Marvel: Warhammer Simulator

"Who are you?!"

Their cover suddenly blown, Daredevil, shocked, instinctively swung his short baton. The silver-tipped end shot towards Zaire's head like a guided dart, pulled by a wire.

Zaire remained silent, unperturbed. In an instant, he swung his Catachan knife, deflecting the baton once again.

Zaire then stomped the ground with his combat boots and charged at Daredevil. Daredevil responded in kind, rushing towards Zaire. But his movements lacked the previous fluidity, hindered by an increasing sense of anxiety.

As they closed the distance, Daredevil, frustrated by the lack of response, raised his arm and unleashed a fierce punch.

Bang!

Zaire, anticipating the attack, blocked it with his elbow, producing a dull thud.

Bang!

Zaire followed up with the flat of his Catachan knife, striking Daredevil's shoulder. Despite the armor he wore, the force of Zaire's blow made him stagger, nearly losing his balance.

Seizing the moment, Zaire quickly grabbed Daredevil's arm as he tried to retrieve his baton for a counterattack.

"Hah!"

With a shout, Zaire twisted his waist, executing a powerful throw that sent Daredevil crashing into a pile of abandoned shelves, landing heavily a few meters away, raising clouds of dust and debris.

Zaire's eyes narrowed behind his mask, as if he had found Daredevil's weakness: his physical strength was clearly inferior. Without giving him time to recover, Zaire closed the distance again.

He grabbed Daredevil's collar, his muscles tensing as he lifted him off the ground. Using centrifugal force, Zaire spun half a circle and released his grip, sending Daredevil flying once more.

Daredevil crashed into a dilapidated wall, creating a dark, gaping hole. Zaire, relentless, sprinted towards him, ready to strike again.

Just as he was about to bring the flat of his knife down on the bleeding Daredevil, Zaire froze, his gaze fixed on the dark hole in the wall. Illuminated by scattered flashlight beams and flickering flames, something seemed to be swaying in the depths of the wall.

Zaire dropped the incapacitated Daredevil and began hacking at the wall with his knife, trying to widen the opening.

"Cough..."

Daredevil, regaining consciousness, clenched his fist at Zaire's back. But as he tried to speak, the sound waves in his ears painted a picture of what lay behind the wall, stopping him in his tracks, his body stiffening with shock.

The sound of Zaire's knife against the wall felt like invisible nails hammering into Daredevil's heart. He bent down, picked up his baton, and silently joined Zaire in tearing down the wall.

Five minutes later, the wall was completely dismantled, revealing a hidden 20-square-meter storage room. Inside, countless bodies were hanging in transparent vacuum-sealed bags, filled with preservatives, yet still reeking of decay. Even Zaire's gas mask couldn't block the stench.

What horrified them most was that all the bodies were children. Their bodies had been eviscerated, their organs removed without any attempt at stitching them back up. Even their eyes had been taken, leaving hollow sockets.

Zaire and Daredevil stood still, staring at the grim scene. One particular bag caught Zaire's attention—a black boy with a deformed hand. Zaire's fingers trembled as he turned the body to see the boy's ear, which was also deformed.

"Jerry...," Zaire murmured, recognizing Big Mouth Mike's lost brother, now a cold, rotting corpse.

"Heretic!"

Zaire's chest burned with rage at the sight of the children's fate. The horrors inflicted upon them made him sympathize with the Warhammer 40k Imperial ideology: heretics and chaos must die.

"Chaos!"

Zaire's angry voice echoed through the empty hall, snapping Daredevil back to reality. He gently lifted one of the children's bodies from a hook, like a loving priest performing a baptism, filled with reverence and sorrow.

Zaire, gripping his knife, walked to the center of the blood-soaked battlefield, looking for any remaining heads. With swift, precise cuts, he decapitated the corpses.

"What are you doing?" Daredevil rasped, his voice full of confusion.

Without turning around, Zaire replied coldly, "A tribute to the children."

Daredevil knelt, holding a child's body, and began to pray softly. Zaire, meanwhile, placed the heads nearby and continued his grim task.

Though Daredevil, who had never killed, did not stop Zaire's brutal actions, and Zaire did not interrupt Daredevil's futile prayers. In that moment, both men, despite their different life experiences, found common ground. They each comforted the children's souls in their own way.

Half an hour later.

The two went their separate ways before the police arrived.

Zaire had lost interest in continuing his confrontation with Daredevil.

The exposed Daredevil also lacked the energy and motivation to stop Zaire from taking the loot.

Since discovering the bodies, a burning rage seemed to inflame Zaire's chest, making him wish he could eliminate all the gangs in New York.

However, on the way home, as Zaire dealt with most of the disposable equipment, his gradually returning sense of reason curbed his impulses.

The gang had been eradicated, and the crisis involving him, and his aunt had disappeared.

The remaining issues were no longer his responsibility.

Even the most ineffective federal government would mobilize its forces in response to such shocking events.

The New York Police Department, the FBI, and perhaps even S.H.I.E.L.D. might get involved in the investigation.

If the media learned more details and sensationalized the reports, Stark, all the way in Los Angeles, might even get involved.

In the age of technology, with the omnipresent artificial intelligence JARVIS, even the cautious Zaire had no confidence in hiding.

He would eventually face the authorities, but not yet.

His priority was to act low-key and bide his time until he possessed greater power and could face everything with greater composure.

He was never a hero, just an ordinary person fighting for his Survival.

........

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