Silver Superman (Marvel)

The scene unfolding within the safe house defied everyone's comprehension.

Moments ago, Wilson Fisk had declared this place an impenetrable fortress. Yet now, a gaping hole had been blasted open—and with a single punch, no less.

Even Fisk, usually the embodiment of composure, felt cold sweat trickling down his forehead. A shard of metal from the shattered wall had grazed his face, leaving a thin line of blood in its wake.

What kind of monster have I provoked?

Fisk's pulse pounded in his ears as he glanced toward the hole. The thought of that fist connecting with his body made his breath hitch.

Outside the safe house, Ethan flexed his fingers, satisfied with the demonstration of his power.

So this is the might of the silver super template.

Simply basking in the sun had unlocked the majority of Superman's abilities. Reaching perfection was now only a matter of time.

"It's getting late," Ethan remarked casually.

"I should head back and rest. But first—" His gaze hardened.

"—you all need to die."

The men, paralyzed with fear, glanced at one another. Had they been armed, they might have mustered some courage. But no one was allowed to bring weapons into the safe house—Fisk had made sure of that.

Now, their only hope of survival rested with their boss.

"Boss Fisk… What do we do?!"

"Is he really human?!"

"Even if he's a mutant, this is insane—!"

Their panicked whispers ceased as Fisk suddenly did the unthinkable.

He dropped to his knees before Ethan.

"…What are you doing?" Ethan asked, his brow raised in mild surprise.

"Are you begging for your life?"

"Mr. Ethan," Fisk began, bowing his head like a penitent before a deity.

"I deeply regret offending you today. I am willing to compensate you for all losses—anything within my power, I will provide."

Gasps echoed behind him.

The underground kingpin of New York—Wilson Fisk—on his knees.

The man who ruled the criminal underworld without fear or remorse… now begged for mercy.

Even Ethan hadn't expected this outcome. He'd anticipated resistance, not capitulation.

"Give me one good reason I should spare you," Ethan said coldly.

Fisk raised his head slightly, his eyes calculating despite his submissive posture.

"A living Kingpin is more useful than a dead one. If I die, New York will descend into chaos. Countless criminals will emerge from the shadows—some of whom may come after you."

Ethan smirked.

"You think I'm afraid of a few criminals?"

"Of course not," Fisk replied quickly, bowing his head again.

"But it would be… inconvenient."

Ethan chuckled softly.

He's trying to bargain with his life. Clever.

And, in truth, Fisk had a point. If he died, the power vacuum would unleash a wave of chaos. Criminals from all corners of the city would scramble for control, and some would inevitably set their sights on Ethan.

Ethan didn't fear trouble—he simply hated dealing with it.

Leaving Fisk alive would keep the underground world in check, sparing Ethan future annoyances. It was, after all, a small price to pay for long-term peace of mind.

"You're smarter than I thought, Fisk. Fine. You've convinced me."

Relief washed over Fisk's face, and his pale cheeks regained a hint of color.

"But," Ethan added sharply, "you know I prefer to keep a low profile. Everything that happened tonight stays between us. Understood?"

"Understood, Mr. Ethan," Fisk promised without hesitation.

"I guarantee that no one will hear a word about tonight's events."

The air grew heavy with unspoken implications.

Fisk's subordinates, still frozen in place, felt the temperature drop further.

"Boss, we won't say anything—!"

"I swear, not a word—!"

But the look in Fisk's eyes was merciless. His cane tapped lightly against the floor as he stepped toward them.

"Boss…?"

The next two minutes were a massacre.

Despite his bulk, Fisk moved with lethal precision, his strength unmatched.

One by one, his men fell, their pleas for mercy drowned out by the sound of bones snapping and bodies hitting the floor.

By the end, only one man remained.

Fisk seized him by the throat, lifting him off the ground as the man gasped and struggled.

"Boss… please… I won't—"

The sickening crunch of a broken neck silenced him.

Fisk let the lifeless body drop, tossing it aside like trash.

When he turned back toward the hole, Ethan was gone.

No words of farewell. No threats. Just silence.

Yet that absence spoke louder than any warning.

Fisk collapsed onto the floor, breathing heavily as adrenaline drained from his system.

Gone was the proud kingpin—only a man who had stared death in the face remained.

Cold sweat soaked his shirt as he clutched his cane tightly.

If I ever get another chance… I will never provoke that monster again.

Outside the factory, Fisk summoned his remaining men and gave a single order:

"Burn it all."

The factory was soon engulfed in flames, reducing every trace of the night's events to ash.

At the same time, Fisk sent a message rippling through the underground world:

Anyone who dares to provoke Ethan will answer to me.

NYPD - Technology Division

Captain George Stacy paced anxiously as the tech team worked at their stations. After several tense minutes, one of the technicians finally leaned back with a sigh of relief.

"Good news, Captain—the data's intact. Nothing was deleted or altered."

"Thank God," George muttered. The tension in the room eased immediately.

"But why would a hacker break into our system and do nothing?" one officer asked, puzzled.

George rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

"Maybe they were testing their skills… Can you trace the IP address?"

The technicians exchanged uncertain glances before shaking their heads.

"As expected," George muttered.

"Alright, everyone—until further notice, I need you to be extra vigilant. If the hacker returns, we must do everything possible to trace their location. Understood?"

"Yes, sir!"

Under the veil of night, New York City appeared calm and peaceful.

But beneath the surface, shadows moved, alliances shifted, and a single name now carried the weight of fear—

Ethan.

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