"I knew it! There are always mortals who dare to challenge the authority of the gods!"
With a sneer, Loki drove his dagger into a man's chest.
Blood burst forth like a crimson fountain — drip… drip… staining the ground beneath his feet.
A flash of emerald light rippled through the darkness.
The gangster's dying body twisted grotesquely before morphing into the image of an evil god.
Beneath a golden helmet crowned with antlers, Loki's lips curled into a cold smile — mocking, detached, as though the life fading in his grasp were nothing more than an insect beneath a god's heel.
He flicked his wrist. The bloodstained dagger vanished in a shimmer of magic, leaving behind only the faint scent of iron in the air.
"Monster! He's a monster!!" someone screamed.
The gangsters — tattoos of dragons and tigers etched on their arms — stumbled backward, terror crushing their bravado.
Then, in blind panic, they opened fire.
"BANG! BANG! BANG!"
Gunfire roared.
Bullets tore through the night — but they struck only mirages. Some even pierced the illusions and hit their own men.
"Damn it! What the hell is this thing?!"
Among them stood Bullseye, a top assassin whose accuracy was legendary. Yet even he felt a chill down his spine. Surrounded by hundreds of armed men, he knew death was inevitable — and yet this so-called god danced freely through the chaos, killing with ease as though the laws of reality bent to his will.
The smell of gunpowder and fear thickened the air. Loki's laughter echoed faintly, like a whisper from another realm.
Seeing his men crumble, Bullseye leapt away from the fray, springing atop a stack of metal containers with feline grace. Throwing knives glinted in his hands as his sharp eyes scanned below.
"Where are you…?" he muttered, darting from container to container.
Then his gaze fixed on a burly white man — pistol in one hand, two ornate daggers at his waist. The gold engravings shimmered even under the dim lights.
Bullseye's instincts flared. "It's you!"
He threw his knife.
Thud!
The blade found flesh. The man gasped, clutching his neck, blood gurgling between his fingers as he collapsed — disbelief frozen on his face.
But when the body didn't transform or vanish, Bullseye's expression twisted.
"Fake… another fake!"
He darted higher, eyes wild, searching for Loki's real form.
Below, his own men stared at him — confused, terrified. The illusions had driven them to the brink; now, watching their boss murder one of their own, paranoia took over.
"He—he killed Quill! He's the monster!" someone shouted.
Dozens of guns turned on Bullseye.
"Are you all insane?!" he roared, eyes blazing with fury.
A pulse of ghostly blue light flared around him — and in that instant, his figure warped and Loki appeared where Bullseye had stood.
To everyone watching, it looked like the assassin's true identity had been exposed.
"That bastard's a shapeshifter! Kill him!"
Gunfire erupted again — "BANG! BANG! BANG!" — but Loki's mocking laughter echoed as his illusion flickered out of existence.
Meanwhile, the real Bullseye crouched behind another container, watching chaos unfold.
He clenched his teeth. "That damn god… he's using my face to make them kill each other!"
Then a familiar voice rang through the chaos — his own voice.
"That tone… it's me. He's copied me again!"
Bullseye's mind spun. The god's illusions were twisting every sense, every instinct, until reality itself became uncertain. His men had all turned on him — puppets of Loki's cruel game.
Shadows crept closer. Gun barrels gleamed in the dark, all aimed at his heart.
"Die! Die!"
Ratatatatatat!
Gunfire and screams melded into one.
Bullseye closed his eyes for a moment, breath ragged, blood boiling with rage.
When he opened his eyes again, Bullseye's gaze was filled with murderous intent.
In an instant, he sprang to his feet, rolling aside to evade the rain of bullets that tore through the air. Without pause, his hands flickered like lightning—throwing knives slicing graceful arcs before embedding themselves in the chests and throats of the onrushing gunmen.
As the immediate danger subsided, Bullseye's sharp ears twitched, picking up the faint shuffle of approaching footsteps. The next moment, another knife flashed from his hand—
Two gunmen who had been sneaking up from behind dropped soundlessly, crimson pooling beneath their throats.
Watching through Bullseye's eyes, Loki—now controlling the assassin's body—smiled coldly.
"He's hiding in the container tunnel. Five men per group—surround both exits. The rest, lay down suppressive fire. Don't give him a chance to breathe!"
At the command, dozens of gunmen straightened up, suddenly purposeful, moving in formation to encircle the tunnel.
Inside, Bullseye nearly cursed Loki's ancestors to the ninth generation. With both exits blocked, there was nowhere to run.
His only choice was to climb back onto the containers—but that meant no cover.
Should he risk it?
Or stay and die?
Without hesitation, he chose the former.
He crouched low, then exploded upward, muscles coiled like a spring. In one fluid motion, he scaled the container's edge and vaulted to the top, as agile as a leopard.
"He's up there! Shoot! Shoot!"
Gunfire roared again. Bullseye twisted midair, narrowly avoiding the worst of it, though a bullet grazed his shoulder, spraying blood across the steel surface.
"Thud…"
He landed hard, rolling behind cover. As he sprinted, his hands moved on instinct—knives flashing, cutting down more thugs one after another.
"I have to end this quickly," he thought through gritted teeth. "If this keeps up, I'll bleed out before I even get close."
Panting, he ducked behind a stone pillar, chest heaving, mind racing for a way out.
Then—
A scream pierced the chaos.
Bullseye peeked out and froze. In the midst of the gunfire, a figure danced through the crowd like a red phantom—agile, precise, wielding twin batons that cracked bone and metal alike.
"So it's Daredevil…" Bullseye muttered, his expression complicated. He'd come here tonight to ambush his greatest rival—yet, at his darkest moment, that very enemy was the one saving him.
With the two of them fighting side by side, these hundred men wouldn't stand a chance.
Bullseye leaped up once more, unleashing another storm of blades—steel glinting under the cold night lights.
"Thud! Thud! Thud!" Bodies fell like dominoes.
Daredevil's heightened senses picked up the familiar whistle of flying knives, and his heart lurched.
That sound—sharp, precise, deadly—he knew it too well.
Bullseye.
So the man he'd just saved… was the very one he'd come to stop.
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