The rain battered the rooftop, washing the blood and soot into the gravel. The multi-limbed Hound thrashed against the glowing orange Crimson Bands, its six pitch-black eyes glaring at Ethan with pure, predatory malice.
Ethan ignored the beast. His attention shifted to the translucent blue window that suddenly hijacked his vision.
[ Emergency Quest Complete: The Snapping Web ]
Reward: 5,000 System Points, +50 Gwen Maxine Favorability, 1x Multiversal Tracker.
Current Balance: 67,010 System Points.
Ethan smirked. The points were stacking up nicely, and the Multiversal Tracker was exactly the kind of tech he needed to turn the tables on these interdimensional vampires.
He dismissed the screen and turned toward the man in the red devil suit. Matt Murdock was leaning heavily against a ventilation shaft, his chest heaving. He was listening to Ethan with a radar sense that was currently screaming absolute, overwhelming danger.
"So, Mr. Daredevil," Ethan said, walking toward the bruised vigilante. "Or should I just call you Matt Murdock?"
Matt stiffened instantly. His spine locked, and his hands curled into tight fists.
"How do you know that name?" Matt asked, his voice a low, dangerous rasp.
"Hey, don't bust a gasket," Ethan chuckled, stopping a few feet away. "Do you honestly think wrapping a piece of red cloth over your eyes makes you completely untraceable? You're a blind lawyer in Hell's Kitchen who beats people up at night with billy clubs. The math isn't that hard."
Matt didn't relax. If anything, his posture grew more hostile.
"I know at least one guy in a black leather trench coat who has a file on his desk detailing your life dating back to when you were a kid," Ethan continued, completely ignoring the defensive stance. "Your secret identity is more like an open secret to the people who actually run the shadows in this city."
Matt stood up, ignoring the shooting pain of his cracked ribs. "What do you want from me? Why are you here?"
Ethan held up his hands in a placating gesture. "Lower the fists, ninja turtle. I’m not a supervillain pulling a grand kidnapping plot. You threw yourself in front of a multiversal hunting party to save my friend here. I owe you."
Ethan mentally accessed the System mall. He quickly purchased two Intermediate Healing Potions. At 500 points a pop, it was pocket change compared to what he’d just earned.
Two vials of glowing red liquid materialized in his hands.
"Drink this," Ethan said, tossing one to Gwen. She caught it flawlessly, uncorked it, and downed it without a second thought.
Ethan held the second vial out to Matt.
Matt didn't take it. He tilted his head, listening to the liquid sloshing inside the glass. "I don't drink unknown substances handed to me by glowing strangers on rooftops."
"I figured you’d say that," Ethan sighed. "But I really don't have time for a debate on FDA approval."
Ethan flicked his fingers. A thin, crackling band of orange Eldritch energy whipped around Matt, pinning his arms to his sides and locking his jaw open in a split second. Matt thrashed violently, but the magical bindings were absolute.
Ethan stepped forward, tipped the vial, and poured the glowing red liquid directly down the vigilante’s throat.
As soon as Matt swallowed, Ethan snapped his fingers, dissolving the bands.
Matt stumbled forward, coughing and grabbing his throat. He prepared to swing wildly at Ethan—but then he stopped.
The agonizing, stabbing pain in his chest vanished. He felt his broken ribs snap back into place, knitting together with a surge of unnatural heat. The torn tendons in his shoulder repaired themselves, and the deep cuts across his ribs sealed shut, leaving smooth, unblemished skin.
"Wh-what was that?" Matt gasped, standing up straight. His breathing was completely clear.
"A healing potion," Ethan said smoothly. "Since you got your ribs cracked trying to help her, it’s only natural I return the courtesy. You're fully healed."
Matt 'looked' at him, utterly bewildered by the sheer impossibility of what had just happened. "Why did you give it to me?"
"Call it professional courtesy," Ethan replied, turning back to the bound Hound. "But a word of advice, Murdock. Stick to the mob bosses and street thugs. Next time, go against enemies in your own league. These guys are far above your pay grade."
Ethan spun his fingers. A swirling, golden portal tore open the rainy night, revealing the warm, mahogany interior of the New York Sanctum. With a wave of his hand, the bound Hound floated through the gateway like a piece of levitating luggage.
Gwen paused at the threshold. She looked back at Matt. "Thank you. For trying."
She stepped through the portal. Ethan gave the stunned vigilante a final, lazy two-finger salute before following her, the golden sparks collapsing inward and vanishing entirely.
Matt stood alone in the cold, pouring rain. The roof was empty. His wounds were gone.
"This is one hell of a weird night," Matt murmured to the empty sky.
Back inside the Sanctum, Ethan didn't waste time. He dragged the thrashing Hound down into the basement, tossing the beast into an enchanted, reinforced cell lined with Mirror Dimension wards. The creature shrieked, but the sound was completely deadened the moment the heavy door slammed shut.
When Ethan returned to the foyer, Gwen was sitting on the edge of the leather sofa. She had pulled off her torn mask, her blonde hair messy.
"Care to explain?" Ethan asked, crossing his arms and towering over her. "I specifically remember telling you to stay put. Why the hell were you swinging around Hell's Kitchen?"
Gwen looked down at her hands, suddenly looking very much like a teenager caught breaking curfew.
"I heard police sirens," Gwen mumbled, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "I just... I couldn't just sit here in a mansion while people were getting hurt. It’s hardwired into me, Ethan. I had to go look."
"And you found a mechanical Rhino and a multiversal hunting dog," Ethan scolded, his voice firm. "You're a prey, Gwen. Going out there in spandex is like waving a bloody steak in a shark tank."
"I know, I know! I messed up," she admitted, looking up at him defensively. But her eyes didn't stay on his face. They dropped to his left shoulder.
The leather jacket was sliced open, the fabric soaked in a dark, heavy stain.
"You're bleeding," Gwen said, her frustration evaporating into instant concern. She stood up. "Why didn't you drink one of those potions too?"
Ethan glanced at his shoulder, rolling it casually. "It’s just a scrape. It’ll heal on its own. I have a much stronger immunity than a normal guy."
"That won't do," Gwen said, completely ignoring his macho dismissal. "Sit down. I saw a first-aid kit in the bathroom earlier."
She didn't give him a choice. She practically shoved him onto the sofa and jogged down the hall, returning a minute later with a white medical box.
"Take off the jacket. And the shirt," Gwen ordered, popping the latches on the kit.
Ethan chuckled, sliding the ruined leather jacket off. "Buying me dinner usually comes first, but okay."
He pulled the charcoal t-shirt over his head and tossed it aside.
Gwen froze. She had seen him shirtless briefly from a distance, but up close, the results of the 'Saitama routine' and the Ben Tennyson synchronization were undeniable. He was carved out of marble—lean, densely muscled, with broad shoulders and a V-taper that dipped beneath the waistband of his jeans.
A bright, unmistakable blush crept up Gwen's neck, settling squarely on her cheeks. She suddenly found the rubbing alcohol bottle incredibly fascinating.
Looks like that +50 Favorability wasn't just a system statistic, Ethan noted internally, a smug, satisfied smirk playing on his lips.
"See something you like?" Ethan teased softly.
"Shut up," Gwen muttered, though her voice lacked its usual bite.
She sat down on the sofa right next to him. Her knee brushed against his thigh. She soaked a cotton pad in antiseptic and gently pressed it to the deep, jagged scratch on his shoulder.
Ethan didn't flinch, but he could feel the slight, nervous tremble in her fingers. The adrenaline of the fight had faded, leaving them in the quiet, intimate silence of the empty Sanctum.
"I really am sorry, Ethan," Gwen whispered, her eyes focused intently on cleaning the wound. "You got hurt because of me."
"I've had worse," Ethan said. He turned his head slightly. She was so close he could smell the rain and the faint, sweet scent of her shampoo. "But if playing nurse makes you feel better, I won't complain."
Gwen didn't pull away. She carefully applied a sterile bandage, her fingertips lingering on his warm, bare skin just a second longer than necessary.
She looked up, her blue eyes meeting his golden ones. The air in the room suddenly felt very thick, the slow burn of tension pulling them just a fraction of an inch closer.