Matt Murdock grabbed his suit jacket from the ground, meticulously wiping his mace clean. He preferred the blunt weapon's feel over a hand axe—no need to mind the blade's direction or risk self-injury.
In his first taste of killing, Matt felt no remorse. The stench of evil on his foes only fueled his desire to crush them harder.
"I'm sick of this. Why are there so many?" Matt grumbled, tossing the blood-soaked jacket aside.
"Did Bul-Kathos just leave? Did something happen with Rumlow?" He swung his mace, noticing its inadequacy after prolonged combat. Enhanced by Matt's growing strength, the weapon was bent, scratched, no longer pristine. A mere toy from Bul-Kathos' shelf, not true gear, but aside from durability, it was as effective as the axe. Matt just liked it better.
"Uh, is Bul-Kathos here?" Coulson appeared at the blacksmith's door, disheveled, gaping at the pile of corpses and writhing survivors.
"You're Coulson?" Matt asked directly.
"Yes. I need Bul-Kathos. S.H.I.E.L.D.'s under attack—we need his power," Coulson said urgently, sidelined from combat.
"Matt Murdock, my name." Matt's sunglasses hid his eyes, but the mace and bludgeoned bodies suggested he wasn't friendly.
Coulson, ex-Ranger turned S.H.I.E.L.D., had seen battlefields, but never this brutal. "Mr. Murdock, where's Bul-Kathos?"
"Probably at your S.H.I.E.L.D. Got any booze?" Matt propped the bent mace on his shoulder.
"I'm in a hurry… You said he's at S.H.I.E.L.D.?" Coulson paused.
"If Rumlow's one of yours, then yeah. Got booze?" Matt craved a drink, wondering who could defeat Rumlow, forcing Bul-Kathos to intervene. On the Sacred Mountain, Matt and Luke always lost to Rumlow in sparring.
"No booze, but get me to S.H.I.E.L.D., and I'll treat you," Coulson said, wary of the blood-drenched Matt.
"Buy some first. Doesn't need to be fancy, just plenty." Matt tossed his soaked wallet to Coulson, unable to discern the bills' value.
"Get it, and we'll go." Matt readied his mace.
Coulson eyed the blood-soaked cash, useless for trade. Then, two Beekeepers' teams appeared, clashing. Bodies fell stiffly, like toppled minions. Coulson knew them but was clueless about the situation.
A ninja squad emerged, cutting down Beekeepers and charging Matt.
"Xia!" Matt met them head-on. "Oh, and I expect that booze after I'm done," he added.
Bucky burst through the forge's door, locking eyes with Coulson.
"Bucky Barnes!?" Coulson, a Captain America fan, recognized him instantly.
Matt smashed a ninja into ash with one swing, then barreled into another. His charge, though not fully mastered due to his still-developing strength, overwhelmed the ninja.
A blue portal flared, and Bul-Kathos returned, clad in armor. S.H.I.E.L.D. was handled—Rumlow had sorted the agents, leaving corpses. Guided by Taric, he spared the less irredeemable, breaking their hands. Bored, Bul-Kathos returned early.
His Immortal King armor vanished. Coulson saw his teleportation method for the first time. Fury likely wouldn't covet this power now.
"Bul-Kathos, I need to get to S.H.I.E.L.D.—" Coulson stopped, spotting Hit-Monkey in Bul-Kathos' grip.
"You killed it?" Coulson asked, stunned, recognizing the monkey.
"This monkey?" Bul-Kathos shook the corpse, puzzled.
"Screech!" Hit-Monkey's soul appeared on his shoulder, clawing at Coulson.
"I redeemed it," Bul-Kathos said, teasing the soul.
A monkey living twenty years was old; Hit-Monkey had lasted over sixty, bound by a demonic contract—each soul sent to Hell earned a month of life. Barbarians, kin to Druids, got along with natural spirits when not enraged.
(End of Chapter)
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