"That's enough! The game of hide-and-seek ends here!"
Suddenly, an angry roar echoed through the dock, making the surrounding shipping containers vibrate.
Matt Murdock whipped his head toward the sound and listened intently. Twenty meters away, a burly Black man with a scorpion tattoo wrenched open the iron door of a container.
The stench was overwhelming.
Inside, on a frigid winter night, a dozen half-naked girls were crammed into the cramped space like livestock—iron chains binding their wrists and ankles.
Among them were blond, blue-eyed Europeans; dark-skinned African girls; and a few with Asian features.
All were emaciated, their bodies covered in bruises.
"Daredevil! If you don't want to watch these girls die, show yourself! Otherwise, I'll kill one every minute until they're all gone!"
The burly man seized the nearest girl by the hair, pressed a gun to her temple, and bellowed toward the container loading area.
Silence.
"Ten! Nine! Eight! Seven…"
The gang leader's countdown echoed across the dock. His massive arms clamped around the girl's neck, the muzzle of his pistol digging into her temple.
Her sobs were as faint as a kitten's mewl, her tears mingling with cold sweat that soaked the man's forearm.
The maze of containers remained still—as if the leader were shouting into empty air.
"Fine! You don't care about their lives? Then I'll start with this little bitch—"
He grinned, cocked the hammer. The metallic click cut sharply through the night.
"Stop."
A deep voice emerged from the shadows. Matt Murdock stepped forward slowly, hands raised in surrender—a gesture that might resemble a French salute, though he likely intended only to show he was unarmed.
Blood trickled from a gash on his forehead, staining his red suit in dark streaks.
At the sight of him, five gangsters lunged, slamming the butts of their rifles into his back.
Thud! Thud! Thud!
The dull impacts echoed as Matt staggered to his knees, biting back a cry of pain.
Thwack! Crack!
More blows rained down—a steel pipe struck his ribs with a sickening snap. The nearest thug flinched at the sound.
The leader shoved the girl aside, strode forward, and yanked Matt's helmet off with a sneer.
"Daredevil? The so-called 'Man Without Fear'? The legendary demon of Hell's Kitchen? Never thought a legend like you would end up in my hands, did you? Hahahaha!"
Arrogance dripped from his voice. He backhanded Matt across the face—the slap sharp enough to slice the air.
Blood seeped from the corner of Matt's mouth, but his expression stayed calm.
Frustrated by the silence, the leader jammed his pistol hard against Matt's brow.
"Still playing the stoic hero? Go to hell—"
But at that exact moment—
Swoosh—BOOM!
An arrow wreathed in violet lightning tore through the night sky and struck true.
It pierced the leader's right eye. A violent surge of electricity detonated his skull, scattering bone and brain matter in a radial spray across the nearby containers. Sizzling arcs of purple energy still danced over the headless corpse.
Time seemed to freeze.
Then—
Swish! Swish! Swish!
Twelve lightning-charged arrows followed like the scythe of the Grim Reaper, each finding the center of a gunman's forehead with lethal precision.
Pop. Pop. Pop…
Their heads burst like overripe melons. Plasma hissed from the wounds, and the air filled with the acrid, unmistakable stench of charred flesh.
A gangster holding a machete froze in place, watching his companion's head explode before his eyes. As warm blood splashed onto his face, he finally let out an inhuman scream:
"Aa—"
The surviving criminals dropped their weapons and fled in all directions. Some tripped over themselves and scrambled into the darkness on hands and feet; others slammed into shipping containers and didn't even bother to wipe the blood from their foreheads.
Matt Murdock rolled forward, and the short stick slid silently into his palm.
His "sight" swept over the headless corpses lying on the ground—still twitching.
Smoke rose from the arrow wounds on each body, and the flesh around the edges appeared strangely crystallized.
From farther away, the muffled cries of girls could be heard.
Matt Murdock gripped the short stick tightly, tilted his head to pinpoint the direction of the lightning arrow, and tensed every muscle to the limit.
In that darkness, something was emitting energy fluctuations that made his hair stand on end…
A terrified gangster fled into the container loading and unloading area, hoping to use the maze-like terrain to evade those strange purple arrows.
He had just turned a corner—
"Careful!"
Matt Murdock's roar came from behind. The gangster instinctively spun around—his pupils contracting violently.
Swoosh—puff!
An arrow wreathed in purple lightning tore through the air and pierced his chest in an instant.
The criminal looked down at the bowl-sized hole in his torso. The skin and flesh around the edges were charred black in an unnatural way. There was no blood—only the acrid stench of burning.
"Damn…"
He opened his mouth as if to say something, but his legs gave out. He collapsed heavily to the ground.
Not far away, another fleeing gangster heard the commotion and panicked, sprinting even faster.
"Call out—!"
Another lightning arrow streaked across the night sky, aimed straight for his back!
"Get down!!"
Matt Murdock roared and swung the short stick in his hand. The baton spun through the air and struck the arrow—
BOOM!!!
A blinding purple light erupted, and the shockwave sent nearby containers shuddering.
The reinforced alloy baton shattered instantly—but the arrow was deflected, slamming deep into the asphalt. Purple electricity crackled across the ground, searing spiderweb-like fractures into the surface.
The gangster lay trembling on the pavement.
He barely lifted his head—
A pair of slender legs clad in white stockings appeared before him.
His gaze crept upward…
She wore a purple-and-white Gothic dress, an ornate lace eyepatch over her left eye, and two violet bows adorning her golden hair.
The longbow in her hand still crackled with lingering purple lightning, its string trembling faintly.
"How dare you—a lowly ant—gaze directly upon the Princess of Judgment?"
Fischl lifted her chin slightly, peering down at the gangster with her emerald right eye, her voice dripping with condescension.
The gangster said nothing—but with a snarl, he yanked a dagger from his belt and lunged at Fischl.
"Oz!"
"Yes, milady!"
Fischl snapped her fingers. A bolt of purple lightning shot from the beak of the Night Raven perched on her shoulder, piercing the gangster clean between the eyebrows.
"Haaa—!"
His expression froze in terror and confusion—and then his body crumpled to the ground.
Oz folded his wings and settled back onto Fischl's shoulder, turning his gaze toward Matt Murdock.
The night wind stirred Fischl's long golden hair, tiny arcs of electricity dancing at the tips.
"A mere mortal… such ant-like filth… Is it truly worthy of your divine power? Or could it be…" Her voice grew softer, dreamlike. "...that within this wretched soul lies a forbidden light—even the Abyss fears?"
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