As the terrifying monster slowly dissipated into wisps of fading black smoke, the war consuming Staten Island ground to its conclusion. The guns fell silent. The screaming stopped. Only crackling fires and settling rubble remained.
Across the battlefield, agile gang dog teams emerged from behind cover positions. They moved with professional efficiency despite obvious exhaustion, armor scorched and dented, weapons running on fumes. But discipline held. They began systematically cleaning the battlefield, collecting spent power cells, retrieving salvageable equipment, cataloging damage.
Before the humanoid coffin, Nolan stood motionless in his Terminator armor. The Lascannon rested against one shoulder, still radiating residual heat that made the air shimmer. He listened patiently as the withered figure inside the coffin spoke, the rasping voice barely audible above ambient noise.
Matt Murdock's story emerged in fragments, disjointed confessions of a man whose mind had fractured under accumulated trauma.
After the terrible incident involving countless children's deaths, an event he'd been powerless to prevent despite all his abilities and determination, Daredevil had fallen into profound crisis. His beliefs, his chivalry, the entire moral framework that had sustained him through years of vigilante justice... all of it crumbled.
He'd taken off the mask temporarily, returned to his civilian identity as a lawyer. Attempted to find meaning through legitimate channels, through the legal system he'd once believed could deliver justice.
But reality proved unforgiving. He suffered repeated torture from unfair facts that mocked his idealism. Court cases lost on technicalities. Criminals walking free because evidence was inadmissible. The New York Police Department, infiltrated by corruption, actively pursuing him for past vigilante actions.
Daredevil's thoughts grew increasingly radical, his worldview darkening with each disappointment. And through it all, his former girlfriend Elektra whispered in his ear. Sweet words. Reasonable arguments. Gentle seductions toward a different path.
He'd joined the Hand, whose combat effectiveness had been declining steadily. Particularly after Madame Gao's left and her operatives assassinated the three Fingers who'd led the organization, the ancient criminal empire had become a shadow of its former power.
The greatly weakened Hand became effectively controlled by Elektra and Matt. A power vacuum filled by familiar faces.
Unfortunately, Matt, who could have rebuilt the organization into something different, was deceived by Elektra's machinations. She convinced him to access the mysterious power the Hand had preserved from ancient times, kept secret and locked away for generations.
The primal demon named Beast.
Matt Murdock became its vessel willingly, thinking he could control it, use it as a tool. Instead, Daredevil who'd fought to protect Hell's Kitchen was consumed entirely. The man ceased to exist. Only the Beast remained, wearing Matt's face as a mask.
The transformed creature became Elektra's weapon to reclaim the Hand's sphere of influence through violence and terror. A tool for conquest and domination.
But neither Elektra nor Matt had known the truth lurking behind Madame Gao's criminal empire. They'd been blind to the real mastermind, to Nolan and the terrifying force he represented. Power far beyond human imagination, beyond their capacity to comprehend or resist.
They'd picked a fight with something so far above their weight class that the outcome was never in doubt.
Nolan couldn't help but sigh as the withered figure finished its confession. He'd never imagined that this Daredevil, whom he'd met briefly once in what felt like another lifetime, would end in such complete destruction.
The man had fallen so far. From hero to villain, from defender to demon, from human to monster.
Unfortunately, there was no saving him now. The creature that had become a container for the primal demon couldn't be permitted to continue existing. Too dangerous. Too corrupted. Too far gone.
Nolan raised the Lascannon again without hesitation, the weapon's weight negligible compared to the weight of this decision. He aimed the barrel down at the coffin.
The low sound of the Lascannon recharging filled the silence, capacitors building toward discharge.
Daredevil lying inside the coffin, along with the entire humanoid container that had housed the Beast's essence, was reduced to a pool of dark red molten metal by scorching laser fire. The beam held steady for several seconds, ensuring complete destruction down to molecular level.
Steam and smoke rose from what remained. Nothing recognizable as human or demon survived the purge.
Then Nolan, still wearing his Terminator armor, turned and left without looking back. His heavy boots crunched across debris as he walked away from the execution ground.
The conflict with the Hand was finished. Permanently.
Not long after, Nolan found Bucky coordinating cleanup operations. Together they commanded the gang dogs and Madame Gao's surviving elite fighters to rapidly erase traces of the battle. Spent power cells collected. Laser scoring on walls scrubbed or demolished. Bodies that wouldn't dissolve into smoke were gathered for proper disposal.
David emerged from the thick darkness, his metal frame moving with characteristic grace. One metal hand held an unconscious woman dressed in red ninja clothing, her body limp and unresisting.
Nolan stared at the woman through his helmet's eyepiece, recognition immediate despite never having met her before. The red outfit, the distinctive style, the context.
Elektra. One of the current leaders of the Hand, the puppet master who'd manipulated Matt Murdock toward his doom.
David's metal head tilted questioningly, optical sensors focused on Nolan. The unspoken question was clear: what should be done with this prisoner?
Nolan, who'd just witnessed Matt Murdock's miserable final state and knew Elektra bore substantial responsibility for that corruption, ordered David to terminate her without hesitation. No trial, no imprisonment, no possibility of escape or redemption.
As for the body afterward, perhaps Raditus could transform her into a combat servitor. Waste not.
David accepted the order gladly, the closest thing to satisfaction his mechanical voice could convey.
With that execution, anything the Hand organization had left in this world became history. The ancient criminal empire was extinct, its legacy reduced to cautionary tales and scattered memories.
Soon after, the gang dogs who'd finished cleaning all battlefield traces entered the underground access pit, descending through the tunnel network that connected to Nolan's base. They moved in organized columns, armor clanking, weapons secured, exhaustion evident but discipline maintained.
Nolan, still wearing his Terminator armor, took one final glance at the scene.
Helicopters appeared in the dark night sky, their running lights creating moving constellations. Official speedboats cut through the water surrounding Staten Island, approaching with spotlights sweeping the shoreline. Law enforcement and federal agencies converging on the disaster zone, arriving exactly too late to matter.
Nolan turned and entered the underground pit without looking back, descending into darkness.
David became the last figure to disappear below ground. Before descending, the Man of Iron activated specialized equipment. Construction drones emerged from concealment, moving with purpose. They began filling in the pit entrance through methods that blended engineering and something approaching magic, erasing evidence with supernatural efficiency.
The gang elites who remained above ground continued cleanup operations, removing the last traces of enhanced forces and advanced weaponry. Within hours, the battlefield would show only conventional damage patterns. Natural gas explosions, perhaps. Certainly nothing suggesting the presence of super soldiers or alien technology.
It would appear that no special combat team with capabilities far exceeding ordinary military forces had ever been present on Staten Island.
Just another tragic accident in a city full of them.
After witnessing terrifying monsters that defied human comprehension with his own eyes, after repeatedly analyzing the situation's political implications and his own vulnerability, Police Chief George Stacy made a calculated decision.
He personally used his reputation and authority to guarantee statements to numerous media organizations. What happened on Staten Island was an unavoidable accident, nothing more sinister or complex.
Originally just a minor gang conflict, the situation had escalated due to various unexpected circumstances. The local natural gas pipeline network had been accidentally detonated by stray gunfire, creating a horrific chain reaction that affected nearly half the island.
The story was plausible enough. Natural gas explosions were devastating, well-documented disasters. People would believe it because the alternative was too disturbing to contemplate.
As for the rumors circulating among surviving civilians, the eyewitness reports describing impossible things like twenty-meter monsters and energy weapons...
Those were hallucinations caused by excessive natural gas exposure. Everyone knew leaked gas could cause sensory distortions, confusion, false memories. A convenient explanation that dismissed inconvenient truths.
Most importantly, the gang empire led by Madame Gao launched two scapegoat organizations to take the fall. Fictional criminal groups were blamed for the initial conflict, their non-existent leadership conveniently dead or disappeared. This satisfied the official investigation's need for culprits while protecting the real powers involved.
S.H.I.E.L.D.'s repeated tracking attempts found only dead ends and misdirection, their agents chasing shadows that led nowhere productive.
Simultaneously, an emerging conglomerate called "Imperial Heavy Industries" announced through carefully orchestrated media releases that they would contract all construction projects required to repair Staten Island's infrastructure.
Additionally, Imperial Heavy Industries would provide jobs and free housing to civilians who'd lost their homes in the disaster. Generous compensation packages, relocation assistance, counseling services. Corporate responsibility and public relations merged seamlessly.
The "accident" that might have triggered a political storm instead faded from headlines with remarkable speed. Countless congressmen received appropriate incentives to move attention elsewhere. Media cycles shifted to newer scandals. Public memory proved wonderfully short.
Some praised Imperial Heavy Industries for their charitable response. Others questioned the conglomerate's motives, suggesting ulterior agendas and suspicious timing. But ultimately, people accepted the assistance because the alternative was homelessness and destitution.
All of this political maneuvering occurred without Nolan's direct involvement. He simply listened to David's reports, approved the broad strategic approach, and let his AI proxy handle implementation details.
At this time, Nolan had just finished a cordial and friendly exchange with numerous gang dogs. He'd gathered their thoughts on the battle, listened to feedback regarding weapons and equipment performance, noted suggestions for tactical improvements.
The enhanced soldiers spoke with impressive professionalism, their Super Soldier Serum enhancements apparently improving cognitive function alongside physical capabilities. Their observations were detailed and actionable.
Afterward, Nolan said temporary goodbyes and walked toward Raditus's foundry workshop. His boots echoed through empty corridors as he descended deeper into the base's industrial levels.
He was absolutely full of opinions regarding the Lascannon prototype's operational characteristics.
"Lord Primarch, you are being completely unreasonable!" Servo-Skull Raditus's mechanical voice carried notes of genuine frustration as it jumped up and down in agitated patterns. The anti-gravity engine whined with each vertical movement. "This is heavy firepower designed for Astra Militarum weapons teams! A platform weapon meant to be fixed in defensive positions or mounted on dedicated vehicles like the Hellhammer!"
Red light flashed rapidly in the skull's optical sensors, the mechanical equivalent of exasperation.
"It is NOT a hand-held Lascannon for individual Astartes use! You cannot reasonably expect that a heavy weapon originally requiring an entire team to operate can be easily controlled by one person!" The skull's tone grew more animated. "Unless you approve me manufacturing more and larger combat servitors, which could certainly meet your operational requirements!"
Nolan spread his hands in a gesture of surrender, the Terminator armor's servo-motors whirring softly with the movement.
"Okay, I admit it's my problem. Consider the topic temporarily closed." He tried shifting to safer conversational ground. "By the way, the servo-arms on the Terminator armor happened to be damaged during combat. Does the firepower array need complete readjustment?"
He paused, remembering something relevant.
"I recall you appropriated a multi-barrel thermal melter for study purposes some time ago. Why not install that system on the power pack instead? Might prove more reliable than the previous configuration."
Hearing Nolan's obvious attempt to change subjects, Raditus rose and fell in the air several times. The skull's body language suggested it recognized the deflection but was willing to play along.
Its optical sensors dimmed slightly, red light pulsing thoughtfully.
"Lord Primarch, why do I remember you also possess alien technological weaponry belonging to the Necron? The Gauss weaponry, specifically." The skull's tone shifted to something almost wheedling. "Anyway, I cannot currently understand that technology no matter how extensively I study it. Rather than leaving it gathering dust in the equipment room, unused and unappreciated, why not..."
"Well..." Nolan interrupted, making his decision quickly before he could reconsider. "I've happily decided to do exactly as you suggest!"
Raditus's optical sensors brightened to maximum luminosity, the mechanical equivalent of delighted surprise.
Sometimes keeping the Tech-Priest happy was worth sacrificing a few irreplaceable alien artifacts.
Besides, if Raditus could actually reverse-engineer Necron technology, the results would be worth far more than one weapon gathering dust in storage.