisk's throat, his voice cold and steady. "Two years," he began. "Two years of hell. Of fighting, bleeding, and barely surviving."
Fisk's eyes widened slightly, confusion flickering across his face. "What the hell are you talking about?"
Tyr ignored him, his grip tightening. "Two years to think about who put me there. Two years to wonder who at that table of cowards decided my life was disposable."
"I don't know what you're talking about!" Fisk spat, his bravado crumbling under the weight of Tyr's presence.
"Liar," Tyr hissed.
What followed was slow, deliberate, and excruciating.
Tyr didn't kill Fisk outright. He made him suffer. Each cut, each strike, was calculated to inflict maximum pain without granting the release of death.
Fisk's threats turned to pleas, his deep voice cracking as he begged for mercy.
"Please... I'll give you anything," Fisk gasped, blood dripping from his mouth. "Money... power... just stop..."
But Tyr didn't stop.
"You took everything from me," Tyr growled, his voice shaking with controlled rage. "Now it's your turn."
When Fisk's lifeless body finally slumped against the wall, the room was eerily silent.
Tyr stepped back, his breathing heavy as he stared down at the broken man.
"Argos," he said, his voice steady but cold. "Send everything we have on Fisk to the media. Every crime, every secret. Make sure the world knows what he was."
"Understood," Argos replied, though there was a faint hesitation in the AI's tone. "Tyr... are you certain about this path?"
Tyr's helmet tilted slightly, his voice sharp. "Do it."
The faint hum of Argos's processing filled the room as Tyr turned away, his cape brushing against the bloodied floor.
As he stepped into the night, the city stretched out before him, its lights flickering like distant stars.
Status Power Mingguan
-- Peringkat
Power 
-- Power
stone