The silence that followed the destruction of the door was almost absolute.
Smoke slowly dissipated, revealing the intruder walking forward with calm, steady steps.
Arthur raised his gaze, and the cold gleam in his eyes made it clear — he wasn't there to intimidate.
He was there to finish something.
Kingpin stared at him in silence for a few seconds. His broad face, the white suit stained with dust, and the barely restrained rage pulsing through every muscle in his neck all painted the same picture — fury and disbelief.
Arthur smirked with disdain.
"Who would've thought I'd end up finding you because of the stupid actions of one of your dogs, Kingpin?"
His voice echoed through the underground chamber, dripping with mockery.
Kingpin frowned, irritation flaring in his eyes. "You…" he began, but the words died on his lips when he finally recognized that look.
"You bastard…" he muttered, his breathing turning heavy. "So it's you… the Ripper."
Arthur raised an eyebrow, as if amused by the memory.
"Took you long enough to recognize me."
The tone was playful, but the look in his eyes — cold and merciless — left no room for humor.
"I heard you'd disappeared off the face of the earth," Kingpin said, narrowing his eyes. "Guess that was a lie…"
Arthur's expression darkened. "It's getting late," he said, pulling out his pistol in one smooth, effortless motion.
"So let's end this quickly."
The muffled sound of a silencer cut through the air as Arthur fired a single shot.
The bullet pierced through Damian Silver's skull before anyone could even blink. His body dropped instantly, lifeless, a neat hole between his eyes and a frozen expression of pure shock.
A murmur of horror spread through the room.
Kingpin didn't move. His narrowed eyes burned with quiet fury.
"What makes you think you'll leave here alive?" he asked, his deep voice echoing with restrained hatred.
Arthur calmly wiped the pistol and smiled faintly.
"Instead of asking that, you should be thanking me for coming here."
Kingpin blinked, confused. "Thanking you…?"
Arthur took a step forward, the red light in the room glinting across his face.
"When I found out that The Hand was behind my parents' murder… I started hunting them. One by one."
Fisk's eyes widened.
"Don't tell me that—"
"Exactly," Arthur interrupted, his tone turning icy. "After completely erasing that abomination of an organization from the face of the earth — which, by the way, wasn't as hard as you might think, especially with the help I had — I discovered a few names tied to them… and thanks to that, I found this little beauty."
He raised the katana. The blade gleamed, silver and lethal, catching the light like a mirror of death.
"Thanks to those damn ninjas," he continued, "I ended up meeting an old man named Muramasa. He forged this for me. A blade that can cut through what shouldn't be cut."
"He wanted to call it Muramasa III or something stupid like that, but I decided to name it Kōryūga."
Arthur ran a gloved hand along the flat of the blade.
[A/N: Kōryūga — Crimson Dragon Fang]
Kingpin clenched his fists, his face twisting with anger and tension.
Arthur flicked his wrist, and the katana let out a sharp, whistling sound before he slid it back into its sheath with a dry click.
"The name Kingpin was on The Hand's records. Who would've guessed the so-called king of crime was none other than Wilson Fisk?"
He shook his head, mocking.
"Anyway… I made myself a little list of people I'd kill if I ever found them. And guess what, Fisk—"
He pointed the blade straight at the massive man.
"Your name's right at the top."
The air vibrated.
For a second, neither of them moved.
Then, Kingpin roared and charged, the ground trembling beneath his steps.
His punch, broad as a sledgehammer, sliced through the air with a thunderous whoosh.
Arthur moved instantly.
One step to the left — a blur of motion — and the crimson edge of Kōryūga flashed under the light.
The sound of the cut was sharp and clean.
Kingpin froze, confused.
He looked at his arm… or rather, where it had been.
The pain came next.
"AAARRRGHHHH! YOU SON OF A BITCH!!!"
Arthur said nothing.
He twirled the katana gracefully, flicking the blood off before sheathing it again with precision.
Before Fisk could recover, the Ripper struck him with a clean, brutal kick to the side of the head.
The giant crashed to the ground like a collapsing wall.
Arthur stepped on him, the sole of his boot pressing down hard on Fisk's skull.
Silence filled the room.
And then… Arthur spoke.
Calm. Measured. As if reciting a daily routine.
"My name is Arthur Morgan.
I'm twenty-one years old.
I live in Queens, New York."
Kingpin groaned, trying to push him off, but it was useless. Arthur's foot pinned him down like an iron weight.
"I'm not married, but I'm in a great relationship.
I'm a somewhat famous writer — known in nerd circles.
I don't smoke, and I only drink on rare occasions."
'What the hell is he talking about?' Fisk thought, panic rising. 'And why… why can't I move!?'
"I always go to bed at eleven," Arthur continued, pressing harder. Cracks formed beneath Fisk's skull.
"And I sleep for eight hours. No matter what."
"I like to drink a warm glass of milk before bed.
I stretch, train lightly with my bokken… and I usually sleep peacefully, without interruptions."
Blood trickled down Fisk's face.
"I wake up refreshed.
Like a baby without a care in the world."
The giant writhed in pain, his face crushed against the concrete.
"My last check-up found no health problems at all."
'This bastard… this psychopath…!' Fisk raged inwardly as the pressure increased.
"I'm someone who values inner peace.
I avoid conflicts, avoid grudges."
Arthur's voice dropped to a near whisper.
"But if I'm forced to fight… I never lose.
And I never hesitate to kill."
The room was silent.
Only Fisk's ragged breathing and the faint hum of the emergency lights could be heard.
"In short," Arthur said, his voice calm but merciless, "you and your band of whores are nothing but noise — an annoying buzz in the back of my head. And that… can mess with my sleep."
He leaned down, his eyes cold and unreadable.
"So, Wilson Fisk… you're my enemy."
Arthur lifted his boot off Fisk's head, crouched down, and grabbed him by the throat.
Fisk struggled to speak, choking out, "W–What do you want…?"
Arthur stared at him, his tone steady and final.
"I don't want anything from someone like you."
With a swift motion of his blade, he drew a clean line across Kingpin's neck.
A dull thud followed — the sound of something heavy hitting the floor.
Blood sprayed, painting Arthur's face crimson.
Without hesitation, he drew his pistol again and executed every remaining man in the room.
No screams. No pleas. Just precise, surgical shots — each one dead center.
When the last body fell, Arthur holstered his weapon, wiped his face with the back of his glove, and walked calmly down the corridor he had blown open minutes before.
---
NYPD — Technology Division
"Report," said George as he rushed into the control room.
One of the technicians turned, sweating nervously.
"Fortunately, sir, all server data and files remain intact. Nothing's been deleted or modified."
A collective sigh of relief spread through the team.
"Then why the hell would a hacker break in if they didn't change anything?" asked one of the officers, frowning.
George crossed his arms, thoughtful.
"Good question."
He glanced at the wall of monitors filled with code and access traces.
"Can you locate the IP of the intruder?"
The technicians exchanged uneasy looks. One shook his head.
"Negative, Captain. He masked every route. It's like… he never existed."
George exhaled heavily.
"I figured as much."
He turned to the team, his tone sharp and commanding.
"Listen up. I want everyone on alert. If this hacker moves again, I want every byte, every digital shadow traced. Use every resource we have to find him."
"Yes, Captain!" they responded in unison.
George ran a hand through his hair, weary.
"It looks like someone just declared war on us… and we don't even know who it is."
---
(End of Chapter)
"Hmph. If you really want to be useful, then entertain me, try to throw those pathetic power stones at me. Let's see if even your insolence can amuse a king."