Chapter 1: If I Still Face Injustice After Time Travel, Then I Have Transmigrate In Vain
"Get out now!"
39th Street between 9th and 10th Avenues, New York City, United States of America.
A white and blue Chevrolet police cruiser with "NYPD" emblazoned on its side screeched to a halt. Two overweight officers stepped out—both wearing standard-issue black uniforms.
Officer Jenkins, roughly yanked a young Asian man from the back seat and shoved him toward the sidewalk. "Stay in this neighborhood where you belong!"
The man fixed him with an icy stare. "You reek of corruption, pig."
Jenkins scowled and delivered a savage punch to the man's abdomen, causing him to double over in pain.
Officer Isaac, standing nearby, watched with amusement. "Nice work, Jenkins. Just leave him here—this is Hell's Kitchen. He won't last ten days in this part of town!"
The Asian man straightened up with considerable effort and defiantly raised his middle finger toward Isaac. "Go back to writing parking tickets, you donut sniffing pig!" Jason had no intention of backing down.
"What did you just say to me, you little..."
Isaac's face contorted with rage as his hand instinctively moved toward the pistol at his waist, ready to escalate the situation dangerously.
This time, Jenkins was the one smirking.
He stopped his partner, pushing him back toward the cruiser. "Isaac, cool it. Too many witnesses around. You can't do this here."
Isaac spat angrily before dropping into the passenger seat.
Jenkins lingered, eyes fixed on the Asian man as if committing his face to memory.
Before driving away, his eyes gleamed with malice. "Listen closely. I've got my eye on you. The moment you try to leave Hell's Kitchen, I'll personally drag you back here until this neighborhood becomes your grave!"
The police car roared away, leaving the Asian man half-crouched on the sidewalk.
Pedestrians passing by wore expressions of practiced indifference, carefully navigating around him without offering help.
After a long moment, he straightened up and gazed blankly at the dilapidated streets and the diverse crowd flowing around him—people of all colors and backgrounds forming the living tapestry of New York.
His name is Cohen “Jason” Wang. He is a transmigrator who had awakened in this reality just this morning. In this new world, he went by his American name Jason.
In his previous life, he had been an ordinary office worker, over 30 years old with nothing substantial to show for it.
After wasting a decade chasing dreams in a metropolitan city, he'd returned home with the mindset of a teenager and a wallet to match.
After more than a month of indecision, with his pantry completely bare, he'd turned to writing.
It had been a spectacular failure.
His daily income: six dollars and seventy-eight cents.
His only remaining readers: keyboard warriors with savage critiques.
One night at 2:30 AM, in the middle of a heated exchange with a particularly venomous commenter, disaster struck.
A sudden choking sensation. An inability to breathe. Trying once, twice to clear his throat.
Damn it.
As consciousness faded, a final terrified thought flashed through his mind: Mom, I promise I'll never argue with readers again!
When he opened his eyes again, he had transformed into a young, handsome, but homeless Asian man in the Big Apple.
Nothing remained of his former self.
Even the memories of this new body were fragmented and jumbled. The only skill he seemed to have retained was fluency in English.
Lonely. Helpless. Terrified. Iseakai’d into utter isolation!
All he wanted to say was—
If this is what transmigration means, you might as well have left me in my grave!
With nowhere to go and blessed with good looks, he quickly became an unwanted attraction on the streets of America.
As the saying goes, beauty often brings trouble.
His attractive appearance soon landed him in a predicament.
Several disheveled homeless individuals with vacant stares approached him.
One of them—a middle-aged man with narrow eyes, unkempt facial hair, and a prominent zit on his forehead—actually tried to grope him!
Hell no!
I was thirty-three in my previous life, twenty-two in this one, which makes me mentally over fifty, and I've never been touched inappropriately by anyone!
He immediately unleashed a flurry of punches, knocking his assailant flat on the ground.
That's when the two corrupt officers arrived on the scene.
The crowd dispersed quickly, leaving the unconscious man with the forehead zit lying motionless on the pavement.
Jason, aware of law enforcement's significant authority, initially cooperated with the officers.
But when Jenkins twisted his arms behind his back and muttered a racist slur under his breath, something snapped.
Should I tolerate this?
I lived my past life as a humble, unremarkable person. After being reborn, do I have to endure the same treatment?
Was my rebirth pointless? The barefoot shouldn't fear those wearing shoes—it's just one life to live!
He launched into a passionate tirade: "Who do you think you're talking to? Look at yourself—with that bloated head and those ridiculous ears, your body stuffed with fast food, and that face that resembles a barnyard animal! People who know you might recognize you as human, but strangers would mistake you for livestock that escaped from someone's farm! Perhaps you should quit law enforcement and join a petting zoo instead! You'd be much happier surrounded by your intellectual equals!"
Jenkins stood stunned, his face flushing crimson as he pointed a trembling finger at Jason. "You, you..."
Before he could continue, Isaac lunged forward, grabbing Jason's collar. "How dare you speak to an officer like that?"
"Hmph!"
Jason turned away with contempt. "Go write some parking tickets, you badge-wielding tyrant! I'm addressing your superior."
"That's it..."
The consequence of his momentary verbal satisfaction was a thorough beating, followed by being dumped in this neighborhood.
When the officers mentioned "Hell's Kitchen," he initially thought he'd misheard.
But as he stood up and spotted the distinctive Stark Industries tower in the distance, reality hit him like a freight train.
Holy crap, I'm in the Marvel universe!
Who arranged this transmigration disaster?
I could tolerate being broke and homeless, I could handle being an undocumented resident, I could even endure police brutality—but the MARVEL world?
Why not just finish me off? How much effort would that take?
After the initial shock, something occurred to him. His eyes brightened as he looked eastward, mumbling under his breath.
"...Doctor Strange, Ancient One, anyone from the mystic arts... could you please send me back to my original world? Your reality is rather hazardous for ordinary folks like me... Hello? Anyone listening? My soul cries out for assistance!"
A moment of silence followed. The magical portal he hoped for failed to materialize.
Disappointment set in.
Exhaustion overwhelmed him.
Fighting through the pain in his chest, he limped toward the corner of an alley, wincing at the stench emanating from nearby dumpsters, and slumped down.
He gingerly touched his ribcage, feeling sharp pain. Probably a couple of fractured ribs.
Leaning against the wall, he gazed skyward with a heavy sigh.
Given his current predicament, revenge against those two corrupt officers seemed an impossible dream.
Just as he contemplated enduring hunger for a few days before seeking out some toxic waste or radioactive materials to end his misery, a voice suddenly resonated in his mind.
[The God Of Punishment System has been initialized.]
Finally! A system interface!
He eagerly accessed the system information.
[Name: Jason
Age: 22 years old
Bloodline: Human
Condition: Minor injuries, fractured right 7th rib, fractured left 11th rib, slight pulmonary haemorrhage
Strength: 5 (average human baseline: 5)
Speed: 5 (average human baseline: 5)
Defense: 5 (average human baseline: 5)
Constitution: 5 (average human baseline: 5)
Will: 8 (average human baseline: 5)
Technologies: None
Abilities: None
Items: None
Instance Status: Locked
Alternate Universe Access: Locked
Main task: Those who are guilty must be punished
Iron-tier Target: 0/1]
[Notification: Host status detected.
Initial privilege granted (one-time only).
Initial privileges: mission package upgrade, double rewards.]
A gleam of determination flashed in Jason's eyes. With this system, there was hope for justice after all!
{The author notes: This story's universe primarily follows the MCU films, with supplementary elements from TV series and comics. In case of conflicts, the author reserves final interpretative rights. Ha!}
Chapter 2: Rainy Night Murderer - The Devil of Hell's Kitchen
Iron-tier Target...
The system explain it to him crystal clear: that person must be guilty!
Just moments ago, a group of guys strolled past the alley, laughing loudly, and Jason immediately sensed the system's notification that they were all Iron-tier Target. Based on the intricate tattoos snaking up their arms and the suspicious bulges around their waists, these men were almost certainly gang members.
However, when these potential targets passed by him, Jason didn't even dare raise his head!
The intimidating power of American street gangs was simply too great!
Considering his current predicament—broke and nursing broken ribs—it would be utterly pointless for him to attempt taking down any prey. With his luck, he'd end up being the one killed!
Hissss!
"Would I be the first person to travel through time and space with a godly system, only to starve to death on the streets?" he wondered bitterly.
Pure tragedy.
As if sensing his foul mood, the weather, which had been perfectly fine just moments earlier, suddenly shifted dramatically.
Heavy raindrops began falling from the darkening sky, pelting his face mercilessly.
His troubles doubled instantly.
Enduring the pain in his side, Jason rummaged through a nearby dumpster, salvaging a few discarded wooden boards to construct a makeshift shelter against the alley wall.
As night fell completely, raindrops hammered down relentlessly, and thunder roared through the heavens.
To pass the time, he occasionally grind a large nail he'd found in the trash against the concrete, secretly hoping it might somehow evolve into a fearsome weapon through the system.
One by one, shops along the street closed their doors, and pedestrians vanished from the sidewalks.
Except for the rhythmic sound of rain and occasional thunder, everything else seemed to have disappeared into the night.
Tuk, Tuk, Tuk.
Suddenly, the distinctive sound of high heels striking pavement cut through the rainfall.
The footsteps were hurried, frantic, panicked, and terrified...
"Aaah!"
A short, sharp scream pierced the night, followed by the muffled sounds of a struggle.
"Keep quiet!"
A man's aggressive voice growled through the darkness.
Then Jason saw it—a tall figure restraining a woman in his arms, one hand clamped over her mouth as he dragged her deeper into the alley.
On this rainy night, the entire passage was pitch black, with only the faint, distant glow of a street lamp at the entrance providing any illumination.
Jason remained hidden in the shadows, crouched behind a dumpster deep within the alley.
As expected, the system immediately identified the man as a Iron-tier Target.
The assailant moved with practiced efficiency. He shoved the woman against the brick wall, gripped her throat, and threatened in a low, menacing voice: "Make one sound, and I'll kill you!"
"Hand over all your money! Now!"
A brilliant flash of lightning suddenly streaked across the sky, momentarily illuminating everything in stark white light.
In that instant, Jason caught a glimpse of the victim—a soaked blonde woman, her rain-drenched clothes clinging to her trembling body, revealing her graceful silhouette.
Her delicate face was covered with a mixture of rainwater and tears, her mouth opening and closing in silent sobs as she struggled to breathe.
The man's hands began roughly searching her body, eventually locating her wallet. He extracted a handful of bills and contemptuously tossed the empty wallet to the ground.
Jason clutched his sharpened nail tightly, silently shifting his body position.
He was patiently waiting for an opportunity—a perfect moment to strike with lethal precision.
His compromised physical condition wouldn't allow him to engage in a prolonged fight with the tall, muscular assailant.
Even after securing the money, the man was clearly unsatisfied with his haul.
He kept the woman pinned with his left hand firmly over her mouth while his other hand began wandering inappropriately across her body...
The woman fought back desperately, but her resistance only seemed to excite the attacker further. Jason could hear the man's breathing growing heavier, more animalistic.
This is it. Just a little closer... just a little more...
Jason's muscles tensed, his eyes unnaturally bright with anticipation!
Just as he was about to lunge forward—
"STOP!"
An authoritative shout from above completely disrupted his rhythm, nearly causing him to tumble face-first onto the pavement!
A figure wearing a distinctive horned mask and deep red tactical gear descended from above, delivering a powerful kick that sent the attacker sprawling to the ground.
Daredevil!
Jason instantly recognized the vigilante superhero before him.
The attacker fell hard, instinctively reaching toward his waistband. Daredevil swiftly stepped forward and rendered him unconscious with a single, precisely delivered punch.
A revolver clattered to the wet ground.
When the blonde woman realized she'd been rescued, a delayed scream finally escaped her throat.
Perhaps too traumatized by the night's events, she didn't even acknowledge her savior. Instead, she covered her face with trembling hands and bolted from the alley, disappearing into the rainy night.
Suddenly, only Jason and Daredevil remained in the alley. The vigilante turned slowly, facing directly toward Jason's hiding spot.
Although Jason knew the man before him was technically blind—and despite the encompassing darkness—he still hastily concealed the nail behind his back, his expression freezing into something profoundly unnatural.
Did he notice my intentions just now?
If Daredevil somehow knew Jason had been planning to kill, who could predict how Hell's Kitchen's moral guardian might respond?
Daredevil appeared about to speak when he suddenly paused, tilting his head as if intensely focusing on some distant sound.
Within seconds, his expression changed. He withdrew his signature billy clubs from his utility belt, connected them with a hidden cable, and swung them upward. With remarkable agility, he launched himself skyward, moving between buildings with the grace typically associated with Spider-Man.
At this moment, Jason finally snapped out of his stupor and rushed toward the street. Watching Daredevil traversing the rooftops, he craned his neck and shouted desperately: "Hey, hero! Could you spare some cash?"
No response.
In the darkness, that crimson silhouette seemed to move even faster at the sound of his voice.
"BOOM!"
A blinding flash of lightning illuminated the sky.
Jason turned back toward the alley.
The attacker's unconscious form still lay there, vulnerable and unmoving.
Jason wiped the rain from his face, spread his arms wide, and whispered dramatically to the heavens:
"God! Higher powers! Universe! Whoever's watching!
If you exist, if you possess any shred of mercy, then come down and stop me now!
But if you don't... if you truly don't care... then from this night forward, my hands shall be forever stained with blood—
I will become the Punisher!"
The rainfall suddenly intensified.
The thunder grew deafening.
In the secluded alley, Jason gripped the large iron nail, poised to plunge it repeatedly into the unconscious man's neck, mentally rehearsing the necessary movements.
Not being able to complete the deed cleanly was one problem.
The other issue: once the nail penetrated the man's flesh, death wouldn't be instantaneous. The victim would inevitably make noise while struggling, potentially attracting attention.
The ground would become saturated with blood, and even the torrential downpour couldn't wash away all evidence immediately.
The same concern applied to using the pistol—too noisy, too messy. He needed the perfect solution...
While deliberating, Jason noticed rainwater flowing deeper into the alley. Following its path, he discovered a sewer access point covered by a heavy manhole.
After struggling to lift the cover, another flash of lightning revealed a narrow, deep passage below.
Water rushed violently through the channel, swirling toward some unknown destination.
If I lower him headfirst, Jason calculated, he won't be able to turn over, climb out, or breathe. A guaranteed death!
God, are you helping me again?
Jason began dragging the unconscious man forward, when he quickly realized how genuinely heavy an adult male's body actually was.
The pain in his chest suddenly intensified, and his empty stomach growled protestingly.
Only then did he remember he hadn't eaten in over twenty-four hours.
"BOOM!"
A lightning bolt exploded frighteningly close to his position. His ears rang painfully, and momentary disorientation washed over him.
Is this all just a dream?
Maybe I never died, never been iseaki’d. Maybe I'm just unconscious in a hospital bed somewhere?
"SPLASH"—the distinct sound of a heavy object plunging into water.
The resulting spray hit Jason's face, jolting him back to grim reality.
If this were merely a dream, it certainly wouldn't hurt this much.
Amid the overwhelming sound of torrential rain, a faint cry might have echoed from the depths below... or perhaps it was merely his imagination.
He quickly close the manhole cover before the next lightning flash could illuminate the scene.
Methodically, he dismantled his shelter and returned the planks to the dumpster.
Eliminate all evidence.
Then, with over three hundred dollars and a revolver salvaged from the attacker, Jason left the alley behind.
After taking just a few steps, the system notification appeared:
[Task updated. Available for review.]
He hesitated momentarily but didn't look back.
In this, his first murder, both Daredevil and divine guidance had unwittingly assisted him. There was absolutely no reason for regret!
Chapter 3: System Task Settlement
[Mission accomplished.]
Character level: Iron-tier.
Upgrade: Not upgraded.
Cause of death: Drowning.
Freshness: Five stars.
End-of-life emotion: Fear.
Sentiment rating: Three stars.
Comprehensive mission evaluation: Four stars.
Newbie privileges being redeemed...
Reward: Bronze 2-star gift pack *1]
Jason recited the system notification silently to himself as he mentally opened all the gift packages.
[Congratulations on receiving the rewards: Combat Master, Pistol Mastery, Trap Mastery, Free Attribute Points: 6
The task has been updated and can be viewed]
An inexplicable surge of power flooded through his body.
A thin layer of calluses formed on his palms, and when he held the revolver, he suddenly felt as though he could hit whatever target he aimed at with deadly precision.
The coordination between his limbs and the sensitivity of his five senses underwent remarkable transformation, giving him an almost supernatural awareness—as if he could hear and see in all directions simultaneously.
Thinking back to the alley encounter, eight different methods for killing someone with his bare hands suddenly materialized in his mind—each technique guaranteed to be lethal with a single strike!
He still had 6 attribute points remaining. After brief consideration, he distributed them equally among strength, speed, and defense.
Immediately, Jason felt his blood rushing through his veins, his entire body infused with newfound power. The pain in his ribs began to itch slightly, and the discomfort instantly diminished by half.
Adding attribute points has a healing effect!
He opened the system panel again to review his updated status.
[Name: Jason
Age: 22 years old
Bloodline: Human
Status: Minor injury
Strength: 7 (average for normal people: 5)
Speed: 7 (average for normal people: 5)
Defense: 7 (average for normal people: 5)
Constitution: 5 (average for normal people: 5)
Will: 8 (average for normal people: 5)
Skills: Combat Master, Pistol Proficiency, Trap Proficiency
Ability: None
Items: None
Instance: Locked
Alternate Universe: Locked
Main task: Those who are guilty must be punished
Iron-tier target: 0/3
Newest quest:
Bronze-tier target: 0/1
Creed: Kill to gain redemption.]
Jason was surprised to discover that the Iron-tier hunt still existed, but the requirement had increased to three targets.
Additionally, a new task had appeared—hunting a Bronze-tier target.
He clenched his fists. In this dangerous world, he now possessed some power to protect himself.
But it was far from enough!
...
At the end of the rain-slicked street, Jason checked into a small, shabby motel for $30.
In an establishment of this caliber, no identification was required—perfect for his circumstances.
Entering the sparse room, he collapsed onto the bed and immediately fell asleep.
He had reached a conclusion.
Existing in this world, in this place—Hell's Kitchen—meant he could potentially die at any moment.
Why overthink everything?
Don't approach life and death with such trepidation. If something doesn't sit right, fight it head-on—how could there be room for guilt?
If any living person has a problem with me, Jason thought, let them try to kill me.
And if any dead person has an issue with me, we'll discuss it after I join them in hell!
The following morning, Jason left the motel, grabbed something to eat at a nearby diner, and headed straight for a newsstand.
As a devoted Marvel fan in his previous life, his first priority was determining whether this universe's values aligned with what he knew, and whether the timeline matched what he expected.
He noticed numerous headlines splashed across various publications:
"THE SECRET STORIES: STARK AND EIGHT SUPERMODELS TELL ALL"
"SENATOR ROSS: BEWARE THE EMERGENCE OF A NEW SPECIES"
"MY NIGHT WITH TONY STARK: EXCLUSIVE TELL-ALL"
"NEW YORK POLICE COMMISSIONER STACY SPEAKS OUT ON RED-SUITED VIGILANTES"
"STARK SPOTTED AT EXCLUSIVE MANHATTAN CLUB..."
While there were reports about enhanced individuals, street-level vigilantes, criminal organizations, and experimental genetic research, overall, this world didn't seem significantly different from the cinematic universe he remembered.
Most importantly, Tony Stark—the notorious playboy billionaire—was still living his extravagant lifestyle in the Big Apple.
It's not too late... nothing is too late yet.
Jason immediately formulated a development plan: work diligently in the shadows until the moment was right to astonish everyone!
When the time was perfect, he would rise up and... well, he hadn't quite figured out that part yet, but it would definitely be impressive!
The mere thought was exhilarating!
Additionally, he needed to find an opportunity to purchase a plane ticket to Sokovia. He was determined to locate the Scarlet Witch, regardless of the risks involved!
Not even Captain America himself could stop me, he thought with determination. But first, he needed to secure proper accommodation.
Jason circled around to the side of the newsstand.
He noticed several job advertisements, missing persons reports, and similar postings displayed there.
After scanning the options, he found nothing particularly suitable.
Returning to the front of the newsstand, he pulled out twenty dollars and handed it to the vendor. "I'm looking for employment nearby. Any recommendations?"
The newsstand owner, a heavyset African American man, accepted the money with a broad smile. "Of course! For someone like you, I'd recommend the restaurant on the next block over. Room and board included—all you gotta do is wash 3,000 dishes a day for $80!"
Jason frowned skeptically. "How many dishes does the average person wash in a day?"
"About six hundred!"
"Hell no. What else you got?"
"Well, you could head down to the end of the street and find a young entrepreneur named Jesse. You'd help distribute his merchandise. On good days, you might make several hundred dollars."
"Merchandise? What kind exactly?"
"Crystal meth."
Jason recoiled instantly, fixing the vendor with an intense stare, studying him carefully.
Lucky for you the system didn't identify you as prey, otherwise I'd be adding you to my list for later!
"Something else, please."
"Hmm..." The large man pondered for a moment before his face brightened. "Ah! The Hopewell Sanctuary next door is looking for a substitute priest. Any interest in that?"
"A priest?"
...
Hopewell Sanctuary stood before him—a shabby, run-down house of worship.
The two-story building featured a small hall on the first floor with three rows of pews on each side.
At the front stood a simple altar, adorned with a modest wooden cross bearing a roughly carved image of Jesus.
Notably, there were confession booths positioned on both the left and right sides of the hall—testament to the abundance of sin in Hell's Kitchen.
Father Julian, an elderly cleric with silver hair, frowned as he examined the young man standing before him, then scrutinized the credentials Jason had presented.
"You claim to have graduated from the School of Theology in China and completed a year-long internship at the Vatican?"
"Correct," Jason replied with unwavering confidence.
The newsstand owner had not only provided job information but also connected Jason with someone who specialized in document forgery.
Now Jason possessed not only a seminary diploma but also a U.S. driver's license and an internship certificate allegedly issued by the Vatican—complete with an authentic-looking seal!
Jason recalled what the newsstand owner had told him about Father Julian:
The old priest had devoted his entire life to his calling but had never visited the Holy City. Now in his seventies, he had finally saved enough money to fulfill his dream of meeting the Pope.
Because the church was situated in Hell's Kitchen's roughest neighborhood, no qualified candidates were willing to serve as his temporary replacement, forcing him to advertise the position publicly.
Father Julian contemplated for a moment before asking, "How many days did it take God to create the world?"
"Seven days," Jason answered promptly.
"What were God's first words?"
"Uh..."
Jason hesitated momentarily, but noticed the old priest glancing upward and subtly gesturing. Following his gaze to the ceiling light, Jason immediately understood: "God said: 'Let there be light!'"
"Final question: God created the first humans. What are the names of humanity's two biblical ancestors?"
Jason blinked innocently. "Could they be... Adam and Eve?"
"Congratulations!"
Father Julian enthusiastically shook Jason's hand. "That School of Theology in China must be an extraordinary institution to produce such a knowledgeable student! You've passed the examination with flying colors."
"Thank you, Father! I'm delighted that your lifelong wish to visit the Vatican will finally be realized," Jason replied, matching the priest's enthusiasm.
The two exchanged pleasantries and signed a straightforward employment contract.
Father Julian then gave Jason a tour of the church. The second floor contained three bedrooms, and Jason was invited to select one of the guest rooms for his use.
A small garden occupied the backyard, with the Hudson River visible just beyond a narrow path behind the property.
Unfortunately, the elderly priest evidently lacked gardening skills—the plants appeared neglected, with many wilting or already dead.
After completing the tour, Father Julian retrieved a suitcase from his room.
Jason raised his eyebrows in surprise. "You're leaving now?"
The priest handed him an envelope. "I plan to be away for three months. Here's your first month's compensation—$1,500. It's all I can afford. Father Kyle from St. John's Church will provide your payment for the subsequent two months. Hopewell Sanctuary is now in your capable hands!"
Jason accepted the envelope, and Father Julian presented him with a car key. "I have an old pickup truck that you're welcome to use during my absence."
Without further ceremony, the elderly priest turned and departed, his figure gradually disappearing down the street.
Jason experienced a surreal sensation—events were unfolding with unexpected... smoothness.
Just as he was about to close the church door, a dark-skinned hand stopped it from shutting.
"Dear Father Julian, I'm here to see you again~" a voice called out from the other side.
Chapter 4: God Blesses You By Day and Calls You Home By Night
The church door swung open as several thugs with distinctive dreadlocks pushed their way inside.
Upon seeing the young Jason, the leader—a man called Gold Tooth—paused momentarily, his expression confused. "Where's the old priest?"
Jason glanced at the group and immediately the system informed him that four of the five men were Iron-tier Target.
These guys are trouble!
He shook his head calmly. "Father Julian has departed on a pilgrimage to the Vatican. He'll be away for some time. How can I help you gentlemen?"
Gold Tooth frowned suspiciously. "And who exactly are you?"
"I'm the acting priest. I'll be managing this church for the next three months. And you are...?"
Gold Tooth shook his dreadlocks confidently and stepped closer. "Listen up, rookie. We're the Flame Crips Gang. Didn't the old priest tell you about the church's protection arrangement?"
Jason feigned surprise as an unpleasant realization formed in his mind. He shook his head slowly. "No... he never mentioned anything like that."
Gold Tooth jabbed a finger against Jason's chest. "Then allow me to enlighten you. This neighborhood enjoys its relative peace and quiet only because of the protection provided by the Flame Crips. We charge a reasonable fee for our services. That's fair, isn't it?"
Jason hesitated, wondering how anyone could possibly associate the words "peaceful" and "quiet" with Hell's Kitchen.
He gestured toward the cross hanging behind him. "But I was under the impression that churches are under His protection?"
"You clearly don't understand how things work here," Gold Tooth said with a dismissive wave. "He fights demons, we fight street thugs—we each have our territory. Without the Crips watching over you, even God himself couldn't keep this church standing overnight!"
Jason scratched his head, suddenly remembering the envelope of cash still in his possession.
"So... how much is this monthly 'protection fee'?" he asked tentatively.
"Five thousand dollars," Gold Tooth replied without hesitation.
You old bastard! Jason silently cursed Father Julian. Now I understand why you ran out of here so quickly!
System, are you asleep? Why didn't you identify that con artist priest as prey?
"Um... gentlemen, I really wasn't informed about this arrangement, and I don't have that kind of cash on hand. Perhaps you could return tomorrow... or better yet, the day after tomorrow?" Jason suggested hopefully.
Gold Tooth smiled, but the gesture didn't reach his eyes as he casually drew a pistol from his waistband. "What do you think?"
Jason gritted his teeth. Despite his newly acquired Combat Master skill, taking on five armed gangsters remained extremely risky.
Even if they couldn't shoot accurately, a random bullet could still end his life instantly.
Better play it safe. There will be plenty of time.
He reached for the envelope and produced a forced smile. "You know what? I just remembered I happen to have $1,500 in cash. Please, take it!"
Gold Tooth holstered his weapon with a satisfied smirk and clapped Jason's shoulder carelessly. "That's more like it. Those who cross the Flame Crips never meet a pleasant end! You're smarter than you look, kid."
Jason maintained his smile. "Since you've collected your protection fee, where should I find you if I encounter any... trouble?"
Gold Tooth waved dismissively. "End of the street—Flame Auto Repair Shop. You can't miss it."
"Go with God, gentlemen. May He bless your path," Jason said politely, showing them out.
The five thugs exited the church, laughing among themselves. One of them snickered, "Man, I knew this Asian pushover wouldn't dare resist. My piece was fully loaded—if he'd tried anything, I would've dropped him right there!"
"Yeah," another chimed in. "We should stop by more often..."
A younger gang member added, "Did you see his face? Clearly furious but forcing himself to smile—just like those kung fu movies!"
Behind them, Jason's rage began to boil over.
Your whole family can go to hell!
Damn it. Initially, since you were the only one not tagged as prey by the system, I might have considered sparing you.
But now you're finished—all of you are my prey!
You're fucking dead!
I swear, not even God himself can save you now!
Jason took a deep, calming breath, closed the door, and bid farewell to his "guests" with a final forced smile.
...
The so-called Flame Crips was a minor street gang consisting of barely a dozen members, occupying the lowest rung of the criminal hierarchy.
Without strict organization or leadership structure, they could only perform the most basic criminal activities.
Petty theft, mugging, scams, small-time drug dealing—their membership primarily composed of wayward youth from nearby neighborhoods.
They couldn't compare to established criminal enterprises like the Italian Mafia, the Yakuza, or the various Triads.
Yet they remained dangerous in their own way, precisely because these reckless individuals placed little value on their own lives or others'.
Late that night, five intoxicated figures stumbled out of the auto repair shop.
They had barely gone a few yards when an egg dropped from above, striking Gold Tooth squarely on the head.
He stood frozen in shock. His companions, seeing the yellow yolk dripping down his face, erupted into raucous laughter.
"Shut the hell up!" he snarled, embarrassment quickly turning to anger as he scanned the area for the culprit.
"SPLAT! SPLAT!"
Two more eggs found their marks, splattering three more gang members. They quickly spotted a figure in dark clothing wearing a mask standing at the entrance to an alley across the street.
The mysterious figure calmly raised a middle finger in their direction before disappearing into the darkness.
Fueled by alcohol and rage, the gang members charged across the street without a second thought, rushing blindly into the dark passage.
After a few steps, one of them felt a sudden, sharp pain in his foot and collapsed with a howl.
Another misstepped and plunged his leg into an open sewer grate, crying out in surprise and pain.
A third tripped over an invisible wire, smashing his head against the pavement with enough force to draw blood instantly.
Before the remaining two could even process what was happening, "THWACK! THWACK!"—two precise strikes rendered them unconscious.
From the darkness came a cold, measured voice: "So much for your tough talk!"
Minutes later, an old pickup truck rumbled out of the alley and gradually disappeared into the night.
...
In the backyard garden of Hopewell Sanctuary, under the cold, indifferent moonlight, Jason pulled back the tarpaulin covering the truck bed. Five pairs of terrified eyes immediately fixed on him.
Each man was gagged and tightly bound with rope.
Anyone experienced in killing knows that taking a life is the easy part—the real challenge lies in disposing of the bodies.
Jason surveyed their collective size and compared it to the deep hole he had excavated in the garden that afternoon, realizing with disappointment that he had dug too small a grave.
With a resigned sigh, he picked up the shovel and resumed digging.
In the truck bed, Gold Tooth and his crew watched Jason's methodical work with mounting horror.
Their bodies twisted desperately against their restraints, faces streaked with tears, eyes silently pleading for mercy.
Jason remained unmoved.
After completing his first system task the previous night, he had spent considerable time analyzing several key components of the evaluation:
Upgrade, cause of death, freshness, end-of-life emotion, and sentiment.
He wasn't entirely sure what "Upgrade" entailed—the term itself provided little insight.
But the remaining four elements were easier to interpret.
The cause of death corresponded to freshness, suggesting the system encouraged him to employ varied methods of "punishment" for his prey.
End-of-life emotion corresponded to sentiment. Similarly, the system rewarded him for inducing strong emotional responses in his prey during their final moments—fear being just one possibility.
Now, he was absolutely certain that the sentiment of these particular prey had definitely reached five stars.
Next came the manner of death: buried alive.
He tossed the five men into the deep pit one by one.
The last to go was the gang member whom the system had not yet identified as target.
But Jason understood this didn't necessarily mean he was a good person.
It simply meant he was newer to criminal activity, his sins not yet having accumulated to the threshold level.
Jason patted the young man's face almost gently. "I hadn't originally planned to kill you. But you just had to open your mouth with those insults.
So disrespectful!
Go down there and have a nice chat with whatever deity awaits you. Maybe in your next life, you'll be reborn as someone decent!
Of course, if you manage to reincarnate and come back for revenge in eighteen years, I'll welcome the challenge—if you can find me."
Hearing these words, the young man struggled frantically, but Jason had bound him too thoroughly. Like a worm in mud, he could not escape his impending fate.
All five were now piled in the deep pit. Before beginning the burial, Jason smiled down at Gold Tooth and said, "See? I told you this place is under divine protection, but you insisted on interfering with His business.
Now I have no choice but to send you to meet Him personally, in accordance with His will.
Remember to put in a good word for me, so when my time comes, He'll remember my faithful service!"
"Rustle... rustle..."
Jason had barely shoveled two scoops of dirt when he heard someone knocking at the church door.
"BANG! BANG! BANG!"
He froze. Had he been discovered?
Impossible!
He stuck the shovel into the ground, quietly made his way to the second floor, and peered cautiously from the balcony.
To his relief, there were no police cars in front of the building—only a tall, lanky figure pounding on the door and wailing: "Open up! Please, Father... open the door..."
Jason considered ignoring him, but if the man continued making such a racket, it would inevitably attract unwanted attention.
After ensuring the men in the pit couldn't escape, he reluctantly answered the front door.
A bearded man reeking of alcohol stumbled forward. Jason tried to hold him steady, but the man convulsed with a loud "HURRGGH!" and vomited spectacularly all over the floor.
Jason momentarily contemplated adding him to the collection in the garden. The pit was already prepared, after all!
Perhaps sensing this murderous intent, the man burst into tears: "Father... my life is in ruins! I can't go home... can't face my wife... Father, can God help someone like me...?"
Jason rolled his eyes in exasperation. What timing! I was just sending some messengers to meet God—should I ask them to deliver your message too?
Or perhaps you'd prefer to deliver it personally?
Chapter 5: The Punisher's Micro
The intoxicated man swayed dizzily, his words tumbling out in a disjointed stream to Jason.
"I was an intelligence analyst for Homeland Security," he slurred, his bloodshot eyes unfocused. "Accidentally discovered this video... military executing someone in Afghanistan."
He paused, struggling to maintain his balance. "Something was wrong—so wrong. The man they killed clearly identified himself as Afghan National Police, but they executed him anyway. Without hesitation. Without mercy."
The drunken man's voice cracked. "I reported it through proper channels. And you know what happened? They tried to kill me for it. My own colleagues—people I trusted—ambushed me on that bridge. Shot me in the chest and I fell into the river."
Tears streamed down his face as he clutched Jason's leg with unexpected strength. "They left me for dead!"
Jason remained outwardly composed while internally exasperated.
Seriously, brother? I'm in the middle of burying people—could your timing possibly be worse?
Yet as the man continued his story, Jason experienced a jolt of recognition. The details were hauntingly familiar.
The system silently confirmed: [The man survived against all odds.]
"But to protect my family," the drunk continued, "I had to disappear completely. Let everyone believe I died that night."
His voice took on a hint of pride through the slurring. "Using my hacking skills, I've managed to survive—money isn't an issue. But I can't see my family. Can't hold them. If I reveal myself, the people who want me dead will never stop hunting us."
He described how he'd acquired advanced electronic equipment, establishing a makeshift intelligence hub to uncover why he'd been targeted. "But living alone, watching my wife and children only through surveillance footage for months—it's killing me slowly. Tonight, I just... broke. Got drunk. Ended up here, hoping God might have some answers for me."
Jason's eyes narrowed with sudden interest. "What's your name?" he asked carefully.
"David Lieberman."
Jackpot. This was Micro—the legendary hacker who would become the brains behind the original Punisher, Frank Castle. The operational mastermind. The surveillance expert.
The man whose wife Frank would eventually... well, get uncomfortably close to.
That Frank wasn't exactly a gentleman, was he?
But even setting aside his still-attractive wife, David Lieberman was a tremendous asset just waiting to be utilized.
During Jason's operation tonight, he'd quickly realized that killing wasn't particularly difficult—the real challenge was eliminating evidence and avoiding detection.
Especially in Hell's Kitchen, he faced twin threats: potential retaliation from criminal elements and the unwanted attention of Daredevil.
If the vigilante discovered Jason's extracurricular activities, there was no doubt he'd find himself behind bars faster than he could say "divine punishment."
But having a surveillance expert with hacking abilities would transform everything. Lieberman's drone expertise and capacity for digital omniscience would give Jason an invaluable tactical advantage.
The question was: how to convert this drunken, traumatized man into a willing accomplice?
After brief deliberation, Jason delivered a precise strike to the back of David's head, instantly silencing his rambling monologue as the man crumpled unconscious to the floor.
Jason carried him upstairs to the guest bedroom before returning to complete his burial task.
...
Thirty minutes later, the system notification finally appeared in Jason's mind.
[Mission accomplished.]
Character level: Iron-tier.
Upgrade: Not upgraded.
Cause of death: Buried alive.
Freshness: Five stars.
End-of-life emotions: Fear, regret.
Sentiment rating: Five stars.
Comprehensive task evaluation: Five stars! Special rewards for five-star, gift packages being upgraded... Reward: Iron Five-Star Gift Pack, Double Luck]
Jason eagerly opened the virtual gift package.
[Congratulations on receiving the reward: Night Vision.]
Perfect! This ability was invaluable!
Vision represented humanity's primary means of perceiving the world, and night vision would transform him into an apex predator in darkness!
He felt a surge of appreciation. The system clearly encouraged varied execution methods!
Five-star ratings significantly increased the probability of premium rewards from the gift packages.
Checking the system again, he noticed the progress for Iron-tier target had advanced to 1/5.
This suggested that target requirements for each reward tier increased in odd numbers: 1, 3, 5, 7, 9, and so on.
He realized that to consistently achieve five-star mission ratings, his best strategy was to focus on the initial stages of each difficulty level—specifically the first 1, 3, and 5 kills.
As the required number increased, maintaining five-star quality for each execution would become challenging, unless he orchestrated mass eliminations.
For optimal results, he needed to approach the first few tasks at each level with meticulous planning.
Currently, he needed four more five-star kills to obtain the second five-star gift package.
It seemed his business with the Flame Crips was far from concluded!
...
Pain.
Throbbing, relentless pain.
David Lieberman awoke with a groan, clutching his head as consciousness returned. He sat up abruptly, disoriented, taking in unfamiliar surroundings.
Where am I?
Alarmed, he hurried downstairs, only to realize he was inside a church. He massaged his temples, struggling to recall the previous night's events, when a calm voice interrupted his thoughts.
"You're awake. Come join me."
In the church's backyard, Jason was tending to various plants, wearing rubber gardening gloves.
Seeing David's confused expression, he smiled warmly. "The previous priest neglected these poor things. They're all withered and struggling. I've just fertilized them—with luck, they'll bloom again in a few days."
David studied the young man before him. Dressed in a traditional black clerical suit with a white Roman collar and prominent cross, he projected an image of gentle piety.
His smile seemed genuinely warm and welcoming.
Yet something felt profoundly wrong. Standing before this unassuming Asian man, David experienced the same instinctive wariness he'd felt facing elite Security Bureau operatives.
Danger.
As a veteran intelligence analyst with exceptional intuition, he trusted this visceral warning.
"I, uh... must have been completely wasted last night," he attempted casually. "Hello, Father! My name is... Frank. I'm a fiction writer struggling with writer's block lately—been hitting the bottle too hard."
He forced an embarrassed laugh. "I probably couldn't distinguish between my stories and reality. Might have said some crazy things—I apologize for any nonsense!"
Jason regarded him with unwavering calm. "David Lieberman. You don't need to hide your identity from me."
David's expression flickered momentarily. "My name is Frank. David Lieberman is just a character in my novel. I must have been too deep in my fictional world—"
"Your wife's name is Sarah Lieberman. You have a son and daughter named Zach and Leo."
The color drained from David's face. His family represented his ultimate vulnerability—the one leverage point he would never allow anyone to exploit.
He lunged forward, seizing Jason's collar with unexpected ferocity. "Who the hell are you? WHO ARE YOU?"
His movements were desperate, uncoordinated.
Jason delivered a precise, powerful strike to David's solar plexus. The intense pain doubled him over instantly.
Jason calmly guided the gasping man into the church's main hall, positioning him beneath the altar cross.
"I am God's knight—an avenger who punishes evil," Jason declared solemnly. "Under divine guidance, I will cleanse this corrupt world. I am the second sword of God, sent to purify humanity. I... am the Great Flood!"
He crouched to meet David's gaze as the man knelt involuntarily on the floor. "Join me and witness the darkness that consumes this world. You will also behold the light of hope shining through the deepest despair. The flood brings destruction but also salvation, despair but also rebirth. This world will either be purified by my hand... or destroyed by it."
Jason's expression remained profoundly serene, his demeanor almost messianic.
David stared back, unimpressed. "Bullshit," he responded flatly.
Jason sighed inwardly, somewhat deflated.
Why doesn't anyone ever buy into the divine messenger angle?
Fortunately, he had prepared a contingency approach.
"Last night, divine revelation showed me everything," he continued seamlessly. "David Lieberman, intelligence analyst for Homeland Security, discovered video evidence documenting Operation Cerberus. Subsequently shot in broad daylight by Senior Agent Carson Wolf, you fell from that bridge into the river below."
Jason allowed himself a small smile. "The cell phone in your breast pocket saved your life. After escaping death, you altered your identity and began planning your revenge. Am I accurate so far?"
David appeared momentarily stunned. He hadn't known the operation's code name was Cerberus.
"You're just repeating what I apparently rambled about while drunk," he countered. "Adding a few details doesn't make your divine messenger act any more convincing."
"So... have you formulated a plan to locate Frank Castle and propose an alliance?"
David froze—this specific thought had remained entirely private, something he'd never verbalized.
Still, he maintained his skepticism. "I don't believe you."
"Very well," Jason replied, dropping all pretense of mysticism. "Here's the unvarnished truth: During the Afghan campaign, CIA operatives cultivated opium fields in remote mountainous regions. They used the bodies of fallen American soldiers to transport heroin back to the United States, generating immense profits."
His voice hardened. "Operation Cerberus was a cleanup mission—assassinations designed to eliminate witnesses and conceal their drug trafficking operation. Wolf was among the conspirators."
Jason leaned closer. "The architect behind everything is the current director of the CIA's covert operations division—Agent Orange, William Rawlins."
David stood motionless, visibly processing this information.
"So you intend to fight them?" Jason pressed. "Or do you believe Frank Castle alone can dismantle their operation? Don't be naive. Reality isn't a comic book or action movie. Do you genuinely think he possesses some protagonist's plot armor that renders him invincible?"
David finally found his voice again. "And you? Can you truly stand against an operation like this?"
"Without question," Jason declared confidently.
He stood dramatically at the foot of the cross, arms outstretched. Sunlight streamed through the stained glass windows, casting a prismatic glow around his silhouette, creating an almost otherworldly effect.
"I am beyond human limitations. I am divine judgment personified—a god who punishes all sins!"
David, a lifelong atheist, felt his rational mind faltering. "How... how could that be possible?"
Chapter 6: On a Dark and Windswept Night - Judgment by Fire
A night without stars.
Beneath the oppressive blanket of dark clouds, the crimes of Hell's Kitchen continued their relentless unfold.
Deep within a narrow alley, a terrified woman found herself cornered against cold brick.
Three knife-wielding robbers aimed flashlights directly at her face, the harsh beams forcing her eyes shut as she fumbled desperately with her purse.
She withdrew her wallet, hands trembling as she pleaded, "Everything I have is here... Please, just let me go..."
"Oh, we'll let you go," one of the assailants chuckled darkly, "After we've had our fun."
All three advanced steadily toward their target.
Suddenly, a commanding voice cut through the darkness: "STOP! Release her. Now."
A figure in a crimson tactical suit and distinctive horned mask descended from above.
The sight of him sent immediate panic through the would-be attackers. "Daredevil! Run!"
"THWACK! THWACK! THWACK!"
With three precise, economical strikes, all three criminals dropped unconscious to the pavement.
Daredevil turned to the trembling woman, his voice low and reassuring. "Call the police."
With a fluid motion, he extended his billy club, fired the hidden grappling mechanism, and vanished skyward into the night.
...
From a strategic distance, Jason observed the entire encounter.
Based on his Combat Master skill assessment, Daredevil's fighting technique appeared roughly equivalent to his own.
Even if the vigilante possessed superior skill, the difference wouldn't be insurmountable.
However, Daredevil's physical attributes clearly exceeded Jason's current capabilities. Judging by the system's metrics, his strength and agility likely rated above 10 on the attribute scale.
Of course, his true advantage lay in his supernatural radar sense.
Much like Spider-Man's spider-sense, Daredevil's radar perception was essentially a biological cheat code—dramatically enhancing his reconnaissance abilities, environmental awareness, combat effectiveness, and a host of other capabilities.
After resolving the situation, Daredevil departed swiftly. David's voice immediately buzzed through Jason's earpiece.
"Well, Sir Knight, your red-suited concern has left the area. You're clear to proceed with the mission."
Jason rolled his eyes and headed toward the Flame Auto Repair Shop. "Who said I was concerned about him? God simply hasn't designated him as a target, so I'm avoiding unnecessary conflict for now."
He paused meaningfully. "But if he crosses the line someday, I'll certainly help... correct his path."
The street lighting was minimal, with several lamps broken or flickering.
For normal eyes, navigation would be challenging. But with Jason's night vision ability, the darkness posed no obstacle—the shadowy environment appeared nearly as clear as daylight.
He quickly reached the perimeter of the Flame Auto Repair Shop. Inside, his targets were presumably asleep, as no lights were visible.
David's voice provided tactical information through the earpiece: "First floor, east side—bedroom with two occupants. Second floor contains three bedrooms: the northernmost belongs to their leader, Jero. The eastern and western rooms house three additional members."
He paused before adding, "According to my surveillance, they're armed with at least two MP9 submachine guns and an M4 carbine. Are you absolutely certain you can handle this?"
"Child's play," Jason replied confidently.
The repair shop featured a small yard surrounded by a waist-high wall. With minimal effort, Jason sprinted and vaulted cleanly over it.
Rather than immediately entering the building, he located the electrical panel mounted under the eaves and disabled the power.
Moving with practiced efficiency, he approached the first-floor bedroom. These gangsters had implemented virtually no security measures.
Inside the cluttered, malodorous room, two inebriated men lay sprawled across separate mattresses.
Jason neutralized them with practiced skill—rendering them unconscious, gagging them thoroughly, and securing them with restraints.
He methodically repeated this procedure in the eastern and western bedrooms on the second floor.
Jero's bedroom, however, presented a minor challenge—the gang leader had suspended a crude alarm system consisting of a bell attached to a tripwire across his doorway.
Unfortunately for him, Jason's Trap Mastery skill made such primitive countermeasures trivial to bypass.
Despite the locked door, he gained entry using improvised lockpicks fashioned from wire.
Jero was a muscular figure covered in elaborate tattoos. Jason felt immediate disappointment upon seeing him.
According to the system's assessment, he was merely an Iron-tier Target—not the Bronze-level target Jason had been hoping for.
What a waste!
When criminals aspired to villainy, yet lacked the competence to achieve even moderate success, it struck Jason as particularly pathetic.
With all six gang members securely bound, Jason methodically arranged six nooses from the second-floor railing—one for each captive.
The ropes encircled their necks as they trembled before their masked visitor, their eyes wide with primal fear.
David's voice came urgently through the earpiece, having observed the scene via his drone's camera feed.
"Jesus Christ, what are you doing? Kill them and get the hell out of there! Every minute you linger increases the risk of discovery!"
"David," Jason replied calmly, "I don't kill indiscriminately—I pass judgment."
"Don't use my real name, are you insane?!"
"Relax. There are only two of us here, plus six soon-to-be-dead men. Your identity remains secure."
"That's not the point! You never use real names during operations! Basic operational security—use my code name!"
"Fine, what's your preferred code name? How about 'Knight's Right Hand'?"
"That's terrible. Just call me... Tiger."
"That's even worse! Look, I'm busy executing people. We'll discuss this later."
Before him, the six captives twisted desperately against their restraints, their gagged pleas producing muffled, inarticulate sounds.
Jason's extended dialogue served a strategic purpose—not to waste words, but to allow his victims' emotional responses to intensify.
He addressed the condemned men with ceremonial gravity: "Gentlemen, your time has expired! I stand before you as God's appointed judge. Your sins have accumulated, and payment is now due."
His voice rose to a crescendo. "I sentence you—to death!"
With dramatic finality, he kicked away the benches supporting each man, one by one.
For several moments, the stifled sounds of strangulation filled the repair shop.
Minutes later, the system notification appeared:
[Task updated and available for review]!
Jason didn't immediately check the system. Instead, he meticulously repositioned the six bodies back into their respective rooms.
He appropriated two submachine guns, then reactivated the electrical system, deliberately creating a short circuit to simulate an electrical fire.
The repair shop contained abundant flammable materials and automotive fuel. Within minutes, roaring flames engulfed the entire structure.
By the time fire engines arrived with sirens blaring, Jason had already returned to the church.
After a thorough shower, he sat on the balcony, enjoying the evening breeze while observing the distant inferno. Only then did he access the system interface.
[Mission accomplished.]
Character level: Iron-tier.
Upgrade: Not upgraded.
Cause of death: Hanging.
Freshness: Five stars.
End-of-life emotions: Fear and confusion.
Sentiment rating: Five stars.
Comprehensive task evaluation: Five stars!
Special rewards for five-star reviews, gift packages being upgraded... Reward: Iron Five-Star Gift Pack, Double Luck.]
[Congratulations on triggering the first five-kill streak reward, free attribute points: 5]
Wait, there's a kill streak reward system?
Jason paused, realizing the system contained numerous functions he had yet to fully explore.
Five additional attribute points represented an unexpected bonus.
But more pressing was the potential reward from the five-star gift package.
He mentally opened the gift package.
[Congratulations on receiving the reward: Compound Eyes.]
Another vision-based ability?
Immediately, his visual field expanded dramatically, with vastly improved peripheral awareness in both vertical and horizontal planes.
Simultaneously, everything in motion appeared to decelerate, as if caught in temporal resistance. He realized he was experiencing enhanced dynamic vision.
The phenomenon wasn't that the world had slowed—rather, his neural processing and reaction speeds had dramatically increased.
His sensory system had become hypersensitive, his reactions preternaturally swift—effectively a limited version of Spider-Man's celebrated spider-sense.
Of course, spider-sense encompassed numerous additional capabilities, some bordering on the metaphysical.
Compound Eyes couldn't truly compare to such an ability.
Nevertheless, his expanded visual field combined with enhanced dynamic perception would substantially augment his combat effectiveness.
Moreover, by channeling mental energy toward his visual cortex, he could temporarily intensify these effects further!
After just a few seconds of testing this focused enhancement, however, he experienced noticeable mental fatigue.
His current mental attribute value of 8 significantly exceeded normal human capacity, yet clearly left room for improvement regarding the Compound Eyes ability.
This realization immediately clarified how to allocate his newly acquired attribute points.
He accessed the system interface:
[Name: Jason
Age: 22 years old
Bloodline: Human
Status: Normal
Strength: 7
Speed: 10
Defense: 7
Constitution: 5
Will: 10
Skills: Combat Master, Pistol Proficiency, Trap Proficiency
Abilities: Night Vision, Compound Eyes
Items: None
Instance: Locked
Alternate Universe: Locked
Main task: Those who are guilty must be punished
Iron-tier target: 2/7
Newest quest:
Bronze-tier target: 0/1
Creed: Kill to gain redemption.]
Two points allocated to Will, three points to Speed. Combined with his Pistol Mastery skill and new Compound Eyes ability, he could now eliminate targets with unprecedented efficiency and precision.
Jason reached a decisive strategic conclusion: his next phase would prioritize quantity over quality—focusing on accumulated kills rather than elaborate executions!
Hell's Kitchen was about to experience a blood-soaked reckoning like never before.
Chapter 7: Hell's Kitchen Massacre
"Oh God! I seriously don't understand why you insist on being a knight of divine retribution. Why not open a restaurant instead? You'd capture half of New York's dining scene overnight!"
David exclaimed this while enthusiastically shoving another massive piece of braised pork into his mouth, completely unconcerned about the rich sauce dripping into his beard.
He had officially relocated to the guest bedroom on the church's second floor, converting it into an impromptu surveillance center.
"Hmph," Jason replied with unmistakable pride. "I learned this recipe from a chef at a hotel that was on the verge of bankruptcy. This is authentic culinary skill!"
"If his cooking was this good, how could the place possibly go bankrupt?" David questioned between bites. "Is the restaurant business that cutthroat where you come from?"
Jason sighed dramatically. "It wasn't his cooking skills that were lacking—it was his tendency to cut corners with questionable ingredients."
"Wait, what?" David froze mid-chew, suddenly alarmed.
"Among these dishes—" Jason began ominously.
"Are you saying—"
Jason rolled his eyes. "Why would I cut on my own food? The chef I mentioned added suspicious substances to reduce costs. Unfortunately for him, his customers discovered his deception, and the business collapsed within days."
"Thank God for that," David exhaled with visible relief. "Anyway, about those two corrupt cops you mentioned— Jenkins and Isaac?"
David resumed eating while delivering his report. "I infiltrated the NYPD's secure database. The officers you identified are indeed on the take, with evidence suggesting they're backed by a powerful backer."
He paused to swallow. "I haven't yet identified their employer, but I've established a potential connection to a company..."
"Which company?" Jason pressed, suddenly alert.
"Something called... Union Allied Construction, I believe that's the name."
Jason felt a jolt of recognition. The name was immediately familiar—it was a front company for New York's undisputed crime lord: Wilson Fisk, the Kingpin.
What a fascinating coincidence.
"David, I'm giving you a new name to prioritize: Wilson Fisk. Make him your top investigative focus. Report anything—absolutely anything—you find directly to me."
David frowned thoughtfully. "Wil...son? Who exactly is this person?"
"Didn't you want to expose whoever's behind those corrupt officers? Work backward from Wilson Fisk. See where it leads."
David paused, studying Jason with newfound scrutiny. "Did your... divine guidance provide this information?"
Jason's expression hardened. "Stop asking about my relationship with higher powers!"
To enhance Jason's operational capabilities, David deployed his exceptional hacking skills to compromise numerous surveillance cameras throughout the district.
He also penetrated the police department's communications network, giving them real-time access to law enforcement activities.
Still unsatisfied with their surveillance coverage, Jason spent several nights strategically installing additional sensors and hidden cameras throughout Hell's Kitchen.
His goal was ambitious: a comprehensive early-warning system covering the entire neighborhood.
Though the equipment cost tens of thousands of dollars, for someone with David's financial hacking abilities, this represented a negligible expense.
With these preparations complete, Jason was ready to launch his campaign.
On what seemed like an ordinary night in Hell's Kitchen, a figure dressed in black and wearing a devil mask officially emerged into public awareness.
...
At the waterfront docks, longshoremen unloaded a nondescript shipping container from a recently arrived freighter. Several masked men in tactical gear approached and unlocked the heavy doors, revealing a horrifying cargo—a dozen disheveled women huddled inside.
Their faces reflected diverse origins: Eastern European, African, Asian.
One of the masked men raised his weapon menacingly. "Everyone out! Anyone who screams gets a bullet!"
Behind them, a shadow materialized from the darkness.
"BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!"
Gunfire erupted. Shell casings clattered against concrete. Blood sprayed in crimson arcs.
The terrified women's screams pierced the night air. When their panic finally subsided, the armed traffickers lay motionless on the ground.
...
In the back kitchen of a seedy bar, several thugs argued over a drug shipment.
They scrambled aggressively for larger portions, eventually drawing weapons on each other.
"I want two kilos!" one demanded.
"You got that kind of cash?" another challenged skeptically.
"You disrespecting the 16th Street Bloods?" the first man growled, raising his firearm.
Suddenly, a dark silhouette flashed past the window.
"Who's there?" They rushed outside, only to discover all external lighting had mysteriously failed.
In the consuming darkness, they could perceive nothing.
Without warning, a muzzle flash illuminated the night—a submachine gun unleashing its payload in a concentrated burst.
After a single magazine emptied, the formerly aggressive drug dealers lay sprawled in expanding pools of blood.
...
In an isolated warehouse, two criminal factions conducted an arms transaction.
"A pleasure doing business," the seller remarked casually. "Come to me for your next procurement—I'll extend a ten percent discount."
"Appreciate that," the buyer nodded.
"That's quite an arsenal you're acquiring. Mind if I ask what you're planning? Perhaps I could offer additional... services?"
"You ask too many questions," came the curt reply.
"Fair enough," the seller laughed. "Money changes hands, merchandise delivered, no further inquiry—"
CLICK!
Without warning, every light in the warehouse simultaneously extinguished.
"You backstabbing bastards!" the seller shouted into the darkness. "Trying to rob your own supplier?"
"Kill them all!" someone commanded.
Gunfire erupted chaotically as both sides assumed betrayal.
None noticed the shadow moving through the darkness—an apex predator methodically harvesting each life with clinical precision.
...
Within just seventy-two hours, Hell's Kitchen descended into unprecedented panic.
Historically, law-abiding citizens avoided these streets after nightfall.
Now, criminals themselves feared venturing out during darkness.
At NYPD headquarters, newly promoted Police Commissioner George Stacy furiously berated his officers.
"How is it possible you've found NOTHING?" he thundered. "It's been THREE ENTIRE DAYS! Do you comprehend the body count this masked psychopath has accumulated? FIFTY-SEVEN!"
His face reddened dangerously. "Fifty-seven people in three days! We don't lose that many American soldiers in Afghanistan in three days! This is a direct challenge to the NYPD's authority!"
From the back of the room, someone muttered, "But the victims were all criminals and gang members..."
"WHO SAID THAT?" Stacy's eyes flashed with barely contained rage. "I don't give a damn whether the deceased 'deserved' their fate—they should be judged by our legal system, not by some vigilante executioner!"
He slammed his fist on the podium. "We tolerated the guy in the red suit because he apprehended criminals without killing them. But this—this is direct contempt for police authority, for governmental institutions, for our entire legal framework!"
His voice lowered to a dangerous intensity. "I don't care what methods you employ. Find this devil-masked killer and bring him in!"
"Yes, sir!" the assembled officers responded in unison.
The entire New York Police Department mobilized with unprecedented urgency.
...
The NYPD wasn't alone in hunting Jason. The criminal organizations throughout Hell's Kitchen temporarily suspended their territorial disputes to convene an emergency underground summit.
"If this 'Hell’s Butcher' continues unchecked, our operations become untenable," one cartel leader declared.
"Effective immediately, we're issuing an underworld bounty," announced a high-ranking gang leader. "One hundred thousand dollars for credible information leading to his identification. Five million for his confirmed death."
A Mafia capo nodded. "Additionally, everyone should activate their law enforcement and political assets. We need coordinated pressure from both legitimate and shadow approach."
Someone chuckled darkly. "Perhaps we should include Daredevil in our hit list—eliminate both vigilantes simultaneously."
"Brilliant suggestion."
"Make it happen."
...
Back at Hopewell Sanctuary, Jason had temporarily suspended his hunting activities. In the brief but productive campaign, he'd accumulated several system reward packages, significantly enhancing his capabilities.
He accessed his system panel:
[Name: Jason
Age: 22 years old
Bloodline: Human
Status: Normal
Strength: 10
Speed: 13
Defense: 7
Constitution: 7
Will: 15
Skills: Combat Master, Pistol Proficiency, Trap Proficiency, Swimming Proficiency, Sniper Proficiency
Abilities: Night Vision, Compound Eyes
Items: None
Instance: Locked
Alternate Universe: Locked
Main task: Those who are guilty must be punished
Iron-tier target: 4/17
Newest quest:
Bronze-tier target: 0/1
Creed: Kill to gain redemption.]
Beyond the thirteen additional attribute points, he'd acquired two new skills: Swimming Proficiency and Sniper Proficiency.
He now felt increasingly certain that skills were categorized hierarchically. His current hypothesis suggested a progression of Skilled, Proficient, and Master levels...
Higher tiers likely existed, though they remained unknown at present.
As the required number of Iron-tier Target continued to increase, the marginal benefit of hunting minor criminals diminished progressively.
His next strategic focus needed to shift toward Bronze-tier target!
A prime target had already been identified: Senior Homeland Security Agent Carson Wolf—the corrupt government official who participated in the CIA's drug trafficking operation and personally shot David off that fateful bridge.
Chapter 8: The Passion of Daredevil
Having identified Carson Wolf as his next target, David threw himself into preparation with renewed vigor.
He had been anticipating this confrontation for months—the chance to strike at the man who had tried to kill him.
However, as a senior federal agent, Wolf maintained rigorous security protocols. Taking him down would require meticulous planning.
Meanwhile, Jason was attending to his priestly duties, organizing a long-overdue community gathering at Hopewell Sanctuary.
The event featured hymn singing, prayers, children's performances, and a complimentary lunch for all attendees.
During Father Julian's tenure, there had never been sufficient energy or resources to arrange such gatherings. Consequently, Jason's initiative earned unanimous praise from both congregation members and neighborhood residents.
Children raced playfully through the church grounds as adults conversed in small, comfortable groups. The atmosphere radiated peace and warmth—a rare quality in Hell's Kitchen.
Even David ventured downstairs to participate in the communal prayer, finding that the ritual temporarily calmed his restless mind.
That evening, after the festivities concluded, Jason was collecting discarded lunch containers in the backyard when a delicate chime rang through the church.
Ding-a-ling...
He paused, recognizing the distinctive bell of the confessional. Someone had come seeking absolution.
Upon entering the main hall, he noted that one confessional booth had already closed its door.
Though he had served as a priest for merely a week, Jason had already guided several penitent souls through confession. The psychological burden carried by Hell's Kitchen residents was evidently immense.
"Hello, I am Father Jason, your confessor today."
A male voice responded from behind the screen, surprise evident in his tone: "You're not Father Julian?"
"Father Julian has departed for the Vatican. I will be serving Hopewell Sanctuary for the next several months."
The man on the opposite side hesitated before sighing deeply.
"No matter—one priest is as good as another. My name is Wesley, and my life is an absolute disaster.
I have an insufferable supervisor—overweight and perpetually finding fault. That mouth never stops chattering, like a persistent fly buzzing around your head.
I was involved with a woman, but she betrayed me with my supposed best friend.
My apartment is in the cheapest part of town. Every time the subway passes, the entire building shakes like it's about to collapse.
And my job—my miserable, underpaid job—resembles nothing so much as those exploited factory workers from the last century, grinding away under merciless management."
Jason felt a jolt of recognition at this particular combination of complaints. A man named Wesley with a thoroughly miserable existence? Could it possibly be...
"I've been fatherless since childhood," the voice continued. "I also suffer from a genetic condition that periodically causes heart palpitations and visual distortions. The only relief comes from medication. God, is this your punishment for me?"
Jason was increasingly certain—this was indeed Wesley, the character from the film "Wanted" who possessed the extraordinary ability to curve bullets around obstacles!
After a thoughtful silence, the confessor suddenly became agitated. "I want to kill them all, Father! This thought has invaded my mind repeatedly—murder them! Decapitate them one by one—that treacherous couple, that insufferable supervisor—they all deserve death!"
Once Wesley had vented his frustrations, Jason responded in a measured, soothing tone: "Wesley, each of us exists within frameworks of constraint. Laws, moral codes, workplace regulations—this society can indeed be cruel and unforgiving.
Yet we remain alive, facing the sun, seeking light amidst darkness. Calm your heart, Wesley. Trust that positive transformation approaches, that your destiny stands on the cusp of profound change..."
"Hah..." Wesley laughed bitterly.
Jason continued undeterred: "Wesley, do you believe in divine providence?"
"What?"
"I have received... insight... that your life trajectory is about to shift dramatically. However, I must caution you to choose your path carefully. Should you ever feel lost, return here. Guidance awaits you."
Wesley remained silent for several moments, seemingly processing these words. "Father, I—"
"The truth is already known," Jason interjected gently. "Don't allow yourself to be blinded by seemingly noble ideals, only to live in permanent regret. This sanctuary remains perpetually open to you."
A bewildered Wesley departed in evident confusion. Watching his retreating figure, Jason couldn't suppress a satisfied smile.
Wesley—the protagonist from "Wanted" with the extraordinary ability to bend bullets—had unexpectedly manifested in this universe.
The Fraternity organization from that story possessed numerous valuable assets: bullet-curving techniques, regenerative medical technology, and a cadre of elite assassins. Given the opportunity, acquiring such resources would prove invaluable.
...
"BANG! BANG! BANG!"
In the dead of night, just as Jason had drifted into sleep, urgent knocking rattled his door.
"Get up! Daredevil's been ambushed!"
What?
Jason leapt from bed and rushed to David's surveillance room.
The massive monitor displayed drone footage—a dark street where multiple muzzle flashes converged toward a single point. Several vehicles had erupted in flames, illuminating the chaotic scene.
Jason tilted his head slightly, detecting faint explosions in the distance.
"What happened? Where's Daredevil?"
David wrung his hands anxiously. "He's been taken down. While traversing rooftops, a sniper's shot knocked him from his position. Then a dozen heavily armed operatives surrounded him and opened fire!"
He indicated several gunmen on screen. "Look at their tactical formation—providing cover fire while executing magazine changes during coordinated movement. Their proficiency rivals Delta Force operators. These are absolutely elite personnel.
Daredevil can't even raise his head without drawing concentrated fire! Moreover, the sniper who initially wounded him remains concealed, undoubtedly maintaining overwatch from an elevated position."
Damn!
Jason inhaled sharply. Could this universe's Daredevil be following an abbreviated script—one that ended with his premature death?
Observing the tactical situation, Jason struggled to envision how Daredevil might possibly overcome such overwhelming odds.
Unless... someone intervened?
Yet at this point in the timeline, he couldn't recall any established hero who might plausibly arrive as reinforcement.
Intense curiosity surged through him. Did Daredevil still possess the plot protection typically afforded to protagonists?
I'd like to witness that firsthand.
At that precise moment, his previously dormant system unexpectedly activated:
[Ding! Side Mission issued: Punish Evildoers!
Mission content: Prevention supersedes retribution.
Eliminate the team hunting Daredevil.
Mission time limit: Before Daredevil's death or after all assailants' deaths.
Mission Rewards: Reward packages will be allocated based on completion status.]
Son of a—
Jason's eyes widened in disbelief.
I've become Daredevil's supporting character!
After brief deliberation, he decided to intervene—the system rewards alone justified action.
"David, elevate the drone and locate that sniper!" he commanded.
David appeared startled. "What—what are you planning?"
"Divine guidance indicates Daredevil serves a righteous purpose and must not perish."
"What? God's playing favorites now?"
The words escaped before David could censor himself. He immediately looked stricken, realizing his potential blasphemy.
He glanced furtively at Jason. Would this self-proclaimed "knight" execute him for such irreverence?
Jason fixed him with a measured stare. "Show appropriate respect when referencing divine matters. Understood?"
"Yes—absolutely!" David hastily affirmed, suppressing a nervous cough.
Though he typically maintained a façade of casual irreverence around Jason, internally David had already categorized him as an extremely dangerous individual.
After all, he had personally witnessed Jason eliminate dozens of targets. Who knew how many others had fallen before their partnership began?
After changing into his black tactical gear and securing his devil mask, Jason rapidly approached the combat zone.
Rather than charging directly into the firefight, however, he awaited intelligence through his earpiece.
As additional vehicles exploded and Daredevil sustained what appeared to be a significant wound, rolling desperately into an abandoned building, David's voice finally came through.
"Sniper located! Positioned fifteen degrees southeast of your current position... Wait—he's spotted the drone... He's targeting—DAMN IT!"
David's voice turned frantic. "Knight! The drone's been shot down! He—"
Several seconds earlier...
The moment David shouted the drone was under attack, Jason had already launched into motion.
He materialized behind the rightmost gunman, his mental energy intensely focused, Compound Eyes ability activated to maximum capacity.
The movements of the dozen tactical operators suddenly appeared to decelerate dramatically.
"BANG! BANG! BANG!"
Both pistols extended horizontally, muzzle flashes illuminating the darkness as bullets streaked toward their targets!
Chapter 9: He Ran, I Pursued - No Escape Even With Wings
Two Glock 17 pistols emptied their combined 38 rounds in mere seconds.
Most of the tactical operators dropped instantly, their bodies collapsing in unnatural postures.
The few survivors spun around, catching only a glimpse of a devil mask flashing through the darkness.
One mercenary, eyes dilating with primal fear, immediately shouted into his tactical radio: "Hell’s Butcher! It's Hell’s Butcher—he's here! He's working with Daredevil! Most of our team is down—one coordinated strike!"
His voice cracked with desperation. "Mission compromised! Requesting immediate extraction! Mission compromised—"
BANG!
A single bullet pierced his temple, silencing him mid-sentence as his lifeless body crumpled to the pavement.
Jason hadn't fired that shot.
A chilling voice emanated from the fallen mercenary's radio: "Perfect timing! Both Daredevil and Hell’s Butcher are now priority targets. Eliminate them simultaneously. Anyone attempting retreat will be terminated immediately. Advance and neutralize them—NOW!"
...
After his successful ambush, Jason maintained his momentum, using darkness as cover while moving swiftly toward the sniper's position.
His intimate knowledge of Hell's Kitchen's urban landscape allowed him to navigate without exposing himself.
While maneuvering between buildings, he contacted David through his earpiece. "Did you identify the sniper?"
"He's wearing tactical black with distinctive white accents. Face concealed, but there's something unique—his mask features a bullseye emblem on the forehead. Accessing NYPD database for matches... nothing. Checking Homeland Security identification protocols—"
"Don't bother," Jason interrupted. "I know exactly who we're dealing with."
"You do?"
"Bullseye—Daredevil's most lethal adversary. No wonder our horned friend found himself overwhelmed."
David's perplexed voice crackled through the comm. "Why do I detect a hint of satisfaction in your tone? If you harbor such animosity toward Daredevil, why intervene on his behalf?"
"I don't hate him," Jason clarified. "I simply don't respect his methods. He's fundamentally decent, possessed of admirable moral conviction—but it's precisely that rigid code of conduct I find contemptible."
Jason continued while maintaining his tactical advance. "So idealistic, so naïve, borderline simplistic. He aspires to transform this corrupt world while refusing to stain his hands with blood! Unwilling to face nightmares in the dark hours, unwilling to risk damnation in the afterlife—he's inherently destined for failure."
His voice hardened. "In this regard, I partially align with Bullseye's philosophy: only through blood and death can order be established—even if that order exists in shadow."
The comm remained silent for several moments before David responded: "Being completely honest—you sound less like God's knight and more like the devil's advocate."
"Just philosophical musings," Jason replied with dark amusement. "Is the backup drone operational?"
"Deployed and tracking, but the distance compromises visual clarity. I can confirm the target's presence but not precise movements."
"That's sufficient."
Guided by David's surveillance, Jason rapidly approached the building where Bullseye had established his sniper position.
He ascended silently, then burst through the rooftop access door with both pistols already tracking.
Multiple rounds erupted toward the prone figure on the rooftop's edge, perforating the target repeatedly.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
As the bullets impacted, Jason immediately recognized his error—no blood spray!
"Did you really think I wouldn't notice that pathetic surveillance drone?" a mocking voice called from behind.
Before the sentence completed, several bullets were already streaking toward Jason. His enhanced perception activated instantly, the world around him decelerating as he twisted away from the incoming fire, diving back through the rooftop door.
Bullseye—wearing nothing but underwear—stared in momentary disbelief. Impossible reaction time!
Jason touched the shallow grazing wounds on his face where bullets had narrowly missed. "Goddamn it! These higher tier targets are genuinely challenging. David, what happened? He left his uniform as a decoy, and you didn't detect the substitution?"
David sounded equally shocked, perspiration evident in his voice. "How did he spot our drone from that distance? We're operating well outside normal visual range. Of course I couldn't distinguish between the actual target and gear arranged to mimic a human form! Wait—he's advancing on your position!"
Jason frowned quizzically. "Advancing?"
Fine. I'll beat you to death instead.
Bullseye appeared in the doorway with predatory quickness.
Jason raised his weapons and fired; Bullseye returned fire with equal intensity. The confined stairwell's multiple angles prevented either combatant from landing decisive shots.
When Bullseye paused to reload, Jason seized the opportunity—lunging forward, knocking the weapon from his opponent's grasp before unleashing a devastatingly precise sequence of military-style strikes, each connecting with vulnerable anatomical targets.
Bullseye was momentarily stunned—he hadn't anticipated that Hell’s Butcher would possess advanced hand-to-hand combat skills rivaling Daredevil's own.
Fortunately, Bullseye's physical strength remained considerable. After absorbing the initial surprise attack that left one eye swelling shut, he rapidly adjusted, meeting Jason's combative intensity with equivalent skill.
The engagement briefly stabilized into a deadlock.
Jason gritted his teeth, drew upon his depleting will reserves, hyper-focused his perception, and executed three perfectly timed critical strikes in rapid succession!
The concentrated impact bent Bullseye forward involuntarily. Jason capitalized immediately, seizing his opponent and forcefully projecting him down the stairwell, where his head impacted the concrete with sickening force.
Bullseye lay groaning, temporarily incapacitated by overwhelming pain.
Perfect moment to eliminate this threat!
The system confirms—he's Bronze-tier target!
Jason retrieved his pistol and pressed it against Bullseye's forehead, yet hesitated momentarily.
The assassin's eyes reflected no terror whatsoever.
Unacceptable. If my first Bronze-level elimination fails to achieve a five-star rating, it's an enormous missed opportunity.
During his recent campaign, Jason had experienced firsthand the vast disparity between standard reward packages and five-star variants. The former provided transformative abilities like Night Vision and Compound Eyes, while the latter typically yielded mere attribute increments—with only extraordinary luck occasionally unlocking master-level skills.
Bullseye spat a bloody mixture onto the floor. "Enjoy your temporary advantage, Hell’s Butcher. When next we meet, your death is guaranteed—along with that self-righteous Daredevil—"
Before he could complete his statement, Jason seized him by the throat, dragged him back to the rooftop, and dangled him precariously over the edge.
The street lay dizzyingly distant below, yet Bullseye's expression remained remarkably composed.
He even detected Jason's hesitation, prompting his puzzled inquiry: "What exactly are you waiting for?"
"Why aren't you afraid?" Jason demanded.
"..."
Jason's expression shifted as inspiration struck. With a decisive motion, he tore away Bullseye's final remaining garment, leaving him completely exposed.
"Does dying like this frighten you more?" Jason asked with calculated cruelty.
Bullseye's eyes widened dramatically—finally, genuine fear manifested in his voice: "What are you planning?"
"Your fear remains insufficient," Jason observed dispassionately.
He gestured skyward toward the hovering drone. "Record everything. After his death, broadcast this footage across Times Square displays. Continuous loop."
"You can kill me, but you cannot humiliate me like this!" Bullseye snarled.
From some hidden reservoir of desperate strength, Bullseye suddenly wrenched himself free, deliberately plunging from Jason's grasp. Rather than falling to his death, he caught a railing on the level below, continuing his descent through controlled drops.
Jason watched his ungraceful maneuvering with malicious delight.
A predatory smile crossed his face. "You insignificant creature—you cannot escape my reach."
The pursuit began—Bullseye fleeing, Jason relentlessly following, his quarry earthbound and vulnerable.
Though Bullseye had sustained serious injuries, a final adrenaline surge had enabled his initial escape down the building. His reserves depleted rapidly, however, before he'd covered significant distance at street level.
Jason savored the hunt, enjoying these final moments of pursuit like a cat toying with wounded target.
Unfortunately, David interrupted his macabre entertainment.
"Urgent alert, Knight! Daredevil has eliminated the remaining hostiles and is converging on your position!"
Jason frowned irritably. "The man sustained multiple gunshot wounds. He can still fight?"
"Not only fighting—he's leaving a blood trail behind him! You claim divine knighthood, but from my perspective, he seems more like God's actual son! His will must be extraordinary."
Without further deliberation, Jason accelerated his pursuit, seizing Bullseye by the nape of his neck with one hand while clenching his other into a fist that resembled a sledgehammer.
CRACK!
One devastating blow—nasal cartilage shattered, blood spraying in a crimson mist.
Bullseye weakly clutched Jason's arm in desperate self-preservation.
THUD!
A second punishing impact. Bullseye's arms fell limply to his sides as consciousness abandoned him.
The third fist raised high, prepared to deliver fatal trauma—
"STOP!"
Chapter 10: Iron Fists and Iron Will
Daredevil arrived precisely as anticipated.
But Jason deliberately ignored the vigilante's command.
CRACK!
The third devastating punch landed with sickening force.
[Task updated and available for review]!
"He's completely defenseless! Why kill him?" Daredevil demanded, his voice raw with indignation.
"I killed people to save your life, Daredevil," Jason replied coolly. "How can you possibly condemn me?"
Daredevil's jaw clenched so tightly his teeth risked fracturing. Despite his moral outrage, he couldn't deny that the masked figure before him had indeed saved him from certain death.
Suppressing his fury, he asked with frigid restraint, "Forget him for a moment—explain the massacre you've unleashed across Hell's Kitchen. Do you comprehend how many lives you've taken?"
"Of course I do," Jason responded with casual indifference, shrugging. "I remember each one more vividly than anyone."
"You're nothing but a butcher, a devil!"
"They were all individuals who deserved execution."
"They deserved proper legal judgment through established judicial channels."
"You're a violent vigilante yourself," Jason countered sharply. "Perhaps avoid invoking legal principles? Have you not also violated numerous laws?"
"I've never killed anyone!"
"That distinction hardly elevates you. Crime remains crime—whether it culminates in death is merely a technical detail."
"You—"
The distant wail of police sirens interrupted their ideological standoff. Daredevil fixed his adversary with a hate-filled glare, despite his blindness. "I will stop your killing spree. Whatever it takes."
"You're welcome to try."
Before law enforcement arrived, Jason had already vacated the area, circuitously returning to Hopewell Sanctuary.
Lying on his bed, he accessed the system interface, where several reward notifications awaited his attention:
[Side Mission: Punishing Evil has been completed.
Completion level: Four stars.
Mission Reward: Master Level Skill Upgrade Card, Free Attribute Points: 5]
[Mission accomplished.
Character level: Iron-tier.
Upgrade: Not upgraded.
Cause of death: Shooting.
Freshness: One star.
End-of-life emotion: Fear.
Sentiment rating: Three stars.
Comprehensive task evaluation: Two stars!
Reward: Iron 2-star gift pack.]
[Congratulations on triggering the first ten-kill streak reward, free attribute points: 10]
[Mission accomplished.
Character level: Bronze-tier.
Upgrade: Not upgraded.
Cause of death: Blunt Force Execution.
Freshness: Five stars.
End-of-life emotion: Fear.
Sentiment rating: Five stars.
Comprehensive task evaluation: Five stars!
Special rewards for five-star reviews, gift packages being upgraded...
Reward: Bronze five-star gift package, Double Luck.]
This evening's work had yielded an unprecedented harvest.
Beyond the Side Mission, he had completed the Iron-tier objective, achieved his first ten-kill streak bonus, and secured his inaugural Bronze-level elimination.
The skill upgrade card represented an entirely new reward type. With minimal concentration, he accessed its detailed information:
Capable of upgrading any skill, but limited to elevating proficiency-level skills to master level.
Currently, three skills qualified for this enhancement: Pistol, Trap, and Swimming. However, Jason decided to defer this decision until after examining his gift packages.
He opened the Iron Gift Pack first.
[Congratulations on receiving the reward: Free attribute points: 3]
As expected, gift packages below five-star rating offered minimal value.
Finally, the moment arrived to unveil his hard-earned Bronze five-star gift package.
[Congratulations on receiving the reward: Dragon Chi]
Almost immediately, Jason detected a new energy coursing through his system. With focused intent, this power naturally flowed toward his fists.
His hands began emitting a subtle luminescence, their density and hardness increasing dramatically—resembling tempered steel heated to near-molten state.
Holy shit.
Jason experienced momentary disbelief. This ability unmistakably resembled Iron Fist's signature power.
Wait—if I can channel it to my hands, perhaps...
Experimentally, he directed the dragon chi downward, toward a different anatomical location.
Damn!
An incredulous grin spread across his face. This enhancement far exceeded his expectations for a Bronze-level reward.
Such capability seemed more appropriate for Gold-tier classification, at minimum!
For the first time since his arrival, Jason truly felt equipped to establish himself within the Marvel universe.
After several minutes of exuberant celebration, he calmed himself sufficiently to allocate his accumulated attribute points and apply the skill upgrade card to his Pistol Proficiency to Master.
He accessed his updated system interface:
[Name: Jason
Age: 22 years old
Bloodline: Human
Status: Normal
Strength: 15
Speed: 15
Defense: 10
Constitution: 10
Will: 20
Skills: Combat Master, Pistol Master, Trap Proficiency, Swimming Proficiency, Sniper Proficiency
Abilities: Night Vision, Compound Eyes, Dragon Chi
Items: None
Instance: Locked
Alternate Universe: Locked
Main task: Those who are guilty must be punished
Iron-tier target: 0/19
Bronze-tier Target: 0/3
Newest mission:
Silver-tier: 0/1 Creed: Kill to gain redemption.]
With his enhanced physical attributes and the explosive potential of Dragon Chi, he'd definitely teach that ungrateful red-suited vigilante a lesson during their next encounter!
...
The following morning, Hopewell Sanctuary opened as usual.
On the second floor, David continued monitoring Carson Wolf. Though Jason had completed his first Bronze-level elimination, securing the second and third five-star bronze packages would require meticulous planning.
Jason performed his priestly duties, listening to parishioners' confessions with practiced composure.
His recent community outreach efforts had significantly elevated Hopewell Sanctuary's profile within the neighborhood, attracting increased attendance.
After concluding a particularly interesting confession session, he smiled warmly at the departing penitent before calling upstairs to David: "Add this individual named Jack to your priority surveillance list. His sins urgently require divine intervention!"
At that precise moment, a man in an immaculately tailored suit appeared at the entrance.
Jason immediately recognized him—a character who invariably appeared during the "tutorial phase" of any Marvel storyline.
Agent Coulson approached with a professional smile. "Good morning, Father. I'm Phil Coulson, representing the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division. Might we have a word?"
"Agent Coulson, pleasure to meet you. I didn't quite catch your organization's name—Homeland...?"
"Strategic Homeland Inter—" Coulson attempted, before stumbling slightly over the elaborate acronym. "Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and, uh... Logistics Division."
"Ah, of course! Now I remember."
Looking somewhat embarrassed, Coulson swiftly redirected the conversation. "Might we discuss something rather urgent?"
"Certainly."
Noting several parishioners engaged in silent prayer throughout the small sanctuary, Jason gestured discreetly. "Let's continue in the garden."
The church garden had transformed dramatically. Once sparse and neglected, it now displayed vibrant, flourishing plant life, permeating the air with delicate floral scents.
The passing of one existence often nourishes another, Jason reflected philosophically. Just as when a great whale dies, its decomposition sustains countless other organisms.
Turning his attention to Agent Coulson, Jason noted with interest that the system hadn't designated this government agent as potential target.
This observation sparked his curiosity—would Director Fury himself register as a target within the system's parameters?
"How can I assist you, Agent Coulson?"
"A particularly violent individual has recently emerged in Hell's Kitchen. Has Father Jason encountered any information regarding this person?"
"Certainly! You're referring to the red-suited vigilante with those distinctive horned protrusions on his mask? Daredevil, correct?"
Coulson appeared momentarily confused. "No, no—I'm specifically inquiring about the masked killer. The one they're calling 'Hell’s Butcher.'"
"Oh!" Jason feigned sudden comprehension. "I assumed they were essentially the same entity?"
"Why would you think that?" Coulson asked, genuine puzzlement evident as suspicion began forming.
Jason gestured toward the confessional booths. "I've counseled numerous individuals who've tearfully recounted Daredevil's allegedly excessive methods. Yet curiously, regarding this 'Hell’s Butcher' you mention, no one seems to harbor negative sentiment."
Coulson regarded him with thinly veiled scepticism. Are you genuinely unaware why that might be?
Shaking his head slightly, he clarified his purpose. "I've come specifically to determine whether you possess any intelligence regarding Hell’s Butcher's activities or identity."
Jason's pulse quickened imperceptibly as he frowned. "Why approach me specifically?"
Coulson shrugged casually. "As you noted, you receive numerous confessions. Statistically, this increases the probability that relevant information might have reached you."
"I see..."
Jason shook his head regretfully. "Agent Coulson, I must respectfully decline. The seal of the confessional represents an inviolable sacred trust. My obligation to maintain confidentiality is absolute."
"Father, please understand—we're not requesting detailed information about specific individuals, locations, or incidents. Even the vaguest direction might prevent further bloodshed. I believe God would recognize your intention to preserve innocent lives."
"Perhaps, but I would never forgive myself!"
Jason projected profound moral conflict, sighing heavily.
Just as Coulson prepared to accept defeat, Jason spoke quietly: "I've heard rumors suggesting Hell’s Butcher's origins may somehow interconnect with Daredevil's activities. Beyond that vague association, I possess no concrete information. You'll need to conduct your own investigation."
After receiving this unexpected revelation, Coulson departed Hopewell Sanctuary, his brow furrowed in concentration.
He had visited the church primarily as a procedural formality, yet unexpectedly uncovered potentially significant intelligence.
Initially, reports of Hell’s Butcher's emergence in Hell's Kitchen had warranted only standard observation.
However, Bullseye's elimination by this mysterious vigilante indicated that "Hell’s Butcher" possessed considerably greater capabilities than previously estimated.
But what explained his apparent connection to Daredevil?
After brief deliberation, Coulson decided to expand his investigation.
He placed a secure call: "Director, requesting authorization to include Daredevil as a priority target within this investigation. He was previously designated for routine monitoring—I recommend elevating his status."
A lengthy silence followed before a distinctive deep voice responded: "Understood."