Marvel: Unlimited Possession

C71: Crisis Reappears

Although the Defenders had successfully taken down yet another stronghold of the Hand, disrupting their smuggling routes and dismantling their latest attempt to summon demonic reinforcements through the Beast's blood rituals—victory hadn't come without cost.

The team was battered, and no one more so than Daredevil.

Matt Murdock's heightened senses, honed through years of training under Stick and the teachings of the Chaste, helped him evade the worst of the Hand's ninjutsu strikes. But even with radar sense and reflexes sharpened by echolocation, a dozen cuts still found their mark through the red kevlar weave of his suit.

"You need to slow down, Matt."

Claire Temple's voice was low but firm as she cleaned a nasty gash across his ribs in her Hell's Kitchen apartment. The night nurse once tied closely to Luke Cage and now an unofficial member of the Defenders couldn't hide the worry in her eyes.

"You've been patched up more times than I can count. You might wear a mask and jump off rooftops, but you're still human. You don't heal like Logan, and you sure as hell don't have Cage's bulletproof skin."

Matt gave a wry smile, pain flashing across his face. "I don't fly like Jessica either. Or have some reality-bending bullet-redirecting magic trick like Wesley seems to pull off with his modified Kimber pistols."

"All you've got is that stubborn Catholic guilt and ninja training from a blind assassin," Jessica Jones muttered, nursing a bandaged shoulder. "Which I admit is impressive. Still—look at you, Matt. You're messed up worse than the rest of us combined."

"You need more rest, Matt."

Matt opened his mouth to object, but Claire cut him off.

"Before you say it—we know the Hand's not going to wait around. But if you push yourself into another fight like this, you won't be helping anyone. You'll just be another casualty."

Matt's jaw tensed, but it was Luke Cage's voice that broke the silence.

"We already lost Ah Xing in the last raid. I don't want to lose anyone else." Luke stepped forward, gaze locked with Matt's. "The Defenders can't afford more funerals."

Matt didn't reply. He flexed his fingers, sensing the tremble in his arms. Luke was right. His strength was waning. His body was close to breaking, and with the Hand resurrecting their Black Sky experiments and allying with Fisk again, the next confrontation could be deadly.

"I know you're carrying a lot," Luke continued. "But it's not just you. We've all been pushed to the edge. Jessica barely dodged Bullseye last week, and she's still recovering."

Jessica rolled her eyes. "It was just a lucky throw. I zigged when I should've zagged."

Wesley muttered, "And that lucky throw would've split your skull."

Jessica glared. "Was anyone talking to you, gun-boy?"

As they bickered, Matt exhaled and leaned heavily on his cane. The argument, as chaotic as it was, masked the truth: they were all burned out. Even their victories felt like losses.

"You're right." His voice was quiet but resolute. "We've struck a blow to the Hand, but they're relentless. And Fisk… he's not resting either. He's moving pieces behind the scenes—buying judges, arming mercs like Crossbones, manipulating the NYPD's anti-vigilante task force."

He straightened his spine despite the pain. "We'll lay low. Heal up. But only for a little while. Because next time we hit back, it has to count."

…

"Hoo~"

Outside Claire's apartment, Luke Cage scanned the street. Harlem might be calmer than usual, but in a city where crime wore suits and ninjas climbed rooftops, peace never lasted.

He was ready to head uptown when a voice, low and raspy, called out from the alley behind him.

"Looks like you've been having fun with my Jessica lately."

Luke turned sharply. Emerging from the shadows was a man in a purple silk tie and matching handkerchief. The hue was unmistakable.

"Zebediah Killgrave," Luke growled. "Didn't think you'd have the guts to crawl back."

…

[Fame from Tony Stark +55]

Back in the antique store in Chinatown, Li Ran reclined lazily as he watched the data panel flicker with notification text. His gamble had paid off. Sending [Xie Lu]—his chakra-powered clone to Stark Industries under the pretense of selling street food had netted him a surprising haul of renown.

Tony Stark's attention was a goldmine.

While Wesley and the Defenders bled and scraped to dismantle Hand cells one by one, the Iron Man playboy had unwittingly handed Li Ran a cache of fame without so much as a single punch being thrown.

"Efficiency," Li Ran murmured, smiling over a cup of tea.

Outside, Tony Stark was lounging beside the food truck, eyeing the steaming dim sum with both interest and suspicion.

"So," Tony said, raising a brow. "Decided yet? You say the word, and I'll put you on the Stark payroll. Personal chef. Full dental. And hey—private kitchen stocked with truffles and sake. What do you say?"

[ Xie Lu ], kneading dumpling dough without looking up, shook his head.

"Not interested."

Tony blinked. "Wait, what?"

"I don't cook for status, or money," [Xie Lu] said calmly. "Cooking is an art meant to bring joy. It's not just sustenance—it's comfort, a shared language. I don't serve one man when I can serve the city."

Tony laughed, but it was softer than expected. "Is this some kind of ancient Shaolin philosophy?"

"No," [Xie Lu] said, sealing a dumpling with a twist. "It's just common sense."

"…Damn," Tony muttered, slowly stepping back. "You sound like my old driver. Or Pepper when she's pissed."

[Fame from Tony Stark +70]

In the antique shop, Li Ran chuckled, watching the fame counter rise again.

The old proverb rang true—fishing with bait is easy when the fish swims into the net itself.

All he had to do now was keep feeding dumplings to one of the most egotistical men in New York… and watch the legends stack up.

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