The Black Wolf Gang's headquarters was nothing fancy—just a renovated mid-rise tucked into a dingy corner of Hell's Kitchen. It wasn't even close to the towering fortress Kingpin operated from. The building sat atop a rowdy bar that doubled as a money-laundering front and a meeting spot for their low-level thugs.
Inside, the bass thumped loud enough to shake the walls.
Outside, headlights cut across the darkness.
A sleek, stylish black car pulled up in front of the bar. Its presence didn't initially draw much attention. Fancy vehicles were common in this part of town—drug dealers, fake rich kids, mobsters in designer suits.
The two gang members posted at the door barely spared it a glance.
But then they saw her.
She stepped out of the car like a shadow unfurling from the night, dressed head-to-toe in her iconic black night-suit. The V-shaped mask reflected the neon lights, and strapped across her back were the two unmistakable weapons: Rose and War—her signature guns.
A ripple of tension spread through the air.
Those outside who had ill intentions froze in place.
Some couldn't even move.
A tatted-up girl with dyed green hair clutched her boyfriend's arm, eyes wide as saucers. "That's her! It's her! The Goddess of Judgment!" she gasped, her voice rising to a high-pitched scream.
That single shriek turned the entire atmosphere electric.
"The Goddess of Judgment?"
"No way… is she really here?"
"Hell's Kitchen is done..."
In this part of the city, Bella's name carried more weight than death itself. She wasn't a hero. She wasn't a vigilante. She was a force of nature. The embodiment of retribution.
Some feared her.
Some worshipped her.
But everyone respected the kill count.
Violent. Ruthless. Relentless.
The two gangsters at the door—each nearly two meters tall, built like pro linebackers—tensed up the moment they realized who she was. Their hands instinctively hovered near their weapons, but it was a hollow gesture. They were already dead, and they knew it.
"G-Goddess of Judgment, you—"
"Please, wait—!"
Boom! Boom!
Two flashes of red and white lit up the night. The gangsters collapsed where they stood, twin bullet holes in their foreheads, blood soaking into the concrete.
Screams erupted from the crowd.
Chaos exploded outside the bar as civilians stumbled over each other, unsure whether to flee or bow. Some wept. Others prayed. Most just froze, staring at the lifeless bodies.
Bella didn't flinch.
She walked forward, heels clicking against the pavement like a countdown to death.
Inside the bar, the chaos hadn't yet reached.
Music blasted from massive speakers, vibrating every bottle behind the bar. Colorful lights swept across the room as people danced, drank, and drowned themselves in denial.
Until the building shook.
Boom.
Bella had stepped onto the threshold—and stomped.
A wave of kinetic magic blasted through the floor.
Tables rattled. Glass shattered. The entire bar convulsed like it had been struck by an earthquake. The music cut off in a jarring scream of static, followed by screams of a different kind.
"What the hell!?"
"Was that an explosion?!"
"MY LEG—SOMEONE CALL—!"
People fell over each other trying to find cover. Ceiling fixtures crashed to the floor. Lights blew out. Choking dust filled the air.
And then came the gunshots.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
Each bullet precise. Each target a known member of the Black Wolf Gang.
Bella moved like a reaper.
With every step she took across the shattered floor, someone died.
No wasted motion. No hesitation.
Those who weren't her targets huddled behind broken furniture or froze in place, afraid to breathe. Even in the chaos, there was an unnatural clarity—everyone could feel it. This wasn't a mass shooting.
This was a cleansing.
And then, her voice rang out.
Calm.
Commanding.
Cold.
"Get out."
That was all she said.
But it was enough.
Everyone still breathing moved at once. Men, women, gangsters, and party-goers alike bolted for the exit like their lives depended on it—because they did. Some trampled each other. Others left behind phones, jackets, or even friends.
Within seconds, the bar was empty.
Except for Bella.
She walked past the overturned chairs and splintered tables, making her way to the stairwell that led to the second floor. Her boots crunched glass beneath them as her weapons reloaded with metallic clicks.
She wasn't done yet.
The surveillance team upstairs, watching from a grainy monitor, was in full panic.
"Boss… Boss!" the man monitoring the cameras was pale, sweat pouring down his face. "You need to hear this!"
"What is it?" came the impatient voice of the Black Wolf Gang leader through the radio.
"We've got—uh—there was a tremor just now, some kind of shockwave, and then—then she showed up."
"Who showed up? Speak clearly."
"The Goddess of Judgment! She's inside the bar! She just walked upstairs—guns drawn!"
There was a pause on the line.
A long, cold silence.
And then, "You're joking."
"I'm not! I swear! She just killed the guards and started executing everyone!"
"You mean she's coming upstairs?"
"She's already on the stairs, boss!"
A single, resigned exhale came through the radio.
"…F**k."
Outside, bystanders kept their distance from the bar, still too shocked to leave.
A few captured the scene on shaky phones, recording the bodies at the entrance. Someone tried to live-stream but dropped their phone when a gust of heat radiated from the building like a warning.
Inside, Bella's shadow stretched up the stairwell like the wing of an angel—or a demon.
And upstairs, the real battle was about to begin.
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