Although he knew Wilson Fisk's respect was nothing but calculated theater, Richard didn't take it seriously, and he didn't even bother giving the dragon bones in the suitcase more than a passing glance. He wasn't interested in the bones themselves. What he cared about was the price. He wanted to see how much Fisk was willing to sacrifice to have Wenwu dealt with, and just how sincere that desperation truly was.
The facts spoke clearly. Fisk had been sincere.
On paper, taking more than half a month to wrest the dragon bones from the Hand didn't sound particularly efficient. But anyone who understood the Hand knew better. For a criminal syndicate, their surface presence was nothing special. They looked like just another shadowy underground organization, indistinguishable from countless others operating in the dark.
In reality, their power far exceeded that of an ordinary gang. The Five Fingers of the Hand weren't simple crime bosses. They were defectors from K'un-Lun, sustained for centuries by the unnatural vitality drawn from dragon bones. Even without them, the Hand's ranks were filled with fanatical ninjas and the Black Sky—assets that were anything but easy to eliminate.
And then there was the entity they worshiped: the primordial demon known as the Beast. The Beast wasn't a household name in the Marvel Universe, but that had more to do with the absurd density of cosmic-level beings in this world than with any weakness on its part.
Richard closed the suitcase without comment and looked at Fisk. His tone was calm and almost polite.
"I've seen your sincerity. I'll resolve the problem between Wenwu and the Ten Rings. You can leave."
Fisk inclined his massive frame slightly. "I appreciate it, Mr. Wesley."
With that, he departed with his men.
Once the living room doors closed, the White Queen stepped closer. Her voice was measured. "Are you planning to kill Wenwu and dismantle the Ten Rings?"
"That depends," Richard replied. "I said I'd solve the problem. I didn't say I'd definitely kill him. If he knows how to behave, there's no reason he can't live."
He paused briefly, then added, "But he'll probably fight me. I'm about to become the man who kills his son."
Fisk had delivered the dragon bones only today, but Richard had already investigated Wenwu's family. Wenwu did have children—though not exactly as portrayed elsewhere. In this world, there was only one son. No daughter. Just Shang-Chi.
Shang-Chi looked almost identical to his cinematic counterpart, except younger.
When Richard first saw the surveillance photos, he'd felt an immediate urge to kill him. That impulse had been sharp and instinctive. Still, he hadn't rushed to San Francisco. Shang-Chi—now calling himself Shaun and proudly working as a hotel valet—wasn't worth an urgent trip.
To Richard, Shang-Chi represented something worse than incompetence. He represented surrender. A man who had abandoned his origins, embraced mediocrity, and wore it like a badge of honor.
The Hellfire Club's investigation had uncovered something else as well. Shang-Chi appeared to have secret ties to Ta Lo.
Three days after Richard's public interview, the remaining senior executives of the Hellfire Club—Black Bishop Isabel Nava, Black Rook Bud Blom, and White Rook Syrio McCartney—had visited him personally. They had pledged themselves to him without resistance. Richard had accepted.
He hadn't taken the title of Black King or White King. Instead, he declared himself something new.
The Silver King.
He abolished the old seats entirely. The Hellfire Club no longer needed dual monarchs. It belonged to him alone.
No one objected.
The White Queen resumed management of the Club's daily affairs, in addition to overseeing Richard's assets, the estate, and every complicated enterprise tied to his name. Rather than complain, she thrived. Authority suited her.
As for Shang-Chi's mother—Richard was now certain she was not Ying Li of Ta Lo as previously assumed. The Hellfire Club had located Ying Li and Ying Nan in San Francisco, both younger than expected and secretly observing Shang-Chi.
Even more curious, they had recently destroyed a Ten Rings base in the city.
Richard's intuition told him that something about Ta Lo in this universe was different. The sealed Dweller-in-Darkness might be involved.
The following morning, after breakfast at the manor, Richard teleported.
The distance between New York and San Francisco meant nothing to him. Less than a minute later, he stood inside the Hellfire Club's San Francisco mansion.
Isabel Nava greeted him with a bow. She appeared no older than a high school student—petite, pale, beautiful—but her true age rivaled Emma's.
"Bring me the latest information on Shang-Chi and the two women," Richard said.
"Yes, sir."
Moments later, he sat on a sofa reviewing the data.
Shang-Chi and his friend Katie were still working as hotel valets. They seemed proud of it. Content.
Richard felt nothing but contempt.
He had no issue with labor itself. Honest work was honorable. But these two had options. Skills. Education. Talent. Yet they chose self-diminishment and called it freedom.
To Richard, it was shameful.
He ordered Isabel to recall surveillance teams and locate Wenwu's current position. Then he vanished again, reappearing atop a downtown building overlooking the hotel.
Below, Shang-Chi and Katie parked luxury cars with wide smiles.
Richard teleported to the hotel entrance.
The air shifted instantly.
Shang-Chi felt it first—a suffocating, concentrated killing intent directed squarely at him and Katie. He braced himself.
Katie didn't. Instead, she pulled out her phone to take a picture.
A wind blade manifested.
It sliced cleanly through her wrists.
Her severed hands hit the pavement as she screamed. An invisible shockwave hurled her across the sidewalk.
"Are you here to avenge my father?" Shang-Chi demanded.
"No," Richard replied evenly. "I admire your father. I came to kill you and that woman."
"Why? We've never offended you!"
"Your existence offends me."
Richard's voice was calm and emotionless. "You resent your father for training you as a killer, yet you're ready to use that training now. I won't use a blade. You're not worthy of dying by it."
Onlookers watched, stunned but morbidly captivated.
Shang-Chi lunged.
A second wind blade flashed.
His right arm separated cleanly from his body. Blood sprayed outward, but Richard blocked it with a spell before it could touch him.
A controlled kick sent Shang-Chi crashing beside Katie.
The gap was absolute.
"I planned to torture you," Richard said coldly. "But looking at you makes me sick."
He summoned another wind blade.
"Stop!"
A voice rang out.
Ying Li approached in white training garments, ethereal and composed. Beside her floated the eyeless, winged creature Dijiang.
Richard snapped his fingers.
The wind blade swept across Shang-Chi and Katie's necks.
Their heads separated cleanly.
Ying Li's composure shattered into fury.
She assumed a Tai Chi stance.
Richard extended his mind.
Mind freeze.
Mental power surged toward her, only to be blocked by a strange energy rising from within her body. It resisted him.
Interesting.
He increased the output.
Mind freeze.
This time, the psychic force overwhelmed her defenses. The energy faltered. Her body stiffened.
As long as his mental power exceeded her resistance threshold, the invasion was inevitable.
.....
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