Two Glock 17 pistols emptied thirty-eight bullets in a flash.
More than half of the dozen gunmen collapsed instantly.
The rest turned their heads just in time to catch a glimpse of a devil mask flashing through the darkness.
Terror surged in one of them, and he immediately shouted into his comms, panicked, "Demon Face—it's Demon Face! He's here!
He's working with Daredevil! He just wiped out half of us in seconds!
Mission failed, requesting retreat—mission fa—"
Bang!
A bullet tore through his temple. His lifeless body crumpled to the ground.
It wasn't Cohen who fired.
A chilling voice hissed through the earpiece, "Perfect timing.
Daredevil and Demon Face—they're both on my hit list.
Take them all out!
Anyone who dares retreat, I'll kill myself. Move forward—take down Daredevil!"
…
After his ambush, Cohen didn't linger. He slipped through the shadows, heading swiftly toward the sniper's position.
He knew Hell's Kitchen like the back of his hand, never once exposing himself to enemy sightlines.
As he ran, he asked David, "Did you get a look at the sniper?"
"He was wearing a black suit with white stripes, and couldn't see his face clearly.
Only distinguishing feature—a target symbol on the forehead of his mask."
"I'm hacking into the police system now, hold on..."
"Nothing. I found nothing at all!
Wait—I'm breaching the Homeland Security database…"
"No need. I already know who he is."
"What?"
"Bullseye—Daredevil's archenemy! Heh, no wonder he beat him up so badly."
David's voice came through the earpiece, tinged with confusion. "Why do I get the feeling you're enjoying this a little too much? If you dislike him so much, why did you save him?"
"I don't hate him—just don't like him.
He's a good man. Noble, even. But I've never respected his methods.
Idealistic. Naive. Maybe even a little innocent.
He wants to change this filthy world, yet won't even stain his hands with blood.
He wants to sleep peacefully at night, free from nightmares. He wants to die with a clear conscience, unafraid of hell.
But that kind of man will never succeed.
In that sense, I almost agree with Kingpin's philosophy—only blood and death can forge true order, even if it's a dark one."
There was a long pause on the other end of the comms.
"To be honest… you don't sound like God's knight. You sound more like the Devil's advocate."
"Heh, it's just a matter of perspective.
Is the second drone in position?"
"It's ready. But it's too far—I can only see his silhouette, not his actions clearly."
"That's enough."
Guided by David, Cohen swiftly closed in on the floor where Bullseye was located.
He crept up the stairs silently, then burst through the rooftop door.
His pistol roared to life, flames bursting from the muzzle as over a dozen bullets tore through the air toward the prone figure.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
But just as the bullets struck, he knew something was wrong.
No blood.
"Heehee… Did you really think I wouldn't notice that sneaky little drone of yours?"
Before the words even finished echoing, bullets screamed toward Cohen.
His eyes widened, and time seemed to slow again.
With a swift sidestep, he darted back through the rooftop door he had entered from.
Completely naked save for a pair of underwear, Bullseye paused in surprise.
"Huh… that was fast!"
Cohen wiped a bleeding graze on his cheek where a bullet had nicked him and cursed aloud.
"Goddamn it! Famous guys really are a pain in the ass to kill!"
"David! What the hell? That was just a decoy uniform on the roof. You didn't catch that?"
David's voice crackled with panic through the earpiece. "How the hell did he spot the drone?
Fuck—at that distance, I couldn't tell real from fake!"
"Watch out! He's coming inside!"
Cohen's brow furrowed. Coming in?
Good. Let's see you survive this.
The very moment Bullseye slipped through the rooftop door, Cohen fired.
Bullseye returned fire, but with too many turns in the stairwell, neither could land a hit.
As Bullseye went to reload, Cohen suddenly lunged forward, knocking the gun from his hands.
Then he followed up with a brutal combo of military hand-to-hand strikes—each blow landing solidly.
Caught off guard, Bullseye reeled under the assault.
He hadn't expected this—so the Devil Face was also a close-combat master, on par with Daredevil?
Still, Bullseye was no pushover.
Though momentarily stunned—his eye already swelling into a bruise—he quickly regained his footing and launched his own counterattack. The two were evenly matched.
For a moment, the fight was locked in a dead heat.
Gritting his teeth, Cohen summoned what strength he had left, focused sharply—and launched a flurry of three devastating punches.
Bullseye's body folded under the barrage.
Seizing the moment, Cohen wrapped his arms around him, lifted—and slammed him down the stairwell.
Thud!
Bullseye hit the landing with a sickening crunch, pain crashing through every nerve.
He groaned, barely able to move.
Strike while he's down!
This was a bronze-grade target, after all.
Cohen picked up a discarded pistol, pressed the barrel to Bullseye's forehead—
But hesitated.
There was no fear in the man's eyes.
The first bronze-tier prey…
If he didn't get a five-star rating on this, he'd be losing big.
These past few days, Cohen had truly come to understand the massive gap between a non–five-star reward pack and a five-star one.
One granted powerful abilities—like night vision and compound eyes.
The other? Just a measly three or four stat points. Only with freakish luck could one pull a mastery-level skill.
Bullseye spat a glob of bloodied saliva.
"Heh… Devil Face, guess you got lucky this time. But next time, I'll kill you. You and that goddamn Daredevil—"
Before he could finish, Cohen grabbed him by the neck and dragged him up to the rooftop, holding him half-suspended over the balcony's edge.
Dozens of meters below them was solid pavement.
Yet even now, Bullseye's eyes showed little fear.
He even noticed the hesitation in Cohen's gaze and frowned in confusion.
"What are you waiting for?"
"Why aren't you afraid?"
"..."
Cohen's eyes gleamed—and with a sharp rip, he tore away the last piece of Bullseye's underwear.
"How about now? Afraid to die like this?"
Bullseye's eyes widened in shock. For the first time, a flicker of fear appeared in his voice.
"What are you doing?!"
"Your fear… it's not enough yet."
Cohen waved toward the sky.
"Drone, record him. After he dies, project the video on the Times Square screen in New York—on loop."
"You can kill me, but you can't humiliate me! I'd rather live!"
From who knows where, Bullseye summoned the strength to break free of Cohen's grip. He leapt down, catching a lower-level railing, then dropped again.
Cohen watched his desperate escape and smiled darkly.
A wicked grin curled at his lips.
"Little rat… You're not getting out of my grasp."
He flees.
Cohen chases.
And even with wings, Bullseye wouldn't escape.
Grievously injured, Bullseye was riding the last wave of adrenaline. He hadn't made it far from the rooftop before it all wore off, his body giving in to fatigue.
Cohen, the hunter, was savoring the final moments.
Unfortunately, David interrupted the thrill.
"Careful, Knight!
Daredevil took out the last of the shooters—he's headed your way!"
Cohen's brow furrowed.
"That guy took more than one bullet, didn't he? He's still fighting?"
"More than a few! He's still bleeding!
You call yourself God's knight—but I'm pretty sure he's God's favorite son!"
"Hmph… That guy must have insane mental stats."
No more waiting.
Cohen caught up with Bullseye, grabbing him by the back of the neck with his left hand.
His right hand balled into a fist the size of a sledgehammer.
BAM!
Blood sprayed from Bullseye's nose.
Bullseye's hands weakly grasped Cohen's arm, barely resisting the relentless assault.
BAM!
Bullseye's arms dropped lifelessly as he slipped into unconsciousness.
The third punch rose high—
"Stop!"
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