Buzz buzz buzz...
The energy battery pack mounted on the Lascannon emitted a low, continuous operational hum. The sound vibrated through the Terminator armor's frame, transmitting into Nolan's chest cavity where he could feel it resonating in his bones.
The massive weapon, easily weighing several hundred kilograms, rested across the heavy shoulder armor plating. Nolan adjusted his stance, leaning slightly backward to compensate for the forward weight distribution, optimizing the firing angle through micro-adjustments of posture.
Electro-fiber bundles wrapped around his body contracted and released in rapid succession, creating intense buzzing that built in pitch and volume. Servo-devices throughout the armor engaged at maximum output, hydraulics hissing as they redirected pressure to support the weapon's mass.
Nolan stepped down hard, driving both feet into the ground with tremendous force. The heavy magnetic boots didn't just contact the surface but embedded deeply, ceramite-reinforced soles punching through pavement and into the substrate beneath. Stabilization anchors deployed automatically, creating a firing platform that could resist massive recoil.
Simultaneously, the black muzzle of the Lascannon, its aperture measuring twenty centimeters in diameter, began filling with red light. The glow pulsed, flickering back and forth as capacitors charged and energy built toward critical discharge levels. Heat radiated from the barrel, distorting the air around it.
Nolan raised one gauntleted hand to the firing mechanism. His armored finger found the activation stud, applied pressure.
The Lascannon fired.
A terrifying red beam erupted from the muzzle with the force of a newborn star. The coherent light was so intense it created afterimages on unprotected retinas, so bright it painted everything across the battlefield in crimson illumination that rendered shadows obsolete.
The beam crossed the distance between Nolan and the creature instantaneously. Light travels at three hundred million meters per second. The monster had no time to react, no possibility of evasion.
The laser struck the creature's chest with incomparable accuracy, dead center on the ancient symbol reading "Beast."
Sound followed a fraction of a second later. Not the crack of conventional weapons but a sustained roar like industrial furnaces operating at maximum capacity. The noise of matter being converted to plasma, of molecular bonds shattering under impossible energy density.
HISSSSSSSS!
Waves of evaporation sounds echoed across the battlefield as the laser burned through whatever comprised the creature's form. Steam and smoke and things that shouldn't exist as vapor all billowed from the impact point.
The terrifying monster, twenty meters tall and weighing God knew how many tons, actually staggered backward. Its massive feet scraped across rubble, leaving deep gouges as it fought for balance. One step back, then another, then a third before momentum bled away.
The "Beast" character carved across its chest vanished completely, vaporized at the atomic level. The twisted human faces embedded in that section of blood-colored leather armor simply ceased to exist, burned away so thoroughly not even ash remained.
Only a horrifying hole remained, penetrating completely through the creature's torso. The wound measured close to one meter in diameter, edges still glowing red-hot from thermal transfer. Through this massive cavity, Nolan could clearly see the dark night sky behind the creature, stars visible through its body.
For several long seconds, the creature stood immobilized by trauma. Enormous quantities of strange black smoke poured from the wound, but the volume exceeded what the remaining twisted faces could reabsorb. The smoke simply dispersed into the air, lost forever.
The creature couldn't regenerate. Not quickly enough. The damage overwhelmed its supernatural healing capacity.
The gang dog teams, recognizing the opening, immediately launched another coordinated barrage. Hundreds of scorching laser beams converged on the creature's wounded form, preventing any possibility of recovery. Blue and red light painted the monster in strobing illumination.
Nolan, encased in his Terminator armor, wrenched his heavy magnetic boots free from the ground. The anchors disengaged with metallic shrieks, releasing his feet from their self-imposed imprisonment.
The Lascannon on his shoulder was already cooling, entering its mandatory thermal management cycle. Wisps of dark smoke rose from the huge barrel, now filled with residual heat that made the metal glow dark red. The air around the muzzle shimmered and wavered.
At that moment, the four automatic cargo drones that had been circling overhead descended rapidly. They flew directly to the energy battery pack mounted on the Lascannon's rear assembly and simply attached themselves to the housing.
Then, without hesitation or self-preservation instinct because they possessed neither, the drones tore open their own metal shells. Internal components became visible, delicate circuits and power cells normally protected. They connected their own energy reserves directly to the Lascannon's battery pack, sacrificing their operational capacity to provide the power needed for another shot.
It was functional suicide. Once drained, the drones would simply fall from the sky, dead weight.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
Nolan advanced with heavy, measured steps. Each footfall created small impacts that cracked already broken pavement. He moved forward slowly, repositioning for optimal firing angle while the weapon recharged.
He selected new ground carefully, finding stable footing that would resist recoil. Adjusted his stance, shifted the cannon's weight slightly across his shoulder armor. Then he waited with professional patience for the energy accumulation to complete and the barrel to cool sufficiently for safe discharge.
The dark muzzle aimed once more at the terrifying monster, which remained suppressed in place by the sustained laser storm from surrounding gang dog teams. Pinned. Unable to advance or retreat.
CLANG!
The sound of the first automatic drone hitting the ground, completely drained of energy, reached Nolan's audio receptors. The machine fell like a stone, all systems offline, sacrifice complete.
That sound became his signal.
Nolan fired again.
The red beam illuminated the battlefield a second time, painting everything in hellish light. Shadows fled before its brilliance. Smoke glowed from within. The night became day for the duration of the discharge.
This shot caught the creature's head, or what passed for its head in this corrupted form. The laser burned away half the skull structure, vaporizing brain matter that might or might not have been functional. Several of the illusory tentacles extending from the creature's spine simply ceased to exist, caught in the beam's periphery and completely evaporated by residual energy.
The creature's legs buckled.
CRASH!
The twenty-meter-tall monster dropped to its knees with tremendous force, crushing portions of building ruins beneath its weight. Dust and debris exploded upward in massive clouds. Rubble flew in all directions like shrapnel from a bomb.
Another red beam erupted from the Hell Hammer's muzzle before the monster could recover. Nolan had fired again, the weapon barely cooled, pushing operational parameters beyond safety margins.
The kneeling creature, caught in a vulnerable position without the leverage to dodge, took the full force of the third shot.
A huge arm and half a shoulder simply vanished, severed by coherent light that cared nothing for structural integrity or supernatural resilience. The limb fell away, already beginning to dissipate into black smoke before it struck the ground.
The twisted faces embedded in the blood-colored leather armor tried desperately to open their mouths, attempted to reabsorb the smoke and regenerate the damage.
But the gang dogs, seizing this critical opportunity with excellent tactical instinct, launched their final coordinated laser barrage. Every remaining fighter fired simultaneously, creating such a dense field of energy beams that individual shots became indistinguishable from the whole.
The sustained fire completely prevented the creature from recovering. Each time smoke began coalescing, laser fire disrupted the process, scattered the particles, denied healing.
Nolan charged forward, carrying the Lascannon despite its weight and heat. He passed obstacles with grinding determination, heavy boots crushing rubble, servo-motors screaming.
He reached point-blank range with the monster.
The refractor field activated automatically as illusory tentacles descended in desperate counterattack. Invisible barriers flared with each impact, absorbing kinetic force that would have pulverized unprotected targets. The tentacles struck again and again, hammering at the shield.
Nolan ignored them. He aimed the black muzzle directly at what remained of the creature's head, the barrel so close to the target he could have touched it with an extended hand.
His finger found the firing stud.
Pressed.
The red beam that erupted illuminated the entire dark night sky, visible for kilometers in every direction. Anyone still conscious on Staten Island saw that light, that pillar of crimson energy connecting earth to heaven.
The creature's head, the remaining half that had survived the previous shot, vanished completely. Vaporized at the molecular level, scattered as individual atoms across the battlefield.
Instantly, the huge body kneeling amid the ruins lost all animation. It became a corpse in truth, not merely appearance. The twisted human faces embedded in the blood-colored leather armor froze in their final expressions, mouths open but producing no sound. Silent. Dead. Finished.
The headless body teetered for a moment, balanced impossibly on its knees despite lacking any controlling intelligence.
Then gravity reasserted its claim.
BOOM!
The massive form fell backward toward the ruins behind it, toppling like a felled tree. The impact when it struck ground was tremendous, creating shockwaves that rattled surviving structures. Countless fragments of gravel and concrete flew upward, creating a dust cloud that obscured vision.
Within seconds, the headless body began dissipating. The process was rapid, almost eager. Strange black smoke poured from every surface, rising in thick streams toward the night sky.
But this time, no twisted faces remained to reabsorb the darkness. The smoke simply dispersed into atmosphere, returning to whatever dimension or reality it had originated from. Fading. Vanishing. Gone.
Nolan, the Lascannon still resting across his heavy shoulder armor, carefully moved forward with measured steps. His boots crunched through debris field surrounding the creature's remains.
His gaze, filtered through the helmet's enhanced optics, caught something unexpected amid the dissipating smoke and settling dust.
A humanoid coffin, half-buried in rubble at the exact center of where the creature had fallen. The container exuded faint black metallic luster, its surface etched with symbols that hurt to look at directly.
Above this humanoid coffin, barely visible now as it faded, the blood-red "Beast" character slowly withered and shrank. The ancient symbol curled in on itself, collapsing, losing cohesion and meaning.
Then it dissipated completely. Nothing remained.
Nolan shook his diamond-shaped helmet, processing implications. He moved forward slowly, servo-motors humming, the Lascannon's weight no longer registering as significant burden.
He stopped before the humanoid coffin, towering over it in his Terminator armor. Stared down at the container for several long seconds, considering options and outcomes.
Finally, after visible hesitation, Nolan extended one metal palm wrapped in heavy armor plating. His gauntlet gripped the coffin's edge, ceramite fingers finding purchase on the strange material.
He lifted with steady force.
The humanoid coffin opened with a hiss of escaping air. Stale atmosphere rushed out, carrying smells of decay and suffering and time measured in ways that had nothing to do with clocks.
Inside the coffin lay a naked human body so emaciated it barely qualified as human anymore. The figure was hunchbacked, spine curved at angles that shouldn't be anatomically possible. Skin stretched tight over bones, every rib visible, limbs reduced to sticks. The body looked mummified, desiccated, something that should have been dead for decades.
"Kill me! Please, kill me!"
The opening of the coffin and exposure to even the weak ambient light seemed to awaken the sleeping figure. Eyes snapped open suddenly, blood-red pupils dilated with madness and despair in equal measure.
The withered face, barely more than a skull covered in papery skin, turned toward Nolan. Those terrible eyes locked onto the tall armored figure standing above.
"Daredevil?" Nolan's voice emerged from his vox-caster, processed and amplified. He leaned forward slightly, bringing his helmet closer to study the figure. "Matt Murdock? Are you the current leader of the Hand organization? Why did you become... this? What happened to you?"
His gauntleted hand gestured at the coffin, the withered body, the implications of everything surrounding them.
"Hehehe..." Laughter, if it could be called that. More like the rasping of dry leaves. "Matt Murdock... that used to be my name, yes. Before I made a terrible mistake. Before one wrong decision destroyed everything I was."
The blood-red eyes blinked slowly, painfully.
"I abandoned that name. Abandoned the identity of Devil of Hell's Kitchen. Threw away the man I'd been because he no longer existed in any meaningful sense."
A breath rattled in the emaciated chest, labored and wet.
"From now on, there is no Matt in the world. No Daredevil prowling Hell's Kitchen to protect the innocent." The withered lips pulled back from teeth in something that might have been a smile or a grimace. "There is only the primal demon of the Hand organization."
A final, wheezing breath.
"Only... the Beast."
The eyes closed. The body went still. Whether from death or simple exhaustion, Nolan couldn't immediately determine.
He stood in silence, staring down at the broken man who'd once been a hero, and felt the weight of choices and consequences settling heavily on his armored shoulders.
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