Marvel’s Shadowed Knight

At the command of a man, the surrounding team members swiftly began their search.

They moved in pairs, ensuring that no one was left alone and vulnerable to being replaced.

Even the one who had given the order had a partner by his side, moving together.

Their discipline and the meticulousness of their actions clearly reflected the professionalism of the organization that had trained them.

Bruce narrowed his eyes as he observed these men.

They bore no identifying insignias, yet to Bruce, their origins were obvious.

Who else but Hydra would dare pull something like this right at S.H.I.E.L.D.'s doorstep?

The only question was—what kind of relationship did Hydra have with S.H.I.E.L.D. in this world?

Surely, it couldn't be the same old scenario where Hydra infiltrated S.H.I.E.L.D., but S.H.I.E.L.D. had no presence within Hydra.

That would be far too embarrassing.

At the same time, Bruce was calculating how long it would take to eliminate them.

Hydra agents were skilled, but in Bruce's eyes, they weren't a real threat.

Two Hydra agents were now searching in his direction, one approaching from the left and the other from the right.

Their tension was obvious—after all, someone who had taken down the two guards Kingpin had stationed at the entrance in an instant was no petty thief.

From the start, they had assumed the intruder in Kingpin's house possessed superhuman abilities.

And their first thought hadn't been a superhero.

No true superhero would break into someone's house like this.

Their only conclusion? A supervillain.

The problem was that none of the supervillains under their surveillance had made a move tonight.

Everyone knew that New York belonged to Kingpin now.

Besides, with Spider-Man dead, few would step in to challenge the status quo.

Although rumors of a "Spider-Man" appearing in Hell's Kitchen had spread, no one took them seriously.

They assumed it was just a cheap impersonator.

After all, according to those who had fought this so-called Spider-Man, the man had the build of someone suffering from middle-aged weight gain.

And everyone knew—that was impossible.

With everything Spider-Man had to do daily, how could he ever grow out of shape?

So, at best, it was a copycat—maybe someone with impressive gadgets that made him look the part.

After all, this world had no shortage of self-taught inventors.

In the Marvel universe, amateur scientists didn't just dabble in science.

They practically made science fiction a reality.

But now, within their territory, a supercriminal had infiltrated Kingpin's mansion with ease.

Of course, they had to investigate.

And perhaps… evaluate whether this individual was worth recruiting.

If he met their standards, supplying him with better equipment wouldn't be an issue.

What they would never have imagined, even in their wildest dreams, was that this intruder wasn't some supercriminal.

In another world, he had always been called a superhero.

Though Bruce himself would never consider himself a hero.

The moment the two Hydra agents stepped into his attack range, the Bat moved.

In an instant, Bruce was upon one of them.

The agent's vision was suddenly filled with the terrifying sight of a demonic mask.

Before he could react, a sharp impact struck the left side of his head.

His body hit the ground instantly.

There was no gradual fading of consciousness—he blacked out immediately.

His partner, acting on instinct, had already turned, raising his gun the moment Bruce appeared.

But Bruce was nowhere to be seen.

All that remained was the fallen comrade on the ground.

Even though he had long been trained to deal with such situations, the eerie nature of what had just happened sent a deep sense of fear creeping into his heart.

His vision wavered, unable to stay steady.

His eyes darted around frantically, scanning his surroundings.

Bruce, moving like a shadow, suddenly appeared beside the agent. A powerful sweeping kick sent the man airborne.

Seizing that brief moment in midair, Bruce had already driven his knee forward.

"Crack!"

Even with the approaching footsteps of other agents rushing toward the scene, nothing could mask the sharp sound of breaking bones.

A snapped spine.

The very move that had once been used against Bruce—he now returned to someone else.

"Ah!"

A single cry of pain—and then, silence.

The approaching agents instinctively halted in their tracks, exchanging glances with their comrades to ensure they were all still accounted for before cautiously stepping forward.

Though Bruce's actions seemed drawn out when described, everything had actually happened within a matter of seconds.

Against these agents, Bruce's combat prowess was overwhelmingly dominant.

"Three-man teams, control the perimeter."

The man who had issued commands earlier spoke again.

Their movements were swift; within moments, they had repositioned themselves alongside their teammates.

"This is getting tricky," Bruce muttered as he watched them slowly close in.

Yet, despite his words, there was no trace of difficulty reflected in his eyes.

Only an eerie, unwavering calm.

With a flick of his wrist, two knuckle-like weapons materialized in his hands.

However, their design wasn't ordinary—they were shaped like bats with outstretched wings.

Bruce pressed a button lightly, and the bat emblem on the weapons glowed a menacing crimson.

At this moment, he no longer intended to conceal himself.

With a firm step forward, as his foot landed, a devastating Ding Xin Elbow from the Bajiquan martial art style sent an agent flying.

The impact was so forceful that it was impossible for the other agents not to notice.

Yet, their reaction speed was nowhere near Bruce's.

Closing the gap between himself and another agent, Bruce delivered an uppercut glowing with red energy, launching the man into the air.

As his fist connected with the agent's jaw, the distinct scent of burning flesh began to spread.

For these battle-hardened agents—men who had used countless weapons and inflicted cruel tortures—they instantly recognized the source of that smell.

They raised their guns, understanding the most important priority in this moment.

Even at this close range, where firing could mean accidentally killing their own teammates, it was simply a necessary sacrifice for the mission.

After all—within seven steps, a gun is both fast and precise!

(End of Chapter)

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