章節 51: C 51
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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