Kingpin's laughter rolled through the speakers, thick with satisfaction and arrogance. "Of course I'll face you," he said, his voice echoing through the underground garage. "Right after someone rips that mask off your face."
The moment he finished speaking, Locke caught movement behind him. He turned sharply, and with his enhanced vision, the dark corners of the parking structure suddenly came alive. Shapes were tucked into the shadows on all sides, waiting for the signal.
Gunfire erupted at once.
The empty underground garage exploded with muzzle flashes and sharp, violent sound. Bullets tore through the air in overlapping streams, but Locke's body moved before the danger fully registered. He became a blur in motion, cutting through the concrete maze like a shadow blown by a storm.
He wasn't boxed in.
He wasn't cornered.
He was in his element.
His figure flashed from one side of the lot to the other, moving so fast that the shooters couldn't keep up. North, south, east, west—by the time they adjusted their aim, he was already gone. When he finally reappeared in front of the camera again, the only sound left was the crisp clatter of spent Glock casings hitting the floor.
Locke stood there calmly, gun still raised. "Kingpin," he said with a faint smile, "is this really all you've got?"
Kingpin's voice came back immediately. "Of course not. Seventh floor. Come up here and catch me."
Locke glanced toward the nearby stairwell door, then let out a quiet laugh. "You think I'd walk into a trap that obvious?" he asked. "I'm the hunter, and you're the prey. What exactly makes you think you get to set the pace?"
There was a short pause. Then Kingpin asked, almost casually, "So you're not coming?"
Locke narrowed his eyes at the camera.
Kingpin would never let him walk away so easily. If the trap was already active, then the exits were probably blocked or covered. In that case, retreating without understanding what had been prepared for him would just be stupidity in another form.
He smiled.
"No," he said. "Of course I'm coming. I enjoy the hunt too much."
Holding his pistol in both hands, he strode toward the stairwell and kicked the iron door open with brutal force.
The answer was immediate.
A violent shockwave slammed into him head-on, like a solid wall made of pure pressure. There was no time to dodge, no room to slip aside, only the impact of something massive striking the instant the door opened.
His body was thrown backward through the air.
For a split second, all Locke managed to see was a huge machine positioned directly behind the entrance, its flared shape resembling a horn or industrial speaker. It had fired the moment he breached the doorway, and the force of it left his stomach twisting in protest as he flew.
Kingpin's delighted voice rang through the garage again. "What, you didn't notice that thing?"
Locke twisted in midair and barely managed to land in a crouch instead of crashing flat onto the concrete. The shockwave had rattled him badly. His insides churned, and a wave of discomfort rolled through his chest, but it wasn't enough to do real damage.
He rose immediately, eyes cold. "You're still a long way from killing me."
The words had barely left his mouth when several gunshots snapped toward him with unnerving accuracy. He shifted to avoid them, his body cutting away from the line of fire just in time.
Then came the footsteps.
Fast. Close. Coordinated.
A silver flash slashed in from the side.
Before his eyes, a streak of red moved with the blade. A tall, graceful, dangerously curvy woman in red closed in with terrifying speed, the silver weapon in her hand punching forward with deadly precision. The cold light of the strike went straight for his centerline.
Master.
The judgment formed instantly in Locke's mind as he evaded.
But that wasn't the end of it. Behind him, two men in suits surged in at the same time, their swordsmanship sharp, vicious, and clean. Locke blocked in a hurry with the Glock in his right hand, and the steel barrel was sliced apart like it was made of wax.
He gave ground at once.
One step. Then another. Then another.
He narrowly slipped past the combined assault of all four attackers, surviving the opening exchange by a margin so thin most people wouldn't have even seen it.
When the first wave ended, Locke found himself standing in the center of the garage. The four attackers had spread out around him, locking down every direction.
With a quick glance, he assessed them.
Three silver-tier targets.
That alone said enough.
Then his gaze shifted farther back.
At some point, Kingpin had appeared in person. His huge frame stood in plain view now, wrapped in a white suit, one hand resting on a black cane. Behind him stood four more figures—three women and a man wearing red and blue. This wasn't just an ambush.
It was a full hunting net.
Locke's curiosity sharpened instead of fading. He wanted to know how Kingpin had convinced the Lanska brothers to walk into bait duty, or whether convince was the wrong word entirely. Maybe Fisk had simply sold them out from the start.
Remaining perfectly calm, Locke drew the two daggers from his waist. "Kingpin," he said slowly, "last time you found four people, and I killed three of them. Looks like you learned something this round. You brought a lot more."
An annoyed voice cut in immediately from nearby.
"Hey, watch it. I'm famous," the speaker said. "Don't lump me in with some bargain-bin killers. My rates are very high. Honestly, Mr. Fisk should've hired me the first time. That was a major oversight."
The man twirled his swords with obnoxious ease and pointed one of them toward Locke.
"This time, I'm ending you, Devil Face. But seriously, I should thank you. Guys like you keep mercenaries employed. And let me tell you, the industry's been rough lately…"
"Shut up, Wade!" Kingpin barked.
"Sure thing, big guy."
Locke turned to look properly at the chatterbox. He was decently handsome in a smug way, armed with twin long blades, and radiating exactly the kind of energy that made silence impossible.
"Wade Wilson?" Locke asked.
The swordsman lit up instantly. "See? He knows who I am. I told you I'm famous." He turned his head toward the red-clad woman. "Hey, Erica, now that we've been properly introduced, want to compare blade work later? My girlfriend's out tonight. We could try a few different positions—"
"That's enough," Kingpin snapped. "Say one more word and you can forget getting paid."
Wade shrugged and mimed zipping his mouth shut.
At the moment, Wade Wilson was still just a human mercenary. Dangerous, yes, but not yet the monster he would become. Among the people closing in on Locke, he was actually the weakest link—the lone bronze-tier piece on the board.
Locke's eyes shifted to the woman in red. She held a pair of silver sais, and her stance was disciplined, lethal, and beautifully balanced. "You're Erica?"
She stared back at him, expression unreadable. "You know me?"
Locke gave her a slow once-over, openly appreciating the tall, striking figure and the deadly confidence wrapped into it. "I'm very interested in you," he said.
Then he looked past her at Kingpin. "You really put in the work for this one. Some of us probably aren't leaving this garage alive tonight, so why don't we all get acquainted first?"
Kingpin laughed, mocking and low. "What's this? You want to know who's about to kill you? Are you scared?"
"No," Locke said, waving the idea away. "I just remembered something. If I'm going to build tombstones for all of you, I should probably know what names to carve into them."
A cold sneer came from behind him.
"If you live long enough, feel free to try," a middle-aged man said. "Remember the name. Murakami."
Locke tilted his head. "One of the Fingers of the Hand?"
Murakami nodded once, his English clipped and clean. "Don't worry. You'll be the first to die."
Locke turned to the other man. "And you?"
"Sowanda."
"Perfect," Locke said. "You're second."
Both men were silver-tier prey. It wasn't just their fighting skill either. They carried the extra weight of being leaders in their own criminal world.
Then Locke's gaze moved behind Kingpin.
"Echo."
"Natalie."
"The Nine Spider Bride."
"Speed Demon."
One by one, the names came out.
Locke smiled and nodded. "Quite a collection."
Then he froze for half a beat.
Natalie.
A gold-tier target.
He looked again, this time more carefully, and that strange familiarity clicked into place. The red-haired woman with the eyepatch had a body that would turn heads anywhere, mature and magnetic under the tight uniform, but the face and posture beneath it told a different story.
S.H.I.E.L.D.
So that was it.
Locke suddenly remembered running into Coulson and Barton before, and the pieces started aligning in his mind. Were those two outside the building right now, watching this whole thing unfold? Had S.H.I.E.L.D. decided to ride along on Kingpin's operation and see what they could pull out of the fire afterward?
Interesting.
But even more interesting was the system's judgment.
Black Widow had been marked as prey.
Which meant there were blood debts under her name too.
Locke's thoughts sharpened immediately. If Natasha Romanoff counted, then the one-eyed bald director above her probably wouldn't be clean either.
Kingpin slammed his cane against the floor twice.
"Mr. Devil Face," he said, voice heavy with impatience, "haven't we talked enough? I think their blades are getting thirsty."
Locke tightened his grip on the daggers and slowly settled into stance. "Not really," he said. "I have a habit of savoring the fear in my prey before they die. So before I kill someone, I like to be careful."
Kingpin laughed. "Then let's find out which one of us is more afraid."
He brought the cane down hard.
The crack of it against the ground landed like a starting signal.
They all came at once.
In a single instant, Locke felt pressure crash in from every direction. Blades cut through the air around him with a chorus of murderous wind, the sound so dense and savage it resembled a pack of ghosts screaming through the dark. Knife edges, sword arcs, silver flashes—everything converged on him together.
And Locke saw it clearly.
All four of the close-range attackers were at or near mastery. Maybe not every one of them had fully crossed the line, but none were far from it. Murakami and Sowanda clearly possessed physical ability beyond normal human limits. Wade, even before becoming Deadpool, was already pushing the boundaries of what an ordinary body could do.
If Locke hadn't fused with the royal bloodline already, this fight would have been a death sentence.
The moment that thought crossed his mind, all hesitation disappeared.
Dragon's Breath: Explosion of energy, full firepower!
....
Join my P@treon FOR FREE and get 5 advanced chapters.
Paid members can get upto 60+ chapters ahead of the public release.
Link : [email protected]/thebookaddict