Marvel’s Shadowed Knight

"Bang!"

A gunshot rang out.

The shooter was the squad's designated marksman, yet all they heard was the sound of a bullet striking the wall.

As for the intended target? The shot didn't even come close.

The gunman himself stared at his weapon in disbelief. He was certain there was nothing wrong with his firearm, and he had aimed directly at the target before pulling the trigger.

So why did he miss?

It was a question that puzzled the entire squad. But now was hardly the time to dwell on it.

Bruce wasn't the kind of opponent who would grant them the luxury of figuring out why they couldn't hit him from just seven steps away.

Dodging the bullet with ease, Bruce vanished from sight once again.

In the same instant, he extinguished every light source in the underground chamber.

Now, the agents were nothing more than blind men with their eyes open.

When Bruce reappeared, the red-hot branding knuckles on his fists were already dancing through the darkness, flashing into their vision like fire.

He grabbed one agent, clamping down on his wrist with an unyielding grip, ensuring there would be no unnecessary resistance.

With his free hand, Bruce struck—

SNAP!

The agent's elbow shattered.

"AAAHH!!"

A scream tore through the darkness, raw and filled with agony.

Before their commanding officer could even issue an order, the remaining agents acted instinctively—

They made the only choice available to them.

"BANG! BANG! BANG!"

Gunfire erupted in a chaotic frenzy, the muzzle flashes illuminating the space in bursts of blinding light.

But it wasn't just bullets leaving their barrels—

It was their fear.

And in their blind panic, the injured agent—the one who had cried out—was riddled with bullets, torn apart by his own comrades.

By the time the forensic team arrived later, they'd likely only be able to recover scattered remnants of his body from the pile of spent ammunition.

The agents had indeed achieved one thing—

One of their own was now nothing more than shredded meat.

But what about Bruce?

His tailored suit remained unruffled, untouched by even a speck of dust.

For the Bat, this kind of battlefield was far too favorable.

Through Bruce's eyes, it was clear—

The agents were drowning in fear.

They could no longer be certain if they were fighting a man or something far worse.

Because if he was human, how could he continuously evade their gunfire with such ease?

Only ghosts and phantoms could move like that.

And if they truly were up against a supernatural entity, then this task force—trained only for handling conventional threats—was completely out of its depth.

They needed specialists.

"What… what the hell are we fighting?"

The moment someone voiced the question, it was clear—

His mind was already beginning to crack.

"Silence."

The only response he received was the cold, unyielding voice of the commander.

For now, the soldier forced himself to swallow his terror.

But how long could he last?

With fear gnawing at their resolve, their combat effectiveness was rapidly declining.

What had initially seemed like a troublesome battle for Bruce had now become a much easier fight.

After all, he hadn't expected that lurking behind Kingpin—

Was the shadow of HYDRA.

Upon arriving here, Bruce had equipped himself with a lightweight bulletproof vest and a bat mask—ready to conceal his identity at a moment's notice.

Charging in recklessly was never an option.

But this situation served as a reminder—this was the real world, and nothing could be approached with the same mindset as in the movies.

At Spider-Man's funeral, there had been no sign of Captain America or other iconic superheroes.

Yet, in this world, every hero who had ever crossed paths with the young Spider had attended.

That was something that couldn't be faked.

"Retreat."

At this point, the commander had no intention of continuing this battle against Bruce.

Leaving aside the fact that they had no real understanding of what kind of opponent they were dealing with, the sheer physical and psychological strain was beginning to wear him down.

Even as the leader, he felt like his nerves were on the verge of snapping.

And what about his squad?

For them, this was an unspeakable nightmare.

His priority now was getting his remaining team members back to the surface.

Unfortunately, Bruce wasn't about to give them that chance.

He had already set his sights on the agent who had spoken earlier—the one who had voiced his fear.

That man was on the brink of breaking.

All it would take was a little push.

And he would become Bruce's opening to dismantle the rest of them.

With lightning speed, Bruce—masked as the Bat—suddenly appeared before the terrified agent.

Then, just as quickly, he vanished into the darkness again.

It was only a fleeting moment, but Bruce was certain—

That agent had seen him clearly.

"A-AHHH!!"

In the agent's mind, the Bat's masked face had already morphed into something monstrous—

A demon with a ghastly, fanged visage.

He couldn't take it anymore.

Ignoring his commander's orders, he raised his weapon and opened fire in a blind panic.

Gunfire roared through the darkness, the flashes from the muzzle briefly illuminating the underground space.

And in those fleeting bursts of light—

Bruce's shadow flickered into view once again.

The squad's formation—once disciplined—had now descended into chaos, thrown into disarray by the panicked agent's erratic shooting.

And that was exactly what Bruce had been waiting for.

In the agent's frenzied eyes, he was sure—every one of his shots had been aimed directly at the elusive figure.

Yet none of them landed.

"Click—click—click—"

The unmistakable sound of an empty magazine echoed in the silence that followed the gunfire.

And then—

A teammate's agonized scream.

Bruce's fist had left an indelible mark on the agent's body.

The Bat had set his sights on them.

The agent collapsed onto the ground, completely breaking down, unable to stand—only watching in horror as his comrades were taken down one by one by the suit-clad demon.

And finally, Bruce's fist came for him too.

The scorching-hot bat emblem seared into his shoulder—branding him with the same mark as the others.

By the time HYDRA's reinforcements arrived—

All they found were the battered, unconscious agents strewn across the floor.

And the unmistakable imprint of the Bat.

Crossbones, upon seeing the scene before him, couldn't help but frown.

"None of them are dead, but every single one was knocked out in record time. That's troublesome."

After briefly assessing one of the injured agents, he reached his conclusion.

"Looks like our initial assumption was wrong. That guy might not be a super-criminal after all."

"He's acting more like a superhero."

"Only those costumed freaks bother leaving people alive."

Crossbones clapped his hands, then turned his gaze toward the area where the notebooks and folders had originally been stored.

"We don't tolerate failure in HYDRA."

As soon as he finished speaking, the surrounding HYDRA agents stood at attention and saluted in their distinct manner.

And in the very next second—

They raised their weapons against their fallen comrades.

"Bang!"

(End of Chapter)

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