Light Inksworth carried three brown paper bags filled with breakfast takeout, walking leisurely through the streets of Hell's Kitchen. The closer he got to his residence, the fewer pedestrians there were on the sidewalks.
He placed the bags down gently on a clean patch of concrete, looked around at the suspiciously empty street, and smiled.
"Come out. Don't hide."
Whoosh!
A black-bladed tomahawk was thrown from a blind corner, rotating rapidly with the sound of tearing wind.
Light raised his hand like lightning. He caught the axe mid-spin, grabbing the handle at an extremely tricky angle with casual ease.
"Gangsters again?" Light sneered, weighing the weapon in his hand. "I'm getting tired of this."
Since he traveled to the Marvel Universe, no super-villains had troubled him directly yet. Instead, it was an endless stream of low-level thugs.
Several young white men in standard black suits rushed out from the alleyways, weapons in their hands, charging menacingly to surround him.
But this time, the gangsters were different from Frank D'Amico's crew. There was no nonsense, no posturing. They had the fierce, disciplined look of professional contract killers.
"Since you are here to die," Light said, his face turning cold, "then die."
He leaned back slightly, swinging the captured axe as if winding up a pitch, and released it in an instant.
BOOM!
The air suddenly exploded. A circular shockwave erupted from his hand, surging outward like a cannon blast.
Zzzzt!
The axe spun with extreme speed, cutting the air and making a sharp, high-pitched whistle. It turned into a blur, flying straight out like a cannonball, and instantly arrived in front of the gang.
Splat!
Blood gushed. A head flew up. The expression on the thug's face was still fierce; his brain hadn't even processed his own death before it happened.
The axe arced around in mid-air like a boomerang and returned to Light's hand. He caught it, shaking the blood off the blade with a cold smile.
"Dead? Is that it?"
The remaining gangsters were stunned. Before they could react, a chill like ice water was poured over their heads.
"He's only one person! Let's go together!"
One of them, more courageous than the rest, steadied his emotions and rushed up. The others reacted and followed his lead.
Bang!
Light didn't use the axe this time. He kicked.
The thug who shouted was hit directly in the stomach. He flew backward like a stone skipped across water, smashing into a brick wall. He was embedded deep into the masonry, blood flowing out from the pile of dust and broken rocks.
Another one dead.
"Mutant! He is a monster!"
The remaining three thugs broke. They fled in panic, smart enough to run in three different directions to split his focus.
"Shadow Clone Jutsu."
Light didn't perform any hand seals. He didn't need to anymore.
Poof.
Three clones appeared and chased after the fleeing thugs.
With speed that rivaled a speedster, the clones caught the men in seconds.
The thugs thought they had a chance to escape, but under the severe pain of having their bones broken one by one, they realized the truth. The clones didn't hesitate. They silenced the three men on the spot.
"They were ordered to just cut off my hands?"
As the Shadow Clones poofed into white smoke and disappeared, the information and memories they transferred back to Light made him think.
This group of thugs was from the Kingpin's empire. But the mission requirement was strange: chop off the target's hands.
"Did someone from the comics industry put a hit on me?" Light mused.
It had to be peer competition. This wasn't uncommon in the United States corporate world. Just as Obadiah Stane hired terrorists to kill Tony Stark, someone was hiring Kingpin to stop Light from drawing.
Interests were moving. Marvel Entertainment was now the hegemon of the comics market. Light was pocketing 70% of the industry's profits, leaving other companies to drink soup.
With his upcoming titles, he would likely embezzle 90% of the market share. The only way to solve this monopoly was to solve the source: the artist.
Obviously, most comic companies were afraid of losing money, but they didn't dare to extend their foot into the underworld. But clearly, someone was desperate enough to try.
Light looked at the remaining clone standing beside him.
"Go," Light said indifferently. "Solve it completely."
"Sure."
The clone nodded and vanished down the street.
...
Fisk Tower, Top Floor
"Mr. Fisk, this is a token of our appreciation."
A sleek, well-dressed man named Andre slid a check across the glass table.
"Andre, rest assured. My people are already gone," The Kingpin, Wilson Fisk, smiled cheerfully at the man sitting on his sofa.
Fisk took the check calmly, glancing at the number. The smile on his face blossomed like a flower.
"That's good," Andre said, adjusting his glasses. "Alas, business is difficult now. What kind of garbage is this kid drawing? And yet it's so popular. We just need him... unable to work."
The two men laughed and talked freely. Andre continued to satirize Light's comics, though both knew that if the comics were actually bad, they wouldn't be meeting here today to put a hit on the author.
"Yeah, it looks just right."
A voice suddenly sounded from the shadows of the office.
Andre and Fisk turned their heads. A cold, black shadow stepped out, revealing a young man.
"He is Light Inksworth!" Andre's face changed drastically, and he exclaimed in terror. "Why is he here?"
"What?" Andre shouted, terrified, scrambling back into the sofa. "Mr. Fisk, what's the meaning of this? Why is no one stopping him?"
Fisk ignored Andre's question.
He realized instantly that if Light was here, his elite guards outside were likely dead.
Fisk didn't talk. He didn't call for backup. He rushed forward.
His sturdy body, like a mountain of muscle, moved with terrifying speed for a man of his size.
He swung his cane, which crackled with hidden mechanics—a laser, a gas sprayer, a high-voltage taser.
But Light had no time for nonsense.
The Light in the office was a Shadow Clone. He knew that a clone would disappear if it took significant damage, so he couldn't get hit.
Light used Shunpo (Flash Step).
He vanished from Fisk's sight, reappearing inside the giant man's guard.
Light clenched his fist, aiming at the massive abdomen close at hand.
[Monstrous Power: 20%]
BOOM!
The air in the room exploded.
Fisk's unstoppable body was instantly penetrated by the huge force.
His entire abdomen recessed, the internal organs bursting wildly under the pressure.
The terrifying force didn't stop at Fisk. It passed through him.
Andre opened his mouth, watching this horrible scene, but he couldn't make a sound.
The shockwave exiting Fisk's back hit Andre like a freight train. His body was blown backward, smashing through the reinforced floor-to-ceiling windows and blasting out into the open air of New York City.
Fisk, the Kingpin of Crime, looked like a deflated balloon.
He shuddered once and slumped directly to the ground, his chest heaving with shallow, ragged breaths.
Light stood over the massive body. He didn't look at the shattered window where the client had just flown out.
"How is it possible...?" Fisk wheezed, consciousness blurring as blood pooled around him.
Light didn't answer. He turned and walked to the door.
Chaotic footsteps approached from outside.
Bang!
The door burst open. Bodyguards rushed in, weapons raised.
But the scene in front of them made their pupils shrink suddenly. The Kingpin was down, motionless on the floor. The window was shattered.
And the room was empty.
...
The Loft, Chelsea
Light walked into the apartment, picking up the breakfast bags he had set down earlier.
Gali was sitting at the table, waiting. Lorna was there too, looking nervous.
"Light, hurry up," Gali yelled, banging her fork on the table. "I'm starving! And you need to let your clones come out."
"I know, I know," Light said, setting the food down.
Poof.
White smoke rose. Five clones appeared in the living room.
Without a word, they walked into the studio and sat at the desks.
Gali wasn't surprised. She pushed a comic script toward one of the clones.
Lorna watched silently. She helped set the table while glancing at the studio.
Having the clones draw allowed her to move a small bench and eat snacks happily while working.
It improved her spirit and ability, and more importantly, her salary was increased.
She knew that Gali didn't have much patience to draw. Of course, Lorna couldn't act like a baby to make Light summon clones for her; this was her job.
She was actually afraid that Light would quit drawing himself because the clones were so much more efficient than her. She didn't want to lose her place here.
"Light," Lorna said softly. "Is everything okay? You seemed... tense when you left."
She was still a little guilty about the misunderstanding in the bathroom earlier that morning, a topic neither of them had mentioned since.
"Everything is fine," Light said, taking a bite of a dumpling. "Just dealt with some pests."
If Light didn't mention it, Lorna wouldn't take the initiative to leave.
Strangely speaking, after this morning, Light really lived a slightly plain life without any gang interruptions.
Three Days Later
The sudden collapse of Wilson Fisk's health sent shockwaves through the underworld, though the specific details remained murky to the public.
His empire fell apart silently. Lieutenants fought for scraps, but they tried their best to conceal the Boss's condition to prevent total anarchy. Some said he was dead; others said he was in a coma in a private Swiss facility.
S.H.I.E.L.D. was stunned throughout the entire process.
Agent Coulson monitored the reports. The street probes and cameras near Fisk Tower had been damaged or wiped clean—likely Gali's doing again.
"Fisk has been neutralized," Coulson said, looking at the intelligence report. "And a rival publishing executive named Andre was found on the pavement below the tower."
It was impossible to ask the police to investigate. Gangsters didn't call 911 when their boss was attacked.
In the S.H.I.E.L.D. database, Coulson wanted to act. He suspected it was related to the previous events at the Carnival and the Frank D'Amico massacre.
But after a week without any disturbance from Light Inksworth—who was just going on dates with Gwen Stacy or staying home to draw—S.H.I.E.L.D. hit a wall.
Their intelligence capabilities were stretched thin dealing with Tony Stark's disappearance and the mutant issue. The internal power struggle of a gang was low priority.
Peace returned to Light's life.
And tonight was another night for the lottery.
Light sat in his chair, watching the new issue of Shonen Jump sales figures climb on his screen.
"System," Light whispered. "Let's see what we got."
_______________________________
Word count: 1817
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