"I never thought we'd actually get the chance to team up!"
A flash of cold light—thunk! A throwing knife embedded itself in an enemy's forehead. Bullseye, having just dispatched one of the thugs who'd ambushed Daredevil, couldn't resist taunting him, his tone dripping with dark amusement.
"You really are Bullseye?!" Daredevil recognized the voice immediately and grimaced in regret. "If I'd known it was you, you bastard, I wouldn't have jumped in!"
His cane cracked through the air like a bamboo whip, striking a thug's wrist and forcing him to drop his pistol. Before the weapon even hit the ground, Daredevil lunged forward, seizing the man by the collar and crouching low—using him as a human shield.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Blood sprayed across the floor. The thug was riddled with bullets, his lifeless body absorbing the barrage meant for Daredevil.
Meanwhile, Bullseye took advantage of the chaos. His hands flickered in a blur—each throwing knife tracing a silver arc through the smoke and finding its mark. Several more gangsters fell before they even realized what had happened.
"It's too late to regret it now. We're both in this mess!" Bullseye hissed, glancing down at the spreading bloodstain on his shoulder. Pain flickered across his face. Though he was a professional assassin who prided himself on silence, the muscle strain from throwing had forced a low groan through his teeth.
"Aren't you Kingpin's lapdog? These are his men. Why the hell are they attacking you?"
Gunpowder filled the air. Daredevil shoved the corpse aside and leapt to his feet. With a flick of his wrist, he activated a hidden mechanism in his cane—click!—a steel cable shot out and latched onto a nearby stack of containers. The grappling hook snapped taut, yanking him upward and away from the gunfire.
Bullseye rolled behind cover, firing back, shouting, "'Lackey' is a bit harsh! He pays, I deliver—it's a mutually beneficial arrangement!"
"An arrangement?" Daredevil sneered. "So, what—your partnership fell apart?"
"Actually… not exactly!" Bullseye muttered, stabbing a thug who had crept too close. He yanked the body toward him by the ankle.
Seeing the movement, the others opened fire immediately.
Bullseye ducked behind cover again, shouting, "Handle them, Daredevil! I need a gun!"
Yes, you heard that right—Bullseye, the master of improvised weapons, was asking for a firearm. His wounded shoulder throbbed too badly to throw with precision; a trigger was far easier to pull than a knife was to throw.
After all, sending someone from life to death takes only the twitch of a finger.
Responding to the call, Daredevil silently moved around the containers. As a disciple of Stick, he was a master of countless martial arts—but when it came to punishing evil, he trusted his fists more than anything else.
He melted into the shadows, waiting for the perfect moment. When one thug stepped too close, Daredevil snapped his wrist—his steel cable shot out like a striking serpent, wrapping around the man's arm. With a violent pull, the thug vanished into the darkness.
The others froze for an instant—then panic erupted. They fired blindly into the shadows, bullets ricocheting off steel.
At that moment, Bullseye seized his chance. He dragged the corpse beside him and pried two pistols from the man's limp hands.
Click-click. Bullets chambered. Bullseye's eyes gleamed with lethal intent.
"You punks had your fun spraying bullets all night. Now it's my turn. Let the master show you how it's done!"
He crouched low—then exploded upward like a tiger freed from its cage. In a single motion, he flipped through the air, both guns blazing.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
When he landed, silence fell.
Every thug lay sprawled on the ground, each with a single, clean bullet hole between the eyes—lifeless, their stares frozen in disbelief.
Daredevil's red figure emerged from the shadows, the scent of blood thick in his nostrils. He wrinkled his nose and shook his head.
"To be honest, this is too bloody."
"I don't see any difference between killing with fists and killing with guns!" Bullseye grinned darkly, reloaded his weapon, and strode toward the thugs encircling them.
They had once been his men—now they were the victims of his flawless aim. Against a sharpshooter of his caliber, the fight was utterly one-sided.
Moments later, the warehouse was silent. The last of the bodies hit the ground.
"A killing spree… a perfect curtain call!" Loki's voice echoed from the shadows, followed by the sound of slow, mocking applause.
Bullseye's eyes widened. The moment he saw the trickster, fury surged through him. Without hesitation, he raised his gun and fired—
Only for the bullets to pass through another illusion.
"No need to make things so tense," Loki's voice purred, this time from a different corner. "I think we can talk."
Daredevil tilted his head. "Who is this? I can hear his heartbeat behind me, but his voice is coming from the left."
"You can hear his heartbeat?" Bullseye's tone sharpened, his anger reigniting. This mysterious bastard had toyed with him—made him kill his own men. If there was a way to strike back, he'd take it without hesitation.
"He's fifty paces behind you," Daredevil said calmly.
Bullseye spun and opened fire in a furious burst. Brass casings clattered to the floor.
From the faint shimmer in the air, Loki finally appeared, brushing the bullets off his armor with a lazy flick of his wrist.
"Well, well. It seems this world isn't entirely filled with incompetents." He smiled faintly, plucking a bullet that had lodged itself harmlessly against his brow.
"Your strength has earned my acknowledgment. Now, kneel!"
His body flared with divine light as he spread his arms wide. "Submit to me, and I—Loki, son of Odin and god of mischief—shall bring you under the banner of the gods!"
"Son of Odin? Loki, god of mischief?"
Bullseye's expression twisted between disbelief and awe. The man before him had deflected bullets like pebbles, his illusions more real than flesh and blood. Could he truly be a god?
"Impossible! There are no gods in this world!" Bullseye snarled, his voice raw. "You son of a bitch—still trying to bluff me!"
"If bullets won't kill you, then let's see you walk away from this!"
He yanked a grenade from his belt, pulled the pin, and hurled it straight at Loki's face.
Loki caught it midair, smiling as if amused by the mortal's defiance. The device was unfamiliar to him—until, in the blink of an eye—
BOOM!
A deafening explosion tore through the air. Shrapnel and smoke filled the room, and the trickster god was blown off his feet.
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