Devil,king and serpent part 2

The first thing Matt noticed when he entered the Scene Contempo Gallery was not the art exhibition itself, not the smell of food and champagne, or all the excited buzzing of the art enthusiasts, but the high amount of armed guards in the place. They were out of the way, carrying concealed weapons, but it was a small army nevertheless.

Fisk clearly wanted to keep this place safe. This place… Or someone in it.

It didn't take long for someone to notice Matt standing still in the middle of the gallery; an obvious blind guy tended to draw attention in an art exhibition, he supposed.

"May I help you?" a female voice asked, as she approached him, her heels resonating in the room at every step.

The same voice he heard spoken in several interviews the last few days, always regarding Wilson Fisk.

Vanessa Marianna, the supposedly girlfriend of Wilson Fisk.

"I hope so," Matt answered, turning in the voice's direction, his movements no longer confident or precise. "Matthew," he introduced himself, raising his hand.

The woman shook it, smiling at him.

"Vanessa," she answered, politely, seemingly as interested in him as he was in her.

Matt could almost taste her curiosity. And at the same time Vanessa discreetly studied him — using the fact that he "evidently" couldn't see what she was doing to be a little more bold than what was considered well-mannered —, Matt studied her, using the full capacity of his enhanced senses to do so.

The first thing he got — after the sound of her elegant and confident voice — was the strength of her hand. Graceful, yes, but firm, as if she used it frequently in her line of work, and if Matt didn't already know, he would've guessed she was an artist of some kind. Her perfume was rich, but delicate to his nose, which spoke of its quality and, of course, its price. Beyond the perfume, Matt could smell the chemical aroma of paint; nothing someone without his gifts would pick up, but he could. Her dress, like the perfume, was clearly of high quality, which showed that she had expensive tastes, but not to the point of being wasteful or too ostentatious.

More importantly, Matt could finally sense the shape of her face, something he couldn't do through the TV. And he could now tell that Vanessa Marianna was a beautiful woman, but not the type of beauty one would see at a fashion show.

This was interesting. It told him that Fisk wasn't keeping Vanessa around to be paraded like a trophy, or that he was the kind of man who needed a piece of "arm candy" to look good in front of the cameras.

Fisk was interested in more than just beauty when it came to this woman.

"You're probably wondering what a man who can't see is doing in an art gallery," Matt finally said, trying to break the ice with a bit of humor.

"I didn't want to be forward…" Vanessa joked back.

He chuckled. "I'm told by my guests that my apartment is a bit stark. I thought maybe some art would warm it up."

"I'm going to go out on a limb and assume this 'guests' were women?"

"Well, I'm not trying to impress the pizza guy," he laughed.

She smiled. "Good. Because you don't need sight to appreciate art, but you do need honesty."

"Sight helps," he had to point out.

"Sure." Vanessa lightly touched his arm, as if asking for permission to guide him. He allowed and they started to walk slowly. "But there is something very intimate in experiencing art through someone else's eyes." She paused. "That's a good line, by the way, you should use it."

Against all odds, he laughed for real this time. "I might."

"So, give me an idea of what you're after," Vanessa asked, stopping in front of a painting.

Not art, Matt thought, but obviously didn't say.

"I am not sure."

"Good… Art isn't furniture. If you knew exactly what you were looking for, you'd be just decorating. Art should speak to you, move you. This one, for example," she said, guiding him closer to a painting. "One of my favorite pieces."

Maybe for the first time since he entered the gallery, Matt actually felt blind. His eyes couldn't work, but for the most part, his enhanced senses more than compensated for that. But there were things that sound, temperature variations and vibrations in the air simply couldn't translate well enough.

The painting in front of him was such a thing.

He knew there was paint on the canvas, he could smell it, and he could to a limited degree sense the directions the brush took when spreading that paint. But the full work, what it looked like, what colors it had… He had no idea. Maybe if he could touch it he could get a sense of it all, but even then a lot of what the artist wanted to convey would be left out.

"Describe it to me," Matt asked, after a moment.

She smiled, staring at it. "Imagine a sea of tonal reds. The color of anger, of rage, but also the color of the heart, of love… Hope. This strikes the perfect balance between the two."

A world on fire, Matt thought, as Vanessa described the painting to him. Something he saw every day without the need of paintings.

"Sounds aggressive," he said, uncertain if he would offend her.

Vanessa, however, didn't seem offended at all.

"All depends on your point of view," she smiled. "Few things are absolute. Fire burns, but it keeps you warm. Such is the complexity of the world. And of art."

Matt didn't know if Vanessa was right or not, and even if the conversation was engaging, he wasn't there to talk about art. He was there to gather information and it was time he focused on that.

"Maybe something a little less challenging," Matt started, trying to get things back on track. "Tell me, do you have a man in your life?"

"Matthew, are you hitting on me?" she asked in mock outrage.

He laughed, nervously, and was quick to deny; the last thing he needed right now was to draw that kind of attention.

"No, I mean, what does he like? What does he respond to? If I can get inside the head of the man who won the heart of such a charming woman, it would inform my decision."

Vanessa smiled, looking behind him.

"Well, you could always ask him yourself."

The moment Vanessa said that, Matt felt his entire body getting cold; he reached out with his senses.

Without turning around, Matt felt Wilson Fisk's approach, his steps heavy and full of certainty, his presence sending danger alarms through his senses, as if a large predator was getting close. The first thing Matt noticed, without a doubt, was the sheer size of the man. Much taller and broader than him, towering above most people in the room as he walked. Fisk was overweight, but Matt could tell by the sound of the fibers that most of his mass was pure muscle; he would be a dangerous opponent in close quarters, Matt knew immediately.

His head was shaved and his expression was serious, closed, not giving anything away as he walked in their direction, his bodyguards following closely.

Matt took a deep breath, still keeping his back to Fisk, feeling his entire body shaking; not in fear, but in anticipation. The man responsible for all this, the one Matt has been fighting all this time, was standing in the same room, getting closer and closer.

How simple would be to finally end it all? To topple the king and give this city a chance to fight back? He wouldn't be there, of course, he probably wouldn't survive for a second after attacking Fisk, but would it really matter if it meant his friends were safe? If Clark could have a chance to make things right without Fisk in the way?

Hundreds of different scenarios went through Matt's mind, as he considered all the possibilities. But before he could make a choice, before he could even move, Vanessa met Fisk halfway and kissed him.

Again, Matt was shocked.

Not because of the public kiss; despite being raised by nuns, Matt was far from being a prude. But because he could feel with his enhanced senses that it wasn't a mere kiss, not a mere gesture. Vanessa Marianna was in love.

In love with the Devil. And unless Fisk could fake the reactions of his own body on the spot, the Devil loved her right back.

He was so stunned by the discovery that a man capable of such evil was also capable of love, that Matt froze in place, every plan he had to assassinate Fisk gone from his mind as if they hadn't existed.

It wasn't as if Matt had never heard about criminals who had loved ones. In fact, most of them had wives, mothers, sons and daughters, people they cared about, that wasn't uncommon. But when he thought of the name "Wilson Fisk", his mind didn't conjure the image of a man, but of a monster.

Because, surely, someone who committed the crimes Fisk committed couldn't be anything else, could it? Someone who decapitated a man with a car door, someone who conspired to kill dozens of people using suicide-bombers, someone who made possible to flood the city with drugs, someone who trafficked people, someone who was allied with Hand and allowed them to do whatever they wanted to whoever they wanted…

He was expecting someone far worse than John Healy — the psychopathic monster that killed himself after giving out Fisk's name —, someone so monstrous that other monsters feared. And in a way he was right, Fisk was a monster.

But even then, he was still capable of love and Matt was not expecting that.

"Wilson Fisk, this is Matt…" Vanessa started, after releasing Fisk.

"Murdock," Matt finished, raising his hand, hoping he wasn't behaving as weirdly as he felt.

Wilson Fisk shook his hand.

"Ah, yes, the attorney," Fisk said, polite, his voice raspy. "I've heard about all your work in Hell's Kitchen."

It was unnerving to hear Fisk say that, but Matt knew ever since he was approached to defend John Healy that they were keeping tabs on his firm; probably to recruit lawyers with potential, he assumed then, and he still hoped that was the case.

"I'm aware of yours as well," Matt answered. Too aware, he added in his mind.

There was an awkward silence.

"Mr. Murdock is thinking of purchasing some art," Vanessa said. She smiled at Fisk. "He was looking for some advice from a man of taste."

Fisk's expression softened.

"Well, that's simple. Buy whatever the lady tells you." Matt faked a laugh, his thoughts still completely scrambled from the shock of meeting Wilson Fisk face to face. "I hope I'm not interrupting," Fisk apologized, looking at Vanessa, "but I just wanted to let you know I have a quick meeting right now. I'll be back soon."

Vanessa smiled at him.

"Go on, then. Mr. Murdock will keep me company until you come back. We still have to find the perfect art for his apartment." She mock whispered: "He wants to impress a female guest."

"Ah!" Fisk exclaimed, knowingly. And, unless Matt's hearing was failing him, somewhat relieved. "In that case, you are better off following her advices. I'm still not certain how I managed this," he pointed at Vanessa and then at him.

"I already told you, you are a man of taste," Vanessa joked, kissing his cheek and grabbing Matt's arm. "Now go, you don't want to be late."

"A pleasure, Mr. Murdock," Fisk said, before leaving with his bodyguards.

Matt was still so dumbfounded by how normal his meeting with Fisk was, that he didn't even try to come up with an excuse to leave before Vanessa dragged him in front of another painting. Maybe he could still find out something of use, he thought, as she began to describe the art piece.

"Did she say anything?" Fisk asked Wesley, as they walked quickly through the corridor of the gallery, going to the small rooftop garden.

"Nothing," Wesley answered, and he looked worried. "This is truly unusual."

It was, Fisk agreed in silence; Madame Gao didn't simply show up whenever she wanted to talk. Even when she wanted to speak in private, there were protocols to be followed, security measures to be taken into account, for both their benefits. The fact that Gao ignored all that and just appeared in Vanessa's gallery asking for a meeting was weird, to say the least.

And troubling. The Hand had not been happy since Nobu died and the cargo he was transporting had been lost, to Superman of all people.

Fisk had no idea what they were transporting that day, and he knew better than to ask, but he was absolutely certain it had value to them; otherwise, Nobu wouldn't be there personally, nor would he have fought to the death to defend it.

Usually, he wouldn't care. It wasn't the first Hand's cargo that his organization facilitated the transport, no questions asked. But whatever it was, the blame for losing it would fall upon someone; and since Nobu was dead, they were inclined to blame him. It wasn't fair, nor it was right, but such were the risks of dealing with powerful people, Fisk knew that.

Gao probably wanted a favor in return, Fisk guessed, as they entered the elevator. Something to compensate the loss of their cargo, and Nobu's loss as well. And as long it wasn't something absurd, for the sake of keeping a good relationship, Fisk was inclined to give it to her.

The elevator opened on the rooftop and they could see the garden on the other end.

"I'll deal with this by myself, Wesley," Fisk said, tapping Wesley's shoulder. "Thank you."

"If you're certain, sir," Wesley nodded, but his expression showed clearly that he didn't agree with his decision.

"I am. It shouldn't take long."

It probably wouldn't, regardless of the outcome.

The elevator closed again and Fisk proceeded by himself, opening the doors to the garden. There were no guards in sight, not his or hers, only Gao, sitting on a bench facing a small fountain. It was a beautiful garden, not too big or opulent, but with bright flowers and a few well-crafted statues; Fisk didn't even register any of that, walking directly towards the smiling old lady.

"I have never seen you, absent your man by your side," Madame Gao said as he arrived, speaking in Mandarin.

"No need for a translator now," Fisk answered, also in perfect Mandarin. "Or pretenses."

She nodded, satisfied, and gestured at the bench. Fisk sat down. There was a long silence.

"There was a snake," Madame Gao started, "in the village where I was raised, who mistook an elephant as prey. It died, with its jaws wide, clenched around no more than the elephant's foot, betrayed by ambition."

Fisk breathed deeply.

"Am I the snake or the elephant?"

Madame Gao just smiled.

"What happened to Nobu was unfortunate," she continued. "As was what happened to Leland." Gao shook her head. "A series of unfortunate events that could cost us much."

She stared at him, and despite their size difference, Fisk was the one who felt small.

"And now I see you out of the shadows, standing proud under the sun."

A metaphor, certainly, but one that explained well his decision. He went from forbidding his own name to be even uttered, to making speeches by the President's side; shadow and light, day and night.

"I had no choice in the matter," Fisk finally said, explaining his decision. "Leland's capture left me in a difficult position. He knows too much. I had to look for other ways to protect my organization." He met her eyes. "Our organizations."

Madame Gao smiled, but her eyes were cold.

"Is that truly the only reason?"

Fisk frowned, confused. She gestured towards the city.

"Do you know why I chose to support you, when you came to me, all those years ago, with a dream for this city? You had potential. A singular mind." Gao lifted a finger, looking at him. "And the strength to do what was necessary to achieve your goals. Even if it meant spilling the blood of your own, as we were forced to do once."

He breathed deeply, unconsciously closing his hand into a fist; he could almost feel the weight of the hammer he used to beat his father to death, when he finally had enough of his abuse towards himself and his deceased mother. A decision that both unmade and made him.

A decision he shared with Madame Gao years ago, when he needed her help to achieve his dream.

"I saw fantastic things in your future, Wilson," Gao said, hitting the ground with her cane. "The chance to not only achieve greatness, but to stand with us, become one of us, as Nobu did so long ago. An honor that is granted to few."

Gao shook her head slowly.

"But you are not the same man who came to me. Your focus, your commitment… You are being pulled in two directions, by longings of the heart."

Fisk felt a rush of anger.

"Is that why we are here? To discuss my private affairs?"

"No. We are here to discuss your fate." Gao looked at him, then spoke again; not in Mandarin, but in English. "I speak your tongue now, so there is no mistaking my words. There is conflict within you."

"Conflict?"

"Man cannot be both savior and oppressor, light and shadow. One has to be sacrificed for the other." He opened his mouth to argue, but Gao lifted her hand, stopping him. "What you did, revealing yourself, tying yourself to this land and its rulers… Safety was not your only concern. You love this city. And you love some of the people in it."

"I have never denied that, or hidden it from you," Fisk countered.

"You have not. But you understood once that sometimes we must destroy something we love, to burn it, so that something better can arise from the ashes. You were prepared to do it once."

"I still am," Fisk said, firmly. "But there are other tools to achieve this task, better tools. The underworld's reach is limited right now, with so many heroes popping up. We have no weapons to fight them, but there is no need to, not if we go above them. The building complex you and Nobu wanted? Now that my political connections are stronger, as is my public image, it won't take long for me to acquire them."

"The buildings are no longer a problem," Gao stated, surprising him. "We already took matters into our own hands."

Fisk did not know that. And it worried him that something like that could have happened without his knowledge.

"Regardless, there are other ways that my connections could benefit us," Fisk went on. "We—"

"You did not do this to protect yourself, Wilson, nor did you do it to gain some advantage," Gao interrupted him. "You did it out of love. No matter how much you deny it, no matter how much you lie to yourself, your 'dream' was never to change the city, to fix it." She stared into his eyes. "It was to be accepted by it. And the people in it."

Gao shook her head once again.

"This is not our way. We do not concern ourselves with the opinion of those beneath us. Cities, countries, empires… They are fleeting. I have seen countless rise and fall. And yet the Hand stands strong."

She sighed.

"This dalliance of yours, this decision to become a 'hero' to the public… They have no meaning. Savior and oppressor, light and shadow… We are past the point of indecision. Choose. And choose wisely."

Fisk stared at Gao for a long time.

"What exactly are you asking of me?"

"Something very precious was stolen from us," Gao said. "Something that is being kept in the Avengers Tower." She looked at him. "We need it back."

It took him a great deal of control not to freeze in surprise.

"And how am I supposed to do that?"

Gao smiled.

"You have a brilliant mind. You have resources. You have an army. Use them."

"To attack the Avengers? Superman?!" he exclaimed, no longer able to contain his shock. "This is insane!"

"No, it is necessary. You were wrong about many things, but not this: the time to hide is over. War is upon us. Soon, we will all be forced to take a side." She met his eyes. "Which side are you on, Wilson?"

There was a long silence.

The suggestion wasn't simply insane, as he previously pointed out, it was outright impossible. The Avengers Tower was the stronghold of some of the most dangerous people on the planet — and at least two very dangerous people that came from other planets. The mere idea of attacking that place was laughable, and even if a miracle occurred, even if he somehow accomplished this impossible task, it wouldn't take long for the attack to be traced back to him.

And if that happened, his life was over; or at least the life he wanted to live, with Vanessa by his side, as they tried to build a better city.

This was something he could not do, a sacrifice he was not willing to make, not after experiencing happiness with the woman he loved. Maybe before all this, maybe if he had never met Vanessa, maybe… But not right now.

"I cannot do this," Fisk finally said.

Gao slowly shook her head, disappointed, but seemingly not surprised.

"Then you have made your choice. I hope you — and yours — do not come to regret it."

Then she looked towards the elevator, the elevator that connected the garden to the art gallery.

The art gallery where Vanessa was.

Fisk didn't even look back, he started running to the elevator, desperate, his heart beating so fast that it hurt.

He couldn't let anything happen to her.

Matt felt what was about to happen before he could even hear it.

The ground shook, the air in the room vibrated, and he felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up, reacting to imminent, but still invisible, danger. He stopped, suddenly, blocking out Vanessa's description of yet another painting, as he tried to pinpoint what exactly was happening.

Footsteps, heavy and fast. Desperate breathing. Increased heart rate, bordering on panic. The smell of utter fear.

"VANESSA!" Fisk's voice boomed the moment he arrived in the gallery, pushing the doors with such violence that they crashed against the wall.

Every single person in the gallery turned to look at Fisk, startled. The security guards moved, grabbing their concealed weapons, searching the room for the supposed threat. Vanessa froze, her eyes fixed on Fisk as he ran to her.

Matt's attention, however, wasn't on Fisk; it was on the security guard closest to where he and Vanessa were.

Unlike everyone else, the man wasn't startled at all. His pulse didn't change, his breathing pattern remained the same, the familiar smell of the "fight and flight" hormones was absent. And yet, he was moving towards them, the fiber of his muscles tensing as he reached for his gun.

And his eyes were fixed on Vanessa.

Matt's senses went into overdrive and he felt as if everything slowed down.

Fisk noticed the security guard a split second after he did, realizing what was about to happen; he moved even faster, changing his trajectory to put himself between the guard and Vanessa. Noticing his sudden movement, Vanessa also realized what was going on.

But instead of freezing, instead of trying to jump out of the way or hide, instead of simply screaming in terror, her reaction was to put herself between the assassin and Wilson Fisk.

Matt moved before he even knew what he was doing.

The assassin posing as a security guard completely ignored him, certainly assuming a blind man wouldn't even realize what was happening, much less qualify as a threat to him; so when he moved towards Vanessa — without a doubt his target —, he walked by Matt as if he were a piece of furniture, too busy drawing the gun and walking closer to take a shot to even bother with him.

And at the moment the gun was drawn and pointed at Vanessa, his finger already on the trigger, Matt collided against him.

The hit tossed the assassin to the side, the gun firing in the wrong direction — the bullet missed every person in the galley and hit one of Vanessa's many paintings, the first one she showed him — and before the man could try again, Fisk crashed against him like a truck, sending him down.

The gun went flying, the man hit the ground with a powerful THUD, and the other security guards arrived, pushing him aside as they surrounded the assassin.

Matt very nearly missed all that, his senses suddenly overwhelmed by a powerful and terrible feeling. Not the loud noise of the gun or even all the screaming, not the fear or even the anger emanating from the people in the gallery, but something deeper. Something colder.

Something unnatural.

There was a soundless scream, a piercing and freezing wail coming from the assassin, an indescribable cry that assaulted Matt's very spirit. It took his entire mind, chilling his blood, making him feel a spike of horror of the likes he never felt before. And then a foul presence took over the very room, as if an incorporeal mass of terror left the assassin's body, never to return.

It lasted less than a second. The presence disappeared as if it never existed. The man's heart stopped, as if the life was simply snuffed out of him. It was something unlike anything Matt had ever experienced before.

And yet, no one else seemed to listen or see anything out of the ordinary, as if he had imagined all that. As if Matt had experienced a moment of utter insanity.

The security guards finally noticed that something was wrong with assassin they were restraining and started to call for an ambulance. The guests in the gallery were talking amongst themselves, watching everything unfold with fear and fascination. Sirens were becoming louder and louder as the police vehicles approached the place.

He barely noticed all that, too distracted and distraught by the strange event to really pay attention. But Matt finally noticed he wasn't being ignored anymore when a gigantic presence approached him.

"You…" Fisk said, his voice barely a whisper, his eyes fixed on Matt. "You saved her."

Before he could do anything, the man was hugging him, as if he were a trusted friend instead of a nemesis.

That was, perhaps, the strangest thing to happen that day, Matt thought for a moment, before everyone in the room started to applaud.

"Justice truly is blind: Wilson Fisk and Vanessa Mariana saved by blind lawyer!"

As if they were one, all eyes went from the news channel to Matt, whose only reaction was to sigh.

Clark could barely believe his ears when Matt called him and explained the situation, asking for a meeting in the Avengers Tower. An assassination attempt on Fisk — or, more accurately, on Vanessa Mariana, Fisk's girlfriend —, was already surprising enough. An assassination attempt coming from one of Fisk's own security guards — which he most definitely put there to guard Vanessa because he trusted them — was even more so.

But an assassination attempt that seemed to come from an enthralled man — or, dare he say, possessed man—, was nearly an impossibility.

He didn't doubt Matt, though; someone as skeptical as him wouldn't be saying such things unless he had pretty good reason to. He'd felt something weird going on. Usually, one would be called crazy for this, but they did have experience with unusual things and Matt's senses were nothing to scoff at, even more so when he was trained to use chi to help control them, something that, according to Raven, would make him more susceptible to magical tones around him.

Add to that Natasha's background check on the security guard, that revealed nothing out of the ordinary — no unexplainable money in his accounts, no threats, no grudges, no psychological disorders —, and they had a situation that couldn't be explained by normal means.

But if that was true, if the guard that tried to kill Vanessa was really mind-controlled or possessed, then that meant the Hand was definitely involved.

And there was only one reason Clark could think of for the Hand to turn on Fisk: they no longer needed him.

Which certainly didn't mean anything good for them, not if the Hand was now bold enough to simply discard Fisk and move against him in such an obvious way, in New York, home of the Avengers and, more importantly, one of places under the protection the Sorcerer Supreme.

If that was true, then it probably meant that the Hand was already very close to reviving Ao Shun, if they hadn't already, and they believed they had nothing to fear anymore.

"How the fuck did you explain this?" Jessica exclaimed, her mind clearly thinking about something else entirely. "You're supposed to be blind!"

It was a fair question, Clark admitted in silence. Foggy wouldn't give Matt a moment of peace after this, he was certain.

"I told them I heard the gun being drawn," Matt answered, "and instinct took over." The blind lawyer shrugged. "It's not like I flipped over the assassin and disarmed him with a flying kick, I just rammed into him."

"And saved that fucker's life!" Jessica complained. "We could be celebrating his funeral right now."

"He wasn't the target," Matt said once again. "Vanessa was."

And that was weird. It was almost like the Hand was trying to teach Fisk a lesson, but why would they? Could that be a punishment for what happened at the docks? The misplacement of the Black Sky and the death of Nobu? If so, then why now?

Clark glanced at the "Black Sky" sitting by his side, the girl deep in thought. Around them, Bruce, Natasha and Clint were also in silence, while Jessica bickered with Matt as the news channel told a heavily edited version of the story.

"I'd like to sense what you sensed when the assassin died," Raven asked suddenly, interrupting Jessica and Matt's bickering.

They all turned to look at the girl.

"You mean, read my mind?" Matt asked, finally, clearly bothered by the implications.

"No, read your emotions," Raven clarified. "That should be enough for me to know with what we are dealing with now."

Hesitantly, Matt nodded, getting up.

"What do you need me to do?"

Raven also got up, her black hood on even while they were inside the Tower, and approached.

"Just try to remember the moment," Raven said, lifting both her hands and placing them by the sides of Matt's temples. "Not what actually happened, that's not important, try to remember what you felt back then."

Both of them closed their eyes, focused. Everyone was watching, waiting for something, any sign that Raven was doing what she told she would do. Clark was basically expecting anything, from the flashy Eldritch Magic shenanigans to a simple flicker of lights.

They were all wrong. What they got was a small shiver from Raven when she finally got what she wanted. She opened her eyes, looking at him.

"Possession, without a doubt," she announced. "And as I suspected, the demon's essence is familiar."

There was a moment of silence.

"Oh, shit, don't tell me it's someone in your family," Clint muttered, visibly bothered by the whole thing.

Raven tilted her head, sitting back down.

"Not my family, no, but I suppose you could say it's part of family history," she said.

Apparently, Raven thought it was enough and planned to end the explanation there, but the curious looks everyone was sending her pretty much forced her to continue; she sighed.

"A long time ago, during King Arthur's reign, Morgaine le Fey attacked Camelot with an army of demons. One of the generals of her legions, a being she personally summoned from beyond Agamotto's barrier, was a Demon Lord known as The Beast."

"Well, that's not ominous at all," Bruce mumbled, furiously cleaning his glasses.

Clark was forced to agree with Bruce, regarding both the "Demon Lord" part, and "The Beast" part. Neither sounded particularly nice. Oblivious to that, Raven went on.

Or at least tried to.

"Merlin—"

"Your nephew," Clint piped up. Matt and Jessica did a double take, visibly as shocked as the rest of them to learn that.

"Yes, my nephew Merlin," Raven continued, annoyed, "summoned another Demon Lord to help them fight off Morgaine's forces." She hesitated for a moment. "His demonic half-brother, Etrigan."

There were a few seconds of silence.

"So, a demonic second nephew?" Clint said, slowly.

Raven's glare shut him up.

"It was far from easy, but Arthur and his knights, Merlin and Etrigan managed to defeat Morgaine le Fey and destroy her army, and for a long time The Beast was presumed to be destroyed or, at the very least, banished." She shook her head. "He was not. Somehow, he managed to fake his own death and stay in our world, for centuries. At some point, I assume he was either summoned or approached the Hand of his own volition, because even in Azarath we had heard of this ancient alliance."

No one said anything for a while, thinking about the implications of everything Raven said.

"So the security guard," Matt spoke, hesitantly, "was being possessed by this… Beast?"

"Either by him or, more likely, by one of his minions, a lesser demon. Your senses are not exactly attuned to catch the nuances, so I cannot tell exactly, but if it weren't The Beast, then it was one of his servants. The essence was too familiar, so they must have come from the same dimension."

Clint groaned; Natasha gave him a few gentle, if a little bit cheeky, pats on the back.

"So you're telling me we had a guy called 'The Beast' walking around on Earth all this time?" Clint finally asked. "How are we still alive?"

That was also a fair question, Clark admitted.

Raven shrugged. "Not all demons can or even want to conquer universes. Some are happy to lay low, influence things from afar and feast quietly on the chaos they create. The Beast, regardless of his power, is such a demon. I suppose a biologist would classify his relationship with the Hand as some kind of twisted mutualism. The Beast provides the Hand with power, knowledge, soldiers and maybe even longevity. In return, the demon accepts sacrifices and feeds on the suffering of their victims. Win-win situation."

Except for all those who crossed their path, Clark added in his mind. He wondered if all those people in Pyramiden, the ones Natasha's old friend in the Russian mob had told them about, were victims of this demon.

According to Sergei's story, the entire town was somehow forced to dig the dragon's tomb and then forced to attack Sergei and his men, unarmed, ignoring pain, fear and death, not unlike a zombie horde from the movies. He assumed, then, that they had to be mind-controlled somehow.

But what if they weren't? What if all those people were possessed? Either by The Beast or by his demonic minions?

Every time he learned something about the Hand, they got worse. Suddenly, it wasn't just a dragon being brought to life that he had to worry about; now they had a Demon Lord possessing people in broad daylight.

He looked at Raven.

"How long until we can find the dragon?" Clark asked her, worried.

She sighed and shook her head. "I will need at least one more day, maybe two. As you know, the concoction I brewed to force my astral self to ignore my body and search for the blood taken from me is still… Not working that well."

Understatement of the millennium, Clark thought without saying anything; he was pretty sure that if Tony's lab wasn't reinforced to withstand his own suit's technical mishaps, they would've brought down that section of the building when the potion exploded out of nowhere, not even a few hours after Raven started her experiments.

It was a good thing he reacted fast. And also a good thing that he could use his own body as a shield.

It was advisable to let Raven work in peace.

"Alright," Clark sighed. "Okay, don't rush it, but try to stabilize the potion as fast as possible, please." Raven nodded. "Bruce, could you…?"

"Of course, I'll go with her," Bruce said, immediately, incredibly interested in what she was doing. Differently from Clark, Bruce was actually fascinated by magic.

"And Raven, don't forget to—"

"Use the Mirror Dimension to contain any damage, I know," she finished before he could, already leaving the room with Bruce.

"Does this have anything to do with the building shaking in the afternoon?" Natasha asked when they were gone, looking at Clark with a single eyebrow raised.

"No…" Her unamused glare hit him full force, so Clark decided to change the subject. "Hey, Natasha, I know it's far-fetched, but did Fisk say anything to the cops about this whole thing?"

"No. I sent my own people to talk to him and it was a big waste of time. He doesn't know why something like this would happen, he doesn't have any enemies, no one threatened him or Vanessa, yadda yadda yadda." Natasha shrugged. "Nothing we didn't already expect, but…"

"Frustrating nonetheless," Clark agreed.

"Anyway, I have some people watching him from afar, we'll see if something happens," she said. "Give me a call if you need anything or if Raven finishes her experiments. The sooner we find that dragon, the better."

That was something all of them could agree on. Natasha and Clint left, and Jessica was soon to follow.

"Well, as fun as it was to see 'Blind Lee' here almost fuck everything up," Jessica said, grabbing her things, "I got shit to do. Clark, I'm sending you the bill for this later."

"Bill?"

"Overtime pay, of course. It's already nighttime," Jessica explained, entering the elevator and pressing the button.

"What? No, I'm not paying for—" The elevator closed. Clark sighed. "I'm not paying for that."

He wasn't sure if he was talking to Matt or himself, but since the blind vigilante didn't answer, he might as well be talking to a wall. Clark turned to look at the oddly silent lawyer, still sitting down, still lazily caressing the painting he brought with him: a mix of different tones of red, with no discernable shape or form.

And a single gunshot mark in the middle, probably the same one intended for Vanessa.

"Got something from the art exhibition, after all?" he asked, startling a very distracted Matt.

"A gift," Matt answered after a second. "Vanessa gave it to me when I refused a reward."

"That was nice of her."

"Hmm." He stayed in silent for a minute, then turned to Clark. "I was not expecting… Well, any of that."

Clark grabbed a chair and sat closer to him.

"You mean the assassination attempt? Or the demon?"

"All of those too, but…" He sighed. "I went there expecting to meet the Devil himself." Matt looked at Clark, his red lenses reflecting everything. "Instead I found a man in love. Someone willing to die for a person he cared about, someone that had the person he loves willing to die for him."

It was Clark's turn to sigh. He suspected Matt had gone to the art exhibition for more than just information gathering. He didn't believe Matt would try to kill Fisk, at least not like that and not at that moment, but he would be a fool to think that the thought had never crossed Matt's mind.

Matt went there for information, yes, but he also went to meet the man who destroyed so many innocent lives — including of people they knew and cared about — and, at least metaphorically, look him in the eyes.

He went there to meet the Devil, to prepare himself for something he might be forced to do, but Clark knew better than anyone that things were rarely black and white.

"Few things are absolute, Matt," Clark started. He smiled at the strangely fitting example that crossed his mind. "They say even the Devil was once an angel."

Matt chuckled. "She said the same thing. Vanessa," he explained, tapping the painting.

"Well, I guess she would know," Clark said, "otherwise, she wouldn't love Fisk. And he wouldn't love her back."

"I still can't believe that a man capable of doing the things he did can feel love. Or anything, for that matter," Matt admitted. "It just doesn't seem possible."

Clark couldn't blame him. From what they knew about Fisk's crimes, both committed and allowed by him, it hardly seemed they were dealing with a human being, someone capable of feeling emotions, of empathizing with people.

But reality tended to be far more complex.

"The fact that Fisk committed horrific crimes doesn't make him incapable of love or even doing things that we would consider good," Clark said, finally, trying to put what he learned working as Superman into words. He tilted his head. "Of course, the fact that he loves someone, even so deeply that he would die for her, doesn't erase his crimes. Especially when he never showed remorse, any intention of stop or even attempted to fix the bad things he did... At least the fixable ones. That's why we're doing all we can to stop him."

"You think a man like him could repent?" Matt asked, brusquely. "Atone for his crimes?"

"If he truly wanted to? And I don't mean just saying it or even just regretting what he did, I mean truly work to fix what he could, willingly pay for his crimes — for the rest of his life, if need be — and dedicate himself to become a better person, to help others… Yeah, I believe so. I believe anyone could become a force for good. It's a pity very few are actually willing to do what it takes."

Lots of criminals claimed they wanted to "be good" after being caught, but almost none truly worked for that. Being "good" wasn't easy, it took effort, it took dedication, and it was far too simple to just let it go, especially after the person already did a lot of wrong.

But Clark truly believed it was worth it.

Was is it Fisk's case? No, at least not right now. Maybe Fisk would rethink his life choices once they arrested him, maybe Vanessa was the very thing he needed to take a turn for the better. But as of right now Fisk was, despite his love for Vanessa, a very evil man. And he needed to be stopped.

And Clark was beginning to think that Matt had found out a good way for him to try.

He looked at Matt. "What can you tell me about Vanessa?"

Matt raised a single eyebrow.

"What do you mean you cannot find them?" Fisk asked, gruffly, his hand almost crushing the small cellphone.

"I can't reach any of them," Wesley answered, not even bothering to hide his agitation. "It's like they disappeared, alongside with their families."

Fisk closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. Vanessa, standing by his side in his luxurious penthouse, was trying to hide her concern, but it was easy to see that she was trying to be strong for his sake. Behind her, the immense windows showed the night sky, New York shining in the dark.

None of this was supposed to happen.

He promised Vanessa that he would take care of her, that by his side she would never have to fear anything. And now, he couldn't even contact most of his men, his soldiers for lack of a better term. Fisk had no illusions: it was pretty clear that they, like the security guard earlier that day, had simply turned on him.

Because of the Hand.

That was not a decision taken out of their own free will, of that Fisk was certain. He knew everything about the men working for him, their personalities, their weaknesses, their vices and their strengths; none of them, whether by fear of him, greed or loyalty, would turn on him like that, not without signs, not out of nowhere.

The Hand had, somehow, got to them. They had the means to do things that Fisk couldn't explain, things that he was happy to ignore when they were allies, but that were being used against him right now.

Gao, it seemed, had asked for his men as a courtesy, because they were already hers. And now she was using his own men against him.

"What about those outside the continent?" Fisk asked, trying to find a way to protect Vanessa.

"I'm still trying to contact them, but—"

"Wilson," Vanessa called.

"— so far I have nothing, sir."

"Wilson!" Vanessa called again and he looked at her for a moment, trying to convey with gestures that he would talk to her in a second.

"Keep trying, Wesley, and—"

"WILSON!"

This time, Fisk turned fast, fearing an attack, readying himself for a fight, expecting anything. Well, almost anything.

He did not expect to see Superman floating outside his windows, as if waiting to get in.

There was a moment of complete silence, as he and Vanessa stared at Superman, frozen.

"I'll call you back," Fisk said to Wesley, and without waiting for an answer, hung up.

Sparing him one last flabbergasted look, Vanessa hurried forward to open the window; Fisk didn't try to stop her. If Superman wanted to get in, it wouldn't be a bit of glass that would stand in his way. With shaking hands, she finally managed to unlock the window and, with a gracious but, at least for her, strangely timid gesture, she ushered Superman inside.

The alien hovered slowly — and politely, if there even was such a thing —, maybe not to startle them, and finally got in. There was another long silence.

Fisk honestly didn't see this coming. Of all the things he could expect at the end of that disastrous day, Superman standing in the middle of his penthouse was not even on the list. And yet, it had the potential to be the worst of them, depending on his reason to be there.

For a long minute, all he and Vanessa could do was stare.

"Good evening," Superman said, breaking the silence, "Mr. Fisk, Miss Marianna."

As if his voice kickstarted his brain back into work, Fisk walked to him, standing on Vanessa's side to greet the unexpected guest.

"Superman, it is an honor to have you here," Fisk said, slowly. "And a surprise. Are you here because of what happened this afternoon?"

It was, in fact, the only reason Fisk could think for Superman to be there.

"You could say so," Superman answered.

And didn't say anything else.

"Well, I must thank you for the kindness, then," he said, glancing at Vanessa. "It was a blessing that no one was hurt during that unfortunate event." There was a pause. "I, of course, have already told the police everything I know about—"

"Let me stop you, before you lie to me," Superman interrupted, raising his hand, his blue eyes hard.

Fisk felt his blood turn cold. "Lie? I'm afraid I don't unders—"

"I know what you have been doing. I know about all the crimes you've committed. I know you are the leader behind an international criminal organization." He stared deep into Fisk's eyes. "I know about the Hand and how they turned on you."

The only reaction Fisk had was to close his hand harder around Vanessa's, but internally, he was very nearly panicking. How could this have happened? He opened his mouth to deny everything, but Superman stopped him again.

"I'm not here to trick you into a confession, so don't bother denying what we both know is the truth," Superman said. "I'm here to tell you what's going to happen." He stopped, still staring unblinking at Fisk's eyes. "I don't know why the Hand turned on you, but they did. The man that tried to shoot Miss Marianna was possessed by a demon allied to the Hand. That is the kind of people you're facing right now. Not just criminals, but a cult with access to horrors you can't even begin to imagine. You probably know that better than I do."

Vanessa looked at him when Superman started to talk about demons, probably expecting him to laugh or to contradict him; he didn't. He couldn't. As much as he tried to ignore the unexplainable things the Hand could do, he knew they were real, even if he couldn't name them properly.

So he held Superman's stare, as Vanessa paled, simply holding her hand tighter to give her some much needed comfort.

"That's the kind of people you brought to the city you claim to love," Superman went on, his voice hard. "And now that they're here, they no longer need you." He looked at Vanessa. "They failed today. But sooner or later they won't."

This time, Fisk felt his blood boil. Without thinking, he stepped forward, closing the distance to Superman.

"Do not threaten her!" he growled, the fury barely contained in his voice.

Any person with a shred of self-preservation would have cowered before his rage, Fisk knew it, he had seen it before, many times. Superman didn't even flinch. Instead, he too stepped forward, his unblinking eyes still staring at him.

Fisk had never felt smaller.

Not because of Superman's size — as big as he was, Fisk was still a gigantic man —, but because of the sheer aura of power he emanated. This wasn't someone Fisk could intimidate, someone he could fight or ever hope to hurt.

This was an alien god that could end him with a snap of his fingers. And at that moment, Fisk truly understood what that meant.

"I'm not you," Superman finally said, his voice powerful enough to shake the windows, his eyes still unblinking. "I do not threaten or hurt innocents. And despite being here, by your side, this is what Miss Marianna is. But the Hand doesn't care. I will protect her, and even you, to the best of my ability, but they will not stop. Sooner or later, they will be successful. If the Hand isn't stopped, Vanessa will die. Deep down, you have to know that."

He did. By god, he did. Fisk didn't want to admit, to show weakness, but the truth was he couldn't face the Hand. It was already barely possible back when he had an army, and it was impossible now that he hadn't.

But he still didn't say anything, he just held Vanessa's hand even tighter.

"You don't know which of your men you can trust," Superman continued, "you have nothing to counter their dark arts, you don't even know what to expect." He pointed towards the night sky. "The Hand has a living weapon, a creature beyond anything that what we have already seen. And when that creature is unleashed, soon, this city will be caught in the crossfire. People will die." He looked at Vanessa again and Fisk felt her and shaking. "If the Hand has its way, you both will too."

He turned back to Fisk.

"Help me to bring them down," Superman said. "Give me what you have on them, tell me where they are, and we can end this before anyone else gets hurt."

There was another long silence.

Fisk's mind was working faster than ever before, trying to analyze Superman's request and everything that it entailed. He didn't know anything about any weapon or creature powerful enough to damage the city, but he knew more than even Gao realized about the Hand's operations; in his line of business, information was more often than not, a matter of life and death.

People that worked for them, storages containing weapons and money, places where they made drugs, transportation routes… Maybe not enough to bring them down for good, as Superman said, but enough to force them out of New York, at least for the time being.

But if he accepted the deal, if he shared what he knew, then Superman would bring him down alongside with the Hand, he had no doubt. If he revealed he knew all that, it would be as good as a confession, and not even his new "friends" in the government would be able to help him.

Superman clearly knew more than Fisk ever wanted him to know, but if he had proof, they wouldn't be talking in his penthouse, they would be talking inside a prison cell. The fact that they weren't was telling.

Fisk looked at Vanessa. Would it matter, though? Why would he care about going to prison if Vanessa was safe?

The moment he opened his mouth to accept the deal, however, Vanessa spoke:

"I think you should leave, Superman," she said, politely, but firmly.

Superman turned to her, studying her face for a few long seconds. He didn't look surprised at all by her intervention, Fisk noticed.

Just disappointed.

"If any of you changes your mind or need help, give me a yell," Superman said, going towards the window, his red cape fluttering behind him. "I hope I can arrive in time."

Saying this, he flew out, disappearing in the night with a powerful sonic boom.

Fisk let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. Then he looked at Vanessa.

"It was a good deal," he said, simply.

"Not if we are apart," she answered, then hugged him for a long time. Eventually, Vanessa stepped back and looked in his eyes. "What he said, about this 'Hand', is it true? Demons, living weapons… Is that even possible?"

In silence, Fisk nodded.

"You said once that I wouldn't have to fear anything if I stood by your side," Vanessa said. "Did you mean it?"

'With all my heart," Fisk answered, truthfully. "But this enemy… Vanessa, I don't know if I can win. I don't have the numbers or the strength to go against them. Alone, I'm…"

Before he could finish, a thought crossed his mind: but what if he wasn't alone? What if instead of looking at this situation as the boss of a criminal organization, he looked at it as a victim? Compared to the Hand's forces, and given that Gao took his men from him, it wasn't that far from the truth.

What if he did what every person in need of help did these days?

Vanessa smiled when she realized he had a plan. He kissed her and grabbed his phone, moving towards the elevator, so he could speak privately from his office underground, without any meddling flying aliens listening to everything he said.

Fisk only hoped this would work.

Jim "Old Man" Davis was drunk.

This wasn't an extraordinary event, of course, he was usually drunk — living in the streets of New York wasn't easy —, but it was worth mentioning because he was "just drunk" and not hammered to the point of being unable to walk.

He had a job, after all.

It was a weird job, true, but how many homeless men could say they got paid 500 bucks up front, cash, for something not illegal? Nothing to do with drugs, prostitution, theft or anything that could bring Superman or that Devil guy on his head?

Well, Jim had no idea, but not many, he supposed.

It looked too good to be true, he wouldn't lie, but hey, 500 bucks was 500 bucks and Jim needed the cash, so fuck it, he thought. He listened to the instructions from the shady guy who went to him, took the money, took a bus to the address written on the note and stopped right in front of the abandoned building.

He considered just not doing any of that shit, sure, he got paid up front after all, but the man was very clear that if he did this right, there would be more and Jim liked the idea of more easy money, so why not? It wasn't like the job would be hard.

All he had to do was yell what was written on the note the man gave him.

Jim had no fucking idea why someone would pay him for that. Maybe it was a prank? Or maybe someone was recording him to put on the internet for laughs? Honestly, he just didn't give a shit. So he took the note from his tattered coat, scratched his long, tangled beard, and faced the seemingly empty building.

Then he took a deep breath and yelled:

"HELP, THE HAND IS HERE! THE HAND IS HERE! HELP!"

The few people in the street looked at him as if he were crazy and hurried to get away from him; Jim couldn't exactly blame them for it. Others — probably those who considered themselves at a safe distance from the drunk hobo — just pointed and laughed at him.

And for a minute, nothing else happened.

Until, suddenly, the abandoned building main door — locked with a long chain — opened with a bang, and a bunch of angry Chinese guys came out.

"Oh, fuck, I knew this was a bad idea," Jim exclaimed, turning to run away before he got beat up.

Why the hell did he think this was a good idea? Oh, yes, money. And the booze, of course. Never a good combination.

Before he could even walk five steps, though, there was a loud booming noise up in the sky. The clouds parted and a blue and red blur descended.

Superman landed between him and the angry Chinese guys, and he did it with such power that the ground shook, sending everyone around down. Jim fell with all the grace of a drunk pig, sprawled on the sidewalk, one of his old shoes flying from his foot all the way to the middle of the street.

When he finally managed to get up, dizzy, confused, and almost puking the cheap vodka he called breakfast, Jim froze at the sight in front of him.

"Holy fuckin' shit," he summarized, eyes wide.

In the few seconds he took to get up, Superman had not only beat to unconsciousness all the Chinese guys, but also tied them up to a nearby light pole with the same chain they used to lock the door.

And now he was looking right at him.

"Sir, you were the one who called, right?" he asked and Jim nodded, fast, unwilling to antagonize the super powerful alien. "Stay there, please, I'll speak with you in a second."

Saying this, he blurred again, tearing to pieces the heavy door to the building as he entered.

Jim couldn't have left even if he was brave enough to disobey him, completely frozen in place as he heard the screams, gunshots and clashes going on inside the place, as Superman kicked everybody's asses.

Yep, the easy money really was too good to be true, Jim thought, hoping he wouldn't join the pile of beaten up Chinese guys for some reason.

He was beginning to think he should've charged more.

Clark was honestly impressed with Fisk's ingenuity, even if he couldn't help but to feel a little annoyed at being used. He had found a way to relay everything he knew about the Hand — weapon's storages, drug labs, warehouses full of their people, offices and so on — without tying himself to the crimes committed in any way, thus making it impossible to use that evidence against him.

Homeless people yelling to alert him in front of Hand's warehouses, abandoned stereo systems playing recorded messages loudly, loudspeakers blaring information throughout the city, kids shouting that they had letters to him…

The day after Clark spoke to Fisk and Vanessa had been busy, as he flew over the city from one point to another, gathering these little tidbits of information and using it to find and disrupt the Hand's operations all over New York. He tried, every time, to link these messages to Fisk, using everything he had — interviewing the people who called from him, using street cameras' footage, searching for fingerprints on the letters, even using Jarvis' satellites images —, but there simply wasn't a trail to follow, or, if there was, it ended before getting anywhere important.

But given the situation they were facing, Clark didn't mind all that much.

The amount of information Fisk gave him about the Hand was immense. The Hand might have more resources than they could imagine, but there was simply no way to recover from such a blow immediately. Clark, using Fisk's tips, had crippled the Hand's hold in New York in little more than a day; the dragon remained lost, sure, but Raven was working on that.

No matter how they achieved that, it was a victory; Jessica, of course, thought differently.

"So you're Fisk's bitch now?" she said, after he explained what was going on, as they walked through the corridors of the Avengers Tower. "He say 'jump' you say 'how high'?"

Clark sighed, rolling his eyes.

"You do realize he's using you to clean house, right?" Jessica went on. "To send the Hand away from New York so he can take it back. You know that, right?"

"I know that," Clark answered, tired. "But it doesn't matter right now. I need information to fight the Hand and he's giving me that information. I don't care if he thinks he'll profit from this, after we're done with the Hand, it's Fisk's turn." He shrugged. "Until then, we'll do it his way."

Her disdainful scoff told Clark what exactly Jessica thought about everything he said.

"Whatever," Jessica finally said. They entered the elevator. "So, if you're more than happy to be an attack dog for that fat asshole, what am I doing here?"

"Because Raven told me she finally did it," Clark answered, happily. "The potion to help us find the dragon."

She stared at him for a long time, then sighed.

"A demon girl brewed a potion so we can find a dragon… Things just got worse and worse after I got an alien as my neighbor."

Clark just laughed.

Soon enough, the unusually fast elevator stopped and opened its doors, so Clark and Jessica could continue to the reinforced laboratory Raven had requested for her experiments. And just like he expected, there she was, alongside Bruce, Natasha, Clint and Matt, waiting for them.

"You did it!" Clark congratulated her, happy.

Raven gave him an almost imperceptible smile.

"We'll know for sure soon enough."

"As long as we don't have any more explosions," Natasha warned.

"It should be stable," Bruce explained. "There weren't any other… incidents. Or at least not any worth mentioning."

He and Raven shared a look that pretty much confirmed that there were other incidents worth mentioning, but pursuing that thought wouldn't get them anywhere now. They had done it, Raven had done it, and now they had a way to finally find Ao Shun's remains and put a stop to his resurrection.

"So what's the plan?" Clark asked, looking at Raven. "How does this work?"

Not answering immediately, Raven raised the flask full of a truly heinous liquid, an almost black potion that seemed to move by itself inside the container. Clark had helped Raven get the ingredients for that, the ones Tony's lab didn't already have — or any normal lab, really —, and he knew with absolute certainty that he wouldn't want to drink that.

No one would, not unless there was someone out there who enjoyed minced pieces of rare slugs, powdered poisonous bugs and the blood of an underwater snake that Clark had to dive pretty deep in the ocean to find.

He pitied Raven's poor taste buds for what was about to happen.

"The potion is meant to numb my astral senses," Raven explained, "so that I won't automatically search for the strongest pull, my body. That way, I'll have the chance to actually look for any other anchor calling me, no matter how faint that call might be."

"Your blood," Clark guessed.

She nodded. "The blood being used to revive the dragon. Hopefully, if it works, I will be able to guide you there." Raven looked around, to the people in the lab. "The Hand will use everything they have to make sure the ritual isn't stopped, so I advise you to prepare yourselves to fight before I drink this."

There was a moment of silence.

"You heard the girl," Natasha said, meeting their eyes. "Suit up."

Following the advice, they all started to check their equipment. Truth be told, most of them were ready. Clark's suit was stored in Kelex and in less than a second he was already wearing it; Jessica, like him, was dressed in hers, the Thanagarian mace Sif gave her already in her hands. Natasha and Clint both were checking their arsenal, wearing their battle attires as well, and Bruce was simply watching them, already wearing his highly stretchy pants like he always did, in case he turned into the Big Guy.

Raven and Matt, not unlike Bruce, were simply waiting, she wearing the black jacket Natasha gave her — the hood on, like always — and Matt dressed in his normal suit, about to put on his mask.

Before he could, however, Natasha tossed him a suitcase.

"Mr. Potter has a gift for you," she said, simply, as Matt grabbed the suitcase before it could hit him.

Confused, he opened it; his eyebrows shot up in surprise.

"Wow, that's a lot of red," Jessica mentioned, going closer to snoop. "And what the hell are those? Ears? Is this a dig at your vision, like he's calling you a 'Man-Bat' or something?"

"They're horns," Matt said, his hand feeling the inside of the suitcase. He grinned. "Devil horns."

Saying this, he lifted the red-horned helmet he was holding; Clark finally understood what they were talking about. Melvin Potter had designed a protective suit for Matt. A suit made of Chitauri fabric, light and tough, with a pair of metallic billy clubs that Clark knew would be deadly in Matt's hands.

And a mask with Devil horns that he certainly designed with the title "Devil of Hell's Kitchen" in mind.

"It should be bullet proof," Natasha explained as she made sure her pistols were loaded, "but try not to get shot."

"A sound advice for anyone at any point of their lives," Clint agreed, doublechecking his bow and arrows.

"I agree," Clark said, tossing something to Raven. "Here, this one is for you."

Frowning, Raven examined the object Clark threw at her, touching the "S" symbol in the middle as she did it; with a gasp of surprise, the girl shuddered as the Liquid Geo of the black skinsuit slithered over her extremely pale skin, disappearing under her long black jacket.

When it was over, Raven glared at him.

"I know, I know," Clark hurried to say, raising his hands, "you can take care of yourself. But please, for my sake, wear this."

Raven looked as if she wanted to argue, but with a deep breath, she changed her mind; she looked around.

"Everyone ready?" Raven asked, grabbing the potion flask. They all nodded.

Without any hesitation, she opened the flask and downed the whole thing in one go.

Clark was by her side in the blink of an eye, holding her when her legs faltered, but despite that one moment of weakness, Raven stood her ground, shaking her head quickly, maybe to distract herself from the effects — or the taste — of the potion. Then, slowly, she sat down, cross-legged, closing her eyes.

"Azarath Metrion Zinthos," Raven whispered.

And as soon as she did, her astral form left her, hovering above her own body, like a ghost.

An entirely black ghost, not much different from a living shadow.

She looked at him.

"Shall we?" Raven asked, her voice sounding different, as she disappeared through the walls as if they weren't there.

"I'll warn you as soon as we find something," Clark said, looking at the people in the lab.

With one last look to everyone else, he took off, flying through the windows after her.

The last time Clark had flown alongside a friend, it was during the battle against Malekith, and he hardly had the time to enjoy Thor's company as they fought the Dark Elf throughout the Nine Realms. This time, despite the urgency of their search, he managed to appreciate a lot more, even if his flight companion was actually in astral form.

They soared through the skies of New York, parting the white clouds, zigzagging amongst the buildings as Raven followed her senses. And before long, they stopped mid-flight, when she pointed to an isolated warehouse on the outskirts of the city.

A warehouse that Clark couldn't see through or hear anything inside.

With a nod of confirmation, they both descended, right through the roof of the warehouse. Raven, intangible as she was in her astral form, went past it without so much as feeling it; Clark, however, entered the place with a loud crash, landing like a meteorite right in the middle.

As soon as he did, it was like his senses started to work again, almost as if the magic preventing him from using them had been dispelled. Except, that the only thing to see there, was the absolutely huge hole in the ground, not unlike the deep tunnel in Pyramiden that led to Ao Shun's tomb.

He shared a look with Raven, but before any of them could say anything, a voice startled them.

"I was beginning to wonder if you would find this place before the completion of the ritual."

Quickly, both he and Raven turned to the direction of the voice. There was an old Asian lady looking at them, small, a cane in her hands, seemingly as non-threateningly as one could be; except if you actually knew who that was, and Clark believed — by the description Sergei, Vladimir and Leland gave him — that he did.

Madame Gao, one of the leaders of the Hand.

"She's not really here," Raven said, her voice monotonous. "It's an astral projection."

Now that Clark noticed, Raven was right; he couldn't hear or see anything that indicated he was dealing with a physical body.

"Not unlike yours, Black Sky," Madame Gao confirmed with a smile. "Like you, I also have other places to be." She turned to Clark. "Welcome, Kal-El. It is a pleasure to finally meet my adversary. It will be an honor to finally cross swords with you."

"Madame Gao, I presume," Clark spoke, facing her. "Leader of the Hand."

"Merely one of them. But even I answer to others," she said, glancing down the hole.

"Ao Shun," Clark presumed.

"And Trigon," Raven added, a slight snarl in her usual emotionless tone. "You are a fool for thinking there is anything to be gained from dealing with him."

"I disagree, Black Sky," Madame Gao said, still smiling. "I think there is a lot to be gained. My home, for instance."

"If you think Trigon will honor this deal, you are crazy. He is pure Evil. If you help him to cross into this world, everything is doomed, K'un-Lun included. You think he will spare the Heavenly Cities once he finds a way through Agamotto's barrier?"

"I think Trigon wants something a lot more than he wants the Heavenly Cities, something he would gladly trade for it: you." Gao walked closer, her astral steps making no sound. "He wants his daughter, a Princess to rule by his side."

Madame Gao raised her hand.

"Come with us, Black Sky. Fulfil your destiny. Become who you are meant to be. Rule this world by your Father's side as it is foretold."

Shocked to his core by this turn of events, Clark looked at Raven, searching for any clues to what she was thinking; to his surprise, it was pretty clear. Gone was the mask of calmness and in its place was something else.

Raw fury.

"Never!" Raven roared, and even though the voice came from her astral form, the place trembled.

Slowly, Gao's hand fell.

"Then you leave me no choice but to take you to your Father." She pointed her cane to the tunnel leading down. "The ritual cannot be stopped, not anymore. Ao Shun will rise again. And when he does, we will begin the war to take this world."

She turned to Clark and smiled again; a cold, malevolent smile.

"Starting by taking back what you stole from us: Black Sky."

Clark met her stare, unflinching.

"Over my dead body."

"And your companions' bodies as well, I suppose," Gao agreed. "The Siege of the Avengers Tower began the moment you two arrived here." Clark felt his blood turn cold. "You have made your choice, Black Sky. Blood will be spilled."

Madame Gao smiled again, then disappeared completely.

Clark blurred to where she had previously been, but there was no sign of her; she was, most likely, leading the assault to the Avengers Tower back inside her real body. He met Raven's eyes and saw fear in them.

"Go back to the tower," Clark told Raven. "Warn everybody of what's coming. I'll—"

A loud roar made the ground quake; pieces of the warehouse's roof fell down and the walls cracked.

"Warn them, activate the defenses, and be careful!" Clark urgently ordered after a few seconds of shock, looking to the tunnel where the terrible noises were coming from. "I'll deal with that and meet you there."

"Okay," Raven replied, her voice almost inaudible.

"And Raven?" He blurred and stopped right in front of her, his hands almost touching her intangible face; he stared into her eyes. "You are stronger than you know. Both here," he pointed at her heart, "and here," and then at her temple. "Never forget that."

Raven closed her eyes for a moment and then nodded, this time full of determination.

"I won't."

Then her astral form vanished.

Without wasting any more time, Clark jumped down the hole, flying as fast as he could through the long tunnel until he finally reached the bottom. Everything was shaking, the stone was splitting open and the noise was terrifyingly loud.

But nothing could compare to the shock he felt when he saw what was down there.

It wasn't a tomb or a hole filled with bones, it was an immense Lazarus Pit, not unlike the one the Ancient One showed him, but much larger. Instead of being simply a well or a pool, this one seemed to be an enormous underground lake, spreading in all directions, deep and much wider than the warehouse or the entire land where it was built.

And it all glowed in a sickly, radioactive toned, green.

The waters were not calm. Like the warehouse far above them, they were shaking, waves colliding against the walls, like a sea during a storm. Something under it was moving, disturbing the green water, so much that the small island where Clark landed was almost being flooded.

It wasn't the green waters or the violent shaking that left Clark stunned, however: it was the feeling of absolute Evil emanating from them.

He could feel it hitting him in waves, almost as if Evil itself had become tangible, almost as if he could touch it with his bare his hands; which didn't make any sense, of course, but it didn't mean it wasn't happening. Clark felt sick and he had to stop himself from retching as the truly repulsive energy reached him.

Trigon's power, Clark knew instinctively. A mere fraction of it, coming from the rift opened by Raven's blood.

Was this what Raven fought against every second of every day? Was this what meant to be a Black Sky? Clark was dizzy, nauseated, almost suffocated by a mere sliver of that power; how could Raven keep her sanity?

He had no idea, but now wasn't the time to find out. Ao Shun was rising, the Hand was attacking the Avengers Tower, and they wouldn't stop at anything until Raven was captured again. And until she used her powers to bring Trigon, to bring this foul power, fully into their world.

Clark couldn't let that happen.

Digging his feet into the ground, Clark gathered all his power and felt his eyes burn; and without any more delay, he unleashed his heat vision against the stone ceiling of the underground lake.

The energy beams obliterated everything in their path, causing a cave in, dropping tons and tons of stone over the Lazarus Pit. Everything began to fall apart, the noise taking the entire place, the chunks of rock burying that unholy place so that nothing could ever leave.

When he saw that there was no stopping the avalanche, Superman took off, flying fast towards the sky, breaking any and all rocks in his path as he abandoned the Lazarus Pit and arrived in the sky.

Finally, he stopped, taking a deep breath, feeling his head lighter as the energy of the Pit disappeared under a mountain of rocks.

Clark watched as the warehouse itself collapsed, the ground under it giving in and disappearing in the sinkhole. The loud noise covered everything else, and more and more sections of the land fell.

Until there was silence.

Carefully, Clark landed again, using his enhanced vision to see through the rocks, so he could make sure everything was covered and nothing could leave that place ever again. He stopped, completely motionless, trying to hear even the softest sounds, smell the faintest of scents, feel the slightest movements.

There was nothing.

He sighed, feeling relief fill his entire body, relief that the Evil under his feet was buried forever.

It was at that moment that the ground shook violently and unexpectedly; and faster than he could even ready himself, the earth itself parted and a massive, a titanic black and green dragon flew to the sky, roaring so loudly that Clark flinched.

And before he could follow, before he could even think about doing anything, a blast of cold — frostier than anything he ever felt before — hit him straight in the face, freezing his limbs, encasing him into a mountain of pure ice.

Ao Shun, the Dragon King of Winter, was alive once again.