It was a complete battlefield inside Clinton Church. Five or Six men already lay dead with either their bodies strewn with bullets or their backbone broken or their gut stabbed. Fifteen men of the two gangs remained. They either hid behind the pillars, choosing to have a gun fight or they directly pounced on each other in an outright fistfight. The father and son civilian duo had managed to hide behind a chamber beside the altar, thus escaping the wrath of the battle.
The man they call "Crossbones" banged on his armour and screamed in exhilaration as he punched his opponent. The Irishman had kicked Crossbones' big handgun off his hands and tried to shoot him directly on his body with his revolver. But Crossbones' armour was thick enough to stop the bullets of a revolver. He had been back on his feet in a jiffy and within a moment, he had shoulder tackled his opponent down, knocked his gun out of his hand and pounded on every inch of his body he could lay his hands on.
That was who he was.
Crossbones was a mercenary. But when you hire him to take out someone, you can be sure of one thing: that 'someone' is going to be subjected to large amounts of punishment. Crossbones was rarely the type of mercenary who would shoot you in the head and get it over with. He usually took his time ripping you apart, inflicting pain on every inch of you. And then he would end you.
The poor Irishman tried his best to kick his way out of Crossbones' clutches but the latter pinned him down and shoving his hand deep into his arm-pocket, he pulled out a Talon blade.
With a swift motion, Crossbones sliced a handful of flesh off the Irishman's cheeks.
The screams of the Irishman echoed across the entire church. Even the occasional bullet sounds and the sounds of men fighting seemed to dull down before it. He clutched the side of his face and twitched on the floor as the blood began to pour out of the side of his face, through his fingers.
Crossbones watched him silently, pondering where he could place his next cut when he noticed something in the corner of the eye.
A man in a black outfit and a black mask was fighting against one of his own men, to buy time for the pregnant woman to run away and hide behind a door. The man was fighting with tremendous vigour and tenacity. Crossbones watched his every movement with stoic indifference and silent concentration.
He slowly smiled.
With absolutely no effort, he swung the Talon blade at the Irishman kneeling and twitching before him.
The blade sliced through his throat, cutting clean through his artery. Blood poured out like a river.
"I have another opponent to fight, my dear friend." Crossbones muttered to the convulsing man.
With that, Crossbones stepped before Daredevil.
***
"He said you would come." Crossbones proclaimed.
Daredevil stood poised, ready for a fight. Even if he hadn't fought this opponent before, there would be zero uncertainty in his posture. He was completely determined to put up a fight. Crossbones had been well informed of that attribute of this man.
Daredevil cocked his head. "He was supposed to leave my friends alone. I promised to go after his woman if he didn't."
"We're not here for your friends." Crossbones smiled. "We just want the kid. And the Irish."
"I can't allow that to happen."
"Then, I'm afraid, he has asked me to sacrifice all of you at the altar. I believe, you are religious."
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Devil's Redemption
FanfictionA tragedy causes Matt Murdock give up his mantle of "Daredevil" and flee Hell's Kitchen, affected by grief. However, he is constantly haunted by his shame, guilt produced by the rebellion of his innate nature. As a massive gang war begins erupting...
