Although the contract Makima signed with the Prime Minister of Japan in the original work was incredibly powerful, giving her 120 million lives, it was too difficult to replicate that contract in this Marvel Universe.
In the World of chainsaw man, a modern army plus a few Weapon Humans was the peak of national-level combat power.
But in Marvel... there was Odin in the North, Zeus in Greece, and even the Heavenly Court and Sun Wukong in a certain Eastern power. Japan itself also had deities like the Great Goddess Amaterasu.
If Makima dared to bind such an unscrupulous contract to a certain nation right now, she would likely be wiped out by that nation's local gods the next day. Her current small frame wasn't enough to fight against real gods.
So, Sumire thought of a compromise—"borrowing lives" from Kingpin.
On one hand, Kingpin's forces were numerous—thousands? Tens of thousands? Hundreds of thousands?
Sumire didn't know; she only knew that the number was increasing every day.
Every time Kingpin expanded his criminal empire, it was equivalent to adding a few more lives to Makima's lifespan.
On the other hand, Sumire didn't feel any pity or psychological burden regardless of how many of Kingpin's scumbag subordinates—who were experts in gambling, drugs, and prostitution—died.
Making them Makima's "extra health bars" was simply a textbook example of recycling trash.
Back in the office of the Fisk Tower.
The moment the contract took effect.
Whether it was Kingpin kneeling on the floor or Wesley slumped in the corner, both felt an unspeakable, gloomy chill envelop their entire bodies.
They seemed to see an invisible, blood-scented net instantly covering the entire New York underworld.
At the same time.
On the streets of Brooklyn, thugs robbing convenience stores; in the dark alleys of Hells Kitchen, drug dealers making trades; even in high-end hotels, gang leaders riding on their mistresses... everyone shuddered at that moment.
They had no idea that their lives no longer belonged to them, but to a devil named Makima.
By the time this devil finished her work and returned to the apartment, it was already late at night.
No smell of gunpowder, no scent of blood.
She looked as if she had just gone downstairs to the convenience store to buy a late-night snack.
She pushed open the door with elegant composure; not even a speck of dust was on her black Public Safety coat.
"Ah, Makima, welcome home." Sumire, who had been waiting in the living room, went to greet her.
At this moment, the awe and fear she previously felt toward this woman—stemming from the original work—had mostly dissipated.
It was replaced by the surprise of seeing a... cash cow.
Because the first thing Makima did upon entering was smile and hand over a black bank card.
"This is the 'friendship fee' obtained from Mr. Fisk."
Makima's voice was nonchalant, as if she were handing over a piece of scrap paper rather than a black card leading to immense wealth. "I set the password to your birthday. Additionally, a portion of the Fisk Group's quarterly profits will be deposited into this account from now on."
"Consider this... my meeting gift for Sumire-chan."
Sumire took the card with trembling hands, so excited she almost jumped for joy on the spot.
She was rich! She was truly rich this time!
The wealth Fisk had accumulated over the years was definitely an astronomical figure!
Most importantly, compared to the money Reze had blackmailed from Tony Stark before, this money was much more 'legal' in nature!
After all, with the massive business empire of the Fisk Group as cover, it was washed clean. She could spend it without any psychological burden!
No more carrying stacks of cash in her pockets every day!
"Fantastic! Makima, you're a genius!"
Sumire stroked the black card lovingly, her eyes shining as she looked at Makima.
Seeing Sumire's happy appearance, a smile also flickered in Makima's golden ringed eyes.
She didn't change her shoes. Instead, standing at the entrance, she suddenly opened her arms toward Sumire.
"Eh?" Sumire was stunned, still clutching the card, looking at her in confusion.
Makima tilted her head slightly, her lips curling into an intoxicating arc, her voice so gentle it seemed it would drip like water: "So... won't you give this good child... a little reward?"
"Sumire... Master?"
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