𝐃𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐥'𝐬 𝐀𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐧

"One thing I should probably tell you," Ebony said, "Wilson Fisk got arrested... and escaped thanks to the FBI."
   
Carrie's expression shifted, her fingers tightening instinctively against the edge of her new jacket.
   
"Fisk?" she repeated, the name prickling her memory like a warning flare. "And you're telling me this now?!"
   
Ebony watched Carrie's reaction with a calm, calculating look, her tail flicking lazily. "I thought you'd want to be prepared. He's been sighted around 46th and 10th. North Alley."
   
Carrie took a steadying breath, the name Wilson Fisk sending a dark pulse through her thoughts. The thought of him roaming free twisted her stomach with a familiar mix of fear and anger.
   
"Why is he here?" Carrie asked, her voice low but steady.
   
Ebony's gaze remained unflinching, her yellow eyes glinting with a hint of challenge. "Oh, a lot of things happened. First, he killed Owslely after finding out about his and Gao's involvement with the poisoning and Vanessa's near death."
   
Carrie's face tightened, her hands balling into fists as she absorbed Ebony's words. "He killed one of his own people?"
   
Ebony's tail flicked, a wry glint in her gaze. "Loyalty means very little to someone like Fisk when betrayal comes into play. He's not here to make amends or rebuild bridges. If anything, he's more dangerous now."
   
Carrie pressed her fingers into her palms, trying to steady herself. Just last night, she had barely come out unscathed from a face-off with Madame Gao. Now, hearing that Fisk was loose again felt like the weight of the world closing in on her. The name had always been whispered like a ghost story in Hell's Kitchen, an emblem of power, control, and brutality. But now that power had a direct, menacing presence on the streets again.
   
"Why tell me this now?" Carrie asked, her voice edged with frustration, feeling Ebony's gaze still calmly set on her.
   
The cat let out a soft sigh, stretching before standing. "Because you need to understand what's moving in the shadows around you, Carrie. Your powers are growing. You've entered a new game, and Fisk is another piece on the board. Whether you like it or not, his actions are already stirring trouble in places you haven't even seen yet."
   
Carrie shook her head, feeling the gravity of Ebony's words settle in. "But why would he care about me? I'm nobody to him."
   
"Perhaps not yet," Ebony replied, her eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "But you're not just anybody anymore. You're stepping into this world with abilities that even Madame Gao took an interest in. And now that you've lit a fire—literally and figuratively—you're on more than one radar."
   
Carrie exhaled, glancing toward the window where the early morning sky was beginning to brighten. Her resolve was building, coiling in the center of her chest like the flames she'd felt the night before.
   
"What do we do, then?" she asked, her voice calm but laced with determination. "If Fisk is back, he's bound to make a move soon."
   
Ebony let out a small, approving purr. "Well, you'll find him," she replied. "Remember the location. Who knows, maybe you'll find the Devil of Hell's Kitchen there."
   
Carrie's heart skipped a beat at Ebony's words. The Devil of Hell's Kitchen—Matt. She recalled the reason why he did what he did and admitted her past to him; he accepted her despite the fact she had done terrible things. She couldn't help but feel a great sense of comfort in this.
   
Now, with Fisk on the loose, that question felt heavier. She could only imagine the weight Matt carried, the battles he fought to keep the city from falling under Fisk's grip again. But this time, she wasn't just a spectator. She had her own strength, her own reasons to act.
   
"46th and 10th. North Alley." Carrie repeated, her voice firm. She glanced back at Ebony, her jaw set. "If Matt's out there, I'm not letting him face Fisk alone."
   
Ebony's tail swished, her eyes glinting approvingly. "Good. But remember, Fisk is no ordinary opponent. He thrives on intimidation and manipulation. He'll use every trick to keep you off balance. Stay focused, and don't let him get inside your head."
   
Carrie nodded, taking a deep breath to steady herself. Her fingers brushed the edge of her jacket, and the faint magenta glow pulsed beneath her skin, like a heartbeat of power and determination. She felt ready, more ready than she'd ever been.
   
As she turned to leave, Ebony leapt up onto her shoulder, her small but solid weight a steadying presence. "A word of caution, Carrie. Matt may be the Devil of Hell's Kitchen, but you're walking a path that will take you beyond even his realm. Don't lose yourself in his fight. Remember, this city's shadows hold dangers Matt has yet to face. Your path is different, and the challenges you'll meet might not be his to face."
   
Carrie's brows knit together, the weight of Ebony's warning sinking in. "But if we're fighting the same enemy—if we're both here to stop people like Fisk—why wouldn't we be on the same path?"
   
"Because you hold a power he doesn't. A fire that, if you're not careful, could burn out of control," Ebony replied, her tone softer, yet edged with something almost like caution. "Matt is formidable, but he walks the line between light and dark with his own sense of balance. You're just starting to understand the depth of your abilities. You're learning to carry power he'll never know. So, learn from him—fight alongside him if you must. But don't make his battles yours."
   
Carrie hesitated, nodding slowly as Ebony's words settled over her. "I'll keep that in mind."
   
As they stepped out into the cool, quiet evening, Carrie felt the pulse of her power steady within her, a fire that had become both her armor and her guide. She let the city streets fold around her as she headed toward 46th and 10th, a tension building in her chest with every step.
   
Approaching the alley, she slipped into the shadows, her senses heightened, eyes scanning the corners for any sign of movement. The air was thick with tension, an unspoken threat hanging heavy in the early dawn.
   
Then she heard it—a faint scuffle, the low murmur of voices just beyond the alley's edge. Steeling herself, she crept closer, moving with purpose but staying unseen, her magenta aura dimming to avoid drawing attention.
   
As she peered around the corner, her heart jolted. There, just a few feet away, stood Wilson Fisk, his imposing figure unmistakable in the faint light. Beside him was a group of heavily armed men, their attention focused on another shadow in the alley.
   
She caught sight of him—Matt, his figure poised and tense in his suit. His breathing was calm, his stance unshaken, but even from where she stood, Carrie could feel the charged energy between him and Fisk, a showdown as inevitable as it was dangerous.
   
The scene was a tense standoff: Fisk, looming with an unsettling calm while Matt stood ready, his new red suit gleaming faintly in the dim alley light. The truck Fisk had been in lay on its side, a twisted hulk of metal flipped in the brutal wake of Matt's approach.
   
Carrie held her breath, watching from the shadows as Matt took a steady step forward.
   
Fisk's voice cut through the silence, low and unwavering. "I wanted to make this city... something better than it is. Something beautiful. You took that away from me! You took everything!"
   
Matt's jaw tightened as Fisk's words echoed through the alley, heavy with resentment. His expression was hidden behind the mask, but Carrie could feel the fury simmering beneath it, a response to all the suffering Fisk had brought to Hell's Kitchen.
   
"I took nothing from you," Matt replied, his voice steady, cutting through the tension. "You've built nothing but pain, Fisk. You've used this city like a playground for your own ambition—hurt anyone who got in your way. And you're not getting another chance."
   
Fisk's lips twisted into a sneer, his eyes cold. "You think you're some kind of hero? I'm gonna kill you!"
   
Matt put his billy clubs in his pocket in his new suit and looked back at Fisk. "Take your shot."
   
Fisk's eyes darkened as he stepped forward, his massive frame tense and coiled like a spring ready to explode. He clenched his fists, his body language radiating fury as he towered over Matt, who stood unwavering, every muscle controlled, waiting.
   
With a guttural roar, he swung a massive fist at Matt, a blow meant to crush. Matt dodged, slipping to the side with an effortless grace that only enraged Fisk more. The air crackled with tension as the two danced in a brutal exchange, Fisk's power and sheer force against Matt's agility and skill.
   
Carrie watched from the shadows, her breath caught in her throat, torn between the instinct to jump in and the sense that this was Matt's fight—a battle forged over years of suffering and loss. But she couldn't stand by forever; Fisk's strength was overwhelming, and his strikes carried a raw, terrifying intensity. She could feel her own power simmering beneath her skin, ready to surge forward at any moment.
   
As Matt dodged another powerful swing, he struck back with a swift combination, landing a solid blow to Fisk's side, then another to his shoulder. Fisk staggered but quickly retaliated, his sheer size giving him an advantage in close quarters. Grabbing Matt by the arm, he swung him against the brick wall of the alley, a sickening crack echoing in the quiet dawn.
   
Matt crumpled for a second, his breath knocked out, but he quickly found his footing, pulling himself up despite the pain. Fisk approached him with a cold, murderous glint in his eyes, his voice barely a whisper.  "You're finished, Devil."
   
But before Fisk could close the distance, Carrie finally stepped forward, her magenta energy blazing to life around her hands. "Back off, Fisk!" Her voice rang out clear and strong, and Fisk froze, his gaze snapping to her.
   
"You think you're a threat to me, too?" he sneered, his eyes narrowing. "You're nothing more than another pretender, clinging to powers you don't understand."
   
With a quick motion, she thrust her hands forward, sending a blast of magenta energy toward Fisk. The force staggered him, pushing him back several steps, the raw power of her ability catching him off guard.
   
Matt took the opportunity, rushing forward with renewed intensity. Together, they moved in tandem—Carrie blasting Fisk's defenses from a distance, weakening him, while Matt closed in, delivering blow after calculated blow.
   
Realizing he was outmatched, Fisk's expression shifted from rage to a cold, calculating calculation. Fisk's gaze shifted, his cold eyes narrowing as he focused on Carrie with a disturbing realization. His lip curled into a sneer, and a chilling recognition dawned on his face.
    
"You," he hissed, his voice dripping with disdain. "You're the one from Pier 81. I remember you—there with him after Nobu was dealt with." He took a step forward, his hulking frame casting an ominous shadow over the alley. "And you're the freak who killed Wesley, aren't you?"
   
Carrie's face tightened, her fists clenched as the accusation struck like a raw wound. She did remember Wesley calling her a freak at their first encounter but she hadn't been involved with his death, but Fisk's words carried venom and intention. And before she could even get to say anything, Fisk charged at her and grabbed her by her shoulders and lifted her off the ground.
   
Carrie struggled against Fisk's iron grip, his hands clamped down on her shoulders with a force that sent pain radiating through her arms. Her legs kicked out instinctively, but he barely flinched, his hold unbreakable.
   
Fisk's face was close to hers, his voice a venomous whisper. "You think you can disrupt my plans again? You think your little tricks will stop me?"
   
Carrie met his gaze, fighting against the fear creeping up her spine. She could feel the magenta energy pulsing beneath her skin, her power calling to her with an intensity that demanded to be unleashed. She locked eyes with him, a surge of defiance hardening her voice. "I'm not afraid of you, Fisk."