Lower Manhattan – Morning
A couple of days later…
The morning after the storm carried a different kind of quiet.
Ash still clung to the skyline where the Tower had fallen months ago — its skeletal remains jutting out of the earth like broken cathedral spires.
Dante stood across the street from the ruins, coat fluttering in the cold wind. His gaze drifted up toward the new building beside it: a narrow, Gothic-looking structure of black stone and stained glass wedged between two gutted warehouses. Its roof arched like a church steeple that had lost its cross.
"Home sweet home," he murmured.
Bootsteps clicked behind him — two sets. Elsa's voice came first, clipped and curious.
"Please tell me you're joking."
Felicia followed, hands stuffed into the pockets of her civilian jacket, sunglasses perched lazily on her head. "You bought this? It looks haunted."
Dante glanced over his shoulder with a grin. "That's the point. A little atmosphere never hurt anyone."
Elsa crossed her arms, unimpressed. "It's a cathedral that mated with a crypt."
He smirked. "My kind of style. Besides…" He looked back up at the Gothic windows, the colored glass reflecting the pale morning light. "I grew up in a church. Guess old habits die hard."
Felicia blinked, genuinely caught off guard. "Wait — you? Church?"
Dante shrugged, still smiling. "Yeah. Choir boy, altar duty, the whole bit."
Felicia stared at him, speechless for a beat. "That explains absolutely nothing about you."
"Good," Dante said. "Wouldn't want to ruin the mystery."
Elsa sighed and looked at the building again. "Alright, I'll bite. How much did this architectural disaster set you back?"
"Fifty grand for the building," Dante said casually, flicking open a lighter though he didn't light anything. "Another fifty to get water, electricity, and furniture that doesn't scream 'abandoned morgue.'"
Elsa's brows rose. "That's… it? We were paid two million for finding the missing girl."
"Yeah," Dante said, his tone dropping softer. "The rest went where it should."
Felicia tilted her head. "Meaning?"
He nodded toward the horizon, where cranes worked over the battered skyline. "Half to the church that raised me. The other half to rebuilding the city we nearly burned down."
For once, both women were quiet after Dante's confession.
Felicia tilted her head, studying Elsa, a sly smile tugging at her lips. "So… you're really not dating him?"
Elsa groaned. "For the last time — no."
"Good," Felicia said, grin widening. "Just checking something."
Before either of them could react, she stepped up to Dante, wrapped her arms around his neck, and pressed her lips to his in a slow, confident kiss.
Dante's head spun. He felt her tongue brush against his, the kiss deepening. He'd been kissed before — once, quick and unexpected — but this was different. It had intent. He could feel her heartbeat syncing with his.
By pure reflex, one arm slid around her waist to steady her, while the other lifted to her jaw — making sure she didn't just vanish like a dream.
When she finally pulled away, a thin line of saliva lingered between them. A spark of mischief danced in her eyes.
Dante blinked, regaining his bearings before smirking. "Is this your way of saying thanks for saving you and your friend from the bad guys?"
"Something like that," Felicia purred.
Elsa's eyes went wide. "What in the bloody hell was that for?"
Felicia turned, her smile wicked. "Just marking my territory. Don't worry, Red —" she winked "— I don't mind sharing."
Elsa sputtered, face flushed. "You — what?!"
She started toward them, intent on giving the thief a piece of her mind — but the moment she took a step, her boot slipped on the slick pavement. She gasped —
— and Dante caught her effortlessly, one arm around her back, the other bracing her shoulder. They froze in a perfect ballroom dip, rainlight glinting off his grin.
"Well," he said, smirk returning, "guess I'm everyone's safety net tonight."
Elsa stared up at him, cheeks burning. "Let go of me, you insufferable man."
"Sure thing, sweetheart," he said, setting her upright. "But you might want to watch your step next time."
Felicia folded her arms, still smirking. "Oh, she'll fall again — just maybe for the wrong guy."
Elsa shot her a glare. "Keep talking, and I'll show you what falling really looks like."
Dante chuckled, shaking his head as the two women exchanged heated looks. "And here I thought demons were the dangerous ones."
Fisk Industries – Upper Manhattan – Night
The boardroom was built like a cathedral to money.
Black marble floors. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the glittering city. A long table stretched between two men who controlled more than most governments.
At one end sat Wilson Fisk, massive and silent, the glow of the skyline painting sharp edges across his immaculate suit. His hands rested flat on the polished surface — the picture of calm power.
At the other end, Dr. Alexander Shaw scrolled through a datapad, eyes cold and disinterested. Rows of status reports flickered across the screen.
Fisk's voice broke the silence — deep, controlled, dangerous.
"One of my warehouses was raided last night. Red Hook Terminal. NYPD, DHS, and half a dozen reporters by sunrise."
Shaw didn't even look up. "And?"
Fisk's gaze hardened. "And you were running your projects out of that facility. The entire operation was supposed to stay invisible."
Finally, Shaw sighed — the sound of a man annoyed by reality. "Please, Mr. Fisk. You have dozens of fronts. I have hundreds of acquisition points. One lost site won't cripple the work."
Fisk's jaw tightened. "Those 'acquisitions' were people. My assets."
Shaw smiled faintly. "Correction — they were my assets. You're simply the bank that funds progress."
For a moment, the room went still. The air felt heavier.
Fisk leaned forward, his tone sharp as broken glass. "You'd better hope your definition of progress is worth the risk."
Shaw tapped the datapad once. The lights dimmed, and a holographic display shimmered to life across the table.
Footage flickered — Red Hook's destruction, burning hybrids, the mutant's corpse surrounded by responders. Then the feed shifted to another facility: somewhere colder, deeper underground. Rows of containment tanks glowed red, each holding shapes that didn't belong in nature.
"Red Hook was only one node," Shaw said. "You can't expect perfection when you're building gods out of flesh."
The feed panned slowly across the lab. More human experiments — some awake, some twitching, some fused with mechanical limbs and dark energy. The hum of power filled the room.
Fisk's expression stayed unreadable. "You're playing with things you don't understand."
"Oh, I understand perfectly," Shaw said, eyes gleaming. "We're rewriting evolution. And soon, the world will learn what true power looks like."
He flicked another switch.
The feed zoomed out to a colossal silhouette suspended in a containment chamber — part machine, part demon. Its armor was etched with runes that pulsed with red energy. At the center of its chest, a fragment of the Force Edge glowed like molten glass, radiating through the metal.
The creature stirred slightly, its massive hand flexing against the restraints.
Fisk's reflection shimmered in the glass as he stared at it. "What is that?"
Shaw smiled — not the grin of a man proud of his creation, but the calm certainty of a god in progress.
"Insurance," he said. "And when the time comes… judgment."
The lights dimmed again as the chamber sealed. The sound of its heartbeat — deep, mechanical, and steady — echoed through the room.