The single strike that separated the Purple Man's head from his shoulders was delivered by none other than Rosen.
The weapon in his hand was the Moon Glaive, a circular, triple-bladed weapon that was the signature armament of The Watcher. It shimmered with a cold, lunar energy, sharp enough to cut through bone like it was warm butter.
Rosen stood over the corpse, adrenaline coursing through his veins. He had arrived just in time. If he had hesitated, if he had waited even a second longer to activate the Divine Shield or check the room, Jessica would have been subjected to something worse than death.
"Don't worry," Rosen said, sheathing the Moon Glaive with a fluid motion. "It's over."
He pulled Jessica into his arms, feeling her shake against his chest. For a moment, his eyes flickered down to Kilgrave's body, and a pang of regret hit him.
"Damn. I forgot to put on the Death Mask."
Kilgrave wasn't just a pervert; he was a superhuman. His life force would have been significant. Rosen had just wasted a prime opportunity to extend his lifespan or heal any hidden damage.
But the regret was fleeting. The warmth of the girl in his arms, the way she clung to him with a mix of terror and desperate relief, quickly pushed thoughts of magical efficiency out of his mind.
Rosen wasn't a monk. In his previous life, he'd dated, lived a full life, and navigated the complexities of modern relationships. The original Rosen—the body he now inhabited—had been an American teenager who certainly wasn't inexperienced in the romance department. But since the transmigration, Rosen had been a machine: grinding for money, building tech, and planning heists. He hadn't thought about anything else.
Until now.
Jessica, still reeling from the pheromone control but now flooded with the sudden, intoxicating rush of freedom, looked up at him. Her eyes were red, but the fear was being replaced by something else—a need for connection, for grounding, for proof that she was still alive and her own person.
Rosen pushed the thoughts away. "Not here," he whispered, his voice rough. "We have a body to move."
They weren't safe yet. Kilgrave was dead, but they were in the middle of Hell's Kitchen, surrounded by the aftermath of a massacre. If the cops found them here, with a headless man in a purple suit and a building full of dead gangsters next door, it would be a nightmare they couldn't explain away.
The Clean-Up
They worked quickly. Jessica dressed herself, her hands still trembling slightly but her movements efficient. Together, they scrubbed the apartment of any trace of their presence.
Then came the heavy lifting. They moved Kilgrave's body—and his head—to the adjacent building.
This building had been a gang stronghold. Jessica hadn't gone there because Kilgrave controlled her; she had gone there hunting for leads on her family's accident. The gang had tried to jump her, and when she fought back, Kilgrave had intervened, taking control and forcing her to slaughter them all.
Now, the building was a tomb. It was the perfect place to bury the evidence.
Once Kilgrave was dumped in the center of the carnage, Rosen stepped back. He raised his hand, and the air in the room grew instantly hot.
Skill: Flame Strike (Level 2).
In Warcraft, this was the Blood Mage's signature AOE spell. It dealt massive fire damage over a set area. In reality, it was a localized apocalypse.
Rosen focused his will. A pillar of twisting, roaring fire erupted from the floor, engulfing the center of the room. The temperature spiked to over 2,000 degrees Fahrenheit instantly. It wasn't just fire; it was magical incineration. Wood turned to ash, metal warped and melted, and flesh was reduced to carbon in seconds.
"Is that... magic?" Jessica stared into the inferno, the orange light dancing in her wide eyes. "It's terrifying."
She had thought her super-strength made her special. But watching Rosen summon hellfire with a wave of his hand, she realized she was swimming in a much deeper ocean than she thought.
"Let's go," Rosen said, grabbing her hand. Sirens were wailing in the distance, getting closer.
He pulled a Town Portal Scroll from his inventory. He tapped Jessica on the shoulder, marking her as an "ally" in the System's logic.
RIP.
A vortex of blue light swirled around them. The heat of the fire vanished, replaced instantly by the cool, conditioned air of Rosen's luxury apartment.
The Long Night
They appeared in his living room, safe and miles away from the police scanners.
Before Rosen could even say a word, Jessica moved. The adrenaline, the trauma, the relief—it all crashed together into a wave of intense emotion. She didn't want to talk. She didn't want to think about the military or the accident or the purple man. She just wanted to feel something other than horror.
Rosen didn't push her away.
Jessica Jones might not have been the classic "Hollywood bombshell" like Black Widow or Scarlet Witch, but she had a raw, striking beauty. Her skin was pale and flawless, and at 5'9", she had legs that went on for days—legs powered by superhuman muscle.
What followed was a battle of a different kind. Two superhumans, both with enhanced stamina and strength, finding solace in the only way that made sense in the moment. It was fierce, uninhibited, and lasted until the sun began to bleed through the curtains of the New York skyline.
Rosen was grateful he'd invested in a high-end apartment with soundproofing and reinforced furniture. Anything less would have been reduced to kindling.
As dawn broke, silence finally settled over the room. Rosen lay awake, staring at the ceiling, feeling a strange sense of contentment he hadn't expected. He had saved a life. He had killed a monster. And he had found an ally who was bound to him not just by gratitude, but by shared secrets.
The "Blazing Storm" wasn't just the fire he'd summoned in the warehouse. It was the chaos he was starting to unleash on the Marvel Universe. And honestly? He was just getting started.