Chương 52: Sarah's Cleansing Hellfire in Hell's Kitchen II

Sarah (POV)

Whoosh!

The air crackled as my flames roared to life, bathing the dim room in an eerie orange glow. Everyone froze. Their wide-eyed stares flicked between me and the swirling embers, disbelief etched into their faces. I didn't need to read their minds to know the question clawing at their brains. Is this real?

Spoiler alert: it was.

"Who the hell are you, and what do you want?!"

The fat guy at the head of the table puffed up his chest like a bullfrog. His voice was sharp, angry, and as bloated with self-importance as his gut. His glare tried to pin me, but it only made me smirk.

"And what's with the theatrics? Bodyguards? Flames? You think this is some kinda show?!"

I chuckled softly. Poor guy didn't realize the show had already started—and he was the main act.

"Nope." My voice cut through the tension like a blade. "But I'd sit back and enjoy it if I were you."

Before he could throw out another insult, I snapped my fingers. A fireball erupted in my palm, humming with deadly energy. I didn't even blink as I lobbed it straight at him.

"AHH!"

The fire clung to his expensive suit like it was hungry, licking up the fabric and spreading to his hands as he tried to slap it out. He stumbled, screaming, his voice a shrill note that echoed through the room.

"Oh, no, no, no." My grin widened, sharp as a blade. "That's not just fire, sweetheart. That's mine. It burns slow, long, and exactly as hot as I want it to. You won't be putting it out anytime soon."

He collapsed to the floor, writhing like a dying fish, while the rest of the room descended into chaos. Some bolted for the back exit, their panicked shouts filling the air. Others froze, rooted to the spot like deer in headlights, praying they weren't next.

Pathetic.

With a lazy flick of my hand, shadowy tendrils coiled up from the floor. They slithered across the room, snaring the ones who tried to escape. Their screams only added to the symphony of panic.

"Going somewhere?" I teased, watching them struggle against my shadows.

Above all, I rose, my feet leaving the ground as I levitated like a dark omen. Flames danced around me, my cloak of hellfire casting long, sinister shadows across the room.

"Well, well," I drawled, my voice dripping with menace. "Welcome to Hell. Don't worry, though. Membership's free. Pain, on the other hand? That'll cost you."

Hellfire exploded outward at my command, twisting and snaking through the room like vipers. Each cluster struck with pinpoint accuracy, setting tables, chairs, and anyone unlucky enough to be caught in its path ablaze.

"AHHHH!"

"PLEASE! IT HURTS!"

"SPARE ME! I'LL PAY YOU!"

I tilted my head, pretending to consider. "Oh, money? Cute. But I'm afraid Heaven's closed today. Hell, on the other hand…" My lips curled into a wicked grin. "It's very open."

The screams were nothing more than background noise as I turned toward the grand double doors at the end of the hall. Behind them, Jason—cowering like the weakling he was—hoped I wouldn't find him. I could almost taste his fear, his pathetic energy bleeding through the door like a bad scent.

"Jason..." My voice was a low growl, the words laced with venom as hellfire spiraled around my hands.

I didn't give him a chance to respond—not that he could. Without hesitation, I stepped forward. The chaos around me was nothing but a blur as I focused on the only thing that mattered. The flames danced around me, briefly flickering in the tension, but I let nothing slow me down. As I floated forward, the destruction I left behind was nothing more than the remains of their failed resistance.

At the end of the hall, they all hid. But Jason? He was the one I was coming for.

With a single, effortless wave of my hand, the door exploded—splintering into jagged pieces under the force of my power.

"Hey, Jason, bro, it's pay-for-your-sins day!" I shouted, my voice echoing through the halls.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are! I'll only singe your small dick with a little Hellfire."

"What's going on? Are you all playing some new game…?"

I turned toward the sound just in time to see a naked man rush out of one of the rooms, looking confused. He must've been having his sick fun inside, probably moments away from ending a woman's life, when the noise caught his attention. From the eagerness on his face, he clearly thought it was all part of the night's entertainment.

His little grin disappeared when he took in the scene. Familiar faces writhed on the ground, bound tightly by the black vines I'd conjured, their bodies engulfed in hellfire. The screaming was deafening, but a couple of them had already gone quiet.

I felt his wide, panicked eyes latch onto me as I floated above the chaos. I didn't need to say a word. One look at me, and he broke.

"I… I didn't see anything!" he stammered, stumbling backward.

He bolted, slamming the door shut and locking it behind him. I could almost hear his heart hammering as he leaned against the wood, drenched in sweat. What a coward. Tsk. He'd forgotten about the people still in the room with him.

Smack!

I didn't hesitate. I called on my shadows again. This time, I conjured a massive tree trunk right in front of me. Its branches shot forward, sharp and unyielding, smashing through the doorframe with enough force to send splinters flying. People inside—those poor, clueless bastards—were yanked out of hiding by the tree, swinging from the branches like ragdolls.

"What's going on?!" one of them screamed, voice cracking with fear.

"What is this place?"

"Who are you?"

I sighed. The noise, the questions, the panic... it was exhausting. I wasn't in the mood to explain. Instead, I lazily waved my hand, sending a barrage of fireballs careening toward them. "Enjoy your 'pleasure,' boys," I muttered under my breath. They'd been grinning like idiots just a few minutes ago. Now they could experience the kind of "pleasure" I offered. The screams that followed were music to my ears—raw, desperate, full of pain.

But even as the fire blazed, something felt... off. My head swirled for a moment as I watched the chaos unfold. Was I losing control? No. No, it was just the anger—pushing harder than I usually did. Yeah, that's all it was. Pure, unfiltered rage.

I forced myself to take a deep breath, steadying my mind. Enough of this. Jason was waiting. This wasn't done.

My telekinesis easily blasted the large door at the back of the room off its hinges and floated through the wreckage.

The moment I entered, gunfire exploded around me. More than a dozen bodyguards—black suits, submachine guns, pistols—all firing at me in unison. Behind them, Jason stood, a white suit gleaming under the lights, hands raised in mock surrender.

"Friend," he said, his voice calm but with that thinly-veiled arrogance, "I'm not sure if I've offended you, but if I have, I'll pay whatever price you want to make this right—just please, stop. What do you say?"

I could see the hatred barely masked by his false politeness. His eyes—cold, calculating—betrayed him. Blonde, sharp, the kind of guy who'd sell you out in a second if it suited his needs. This was Jason. No surprise he didn't ask who I was. Smart move. Apologies now, revenge later. Typical.

"Are you Jason?" I asked, my voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Yes, that's me," he said, his lips curling into a fake smile. "But who are you?"

I smirked, letting the words hang in the air. "Oh, I? I'm just a curious avenger, here to do a little avenging. Don't mind me. Take your time—really, I'm in no rush."

His jaw clenched. I could see he didn't like that answer. The kind of guy who couldn't stand self-righteous, uncontrollable 'heroes' like me—the ones who didn't play by his rules.

"Open fire!" he barked.

The room erupted again, bullets slicing through the air. They focused everything they had on me. Sparks flew as they hit the walls, but not a single bullet reached me. I didn't flinch. Didn't move an inch.

When the smoke cleared, the bodyguards froze. They stared in disbelief as a wall of bullets hung in the air, suspended by my telekinesis. Not one of them had made it past my barrier.

I tilted my head, letting them absorb the futility of it all. "Is that it?" I asked, my voice smooth, almost bored.

Clink, clink, clink.

I released the telekinetic hold on the bullets and they fell in a metallic cascade to the floor. They piled up, momentarily blocking my view. I couldn't help the smile that curled on my lips as I looked around. "So, is it my turn now?"

The bodyguards reacted immediately, stepping back like frightened sheep. Their faces said it all—they'd seen the surveillance footage and heard the horrifying screams of those who'd burned under my flames. None of them wanted to meet the same fate.

Jason, though… he tried to act tough.

"Do you know what you're doing? Do you know who you're messing with? When Fisk gets to hear about this, you'll regret this!" he barked, glaring at me with all the bravado of a man clinging to a sinking raft.

It was almost laughable. His words had no weight—they were as hollow as his courage. I could see it in his eyes, in the way his fingers twitched at his sides. Inside, he was breaking. He knew there was no escaping me.

Stopping bullets mid-air had drained him of hope. Whatever plan he might've had vanished the moment I walked into this room. His only real thought now? Death was inevitable. Maybe he was already regretting every bad decision that had led him here. It's too late for that, Jason.

Boom.

The sound of his fear was deafening, even in silence. I grinned to myself. Wilson Fisk, the Kingpin. Oh, I had my suspicions about who his boss was before, but now? Now I was sure.

Fisk, I thought with glee. First I had your curiosity. But now, I have your attention.

I turned back to Jason, watching him crumple under the weight of his useless defiance. "Don't worry, Mr. Jason," I said, sneering as I casually tossed him to the ground like the trash he was. "You won't be dying anytime soon. For you, I have something special planned."

The grin on my face widened as an idea sparked in my mind. With a single thought, I reached into the fabric of reality and tore it apart. The air crackled, and a portal opened before me, swirling with dark, hellish energy. The gateway to the Underworld loomed like a hungry maw, waiting to devour him.

Jason's punishment wasn't just death. It was going to be much worse than that.

The fiery gate rippled as a tall, blonde figure stepped through, her presence heavy with power. A black knight, her armor dark and glistening like polished obsidian, emerged, reminiscent of a taller version Altoria Alter brought to life. The air around her seemed to recoil as the vitality of the area began to wither.

With each step she took, the floor beneath her feet cracked and decayed, transforming into a desolate wasteland of the Underworld. Her passive ability as Kara's personal guard and the Undead Knight of the legions of the damned was unmistakable—life itself recoiled from her existence, fleeing in terror. She was death incarnate, the relentless usurper of life's essence, ensuring that the living returned to where they belonged: the grave.

By the time she reached me, the floor was a shadow of its former self. She knelt on one knee, her fiery red eyes locked onto mine, and spoke solemnly, her head bowed.

"Your Majesty, Queen of the Underworld, your personal guard is here to serve you."

I groaned, pinching the bridge of my nose. "For heaven's sake, Illyana, will you stop destroying everything around you? I can't revitalize this mess, and there are humans here, you know."

Illyana lifted her head, her red eyes narrowing slightly as she rose to her full, imposing height. Towering over me, she sneered, "You're not my queen, imposter. Who are you?"

Her sudden shift in demeanor made me instinctively take a step back. Damn. Illyana was... complicated. The woman might be a coward—no, scratch that—she was a coward. During the Second World War, she fled the battlefield more times than I could count, especially when up against the Red Skull's forces. But cowardice aside, Illyana was terrifyingly powerful.

She valued her life above all else, and the only person she placed above herself was Kara. That was the whole reason this Pureblood had ended up as an Undead Knight in the first place. She'd been so afraid of Kara killing her that she'd willingly sworn herself into servitude, well not that she had any choice Kara caught her slaughtering civilians. And now, here she was, questioning me.

Her gaze bore into me, and after a moment, she seemed to assess me more carefully. "I see," she said with a disdainful smirk. "You are partially her. Don't assume too much—you have only partial authority over the Underworld and over me."

I clenched my fists, regaining my composure. "Fine," I said with a smirk of my own, pointing toward Jason. "If you're so unimpressed, then how about this? Give him the Nazi package. Keep him alive while you're at it. And when his body finally gives up, take extra good care of his soul for me, would you?"

Illyana's sneer softened into a wicked grin as her gaze shifted to Jason, who was trembling in absolute terror. "Oh, my vice queen, you really know how to treat a lady," she purred, her fangs glinting as she bit her lower lip. "A fresh blood bag."

She strode over to Jason, careful as she picked him up. "Wouldn't want to damage the goods," I heard her mutter, almost amused. As she turned to head back to the portal, she glanced at me over her shoulder.

"Well, since you've got partial authority, my little vice queen, you must know it comes with responsibilities. And work."

I blinked. "What? Isn't Persephone handling the Underworld in Kara's absence?"

Illyana stopped mid-step, her gaze darkening. "It's Her Majesty Queen Persephone to you, little vice queen. And no, she's pissed."

She didn't wait for my response, disappearing through the fiery portal with Jason dangling like a rag doll in her grip.

I stared at the empty space where she'd been, the implications of her words sinking in. "Crap," I muttered. "We totally forgot about our promise to get her out of the Underworld."

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. "Well, that's Kara's problem, not mine. You don't make a promise to a woman, bed her a few times, and then leave her stranded in the Underworld. That's just... ugh."

But enough about Kara's spousal problems—I had bigger issues to deal with. I glanced over at the girls huddled together in the hall, and a headache immediately began to throb behind my eyes. This wasn't going to be easy. Most of them were trafficked or smuggled in from who-knows-where, though a few were local girls kidnapped by the mob.

What could I even do? The best option was to call the police. They'd take them into custody and handle the rest. I couldn't deal with all of them myself. I sighed, hoping this was the last batch of victims I'd have to deal with tonight.

Whirrrrr...

I quickly cast a spell to put the girls to sleep and wiped their memories of me while I was at it—not because I feared being exposed, but because I didn't want the hassle. Fame's a double-edged sword, and I wasn't in the mood to deal with the blade.

If word got out that I'd slaughtered a bunch of criminals—no matter how vile—they'd twist it.

"Sorry, this is the best I can do," I muttered to the victims

Moments later, the sound of police sirens pierced the air.

Ding~ Woo~ Ding~ Woo~

The cops had finally shown up after I called in a tip about a "terrorist attack" at a bar. I may have exaggerated a bit to make sure they took it seriously. They were slow to enter, hesitant about the possibility of a bomb. I couldn't blame them—nobody signs up for a suicide mission.

But when they finally went inside, all they found were unconscious patrons on the bar floor. Then, deeper in, they found the girls—scantily clad, sleeping peacefully on the floor, their memories scrubbed clean of what they'd seen. The charred remains littering the hall? That spoke for itself.

The club was worse. Way worse. Locked cages filled with women, some alive, some... not. Dismembered bodies, skeletal remains. It turned my stomach when I'd first seen it, and judging by the cops' grim faces, I wasn't the only one. This wasn't just a club; it was a horror show—a front for human trafficking and unimaginable cruelty.

If the monsters behind this were still around, I had no doubt the officers would've beaten them senseless.

They didn't have many leads, except for Jason. But he was currently permanently unreachable. But it didn't matter. The surveillance footage and client records I'd left behind told the story. Of course, I'd erased the bits with me in them—no need to hand them evidence of my involvement.

From my perch on the rooftop, I watched as the girls were carried out, one by one, into waiting ambulances. Relief settled over me, faint but present. One evil eradicated, one small step toward justice.

But I wasn't done.

Lux had given me what I needed: names, locations, and the scope of this gang's operation. I looked up at the sky, the stars barely visible through the city's haze. There was still time tonight.

Time to keep hunting.

My next target was clear: Kingpin. Fisk's empire had its claws deep in smuggling and human trafficking, and I intended to start ripping them out, one by one.

And if Fisk came after me?

Good.

I smirked, letting the wind carry the words out into the night.

"Come and get me. I'll be waiting."

...

General (POV)

The Brooklyn brownstone was bathed in the golden glow of a bedside lamp, its cozy warmth an intimate contrast to the events of earlier tonight in Hell's kitchen. Karen lay nestled against Sarah, their breaths mingling in the quiet aftermath of their closeness. Her flushed cheek rested on Sarah's chest, and though her eyes were shut, the lingering heat in her expression was unmistakable.

A long silence passed before Karen opened her eyes, her voice hesitant, slicing through the stillness.

"Sarah… I think you should stop. Those people… they're too dangerous."

Sarah glanced down, her expression softening as understanding dawned. Karen was referring to the stories Sarah had shared about her time in Hell's Kitchen. Always a bit reckless and tasteless, she knew that Sarah wasn't invulnerable, Sarah was trying to assure Karen she had things under control.

"Don't worry," Sarah said gently, brushing a strand of blonde hair from Karen's face. "I'll protect you."

Karen's lips parted, ready to reply, when the room was suddenly filled with a golden glow—a swirling Kamar-Taj portal opening at the foot of the bed.

"What the—?!" Karen yelped, clutching the sheet to cover herself. Her wide blue eyes locked on the figure stepping through the portal, her initial alarm giving way to confusion.

The woman was a carbon copy of Sarah.

"Kara?!" Sarah blurted.

Kara, equally taken aback by the scene before her, narrowed her eyes. "What are you doing here? And in my bed?" she demanded, her voice dripping with disgust. "Sarah, this is gross."

Karen blinked, her gaze darting between the two identical women. "Wait a second. If she's Kara," she pointed at the new arrival, then turned to Sarah, "then who the hell are you? You said your real name was Kara, and Sarah was just, like, a cover name or something!"

Kara raised an eyebrow, arms crossed, her glare shifting to Sarah. "Yeah, I'd like to know that too."

Caught red-handed, Sarah groaned, dragging a hand down her face. "Bitch, you told me to use your identity when you went MIA! Besides," she added, shooting Kara a pointed look, "you know how connected we are. It's not exactly a secret."

Kara's lips curled into a grin. "She's right," she admitted. "I told her to assume my identity while I was away. She's… let's just call her my twin. It's complicated." Her grin turned into a grimace as she gestured around the room. "But in my bed? Seriously, Sarah, this is so gross. There are four other bedrooms here. Did you have to defile mine?"

Karen, baffled by the uncanny similarity between the two, couldn't shake the unease bubbling within her. But as Kara's gaze lingered on her, there was a flicker of something else—something almost appreciative.

Karen stiffened, pulling the blanket over her head. "You know what? You two have problems. This is none of my business."

Kara smirked, unbothered. Switching to Kryptonian, she said, "We do have problems, but right now, Kamar-Taj is facing one tomorrow, just call it a gut feeling. I'm going to need your help—quietly. The number of your type I can make is limited, so you're it."

Sarah's eyes flared red in annoyance as she replied in the same tongue. "You mean sacrifice me, like you did Lara?" Her voice was cold enough to cut steel.

Kara sighed, folding her arms. "First of all, you weren't even you back then—you were still me. So if anyone's to blame, it's us both. Second, I regret how I handled that, but you know what happens if I die. Lastly…" She softened, her tone sincere. "I care about your stubborn ass like a sister. I need you watching my back, not taking hits for me."

Sarah's expression hardened, her mind racing through the risks Kara usually attracted. This wasn't going to be some small-time Hell's Kitchen bust; Kara's "problems" tended to lean apocalyptic.

"And Karen?" Sarah asked, nodding toward the figure beneath the blanket.

"You'll be back tomorrow," Kara said, stepping toward the door. She hesitated before leaving, her eyes sparkling mischievously. "But seriously, respect, bitchy sister. Still, my bed? I'm burning the sheets with hellfire."

And with that, she disappeared down the hall, leaving Sarah to groan and Karen to mutter from under the blanket, "Sisters… or whatever you are. I'm getting a therapist."