A Chance Encounter with Daredevil

At the pier, the intense gunfire abruptly ceased.

Whether they were Kingpin's men or the remaining Russians, everyone seemed to have had a pause button pressed. Stiffly, they turned their heads toward the sedan drenched in blood.

The air, once filled only with gunpowder and the salty tang of the sea breeze, now carried an additional stench of blood that made people retch.

Peter shook the filth from his fist, his gaze as calm as a bottomless spring.

His eyes slowly swept across everyone present.

Wherever his gaze passed, everyone felt an icy chill shoot from the soles of their feet to the tops of their heads, making every hair on their bodies stand on end!

"The boss is dead!"

"Open fire! Kill him!!"

Someone shouted hoarsely, shattering the deathly silence.

The remaining Russians snapped out of it as if waking from a dream. Fear instantly overwhelmed reason, and they instinctively swung their guns around, unleashing a mad barrage at Peter!

"Rat-a-tat-tat-tat—!"

Dense tongues of flame wove a great net through the night as countless bullets screamed toward Peter.

Yet faced with that hail of bullets, Peter felt no panic. Instead, a trace of exhilaration surfaced in his eyes.

Come on! Let me see where my limit is!

The next second, Peter moved!

His figure became a blurred afterimage amid the gunfire, darting and shifting at speeds and along trajectories that completely defied the laws of physics.

Bullets powerful enough to tear through steel plates could not even brush the edge of his clothes!

"How... is that possible?"

The expression on one Russian's face shifted from savage to blank. He kept trying to pull the trigger, but all he heard was the empty clicking of the mechanism.

The bullets... had run out before he even realized it!

Just as he finally realized this and frantically reached for the magazine at his waist, Peter appeared before him like a ghost.

"Too slow."

That indifferent voice sounded beside his ear, like a death sentence from Bleach.

Splat!

The Russian looked down in stunned disbelief.

He saw a hand pass through his chest without resistance and emerge from his back.

In that palm was a heart still faintly beating.

Splurt—

The next second, the heart shattered, and blood burst forth like a fountain.

Peter expressionlessly pulled back his hand, letting the heartless corpse collapse onto the ground.

Suddenly, his body flashed aside as a blue sphere of light formed in his hand.

Bang!

Another Russian nearby, who had tried to ambush Peter with the butt of his gun, crashed directly into the Rasengan.

Both the gun in his hand and his arms were shredded by the Rasengan in an instant, while a massive hole was blasted straight through his body.

"AAARGH—!"

Another Russian preparing to attack from behind was scared senseless by the sight, but before he could finish screaming, Peter's other hand had already gripped his throat. With the slightest flex of his fingers—

Crack!

Amid the crisp sound of breaking bone, the scream abruptly stopped.

The slaughter continued.

With his combat power fully unleashed, Peter became the most efficient killing machine.

Makoto Kyogoku's karate techniques, enhanced by Peter's physical abilities far beyond human limits, erupted with incomparably horrifying power.

Every strike was accompanied by shattered bones and extinguished lives.

With one knife-hand strike, a man's head broke free from his neck and soared high into the air.

With one straight punch, violent force punched clean through his opponent's entire upper body, spraying chunks of shattered organs from his mouth.

With one knee strike, another unfortunate man's spine was snapped in half, folding his body into a grotesque V shape.

This was no longer a fight.

It was a one-sided massacre.

Kingpin's gangsters, including Scarface, were all dumbfounded.

They hid behind cover, pale as sheets, their legs trembling wildly beyond their control as waves of warm wetness spread through their pants.

They were ruthless men with plenty of blood on their hands.

But the scene before them had utterly surpassed the limits of their comprehension.

That was not something a human could do!

Even cult films rarely featured scenes this bloody.

In less than a minute—

The clamor of Pier 9 returned to silence.

Every Russian gangster had, without exception, turned into scattered, incomplete pieces across the ground.

The entire pier had become a battlefield of carnage.

Peter stood amid mountains of corpses and seas of blood, not a speck of dust on him, forming a stark and terrifying contrast with the hellish scene around him.

He slowly turned around and looked toward Scarface and the others hiding behind the cars.

Scarface shuddered all over and nearly dropped to his knees before Peter on the spot.

Forcing down the heart that felt ready to leap out of his throat, he squeezed out a smile uglier than a cry, raised his hands shakily, and emerged from behind cover.

"B-Boss, you're incredible!"

"Boss, you're awesome! You're practically a Celestial descended to earth!"

"With you here, Boss, Mr. Kingpin will definitely unite all of New York City!"

The gangsters scrambled over one another as they rushed forward, showering Peter with frantic flattery.

In their minds, this monster who was strong beyond all reason had to be Mr. Kingpin's secretly trained trump card, sent specifically to hold the fort.

Those Russians must have been too arrogant just now, which was why this boss had stepped in to teach them a lesson.

Scarface was even flushed with excitement, as though he could already see his meteoric rise to success.

As long as he could latch onto such a powerful patron, then in Hell's Kitchen—no, in all of New York—he would be able to swagger wherever he pleased!

Thinking this, he sidled up with a fawning smile, pointed at the two cases filled with U.S. dollars, and said ingratiatingly,

"Boss, this money... should you keep it, or should we take it back to the boss?"

Peter looked at these villains, their faces full of greed and servility, without the slightest ripple in his heart.

Boss?

Who was the boss of you pieces of scum?

His gaze fell upon the packages tightly wrapped in yellow tape inside the cases, and his eyes grew several degrees colder.

If these things entered the market, how many more human tragedies would they create? How many innocent families would they destroy?

With that thought, Peter's gaze settled on Scarface.

Just as he was about to act and clean up Kingpin's men as well—

A sharp gust of wind suddenly struck from his rear flank!

Peter's senses were now incredibly keen. The instant the wind sounded, he detected the danger.

He did not turn around. He merely tilted his head slightly.

Whoosh!

A dark-red metal baton flew past his cheek with a piercing whistle, smashing heavily into a shipping container before him with a dull boom.

Immediately afterward, a nimble figure leaped down from atop a distant shipping container and landed soundlessly on the ground.

The newcomer wore a dark-red skintight suit and a mask with two little devil horns that covered the upper half of his face, leaving only a resolute jaw exposed.

The moment Peter saw him, his formerly composed expression gave way to surprise.

This guy was... Hell's Kitchen's guardian—Daredevil?!