SHIELD attached immense importance to Duval, because starting the very next day, the surveillance team SHIELD sent grew ten-fold—a total of ten face-concealing Dum Dums taking turns keeping watch from the adjacent building.
Representatives from various factions also visited one after another.
At least on the surface, they were all polite to Duval, extending olive branches, though none received a positive response from Duval.
This was expected.
A battle of that scale, which had even resulted in the death of General Ross on the spot, couldn’t possibly be covered up.
Everyone now knew about the creatures called Xenomorphs and recognized their value as biological weapons.
Duval’s standing was consequently elevated to unprecedented heights, granting him full leverage to say no to them.
Well, the fact that Duval hadn’t casually slaughtered the agents they sent was itself an incomprehensible display of restraint, enough to surprise even the most bloodthirsty figures.
“‘In the wake of the Broadway Incident, newly appointed Deputy Commissioner George Stacy rushed to the scene to console injured citizens and promised the residents of New York City that he would apply for dedicated government funding to strengthen police presence and prevent such an incident from happening again…'” Duval recited a passage before tossing aside the newspaper in his hand.
The entire text was full of cliché rhetoric.
The only detail that interested him was that George Stacy had actually been promoted.
That was likely the sugar-coated bullet Dum Dum had thrown out to shut George’s mouth.
“Compared to tedious news reports, watching certain people perform their enthusiastic acts is far more entertaining.
Even Kingpin sent his people over.
At least he’s openly offering me money to build good relations—nobody turns down money.
However, I truly didn’t expect someone to come sneaking onto my turf.
Is my hospitality lacking?” Duval sighed softly without even blinking.
Yet beside him, several Xenomorphs that had been sitting quietly like large dogs stood up in a flash as if receiving a precise signal.
Their bodies tensed as they moved swiftly through the building.
Hidden in the shadows, Elektra felt her heart leap, her heartbeat briefly accelerating.
That momentary slip alone was enough to expose her position.
Because what she was facing had never been ordinary humans, but creatures far surpassing normal human parameters in every metric, accompanied by several Xenomorphs acting as their claws and fangs.
*Whoosh!* Several Xenomorphs moved rapidly and silently, yet their coordination was seamlessly tacit.
Elektra abandoned all thoughts of luck.
Facing Xenomorphs that showed no mercy, she knew that a single misstep meant dying here.
She grumbled inward, regretting ever making the unnecessary move to come here while executing her mission.
A Runner Xenomorph appeared behind Elektra, its flexible tail thrusting forward.
Clearly, if it struck, Elektra would be impaled like meat on a skewer.
*Bang!
Bang!
Bang!* As if she had eyes in the back of her head, Elektra decisively drew her gun, spun, and fired rapidly, accurately hitting the limbs of the two leading Runner Xenomorphs.
At the same time, she carefully dodged the small spatters of blood, her eyelids twitching wildly at the sight of the deep pits corroded into the floor by the blood.
“Don’t misunderstand!
I was just tracking Kingpin’s men and followed them all the way here!” In less than a second, after a single exchange, Elektra had already confirmed that continuing to play tough would end terribly for her.
Deductive analysis from watching videos was entirely different from actual combat after all—and these were merely the weakest Xenomorphs.
If she encountered that giant monster similar to the Hulk…
Then what kind of strength did Duval himself possess—the man capable of controlling these Xenomorphs?
“A clever excuse—at least more plausible than a poorly constructed lie.
So, do I have reason to assume you are provoking me on behalf of The Hand?
Or will you deny it and claim that your Hand knows nothing about me?” Duval clapped his hands.
“…” Elektra’s expression darkened.
Standing before Duval, she actually felt the illusion of being completely stripped bare.
“That’s something for the ‘Five Fingers’ to think about.
A ninja like me is only responsible for carrying out assassination missions.
But personally, I believe that as long as they aren’t fools, they won’t make an enemy out of you.” “No.
The very fact that you appeared before me already indicates the stance of those five old geezers.” “As far as I know, the five of them are discussing your matter, but they haven’t reached a conclusion yet.” Elektra finally revealed some information.
It wasn’t that she had lost her principles as a top assassin, but rather because she saw three more Xenomorphs emerge silently from the darkness, completely surrounding her.
No matter how subtly Elektra adjusted her position and facing direction, preparing to make an explosive move to carve out a path of survival, there was always a Xenomorph blocking her way.
She watched as terrifying saliva dripped from the mouths of these Xenomorphs, unable to do anything but weakly grip her firearms and blades.
According to the intelligence gathered from that video, one of the Xenomorphs’ deadliest weapons seemed to be the inner jaw inside their mouths—an organ resembling a tongue or bone, with a miniature, gruesome mouth at the tip that struck faster than a bullet.
If she had to fight multiple Xenomorphs at once, especially with more quietly appearing, she would die a horrific death.
“Elektra, you really know nothing about your five old bosses.
You don’t even know why they were able to become so powerful, mastering all sorts of magic and ninjutsu,” Duval said, looking at the beauty in front of him.
Elektra: Daredevil’s old flame, an assassin for The Hand, proficient in various killing techniques, a world-class assassin.
However…
at just this level, Duval didn’t even care to spare her a second glance.
When it came to assassination, an ordinary human without supernatural power, no matter how much they trained their body, fell short in the end.
In pure hand-to-hand combat skill, she might fight a standard Xenomorph to a tie, but against a specialized Xenomorph—even one born from parasitizing a vampire—she wouldn’t stand a chance.
Duval truly couldn’t fathom where The Hand got the confidence to let someone like Elektra show up in front of him.
Indeed, Duval never believed in coincidences of any form.
Those so-called “Five Fingers”—old fossils who stole the power of the dragon from Kunlun to live for centuries and banded together to worship a hell demon—were never going to play by the rules.
One of the key abilities The Hand obtained from the demon known as the “Beast” was resurrecting the dead into their assassins—in a way, similar to the Court of Owls in DC next door.
Though in terms of prestige, they were vastly inferior to the Court of Owls, which could open the door to the Dark Multiverse and indirectly usher the dark deity behind Batman’s origin into the normal multiverse.
The Hand possessed a deep interest in all forms of assassination techniques.
Combined with the “Beast” backing them, the moment Elektra appeared here, it was already a statement of their stance.
“Let her go.
This Hand rookie probably knows nothing right now anyway.
I, on the other hand, can offer a piece of intelligence: those five old guys are secretly looking into the Deviants and ‘Fly-Boy’.” To the side, Phil Coulson walked out, speaking with a slightly serious tone, though he quickly blinked and added an emphasis: “This intel is free.” “Come on, Coulson.
I only lack money in the starting phase.
Once the initial capital is built up, I won’t need extra dollars at all.
Though maybe I misheard—did you say…
Fly-Boy?” “That’s right.
The mysterious guy in the blue and gold suit who escaped after you defeated him, and who killed General Ross with his own hands.
Some people on the internet are revering him as a Tier-0 supervillain, right up there with Magneto,” Coulson said as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
“I don’t think Magneto would consider Ikaris qualified to stand alongside him.
So after showing off such formidable power, the title Ikaris earned is ‘Fly-Boy’?
He’s a very proud man.
He’ll find out about this soon enough and try desperately to kill anyone who calls him that.” Duval’s expression carried a touch of banter.
“Ikaris?” Coulson’s spirits lifted.
He finally had an entry point so he wouldn’t waste too much time on meaningless small talk.
He fired off questions in rapid succession: “Is that his name?
You loudly accused him of being a Deviant back then.
What are the Deviants?
And how many people like Ikaris are there among them?” Elektra felt relieved to be ignored.
While stepping back, she observed the newly arrived Coulson while casting occasional glances at Duval.
If not for several Xenomorphs precisely cutting off the only tactical points suitable for combat and boxing her in tightly, Elektra would have run long ago.
These two men were conversing loudly about unrelated matters, neither paying her any mind.
This left young Elektra feeling both relieved and somewhat frustrated.