A second later, Blade touched down, his sunglasses reflecting the sunken floor beneath his companions. Though he maintained his cold demeanor, he couldn't help but silently marvel at how monstrous the two were.

Fortunately, though he moved his lips he didn't speak still maintaining his cold appearance.

In front of them loomed a thick metal door, but it posed no real obstacle for them.

Sergei's sword, made of Adamantium alloy and enhanced with Angelic technology from Sky Blade, was sharp enough to slice through anything—even Wolverine's claws wouldn't stand a chance.

With a flash of silver, the heavy door was reduced to pieces.

Boom! Boom!

The metal blocks hit the ground with a loud crash, alerting the group of vampire warriors nearby.

The three walked out calmly as if they were taking a stroll in their own backyard, taking in the sight of the vast underground space that stretched before them.

The underground space stretched impressively, about twenty to thirty meters in height and several square meters in diameter. Its structure was unique and retro, with sharp, angular designs. Stone steps spiraled around twelve towering stone pillars, each one intricately carved with ancient symbols and text. The pillars were massive, and the room's design gave off a haunting, ceremonial atmosphere.

In the center of the room, a large platform stood, etched with complex patterns. Blood flowed through these carvings, bubbling like boiling water. The source of the blood came from the twelve stone pillars, where blood-red crosses hung from each. On each cross was a pure-blooded vampire, their pale bodies frail and weak. Their wrists had been slashed, and blood dripped down onto the platform, slowly following the carved lines to the pool below.

Hundreds of vampire warriors knelt in all directions, their faces reverent, as if awaiting the arrival of the great Blood God. When Sergei, Pietro, and Blade entered the chamber, hundreds of bloodthirsty eyes turned toward them. Any ordinary person would have been paralyzed with fear at the sight.

But Sergei and Pietro looked intrigued, while Blade remained expressionless, his long sword in hand, brimming with killing intent. The desire to fight could be felt in the air. Hundreds of vampires? To them, that only made things more interesting.

Yet, despite their intrusion, none of the vampires rose. They continued kneeling, murmuring something in an ancient, incomprehensible language. Even with their enhanced hearing, neither Sergei nor Pietro could make out the words. But through Sergei's observation ability, he could sense a subtle yet dense fluctuation filling the underground chamber.

"This is an ancient Vampire Clan ritual," Blade stated coldly, "using their magical language to summon the Blood God." Without hesitation, Blade charged forward to massacre the vampires.

However, Sergei and Pietro focused on the altar's blood pool. In unison, they both said, "We're too late. The ritual is complete."

Boom!

The moment the words left their mouths, time seemed to freeze in the underground space. Blade, mid-sprint, was suddenly immobilized. An ancient cry, echoing from the depths of history, filled the chamber. The blood pool erupted like a volcano, sending a torrent of blood into the air. A terrifying shockwave followed, sweeping through the entire space.

All the vampires, including Blade, were flung backward like cannonballs, slamming into the walls with a resounding thud. Only Sergei and Pietro remained standing, rooted to the spot like two immovable pillars. Their bodies bent slightly under the pressure, one hand raised in defense. Their hair and clothes whipped wildly in the intense gusts of the shockwave.

Meanwhile, the others remained embedded in the walls, unable to move, pinned by the overwhelming force of the blood god's awakening.

The shockwave persisted for over ten seconds before gradually subsiding. The sound of bodies hitting the ground echoed as vampires and Blade crashed down. However, being vampires, the fall caused no real damage. They immediately stood up, their eyes fixed on the blood pool. What they saw next caused a surge of excitement: a vampire was floating in the air, encased in a ball of blood formed from the blood pool itself. Every vampire's face lit up with fanatic devotion.

"The Blood God has come!"

"The great Blood God has arrived! The world will belong to our bloodline!"

Blade's mouth opened slightly, revealing his sharp fangs, now looking a bit feral. He could feel the overwhelming pressure radiating from the blood sphere—a powerful force that represented the ultimate superiority of the Blood God over all vampires. The purity of the Blood God's essence imposed an undeniable hierarchy; the lower bloodlines could never defy the highest, and the Blood God was undeniably at the top of this hierarchy. His arrival meant that the Vampire Clan now had a supreme deity.

As a half-vampire, Blade was affected too. Though he wouldn't lose the will to fight like the other vampires, his combat effectiveness would undoubtedly be compromised. This was a serious problem, and Blade gritted his teeth in frustration. Things were about to get troublesome.

Now, his only hope rested on the two mysterious figures beside him—Sergei and Pietro. Blade glanced at them, and as expected, they remained completely unfazed by the Blood God's arrival. Instead of fear, they showed curiosity, as if they were observing some rare phenomenon. That confidence—absolute and unshakable—radiated from both of them.

As Blade had guessed, the overwhelming aura radiating from the blood sphere had no effect on Sergei or Pietro. To them, it was no more than a gentle breeze. Their unflinching resolve had been forged in countless battles, honed under the brutal training of their leader, Leon. The pressure the Blood God exuded was nothing compared to what they had already endured.

"How do you feel?" Blade asked.

"A bit strong, but that's about it," Pietro replied with a shrug, twisting his neck as if getting ready for a warm-up. He was confident in his speed. If things got too intense, he could always flee. After all, he doubted the Blood God could catch him. And if that failed, he'd simply drag Leon over to deal with the deity.

Boom!

Sergei, now unable to suppress his desire to fight, stomped his foot into the ground, causing it to crack and split beneath him. Red flames erupted in all directions, engulfing him in a blazing inferno. Without hesitation, he launched himself toward the blood sphere, like a fiery comet aiming to obliterate the floating Blood God.

…

Boom!

A giant tiger made of blazing flames roared, ready to rip apart the mass of blood in front of it. The heat evaporated much of the blood, but just as the attack was about to land, a white-gloved hand emerged, grabbing the tip of Sergei's cross sword.

In an instant, the fiery tiger shattered into countless fireballs, scattering across the sky. The falling fireballs incinerated many vampires who had been too terrified to move, turning them to ash. The remaining flames scorched the ground, walls, and stone pillars, blackening everything they touched.

Blade's pupils shrank behind his sunglasses as he witnessed the scene. He felt a surge of shock—Sergei's strength was clearly something far beyond what he had imagined. Even with only a glimpse of Sergei's true power, Blade realized that he was no match.

What struck him most was that the cross sword, sharp enough to slice through the thick metal door of a vault, had been stopped by a single hand. Blade's simple understanding of the Blood God now gave way to a growing sense of dread.

Even Pietro was surprised.

As the flames dissipated, the blood mass began to shrink and slowly formed into a humanoid figure. Before them stood a strikingly beautiful man, pale-skinned with long black hair flowing down his back, dark red eyes, and dressed in a black tuxedo. He exuded an elegant, almost gentlemanly demeanor.

Pietro couldn't help but think that if the three young ones back home saw this, they'd be giddy with excitement. The Blood God looked cool, albeit a bit ridiculous.

Just as Pietro was about to make a sarcastic comment, the Blood God spoke, his voice soft yet commanding:

"I like your blood. I can make you mine."

But before he could finish, Sergei interrupted with a disdainful tone:

"Who told you to hold my sword like that? You wanna look cool, is that it?"

The Blood God was taken aback. "????"

He quickly understood Sergei's meaning, as the cross sword he had gripped suddenly began to glow a deep, blood-red hue, becoming as hot as molten lava. In an instant, the intense heat burned the Blood God's entire hand to ashes.

Before he could even react, his vision was filled with a blinding flash of the sword's edge, and the next thing he knew, the world around him seemed to fracture. The sword slashed through the air, and in a dazzling display of power, the Blood God was cut into hundreds of pieces, the scene looking as though reality itself had been sliced apart.

Having accomplished this, Sergei quickly took out a syringe and expertly injected it into a blood clot, instantly filling the vial with the crimson fluid. As he withdrew the syringe, he noticed something astonishing—the countless blood clots, previously scattered after dismemberment, began flowing back at an incredible speed, rapidly reforming into the Blood God.

The speed of the regeneration was nothing short of remarkable.

Sergei and Pietro exchanged glances, both equally stunned by the sight.

The Blood God's newly-formed scarlet eyes locked onto Sergei, who was descending toward the now-dry blood pool. His face grew cold with fury. Although he had the ability to regenerate, the process had been slowed, hampered by a strange force. That delay was a critical weakness.

Realizing his current vulnerability, the Blood God didn't hesitate. Cold and ruthless, he spread his arms and began chanting an ancient vampire incantation. Instantly, every pure-blooded vampire in the room felt an overwhelming sensation of doom. Their bodies froze, no longer under their control, as the crushing feeling of death washed over them.

Eyes widening in despair, each vampire suddenly exploded into a cloud of blood.

It was as if blood-red fireworks were blooming in every direction. The scattered blood gathered into a vortex, swirling toward the Blood God at a terrifying speed, empowering him with every drop.

Sergei and Pietro reacted instantly, attacking with seamless coordination.

Pietro activated his high-speed movement, dashing toward the Blood God faster than the eye could follow. The Blood God barely had time to register Pietro's approach before the speedster's fist, now infused with the dark sheen of Armament Haki, connected with his beautiful, pale face.

The force of the punch, easily two to three hundred tons, obliterated the Blood God's head on impact, sending his body flying backward like a cannonball.

Boom! Boom! Boom!

Several stone pillars were shattered as the Blood God's body careened into them, eventually smashing into the outer wall of the massive underground chamber. The impact created a giant crater, with cracks spreading out wildly as dust, smoke, and rubble filled the air.

Meanwhile, Sergei had already activated his strongest ability.

His eyes gleamed with a cold light as the cross sword in his hands darkened, imbued with the same Armament Haki. Gripping the sword with both hands, Sergei unleashed a sweeping strike that sent a terrifying column of red flames spiraling upward like a fire tornado.

The fiery vortex sucked in everything—air, rubble, even blood—and evaporated it instantly.

Blade, who had been caught off guard, nearly got pulled into the vortex himself. He quickly stabbed his sword into the ground for support, but even then, he skidded across the floor as the immense force tried to drag him in.

Through his sunglasses, Blade watched the red flame tornado with awe. The sight was more spectacular than anything he had ever seen, and yet his heart was filled with shock.

It was that powerful—so powerful that even someone like Blade couldn't help but feel admiration. Could such power really come from a human? Or were Sergei and Pietro something else entirely? Mutants, perhaps?

It was unbelievable.

Boom!

The fire tornado lasted only a short while before dissipating. The falling sparks in the air, combined with Sergei standing on the altar of the dry blood pool, made him look like someone straight out of myth—like a great hero.

Sergei slowly stood up, glancing briefly at Blade before turning his gaze in the direction of the Blood God.

At that moment, Pietro descended from mid-air, landing with ease. Despite having been at the center of the fiery vortex, he was completely unharmed.

Still, Pietro voiced his irritation to Sergei:

"Hey, you nearly burned the clothes Natasha bought for me." He gestured to his jacket. "This is the most popular new jacket this year!"

Sergei responded with a hint of sarcasm, "Can I buy you a drink when we get back?"

"Just don't let Wanda find out," Pietro muttered, clearly resigned. "She'd definitely give us a beating."

Sergei rolled his eyes in mock disdain. This guy is Wanda's brother, yet he acts like he has no dignity at all. Then again, Sergei wasn't much better when it came to Wanda. No matter how much she scolded him, he could only shrug it off, knowing full well he wouldn't dare talk back to her.

…

"Your blasphemy annoys me."

As the two talked, a gloomy voice floated over. Sergei and Pietro looked up to see the smoke and dust clearing at the ruins of the collapsed wall. In the massive depression, the Blood God stood tall.

Stepping over the rubble, half of his shattered head had already healed, while the other half remained gruesomely exposed, with blood and tissue squirming as it rapidly regenerated—a sight enough to make anyone sick.

But Sergei and Pietro only frowned slightly. Despite the grotesque display, they weren't children sheltered from the horrors of the world. They'd faced countless bloody battles.

They had endured inhuman pain and torture since childhood. This level of gore meant little to them.

Pietro raised an eyebrow at the Blood God. "That self-healing is impressive. Even after losing your head, you bounce right back."

The Blood God's voice dripped with arrogance. "Your strength is surprising, but it's a pity..."

As he spoke, his head finished regenerating. His dark red eyes gleamed with cold calculation. Though arrogant, he wasn't a fool. The brief skirmish revealed that these two humans were as strong as monsters.

Fighting them head-on might mean losing, especially in his current weakened state. He had hoped to sacrifice his followers for strength, but Sergei and Pietro reacted too quickly, evaporating the blood of hundreds of vampires.

An inexplicable fluctuation spread through the space, triggering an immediate alarm for Sergei and Pietro.

Pietro's expression darkened as he moved to strike, but he suddenly felt weakness creeping in. His blood seemed to rebel, wanting to escape his body.

Not just him—Sergei and Blade were affected too.

"What... is this?" Sergei frowned as his blood boiled uncontrollably. With his strength and deep knowledge of body control, he could keep it in check. But he could still feel the blood pushing against his veins like sharp thorns.

Blade's condition was far worse. Blood particles seeped through his skin, drifting toward the Blood God in a grotesque display. His extreme weakness forced him to kneel, using his sword to stay upright.

He tried to rise, but the pain from his rupturing blood vessels and skin left him helpless.

"This is blood magic. I will drain your blood and return to power."

The Blood God spread his arms, his dark laughter echoing as a massive blood-red magic pattern formed across the ground. But despite the imminent danger, neither Sergei nor Pietro showed any signs of panic.

Especially Sergei. He twisted his neck, his face expressionless and his will like steel, ignoring the intense pain as his blood strained against his veins. Clutching the cross sword, he raised it slowly. His hands gripped the hilt as he positioned the sword diagonally above his shoulders, his stance exuding near-perfection. A searing, fiery energy burst forth from him.

He was like a volcano on the verge of eruption, ready to unleash his power.

Pietro, recognizing Sergei's posture, knew exactly what was coming: Sergei was about to enter his overload state. This technique rapidly absorbed oxygen and burned blood, creating an explosive surge of power. Sergei had developed this secret ability himself, and even their boss, Leon, had been impressed by it.

But the overload state came with a cost. A massive amount of blood would evaporate, amplifying Sergei's strength for a short time. Win or lose, once he exited the overload, he'd be left severely weakened. If it weren't for his exceptional physical condition and his heart's ability to pump blood rapidly, he might have died the first time he tried it.

Sergei's tremendous energy temporarily disrupted the Blood God's blood magic. The overwhelming pressure emanating from Sergei's body bore down on everything, making both the Blood God and Blade feel sluggish, as if their bodies were trapped in quicksand.

"So this is his real power." Blade, still on his knees, finally showed emotion. Behind his sunglasses, his eyes locked onto Sergei, who stood atop the dry blood pool altar, blazing like an inferno. Flames wreathed his body, and even the ground beneath him turned black as if scorched.

Blade had known Sergei was powerful, but witnessing it now left him in awe. Sergei was like a volcano erupting, radiating heat so intense that even thousands of square meters away, Blade felt as though his own body was melting. He was pinned down by the sheer force of it and could hardly move.

The Blood God, however, was feeling the full brunt of Sergei's power. Panic set in. His skin had already begun to melt, and only his self-healing abilities kept him from turning into a puddle of blood.

"This can't be!" the Blood God roared in disbelief. "How can a mere human possess such power? You are nothing but creatures meant to take care of my desire for blood You all are slaves!"

Desperate, the Blood God performed an intricate hand gesture and chanted ancient blood magic, invoking forbidden spells.

As he spoke, the entire underground chamber seemed to be engulfed in a terrifying red haze. The world felt inverted, chaotic, with all light drained from it. Everything was dim and colorless—except for Sergei. In this darkened space, he was the only source of light.

Bright and burning, like a star growing hotter and hotter.

"Bullshit, turn to ashes!"

Sergei's eyes glowed crimson as black lightning crackled from his sword, veins bulging on his forehead. With a final, powerful motion, he swung his sword forward.

Boom!

The space lit up as if it were day. A terrifying, red flame surged, transforming into a roaring fire dragon that charged at the Blood God. Under the shocked gaze of Blade and the disbelieving, desperate eyes of the Blood God, the fiery dragon completely engulfed him.

Boom!

The entire underground chamber was swept by flames.

…

Under the gorgeous stars, on the bustling streets of New York City, a swift figure swung gracefully between the high-rise buildings.

Soon, the figure reached the source of his unease: a building. With a sharp tug on his web, Peter Parker propelled himself to the top floor of a building across the street. His spider mask lifted, revealing a frown on his face.

Standing at the edge of the rooftop, Peter could feel the unsettling vibrations below.

"What's going on with this building?" he muttered, eyes narrowing as he scanned the scene. His enhanced vision allowed him to see the chaotic mess in the ground-floor lobby. Broken glass littered the area, alongside piles of unknown ash and scattered weapons.

His spider-sense blared incessantly, making his head throb with alarm. He wanted to investigate, but his instincts screamed at him to stay put. The ground trembled more violently, as if something beneath the building was about to break free.

As Peter hesitated, he suddenly gasped, "Oh no—"

Boom!!

Peter's eyes widened as a massive explosion rocked the building. The first floor erupted in a terrifying wave of red flames, like a volcanic eruption, consuming everything in sight.

The explosion shattered every window, sending glass shards raining down from the sky.

The sheer force and heat of the blast terrified Peter. He knew that if he had gone in, he would have been reduced to ash.

"Gas explosion? Or something more?" Peter thought, bewildered. "One thing's for sure: the gas pipeline must've been ignited."

Suddenly, Peter's spider-sense flared again. His eyes darted to three figures emerging from the inferno at incredible speed. Despite his reflexes, he could only make out blurry shapes.

Those figures were none other than Sergei, Pietro, and Blade. But Sergei and Blade were in rough shape. Sergei was in a weakened state after an overloaded attack, and Blade had barely escaped the Blood God's magic, nearly getting incinerated by Sergei's explosive move.

Fortunately, Pietro used his high-speed movement ability to drag the two of them down the stairs. Even so, the intense heat was unforgiving to Blade's half-vampire physiology, leaving burn marks on his dark skin.

Supporting the two half-conscious men, Pietro felt helpless.

'The Blood God isn't that hard to deal with,' Pietro thought, 'but, as Wanda said, magic is completely unreasonable. The Blood God's super self-healing ability makes him tough, but it's the blood magic that's the real problem. Controlling someone else's blood? That's just unfair.'

He knew things wouldn't spiral out of control, though. Even if Sergei hadn't handled it, Pietro was confident they'd find a way. Everyone had their trump cards.

"Forget it, let's head back. At least the car's parked far away—losing a ride would've been a huge loss," Pietro muttered, lugging the two toward their parking spot. But before leaving, he glanced at the top of the building across the street.

That single glance sent a jolt of panic through the little spider perched on the rooftop.

'Damn it, he spotted me?' Peter thought, startled.

"He did."

The soft, sweet female voice caught Peter off guard. He spun around quickly, only to see a beautiful girl standing behind him. She wore a gray sweatshirt and jeans, her beauty and striking presence making an immediate impression on Peter.

When Peter saw the girl looking at him with her beautiful, curious eyes, he quickly stretched out his hand to greet her.

"Hey, hello, I'm your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man."

"Really? My neighbors are usually rich, and you don't look like that," she teased, a playful smile on her face.

Peter wasn't offended. Instead, he replied tentatively, "Hey, do you know those guys down there?"

"I do. One is my twin brother, the other's family, and the cool guy? No clue, but I think he's Blade."

"Blade? Cool." Peter suddenly felt his own nickname paled in comparison.

"So, do you know what's going on in that building?" he asked.

"Pretty much. There's a summoning ritual happening underneath. Its being done by a certain blood tribe. Pietro, Sergei, and Blade should be handling it," the girl said, walking up beside Peter. She glanced down at the wrecked first floor of the building, shaking her head. She could sense Sergei's weakened state and knew what he had gone through.

"Blood Tribe? Blood God? Is that what I'm thinking?" Peter asked, his eyes wide.

"Sounds about right."

"Damn. Are there blood-sucking creatures in New York? That's terrifying! I hope they're not interested in Spider-Man blood," Peter said, feeling his worldview shift. He'd always thought vampires were just a thing on TV, but now, knowing they might be roaming his city, it made his skin crawl. The thought of a Blood God made it even worse—he imagined a massive, ferocious bat with blood-red eyes and sharp fangs.

"Trust me, your blood would be very appealing to them," she said, half-jokingly.

Peter groaned. "Don't say that, now I'm definitely having nightmares." He covered his head with his hands, looking like he was about to break down, which made the girl laugh sweetly.

"Well, it was nice to meet you, my friendly neighborhood Spider-Man. Looking forward to our next encounter," she said, waving as she turned to leave. Peter watched in awe as she casually leaped off the rooftop.

Standing alone, Peter crossed his arms, feeling a chill under the moonlight. He realized this situation was beyond his control, so he hurriedly swung away into the night.

…

"Dammit, what are these people up to?"

Late at night, the extremely busy Director of S.H.I.E.L.D., Nick Fury, arrived at the Vampire Clan's building. The area had already been cordoned off by S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, and even the New York police had been dismissed. What had really caught Fury's attention was the energy fluctuation detected at S.H.I.E.L.D.'s base. A strong one. It was unlike anything that they had ever seen.

It wasn't hard to tell that someone was clearly causing trouble in New York again.

When the mission report came in, Fury couldn't sit still. He rushed to the scene, only to find the first floor completely scorched, with all the clues swallowed up by the flames. He cursed under his breath.

But when he followed the agents down a hundred meters below ground, the sight made his eyelid twitch. It looked like a volcanic layer—the entire underground space, marked as "117," had been melted by extreme heat. Broken stone pillars, collapsed walls, and strange, indecipherable symbols carved into the blood-stained altar remained.

Fury's eyes were drawn to the platform in the center, and he quickly figured out what it was. His suspicions were confirmed when an agent from the tech department came over with a tablet after scanning the area.

"According to the database, these text imprints match ancient patterns used by the Vampire clan," the agent said.

"So, what was done here?" Fury asked, frowning.

"It seems to have been an altar used to summon some kind of great being."

Fury rubbed his temples, feeling a headache coming on. This building was clearly the core of the Vampire clan's operations, their base camp. Something went wrong during the summoning, leading to a fight with another group. Judging by the scene, all the vampires and whatever they summoned had been wiped out.

For the first time, Fury thought about the mysterious organization he had been tracking, the one that always eluded him.

"So, what about the surveillance?"

Fury asked without much expectation.

As he suspected, the agent replied without hesitation, "The footage from today's surveillance was deleted. We tried to recover it, but had no luck." Whoever was behind it had covered their tracks perfectly, leaving no clues.

Fury nodded, acknowledged the agent, and returned to the building's first floor. He lit a cigarette, exhaled a puff of smoke, and gazed up at the moon, which was half-obscured by dark clouds.

His mind wandered as he stared at the dim crescent, imagining shadowy figures in black sweatshirts and hoods, their faces hidden, powerful and unfathomable.

Ever since Fury became aware of this mysterious force, he'd used S.H.I.E.L.D.'s resources to investigate unsolved cases that had piled up over the years. Every time he dug deeper, it was like trying to follow a thread hidden in thick fog. No matter how hard he tried to unravel it, the end always eluded him.

The world was vast, and even with S.H.I.E.L.D.'s immense power, they couldn't control everything. And tracking down this force, one that could easily tamper with surveillance and manipulate military satellites, was even more challenging.

One clue kept nagging at him—Natasha Romanoff.

Specifically, a Russian city Barton had traveled to.

Initial analysis from S.H.I.E.L.D. suggested the base of this mysterious group might be in Russia. Agents were sent, but they returned empty-handed. It was as if this organization was nothing more than a mirage—a phantom, elusive and untouchable.

Fury didn't know their numbers, their leader, their race, or their purpose. The only thing S.H.I.E.L.D. knew was that this group had once helped the Mutant Academy, obliterated Stryker's base in a blitz, and supported a group of mutants. Could they be mutants themselves?

Now, they had appeared in New York and Texas. Every group, every organization had a purpose, something that could be traced. But this group defied logic. Their actions were erratic, lacking any clear pattern or motive.

And that terrified Fury. He had even reached out to Professor Charles for help, only to be flatly refused, despite offering the Mutant Academy favorable terms. For Charles to react that way, it meant he had reservations. Perhaps this was a power even he feared.

The one slight comfort for Fury was that, so far, this mysterious group hadn't caused any overt damage to the world's order. Whenever they appeared, it was usually linked to events beyond ordinary comprehension.

As Fury reflected on the events in the building that night, a vague realization came to him. It was as if the pieces were finally aligning, bringing him closer to understanding those elusive figures he had been tracking. His one good eye glinted with determination, just as Agent Hill's voice crackled in his earpiece.

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

"Tony's got a situation," she said.

"I'm listening," Fury replied.

"Obadiah, one of the Stark Industries directors, made a move. Thirty minutes ago, he left his villa and went to Hell's Kitchen—to meet with Kingpin at his building. Also, Obadiah's been secretly cultivating an armed force. His troops have entered New York."

"Kingpin?" Fury raised an eyebrow. "I see. Keep a close eye on things, and send Coulson to bolster our presence. His mission isn't just to watch Tony Stark."

"Understood."

The communication cut off, and Fury took another drag of his cigarette.

He wasn't surprised by Obadiah’s actions. Tony's decision to shut down Stark Industries' Weapons Division had caused massive turmoil within the company. Stock prices had been plummeting, and it was no shock that Obadiah, desperate to seize control of the Stark Industries, would make such moves.

What did surprise Fury was that a billionaire from the upper echelons of society would stoop so low as to meet with a criminal like Kingpin. Apparently, a heavily armed elite squad wasn't enough to settle his nerves—he needed outside help.

Fury knew better than to underestimate Kingpin's power. As one of New York's most influential underworld leaders, he was always on S.H.I.E.L.D.'s radar. His resources and influence could be a real threat, even to someone like Tony Stark.

But this new development gave Fury hope. If Kingpin was involved, Tony might face serious trouble, and in that chaos, Fury could find a chance to uncover the tip of the iceberg—the link to the mysterious force he'd been chasing.

…

Sergei and Pietro returned to the manor, only to face Wanda's inevitable criticism.

Seeing Sergei sprawled on the sofa, looking utterly defeated, Wanda's anger flared. "You two idiots! You both said you will not be underestimating the magic side of the world, yet here you are, having suffered a loss."

In Wanda's eyes, they had indeed lost. Despite defeating the Blood God, Sergei and Pietro had left themselves in a vulnerable state, which was unacceptable by the standards of their family. Leon never cared for honor in battle—his goal was to win without taking any unnecessary risks. What Sergei and Pietro had done ran completely counter to that philosophy, and they deserved to be chastised for it.

Pietro casually grabbed two glasses of juice from the fridge, handed one to Wanda, and drank the other himself. He made no effort to offer Sergei a drink. Sergei, already enduring Wanda's verbal barrage, looked incredulous. "What about me?" he shouted at Pietro.

Pietro simply shrugged with a "take it yourself" expression, clearly enjoying the moment. He wasn't feeling guilty, as he considered himself in the clear, having just been along for the ride.

Wanda, however, wasn't about to let him off so easily. She turned her attention to Pietro. "And what about you? What were you doing, huh?" she demanded, her tone sharp.

Pietro took a confident sip of his juice. "I saved them."

Wanda wasn't impressed. "That's no excuse to cover up your mistake. When that witch was casting blood magic, you had plenty of time to use your high-speed movement and interrupt her. But instead, you just stood there and watched! This is not what Leon taught you."

Pietro was momentarily lost for words. Wanda pressed on, not holding back. "I can't believe how reckless you both were. We must give it our all in any battle, and our safety must always come first."

Sergei and Pietro were now reduced to silence, unable to argue back after Wanda's fiery reprimand.

Pushkin and Alina sat quietly to the side, seemingly focused on the TV, but in reality, they were holding their little ones and eavesdropping on the conversation. In the end, Wanda handed down her harsh sentence for Sergei and Pietro's disobedience.

"You'll both undergo three months of training. Leon will personally oversee it. It'll be pure hell waiting for you, so congratulations. Try not to die," she declared.

"What?!" Both Pietro and Sergei blurted out. Sergei, who had been lounging lazily, suddenly sat up, his face stricken as if he'd been sentenced to hell.

The punishment was too severe. Training under Leon was nothing short of brutal. He was known for beating them senseless with iron fists, then forcing them to drink nutrient solutions to recover, only to do it all over again the next day. Three months of that, and they'd be lucky to survive without shedding their skin.

But Wanda had already shifted into a cold, resolute mode, completely ignoring their pitiful looks. It was clear she had no intention of changing her mind. Defeated, both of them slumped back onto the sofa, looking as if all their dreams had been crushed. They seemed okay on the surface, but inside, they were already dead.

Wanda's lips curved into a slight smile. Just then, footsteps were heard outside the door as Leon and Natasha entered. The kids cheered and rushed to greet them.

"Leon! Natasha!"

"Alright, it's time for our little princesses to head to bed," Leon announced.

"Aww, do we have to? Can't we stay up a little longer?" one of them pleaded.

"Trust me, it's non-negotiable," Natasha responded with a smile.

"Okay..." The three little ones sighed but obediently walked hand in hand toward their room upstairs. Pushkin followed, being the good boy he was, under Natasha's watchful eye.

Leon settled onto the sofa, glancing knowingly at Sergei and Pietro. "Hmm, looks like you two are out of favor?"

The pair of them, who felt utterly defeated, looked like they were about to cry. Pietro, clinging to a shred of hope, asked, "Wanda said three months…?"

"Yes, that's right," Leon confirmed, crushing any last vestige of hope.

Pietro gave up entirely, shutting his eyes and sinking into the sofa, resigned to his fate. Their expressions were so comically despairing that Leon, Wanda, and Natasha couldn't help but laugh.

Then Leon dropped the real bombshell. "Well, it's not just you two. Everyone's entering a training period for three months to half a year."

The laughter died down as reality set in. Once everyone was back together, the real challenge would begin.

"Well, I don't know why, but I feel much better now," Pietro said weakly as he opened his eyes.

Sergei, puzzled, asked, "Why so sudden?"

Leon smiled softly. "Because I want to teach you something new."

"Something new?" Sergei asked.

"Yes," Leon continued. "Your Observation Haki and Armament Haki have been cultivated to a considerable level, but you're still just short of reaching the high level. None of you have awakened Conqueror's Haki yet. I plan to use these three months to stimulate that awakening."

"Didn't you say that only one in eight million people can awaken Conqueror's Haki?" Sergei asked, still confused.

Leon nodded. "That's true. I don't fully know how to awaken Conqueror's Haki myself. Except for me, no one—whether it be you, Pietro, or anyone else—has successfully awakened it. People often think it means they don't have the conditions for it."

He paused, then added, "Conqueror's Haki is innate. It can't be acquired or inherited from previous generations; it's determined by fate."

Taking a sip of the juice Natasha had poured for him, Leon smiled confidently at the curious faces around him. "But I've found a way to help you awaken it."

Although they didn't fully understand why Leon was so confident, both Sergei and Wanda were excited. After all, Conqueror's Haki is incredibly powerful, and not everyone has the potential to handle it.

"Take tonight, for example," Leon explained. "If Sergei and Pietro had Conqueror's Haki when facing the Blood God, he wouldn't have had a chance to release his blood magic. Conqueror's Haki shocks the spirit and soul directly—it can't be resisted by normal means."

Leon's confidence came from one simple reason. He had Sky Blade.

With its calculation matrix mode, he completely analyzed the core of his Conqueror's Haki.

…

It can be said that Sky Blade's analysis has simplified the process of awakening Conqueror's Haki. Originally an innate aptitude, Sky Blade uses the advanced technology of the angelic civilization to awaken it in a scientific way. Not only that, Leon provided the necessary data and integrated the "Navy Six Styles" from the Marines to enhance Sky Blade's capabilities in creating new skills.

This is why Leon decided to gather everyone for three months of intense training. With Sky Blade, a celestial computer, many complex things have become much simpler. Sky Blade has even analyzed magic and mirror spells that the Supreme Sorcerer once used. This means it can simplify many of Leon's ideas, absorb other systems, and create new techniques for Leon and his group to use.

Signing up for the Sky Blade battleship turned out to be an invaluable investment for Leon. Although the others may not fully understand its power, they know that these three months of training will significantly boost their strength.

Pietro and Sergei, who were initially hesitant, now felt eager to begin. Wanda's mention of the training was taken lightly at first, but in reality, both Pietro and Sergei had a deep obsession with gaining strength after enduring dark times. They wouldn't miss any opportunity to grow stronger.

In their family, competition is a natural byproduct of their shared journey. Despite their differences in personality, they've all risen from ordinary individuals to powerful beings. While Leon has played a role as a catalyst, they would not have persevered without their own inner strength and determination.

The training they undergo is grueling, both physically and mentally, and most people wouldn't be able to endure it. But having survived it, they've developed a shared spirit of perseverance that drives them to compete and grow stronger together. They don't want to be weaker than their comrades, and they strive to be reliable partners on the battlefield, ensuring that no one has to sacrifice due to their weakness.

Pietro, eager to start, asked enthusiastically, "When will Sumarokov and Gennady be finished?"

"It's almost time. They're different from you; they haven't found any clues yet. They'll gather tomorrow or the day after, but we still need to wait for Natasha to finish."

"Isn't Natasha going to take another three months?" Pietro asked, sounding a little disappointed. Waiting three more months seemed like an eternity.

Natasha's red lips curled into a sly, heart-stirring smile. She said softly, "The agreement was for me to resist the extraordinary within three months. But who says we can't shorten that time?"

Pietro and Sergei both shuddered at Natasha's tone, despite her gentle expression. After all the time they'd spent together, they knew too well what her different expressions and tones meant.

How would she shorten the time? Of course, it meant a Great Purge.

New York was about to go through a terrible period of turmoil, and Pietro and Sergei could only pray for whoever was unlucky enough to get in the way.

"Go to bed."

Without hesitation, Pietro and Sergei bolted, not wanting to get caught up in any extra work. Natasha's half-smiling expression as she watched them flee told Leon that these two wouldn't be getting off easily in the future.

When the two had escaped, Natasha shifted her focus to Leon and Wanda. Her bright, captivating eyes locked onto Leon's, emotions subtly flickering behind them.

Leon sighed in defeat. "Sister, you're too good at this," he muttered, unable to resist her charms. He immediately gave in, adopting a playful stance. "Fine, I'm up for a bit of exercise."

"Then I'll join in too. Let's make a big deal out of it," Natasha replied with a smirk.

"Who's our first target?" Leon asked.

"Kingpin," Natasha said, drawing out the name.

Hell's Kitchen, the darkest and most crime-ridden corner of New York, was where their target resided. Gangs, addicts, and criminals crowded the dirty, smelly streets. Here, every minute someone could die, while others came to unleash their darkest desires.

Yet, amidst this chaos stood a gleaming building—the Chrysler Building—a symbol of luxury and power. While the streets of Hell's Kitchen were filled with filth and violence, this tall, shining structure remained untouched.

This contrast between the grime and the luxury was the defining feature of Hell's Kitchen.

And despite the chaos around it, no one dared to challenge the building owner's reign over the area.

His building stood untouchable, and so did his empire. For now.

And the building belongs to Kingpin, the world-class crime boss and underground emperor of New York's underworld. If the New York Police Department and the government are the rulers of the day, then Kingpin reigns over the night.

But tonight, the underworld emperor was meeting with a figure of considerable status.

In Kingpin's grand and spacious office, the floor was covered in rich red carpet, and expensive artwork hung from the ceiling. The crystal chandelier illuminated the room, making it seem even more extravagant. The walls were lined with paintings, wine racks, and other luxurious decorations—a display of ultimate opulence.

Standing near the floor-to-ceiling windows was Kingpin himself, a two-meter-tall, bald, and heavily built man dressed in a pristine white suit. A ring glittered on his large, thick fingers as he sat in a chair, surveying the room. Across from him sat another large man, this one in a black suit—Obadiah Stane.

Both men were accompanied by their respective bodyguards, standing not far away, silently watching each other with expressions of cold caution.

While both men were similar in appearance—bald and heavyset—their statuses were worlds apart. Kingpin might be incredibly wealthy, but his identity was still tied to crime. In contrast, Obadiah Stane was an upper-class American billionaire, a position far above that of any gangster.

Normally, a man of Obadiah's status wouldn't be caught interacting with someone like Kingpin. But now, he had something urgent to discuss, which was why he found himself sitting across the table from the notorious crime lord.

On the glass table between them was a bottle of rare, expensive wine that Obadiah had brought as a gesture of goodwill. With a fake smile, he opened the bottle and poured a glass for both Kingpin and himself.

…

The adult world is always driven by interests, and Obadiah understands this better than most. From the beginning, his view of Kingpin hasn't changed—no matter how wealthy or well-decorated he may be, Kingpin will never belong on the same stage as the true elite. This arrogance is deeply ingrained in Obadiah.

Yet, there are moments when Obadiah reins in this arrogance, presenting himself with warmth and equality. But once Kingpin's usefulness fades, that arrogance will resurface. Right now, Obadiah is still in the stage of restraint, recognizing that Kingpin still holds value.

Kingpin is no fool—he knows this dynamic well. What sets him apart from Obadiah is his ability to play along and even tolerate the act. He knows that Obadiah doesn't want him to truly join the ranks of the elite, but the opportunities and interests linked to Obadiah are worth enduring the pretense.

And so, the two hypocritical men began their dance of negotiation and testing.

"Mr. Obadiah, as a major shareholder of a world-class military industrial group, it's an honor to meet such a distinguished figure," Kingpin said.

"Even big figures need friends. I'm sure we'll become good friends," Obadiah replied.

They clinked glasses. After taking a polite sip, Kingpin, with just the right amount of surprise, said, "The richness of this whiskey is truly incredible."

"Whiskey, British Islay, limited edition—valued at six million U.S. dollars," Obadiah remarked nonchalantly, flexing his connections.

Kingpin understood the underlying message. Smiling, he added, "If I get to drink this, I believe I'll sleep well tonight."

With a snap of Kingpin's fingers, a man who resembled a butler appeared, carrying an elegant tray. Kingpin picked up a gold-foil cigar from the tray and handed it to Obadiah.

Obadiah took it, a fleeting trace of disdain crossing his eyes before he smiled. "Gurkha Cigars—each priced at 1.36 million U.S. dollars. Hand-rolled from the finest Himalayan tobacco, wrapped in gold foil, and adorned with a 5-carat diamond label, then infused with Remy Martin's Louis XIII Black Pearl."

"During production, all the craftsmen are required to work isolated from the world to avoid distractions, ensuring flawless quality," Fisk said with a touch of pride.

Obadiah, appearing mildly impressed, waited patiently as the attendant lit the cigar's tobacco stems for him. Normally, cigars require the cap to be cut off, but this one was a luxury exception, skipping that step entirely. Once the tobacco stems were properly burnt, Obadiah blew gently on it, then took a slow drag, exhaling with satisfaction.

"Perfect," he murmured, clearly enjoying the experience.

Fisk laughed heartily. He followed the same ritual, though his demeanor was far less refined than Obadiah's upper-class presentation. With his scarf and round hat, Fisk embodied the image of a gangster boss—one whose power was built in the shadows. The two men puffed on their cigars in silence, though both knew exactly what was going on beneath the surface.

This exchange, outwardly friendly, was a strategic game. Obadiah had initially gained the upper hand, steering the conversation with authority. But Fisk, never one to back down, subtly played his own move, rebalancing their power dynamic. It was a careful dance of dominance.

After this brief but tense standoff, the two seemed to reach a silent understanding. They had sized each other up, and it was clear that neither was a fool. With that assessment made, Obadiah decided to cut to the chase.

Removing the cigar from his mouth, he blew out a plume of smoke and flicked the ash off, speaking calmly, "Mr. Fisk, you know my position, and I know yours. I think we share some common ground."

"I'm just not sure if you're interested in Stark Industries' weapons."

Fisk didn't rush to respond, instead offering a hypocritical line, "What did you say? I'm a legitimate businessman."

Obadiah wasn't swayed by the pretense and simply waited in silence for Fisk's real response. After a moment, Fisk leaned forward slightly, his gaze sharp, "I want to earn your friendship, Mr. Obadiah."

"Friendship?" Obadiah leaned back in his chair, expression unreadable.

"Who wouldn't want to be your friend, Mr. Obadiah?" Fisk flattered him, before pivoting to a seemingly unrelated topic. "You might also be aware that the mayor of New York will be leaving office in four years."

Obadiah's eyes narrowed slightly at the statement. "Are you planning to run for mayor of New York City?" he asked, taken aback by Fisk's boldness.

The idea stirred something in Obadiah. The notion of a crime lord like Fisk running for office, even in a country as unpredictable as the United States, was almost too outrageous to believe.

But when you think about it, it's almost not impossible. Why?

Because aside from his identity as the mafia emperor, Kingpin is publicly known as a billionaire and philanthropist. Every year, Kingpin donates large sums to charity, making frequent appearances on the news and TV. Many New Yorkers know him as a great humanitarian.

If he runs for office, his philanthropic image will definitely be heavily promoted. Generally speaking, there are two processes for electing a mayor: one is a popular election, and the other is an appointment by the municipal committee.

A popularly elected mayor holds significant power, with executive authority to appoint or remove the city cabinet and the power to veto legislation. On the other hand, an appointed mayor, often referred to as a city manager, is accountable to the committee and lacks those same executive powers, including veto authority.

If Kingpin were to be elected mayor, his political power might be limited. However, if he were to combine his legitimate authority with his underground influence, he could effectively control both the legal and criminal elements of the city.

When Kingpin mentioned this plan, it was clear he needed the support of someone at Obadiah's level and the backing of the powerful interests behind him. The fact that Kingpin openly shared this idea meant he wasn't afraid of it being leaked.

At that moment, Obadiah realized he had severely underestimated the man sitting in front of him.

…

Faced with Obadiah's scrutiny, Kingpin calmly puffed on his cigar. The two locked eyes for a moment before Obadiah broke into a broad smile. "I believe there will be many people supporting you when the time comes."

"You have done a lot of charity work, and your efforts will surely be rewarded."

This statement carried a double meaning.

A grin spread across Kingpin's plump face. "I believe that too."

With the first round of their test complete, Kingpin made his intentions clear, and Obadiah gave his answer. The conversation moved to the next phase.

"I imagine the playboy's recklessness has caused Mr. Stane some trouble. Is there anything I can do for you?"

"I want him dead, but I need a certain skill he possesses first."

Obadiah paused, holding his cigar, his tone unfiltered, laced with cold intent.

Kingpin was unsurprised and gave a slight nod. "What do you need from me?"

"I know Mr. Fisk has an extraordinary team, and I could use their assistance," Obadiah said with a smile.

Kingpin nodded again. "It took considerable effort to bring them together."

"Of course, I never disappoint my friends." Obadiah emphasized the word "friends," and Kingpin's lips curled into a slight smile. He extended his hand.

Without hesitation, Obadiah shook it.

The handshake symbolized the beginning of their fragile alliance, though both understood it was tenuous at best.

"Can I meet them? I'm curious about such people."

"Of course."

Kingpin never disappointed his "partners." He motioned to a subordinate in the distance, who immediately nodded and spoke into his communicator. Moments later, there was a knock at the office door.

The guard at the door opened it, revealing a group of figures, each with distinct shapes and sizes—men and women, some tall, some short. Among them were two women and three men. One of the men was massive, clad in heavy metal armor with a helmet shaped like a rhino's horn, his presence imposing.

"Bullseye, Lady Bullseye, Typhoid Mary, Sandman, Rhino," Kingpin introduced briefly.

Bullseye and Lady Bullseye were both lethal assassins, but far beyond ordinary in strength. Bullseye had a natural throwing ability, capable of turning anything in his hand into a deadly projectile. He could slit a person's throat with a playing card, impale a skull with a spit tooth, or kill a target from a hundred meters away using a toothpick.

Lady Bullseye, with her smoke-creating skills, was a master fighter, weapon specialist, with superhuman agility, and expertise in stealth.

Typhoid Mary had abilities far beyond the physical: creating psychic shields, launching devastating energy blasts, flying, and possessing strong telepathy. She could implant suggestions and fantasies into minds, a crazy but beautiful woman with multiple personalities.

Sandman, as his name implied, could turn his body into sand, manipulating the surrounding environment to trigger natural disaster-level events like sandstorms.

The Rhino had immense strength, durability, and impact power, reinforced by his specially designed rhino armor, making him a destructive force on the battlefield.

Kingpin summarized the abilities of his powerful subordinates quickly, without revealing too much. But even the surface-level details were enough to please Obadiah. He raised his glass, clinking it with Kingpin's, satisfaction clear on his face. After taking a sip, he laughed deeply. "I like them. If they can handle this for me, I believe the future is ours."

Kingpin was about to agree when a sudden voice interrupted him.

"What a delightful evening. Sorry to interrupt your little meeting."

The slightly raspy yet charming voice cut through the room, causing everyone's expressions to change immediately. Bodyguards from both sides drew their guns and rushed to the edges of the room, surrounding Obadiah and Kingpin. Some even positioned themselves by the windows, ensuring no one could snipe from afar.

The professionalism of the bodyguards was evident.

Obadiah and Kingpin didn't panic. They exchanged frowns, clearly understanding that this wasn't an ambush from one another. Typhoid Mary and the others turned their focus to the door. On the other side, the sound of crisp footsteps grew louder and clearer.

As the bodyguards trained their weapons on the door, there was a polite knock.

Knock, knock, knock!

And then a soft click. The door opened, and two figures stepped inside.

A man stood in the doorway, dressed casually but with style. He wore an orange T-shirt paired with black sports shorts, a black, gray, and white plaid shirt jacket, and white sneakers. His slightly curly burgundy hair framed his figure perfectly, highlighting his refined and striking appearance.

The man next to him was equally impressive, with a handsome, sharp face and tousled black hair. He had on a white undershirt beneath a gray, lightweight jacket, blue jeans, and dark brown shoes, exuding a carefree yet polished charm. Together, their striking looks and presence demanded attention, but what stood out even more was the place where they had appeared.

Kingpin and Obadiah sat in chairs near the floor-to-ceiling windows, surrounded by bodyguards. Through the gaps in the crowd, they could see the fallen bodies of Kingpin's men behind the man and woman at the door. Kingpin's expression darkened.

His office was on the top floor of the building, and his men were stationed throughout the entire structure. The fact that these two had made it here without raising alarms meant they had been dealt with quietly. These two were no ordinary intruders.

Are they here for me? Or for Obadiah? Kingpin's mind raced.

Obadiah, too, was sizing up the situation. He briefly glanced at Kingpin but chose to remain silent, letting the moment unfold.

Typhoid Mary, however, had a different reaction. A twisted, ferocious grin spread across her face. She was captivated by the two newcomers.

"So perfect. I like you," she purred, her voice dripping with sadistic glee. "I want to carve beautiful, bloody marks into your skin. The beauty of your torn flesh would almost make me orgasm." Typhoid Mary practically moaned, her eyes wild with excitement.

…

Typhoid Mary had a striking, almost unnerving presence. Standing at 1.78 meters tall, she had a fit, voluptuous figure with pale skin and a rosy complexion. She wore black jeans secured by a brown belt, though her left leg's jean was torn open up to the thigh, revealing torn fishnet stockings underneath. Her upper body was clad in a white cropped top that revealed just enough to draw attention, and over it, she wore a black leather jacket. A circular black tattoo on her exposed abdomen added a touch of edgy style to her appearance.

But what stood out most was her long, blood-red hair, cascading like a river of fire. Her beauty was disturbing, almost morbid, and her fanatical gaze only heightened her dangerous allure. She seemed like a living embodiment of a succubus—someone capable of devouring anyone who crossed her path.

Faced with a woman as volatile as Typhoid Mary, most would feel terror creeping into their bones. But the two newcomers, Natasha and Leon, showed no emotion. Leon, in particular, glanced at the crazed woman with disinterest, as though her deadly charm meant nothing to him.

His sharp instincts kicked in instantly, analyzing her every detail. He could tell from a glance that Typhoid Mary had formidable abilities—likely the strongest combatant among Kingpin's crew, and her skillset was remarkably well-rounded.

At the same time information from Sky Blade on her came as well. Her backstory, he realized, was one of tragedy, typical of an anti-hero with a violent and ruthless streak. Only someone like Kingpin could manage to keep her under control. With a team like this, even Little Spider would struggle to deal with them.

As Typhoid Mary gazed at Leon with a twisted smile, her expression screamed, I'm going to tear your heart out and savor it. But Leon ignored her completely, focusing his attention on Kingpin and Obadiah. This infuriated her. Her blood-red lips twisted into a cruel grin, and with a swift motion, she drew two razor-sharp knives from her back, ready to strike.

But before she could move, Leon's figure vanished from where he stood, causing everyone in the room to tense up, their pupils shrinking in shock.

In the next moment, before anyone could react, a golden cross star suddenly appeared in front of Typhoid Mary. She was mid-charge, but an overwhelming sense of danger washed over her, freezing her in place. A wave of fear paralyzed her entire body.

The other bodyguards panicked, aiming their guns at Leon, but none dared pull the trigger. Meanwhile, beads of cold sweat formed on Typhoid Mary's forehead.

Why... why can't I move? she screamed internally. Her wild and lawless nature wanted to break free, to resist, but her body was completely unresponsive. It was as if her mind had become disconnected from her instincts.

Leon, tall and imposing, looked down at her with a playful smirk. As she stared back in disbelief, he reached out, gently grasping her chin. He lifted it slightly and leaned in, his voice low and almost soothing as he said, "Be still, Mary."

Her eyes met his, reflecting his handsome face and those deep, gem-like eyes. There was something unsettling in his gaze—a flicker of blood-red that exuded an overpowering, commanding presence. Under its intensity, Typhoid Mary felt her very soul tremble, as though it might shatter under the pressure of this unseen force. She could sense a storm of raw power, like red lightning, swirling within him.

To her shock, the violent ripples of this spirit stirred something within her. In the presence of this overwhelming aura, the fierce, sadistic Bloody Mary—known for her cruelty—felt something she never had before: a blush crept across her face, and she shyly averted her gaze.

Everyone in the room was stunned. Typhoid Mary—Bloody Mary—the woman with multiple personalities, who was always bloodthirsty and violent, was now... embarrassed? This was a woman so unhinged that only Kingpin had ever been able to control her. And now, a stranger had somehow managed to subdue her with just a look and a few words.

Leon smirked, amused by her reaction, while Natasha, standing behind him, rolled her eyes in mild irritation. She didn't exactly like what she was seeing but knew it was just part of the game. Still, it's annoying, she thought.

Kingpin, however, could no longer sit idly by. Rising from his chair, his immense frame gave off the aura of a tank rolling into battle. His face was hard and expressionless as he pushed past his bodyguards and took a heavy step forward, his voice low and menacing. "Who are you?" he demanded, his eyes dark with suspicion.

Leon released Typhoid Mary's chin, standing tall as he met Kingpin's gaze. Behind him, Typhoid Mary stood dazed.

Without missing a beat, Leon responded, his voice calm but thunderous in its impact, "For the next three months, you, your men, and anyone in New York with extraordinary abilities are to stay away from Tony Stark. If so much as a single hair on his head is harmed, every one of you—every last one of you—will die."

The room fell deathly silent. Everyone stared at Leon in disbelief, their minds struggling to comprehend the audacity of his words. He had just threatened Kingpin, the ruler of New York's underworld, the man feared by all.

It was as if they were witnessing a madman speak—someone completely insane enough to challenge the Emperor of the Underworld, Wilson Fisk.

Doesn't he know what Kingpin means?

Obadiah sat in his chair, his brow furrowed in confusion. Is this man really connected to Tony Stark? A cold glint flashed in his eyes. He subtly signaled his subordinates with a thumbs-up, and one of them calmly nodded, his right hand slipping into his pocket as if readying something.

For now, Obadiah decided to wait and see how Kingpin would react.

Kingpin's men knew his temperament, and he did not disappoint. He let out a low, angry laugh. "How interesting. All these years, and you're the first person bold enough to say something like that to me."

His voice dropped with malice. "I was just going to kill you, but now... you'll experience the most brutal torture and punishment the world has ever seen, just for those words."

As soon as the words left his mouth, Bloody Mary—who had moments before been shy—suddenly wore a sick, twisted grin. She pulled out her twin blades from her waist, and with a wild, graceful motion, slashed them through the air, aiming for Leon's shoulders.

At the same time, Sandman, Rhino, Bullseye, and Lady Bullseye sprang into action, attacking Leon and Natasha, who stood near the door.

But before anyone could fully comprehend what was happening, a foot, glowing with a golden light, was already connecting with Bloody Mary's face.

Time seemed to slow down to a crawl.

BOOM!

…

Under the horrified and shocked gazes of everyone, there was a deafening roar as Typhoid Mary was ruthlessly kicked away. Dragging a golden trail of light behind her, she crashed into several bodyguards before slamming into the wall, which crumbled under the impact, sending smoke and dust into the air.

The expensive crystal chandeliers above swayed violently, and the lights flickered. Bullseye, Lady Bullseye, and Rhino, who had been ready to attack, stopped dead in their tracks, frozen in shock. All eyes turned toward Leon, who slowly lowered his slender right leg, the atmosphere instantly turning heavy and silent.

Even Obadiah, who had remained calm throughout, finally reacted, standing up slowly as cold sweat formed on his forehead. What just happened? Kingpin had boasted about how powerful his team was, especially Mary, yet she had been taken out with a single kick. And no one else had even moved.

Realizing the gravity of the situation, Obadiah gave a frantic glance at his bodyguard, silently ordering him to retract whatever command he had given earlier. The bodyguard, snapping out of his stupor, broke into a cold sweat as he trembled, frantically fumbling with his hands in his pockets to cancel the hidden order, his fingers moving so fast they nearly broke.

That was too fast. If his men had acted, it would have been a massacre.

Leon's swift and devastating kick had silenced the entire room. Despite the tension, Kingpin maintained his composure, though his arrogance had faded. His tone, now more cautious, lacked the same confidence.

"Who are you?" Kingpin asked, eyes still sharp but uncertain.

Leon, calm as ever, replied, "This doesn't concern you. What's your answer?"

Kingpin hesitated, his gaze full of both ferocity and doubt. He couldn't fully gauge the strength of the man before him, but the power behind that kick was undeniably terrifying.

Mary had attacked from such a close range, and yet Leon had kicked her away effortlessly. Whether she was alive or dead was unclear. Even for a combat master like Kingpin, whose physical abilities and reflexes had reached the peak of human potential, he couldn't follow the speed of that kick. What he had seen, however, was the golden light that radiated from Leon's strike—an ability that was far from ordinary.

If Kingpin agreed to Leon's terms, it would put all his dealings with Obadiah and his future plans in jeopardy. Worse, his reputation in the underworld would take a massive hit. His name—Kingpin—was synonymous with power and status, but if he backed down from two unknown individuals today, his dominance would falter. Rival gang leaders would undoubtedly seize the opportunity to unite against him.

Weighing the consequences, Kingpin's hesitation evaporated. He had made his decision.

Leon, with his heightened awareness and insight, could sense Kingpin's shifting emotions. He sighed internally, knowing what was coming. So predictable, he thought. His skill at bluffing still hadn't reached perfection.

"Kill them," Kingpin bellowed, shrugging off his coat.

At his command, Bloody Mary, buried in the debris, suddenly surged back to her feet, breaking through the cloud of dust and smoke. A wave of intense spiritual power erupted from her, distorting the air around her. The blood trickling down her forehead gave her a twisted, feral look. She extended her hand, using her ability to create a force field. Leon and Natasha were instantly enveloped by it, their bodies feeling as if they were carrying the weight of a mountain.

At the same time, Kingpin's men opened fire, their guns roaring as bullets tore through the air.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Not only that, but Sandman's arm morphed into a giant sand hammer, swinging down toward Leon with crushing force. Rhino lowered his head and charged at Leon with all his might, while Bullseye and Lady Bullseye darted toward Natasha, daggers gleaming in their hands. In seconds, a deadly web of attacks closed in on the two of them.

One wrong move, and they'd be torn to pieces.

But Leon didn't flinch. He stood there, unmoving, watching the chaos unfold with an almost divine detachment, his expression one of contempt, as if he were a god looking down on the foolishness of mortals. His indifference only ignited a stronger flame in Bloody Mary's twisted heart. She had fallen in love with this man, but her love was violent, drenched in blood. She wanted to possess him, to bind him to her through cruelty and force.

Unfortunately for her, Leon had no intention of giving her that chance.

Just as the attacks were about to land, Leon's eyes sharpened. In an instant, like a dormant volcano erupting, a surge of terrifying, raw energy exploded outward from him.

BOOM!

For a moment, it felt like the entire space had frozen. Bullseye, Lady Bullseye, the massive sand hammer poised above Leon, Rhino, and the hail of bullets all seemed suspended in time. But in the next instant, an unimaginable terror exploded outward—an overwhelming force like a colossal wave, sweeping through the room, destroying everything in its path.

Those closest to Leon screamed as they were flung violently by the sheer force of his dominating aura.

Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!

The floor-to-ceiling windows shattered, sending glass cascading down from the top of the building. Bodyguards were hurled outside, plummeting to the ground. Others were slammed into walls, crushed against wooden frames, or thrown onto desks. The entire building's exterior windows shattered, and the crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling broke apart, raining shards of glass. The once-bright office was now dim, filled with swirling debris and shattered glass.

The room looked as though it had been ravaged by a flood—chaos and destruction everywhere. The building itself trembled under the force of the impact, cracks forming along the walls, load-bearing beams, and office floor, threatening to collapse at any moment.

Bodies lay strewn across the floor, most unconscious from the force of Leon's spiritual onslaught. Only Bloody Mary and Sandman managed to cling to a shred of consciousness, though barely.

Kingpin was the only one still standing, albeit struggling under the weight of Leon's terrifying aura. His mental will and immense physical strength allowed him to resist the full impact, though it was clear Leon had consciously spared him from the worst.

Obadiah, on the other hand, was less fortunate. Being too close to the shattered window, he would have followed the bodyguards out of the building had it not been for a few unlucky men who cushioned his fall. Even then, he found himself hanging by the edge of the office floor, clinging desperately to the ledge.

His desire to survive fueled his strength as he gripped the edge, his dizzy mind forcing him to pull himself up. He lay there, panting heavily, barely hanging on.

…

Tak! Tak! Tak!

In the dimly lit office, the crisp sound of footsteps echoed. Moonlight filtered through the shattered windows, casting faint reflections on the ground. Kingpin, kneeling on one knee, was drenched in sweat, his chest heaving as he struggled to breathe.

He looked up slightly, seeing brown shoes and blue jean-clad legs standing before him. His heart filled with shock, as if he were trapped in a surreal nightmare.

Never in his wildest thoughts did he imagine that someone so young—practically a child compared to himself—could possess such an overwhelming and monstrous presence. It wasn't just physical strength or mental prowess. Kingpin could feel the sheer, unfiltered essence of power radiating from this young man—a god-like spirit exuding authority, unlike anything he had ever encountered.

Kingpin, the man who had faced countless adversities, whose will was forged in iron, felt it crumble under the immense pressure of this god-like energy. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was standing before something far beyond human.

The realization hit him: the person standing in front of him was a monster. No wonder Leon was so confident, looking down on him like he was nothing.

Kingpin raised his head further, meeting Leon's gaze. To him, Leon's face, calm and unwavering, was like the gaze of death itself. There was a stillness in his eyes—a pure, almost peaceful serenity. But it was this calmness that stung Kingpin the most, because it was the calm of someone who didn't see him as an equal, or even a person.

To Leon, Kingpin was just an ant—something insignificant that could be crushed at any moment, with no more thought than squashing a bug.

Kingpin knew he had survived the ordeal not just because of his physical endurance and iron will, but because Leon needed something from him.

Leon's calm voice broke the silence.

"Can you fulfill my request?"

Kingpin gritted his teeth, the humiliation still fresh.

"You're only asking that those with extraordinary abilities don't take action for three months?" Kingpin repeated, his voice wavering with a mix of disbelief and bitterness.

"It is only a simple request."

"Then, I agree!"

There was no hesitation. Kingpin had no choice but to accept defeat, the situation was an absolute disaster. No one in the underworld knew better than him that failure left no room for demands.

"Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Fisk. I hope our next meeting won't be under such circumstances," Leon said politely.

With that, Leon turned and walked toward the shattered floor-to-ceiling windows, Natasha following closely behind. They passed Obadiah, who lay trembling on the floor, too terrified to move. Neither of them even glanced at him before they leaped out of the building, descending from the great height with ease.

The office, now a war zone of shattered glass and debris, fell silent once more, with only the heavy breaths of Kingpin, Obadiah, and the others filling the air.

Bloody Mary and Sandman, their strength spent, finally relaxed from their strained states and collapsed, unconscious. But despite her pale face, Bloody Mary bore a twisted, almost satisfied expression.

Kingpin, the mastermind of New York's criminal underworld, should have had the mental fortitude to recover from this. His ability to adapt had always been second to none, but this time, his confidence felt shattered. There was a gap between him and Leon—an insurmountable difference in power that left him questioning everything.

Looking around at the destruction, the cracked walls, and the crumbling building, Kingpin realized something terrifying. Leon had nearly brought the entire structure down by sheer force of will. Yet, from the man's casual demeanor, there hadn't been the slightest hint of strain or exhaustion.

It was clear that Leon's true strength far surpassed what he had just shown.

What could he do now? Revenge? The idea was laughable. Kingpin didn't even know who Leon was, what his background was, or what gave him such unimaginable power.

Plots and schemes? Kingpin had endured countless trials, even moments of despair, such as when his wife and children were killed, leaving him feeling powerless. But this was different. This felt worse. For the first time in years, true helplessness and despair weighed down on him.

His eyes turned hollow as the minutes passed in silence. Finally, he shook off the sense of futility, forcing himself back to reality.

"What incredible power," he muttered, the awe in his voice almost reverent. Slowly, the emptiness in his eyes faded, replaced by the familiar fierce, domineering glare.

Kingpin stood with difficulty, ignoring his unconscious men. His gaze shifted to Obadiah, who was still lying near the edge of the broken window.

"Mr. Stane," Kingpin began coldly, "it seems our deal will need to change."

Obadiah stared back at Kingpin, realizing that now they stood in the same positions where Leon and Kingpin had started moments before.

Under the moonlight, a billionaire, a board member of Stark Industries, and the emperor of the underworld stood silently, hands clasped together. The quiet meeting stretched on for an hour, with no one knowing what was discussed.

Obadiah eventually departed, leaving Kingpin standing alone at the edge of the shattered floor-to-ceiling windows, staring down at the departing luxury car. He murmured to himself, "I will find you. I'll make you regret looking at me like that."

With those words, he turned and disappeared into the shadows, leaving behind the chaos that had overtaken his domain.

The aftermath of the Kingpin Building incident couldn't be kept hidden from those who were paying attention. Many gang leaders had long been eyeing Kingpin's position, and within a short time, the news had spread to them.

While they had always coveted his power, these influential crime bosses, each with their own deep connections, had to acknowledge Kingpin's dominance. His iron grip extended not only over New York but also to many other parts of the world.

Yet, despite his power, he had been humiliated in his own stronghold, the Kingpin Building. The irony made them laugh, but their amusement was mixed with fear of the mysterious duo responsible for the event.

How strong must they be to force Kingpin, of all people, into submission?

According to the reports from those close to the incident, a terrifying force had shaken the entire building. The impact caused deep cracks in the structure, and even the ground around it was affected. The building now stood on the brink of collapse.

In response to the speculation, the next day, Kingpin issued a declaration to the entire New York underworld. He announced that for the next three months, anyone with extraordinary abilities was forbidden from taking any action—whether it be robbery, gunfights, or anything else.

He made it clear that anyone who disobeyed would face his wrath—bloody vengeance at any cost.