[Fisk Tower - Penthouse Office]
The air in the penthouse was thick with the smell of ozone and blood.
Only one Ghoul remained. It screeched, diving from the ceiling with razor-sharp claws extended.
Wilson Fisk didn't retreat. He didn't block. He charged.
Like a runaway freight train, the Kingpin launched himself into the air. He caught the creature mid-flight, his massive arms wrapping around its torso in a bear hug.
They crashed to the floor, the building trembling from the impact.
Fisk didn't let go. He squeezed.
His biceps, thick as bridge cables, bulged against his dress shirt. The Ghoul thrashed, clawing uselessly at Fisk's back, its screeches turning into wet, gurgling whimpers.
CRACK.
The sound of shattering ribs echoed through the quiet office like a gunshot. Then the spine went.
The creature went limp.
Fisk opened his arms, letting the broken pile of mush slide to the floor.
"Three," Fisk grunted.
He stood up, his chest heaving slightly. He brushed a speck of black ichor from his shoulder. Aside from the gore splattered on his shirt, he was unharmed. Not a scratch.
"Demons," Fisk scoffed, walking to the coat rack and shrugging on a fresh white suit jacket. "Is that all they are?"
He turned to Demiurge, his eyes filled with disdain. He had expected a challenge. He got pests.
Clap. Clap. Clap.
Demiurge applauded slowly, a look of genuine amusement on his face.
"Not bad," the demon purred. " truly."
"No martial arts. No magic. Just brute force."
Demiurge adjusted his glasses, the lenses flashing white.
"To contend with three Ghouls relying solely on the limits of human biology... even if they were low-tier trash... you have exceeded my expectations, human."
Fisk narrowed his eyes. The praise felt more like an insult. The unease in his gut returned, colder than before.
"I am done with your games," Fisk rumbled. "Get out of my—"
"Kneel."
The word wasn't spoken. It was hammered into reality.
[Skill: Command Mantra]
An invisible mountain slammed onto Fisk's shoulders.
CRACK.
The marble floor beneath Fisk shattered as his knees hit the ground. He didn't buckle; he was forced down.
Pain shot through his legs, but the humiliation was worse.
Fisk roared, the veins in his neck bulging as he tried to stand. He mobilized every ounce of his immense strength, every fiber of will that had allowed him to conquer New York.
He couldn't move an inch.
He was the Kingpin. The Emperor of the Underworld. And he was kneeling like a naughty child.
"By the command of the Supreme Being, Lord Ainz Ooal Gown," Demiurge looked down at him, his metal tail swaying lazily.
"You are hereby requisitioned, Wilson Fisk."
"You will become an affiliate of the Great Tomb of Nazarick. Your resources are ours. Your city is ours."
Demiurge smiled cruelly. "Of course... you may refuse."
The pressure vanished.
Fisk gasped, lunging to his feet, swaying slightly. His pride was burning hotter than the sun.
"I am the Kingpin!" Fisk roared, spit flying from his mouth. "I do not bow! I do not serve! I am not some street thug you can frighten with cheap tricks!"
"Good," Demiurge nodded. "I admire your spirit."
"If Cocytus were here, he would appreciate a warrior's pride."
Demiurge's eyes began to glow like embers.
"But I am not Cocytus."
"I have come to turn this world into a hell."
[Spell: Aspect of the Devil - Hellfire Wall]
FWOOSH.
A wall of purple and black flame erupted around them. The heat was instantaneous and blistering. The moisture in the air evaporated. The expensive paintings on the walls curled and blackened.
Fisk staggered back, shielding his face. His skin felt like it was blistering. This wasn't normal fire. It felt like it was burning his soul.
"Curse! Wail! Scream!" Demiurge chanted, his voice overlapping with the roar of the flames. "Let despair echo in the mortal world!"
"Lord Ainz originally intended to offer you a gift," Demiurge whispered, his voice cutting through the fire. "He intended to help you resurrect your wife and son."
"But, foolish human. You have failed the Supreme One."
"Since that is the case... go to hell and repent."
"WAIT!!!"
The word tore from Fisk's throat.
The heat, the pain, the humiliation—it all vanished from his mind.
"What did you say?" Fisk stepped toward the fire, ignoring the singing of his eyebrows. "You said... you can resurrect Vanessa? And Richard?"
"Human," Demiurge looked at him with cold indifference. "The grace of the Supreme Being is reserved for the loyal."
Fisk dropped to his knees.
Not because of a spell. Not because of gravity. But because he was a husband and a father first, and a crime lord second.
"I can," Fisk choked out.
"I can offer my loyalty."
He looked up at the demon, his eyes wet with desperation.
"I am willing to become an affiliate of Nazarick. Just... bring them back."
He had tried everything. The Hand offered him zombie puppets. Doctors offered him pills. But this... this power felt real.
Demiurge smiled. The fish had taken the hook.
He snapped his fingers.
The hellfire vanished. The room cooled instantly. A wave of magic washed over the office, repairing the floor, the glass, and the paintings. It was as if the battle had never happened.
"Wise choice," Demiurge said.
He walked over to Fisk, placing a hand on the giant's shoulder.
"Do not disappoint us."
[Greater Teleportation]
Space warped.
[The Great Tomb of Nazarick - The Throne Hall]
Fisk blinked. The skyline of New York was gone.
He was standing in a cavernous hall of black marble and gold. The air smelled of incense and old dust.
In the center of the room, atop a massive obsidian throne, sat a figure that radiated death.
Massive shoulder spikes. A flowing purple robe. And a skeletal face with burning red eyes.
Ainz Ooal Gown.
Fisk felt a primal terror he hadn't known existed. This wasn't a mutant. This wasn't a ninja. This was a God of Death.
"Human," Demiurge's voice echoed in the hall. "Do not be disrespectful."
Fisk didn't need the warning.
He lowered his massive frame to the floor, pressing his forehead against the red carpet.
"Wilson Fisk," the Kingpin said, his voice trembling with hope. "I pledge my life to you... Supreme One."
On the throne, Ainz's eye sockets flared.
"Good."
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