Chapter 117: Judgment in Red"
The Devil of Hell's Kitchen knew his streets.
Ever since taking down the Kingpin, he rarely missed a ripple in the criminal undercurrent. But tonight? Tonight had blindsided him. He hadn't expected them to be here again—not Red Hood, not The Hand, and certainly not whatever this was becoming.
Perched silently among the rafters, Daredevil observed the chaos below. His senses reached out in every direction, inhaling heat, breath, and heartbeats. He hadn't acted yet, allowing the two factions below to wear each other down before he dropped in to end it. That had always been his way: calculated, righteous… alone.
But tonight, something tugged at the edge of his certainty.
His focus narrowed on three figures: one clad in a sleek gi—a high-ranking Hand operative. The other, Gorgon, stood like a monarch of menace in an expensive suit, eyes carrying the weight of petrifying power. And then, there was Red Hood.
Unmasked.
The sight made Daredevil flinch inwardly. The face his supernatural senses saw wasn't the young man he remembered from Tombstone Warehouse. This one looked older—grizzled even—but the heartbeat… was unchanged. He knew it. Muscle memory. A resonance burned into him from that first fight.
It's him.
The same boy. The same rage, now wrapped in something more profound.
Matt slid silently along the rafter beam, every movement honed by a lifetime of training under Stick and the Chaste. The Hand was here. That was confirmation enough. And now this unknown master and Gorgon were watching the fight unfold like hosts at a bloodsport gala.
Then, the vigilante below moved, sidestepping a charging enforcer whose sheer bulk had shattered concrete earlier. Red Hood landed a retaliatory strike. It was clean and surgical… and it hurt the brute.
That wasn't from the suit. Red Hood-Todd had real, tangible power. Matt's mind raced. Is he like me? Enhanced by accident? Mutated? He pushed the thought away just as a sound-a hollow snap—echoed, followed by a blistering heat wave.
He recoiled.
Fire.
No mistaking it now. Red Hood was a mutant—or something close. Matt reached for his phone, tapping a quick message.
Daredevil: Got my ears on, Red Hood. He just torched three ninjas. I might need Luke. From what I can tell, you're right. He's a mutant.
Misty's reply came fast, voice chiming through his discreet audio implant:
Misty: Ninjas? The Hand? Are you sure it's him? All the sightings we've tracked end with fire damage. We're also pulling data on Jason Todd—Armacham keeps coming up.
Matt frowned.
Daredevil: This guy's taller than Todd. But he's the same one from Tombstone. Stronger now. Armacham?
He remembered that name, not from the streets, but from Foggy. His old partner had flagged them once as a subsidiary under York Industries. A shiver crept up Matt's spine.
Misty: Armacham was York Industries' pet project. You and Sebastian York were friends. Isn't that the reason you ever put on the mask?
…Jeremy York.
Matt's stomach turned.
Could it be? Was the man bleeding below, fighting The Hand, helping Sebastian's son?
Jeremy is helping Red Hood avenge his parents.
Unless… he is Red Hood.
A realization thundered through him like a gut punch. He knows. He knows what Matt told Sebastian. About the cops. About going to the authorities instead of fighting back. And now he's wearing the mask.
Just then, the Muramasa blade erupted from Red Hood's chest.
Matt's blood ran cold.
Daredevil: Hurry! Red Hood's been fatally wounded. I'm intervening.
Misty: NO. STAND DOWN.
How could he watch his best friend's child die?
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Below, the air snapped—then ignited.
A pulse of red light surged out from the bleeding man's chest like a second sun, engulfing the warehouse in a hellish glow. Gorgon recoiled, shielding his face, stumbling back from a power he didn't understand.
Gorgon screamed as the red glow flared again—this time in a beam that ripped through the room
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A woman shrieked in the apartment across the street as the red flash lit up her entire bedroom.
"911, what's your emergency?"
"Something just exploded near the old Winfrey lots—there was this… red light. It went into the sky."
She moved toward her window, phone still to her ear. Her hand trembled as she raised her camera and began recording.
She didn't know it yet, but she was captivated by the idea of a man who would become known across the galaxy.
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Back inside…
Gorgon stared, wide-eyed. The blade should have killed him. But the man still stood—barely—encircled by fear-stricken ninjas.
The light from the Red Lantern ring now engulfed him.
"You should be dead," Gorgon hissed.
"You should've stayed that way."
But Red Hood—no, Cole—didn't answer.
Instead, his voice boomed with emotion and judgment: "It's an injustice to all that The Hand still breathes. Let me—the Red Lantern—judge your crimes."
The Hand master stepped forward. "You… you're the son," he said, realization in his tone. "You were who we were after all along. Black Sky."
Cole didn't wait for the rest.
He lifted his ringed hand, unleashing another blast. But the master of The Hand—Hiryu Nagami—was no novice. Muramasa's blade cut through the light, parting it like cloth.
"You fight me now," Hiryu roared, "Seed of the Nail."
Their blades met with a sonic scream—Muramasa's cursed steel against a katana formed of blue-cracked red light. The energy sparked, warped, and bent the floor beneath their clash.
To Hiryu's shock, the Lantern-forged blade held.
Cole York gritted his teeth as rage and purpose danced across his features, highlighted by the menacing light of the ring's glow. His enemies had taken everything. His father. His name. His childhood.
Now? They would take nothing else.