Jessica's fist print was still embedded in the metal panel of the folding table, a sharp edge of metal curling up around the dent.
Ron stared at the dent for two seconds.
"When did you realize you were getting stronger?" Jessica pulled her right hand back, clenched it, then released it.
"I don't know. The second day he controlled me, he made me move a safe. I lifted it with one hand. He laughed for a long time."
Her voice trailed off on the last word.
Ron didn't press further. He turned to Frank.
"The plan changed. The Purple Man released forty-two of his captors to search the streets. There are police, security guards, and armed men. If they can't find Jessica, they'll hurt each other."
Frank clicked the magazine into his gun.
"How long?"
"An hour at most. After that, their adrenaline will burn them out."
Frank stood up and tugged at his white cape.
"I'll go take care of those forty-two on the street."
"Not enough. You can't seal off the whole Hell's Kitchen by yourself." Ron's gaze fell on Jessica.
Jessica's back stiffened.
"Let me go."
"You've never been trained."
"I can punch through your table." Frank took a pair of tactical gloves from the weapons rack and tossed them to Jessica.
"Put these on. Don't smash your hands." Ron glanced at Frank. Frank didn't turn around, continuing to stuff magazines into his tactical vest pocket.
"Let her go. I'll watch her." Ron handed Jessica a spare headset with an encrypted channel.
"Frank's instructions. The controlled individuals aren't the enemy; just take them down, don't hit vitals." Jessica took the headset and put it in her left ear. Her hand didn't tremble.
The three filed out of the safe house through the iron gate. Frank was in front, Jessica in the middle, and Ron at the back.
The exit of the underground passage was in a maintenance well of an abandoned fire hydrant on Eighth Avenue. Frank lifted the manhole cover, letting in a blast of cold air, carrying the smell of gasoline and the distant sirens of police.
Ron's Observation Haki spread out.
Forty-two purple signals were scattered across the twelve streets of Hell's Kitchen. The closest three were rummaging through trash cans in front of a convenience store two hundred meters away. The furthest group—eight men—had already reached Tenth Avenue, one of them clutching a revolver.
"Frank, Tenth Avenue, eight men, one armed. Prioritize them."
"Roger." Frank's body swelled under the streetlights. Gray fur bristled from his skin, his spine arched, and he was on all fours. The fully transformed gray wolf sprang from the manhole, leaping across the street in three strides and disappearing into the darkness at the alleyway.
Ron turned to Jessica.
"Come with me for two blocks. After you take down those three in front of the convenience store, you head west along 46th Street."
Jessica nodded.
The two ran two blocks. The glass door of the convenience store was open, cold air billowing out. Three people stood in the doorway—a uniformed policeman, a middle-aged woman in an apron, and a boy of about seventeen or eighteen.
Three pairs of purple eyes simultaneously turned to Jessica.
The policeman drew his gun.
Ron's hand was faster than the gun. Two fingers together, he pressed against the back of the policeman's neck. The policeman's body went limp, the gun slipped from his hand, and Ron caught it with his left hand, ejected the magazine, and stuffed the gun and magazine into his two pockets respectively.
The middle-aged woman grabbed a trash can lid and swung it at Jessica's head.
Jessica dodged to the side, her right hand gripping the edge of the trash can lid. The metal dented and deformed under her fingers. She pulled the lid away, threw it aside, and pushed the woman's shoulder with her left hand.
She didn't control her strength well.
The woman flew three meters, her back slamming into the convenience store's freezer. The freezer door flew open, and beverage bottles clattered all over the floor.
Jessica froze for a moment.
"Go easy." Ron had already taken down the third boy. "They're ordinary people." Jessica swallowed hard, pulling her right hand back slightly.
"I know." Ron said nothing more. He turned and ran towards the Crown Hotel.
Frank's report came through the encrypted channel.
"Tenth Avenue, eight, all down. The one with the gun fired one shot, hit the wall, didn't hurt anyone."
"Continue sweeping eastward."
"Roger." Ron stopped in front of the Crown Hotel's main entrance.
His reflection was in the glass of the revolving door.
He closed his eyes. Armament Haki began to spread from the soles of his feet, up his calves, thighs, waist, abdomen, chest, arms, all the way up to his neck, face, and scalp.
The black sheen covered every inch of his skin.
Then came to his eardrums.
A thin membrane of Armament Haki adhered to the surface of his eardrums, isolating all external sound waves. The world was silent. No wind, no sirens, no sound of his own heartbeat.
The nasal mucosa. Armament Haki sealed his olfactory pathways. All chemical signals in the air were blocked.
He opened his eyes.
Observation Haki was his only sensory channel. The location, heartbeat, body temperature, and movement trajectory of living beings—all flooded into his brain in a non-sound, non-olfactory way.
Information volume halved. Accuracy reduced.
But it was enough.
Ron pushed open the revolving door and entered the lobby.
The lobby was empty. No one at the front desk, no one in the sofa area, the elevator doors were open.
His Observation Haki scanned upwards.
Top floor. Twelve living beings. All concentrated between the elevator entrance and the suite corridor.
There was one more, in the very center of the suite. Heartbeat fifty-five.
A purple person.
Ron stepped into the elevator and pressed the top floor button.
The elevator ascended. The numbers jumped. 8, 9, 10, 11, 12.
Ding.
The doors opened.
Twelve people stood in the corridor, arranged in two rows. The items in their hands were a motley collection—a kitchen knife, a screwdriver, a broken bottle, a crowbar.
The one at the front was a hotel doorman, about nineteen years old, his uniform buttoned up to the top, a fruit knife clutched in his hand.
Twelve pairs of purple eyes stared at Ron.
Ron stepped out of the elevator.
"Shave." His figure vanished.
The first—the doorman. Two fingers pressed against the back of his neck, his body slumped. Ron caught the fruit knife with his left hand and tucked it into his belt.
The second. The third. The fourth.
He moved swiftly between the twelve people, each pause lasting no more than 0.3 seconds. The Armament Haki at his fingertips was precise enough to penetrate the skin's surface, vibrating the medulla oblongata's motor cortex, causing a brief interruption of consciousness.
No harm. No trace.
Eight seconds.
All twelve people lay on the carpet in the corridor.
At the end of the corridor, the suite door was ajar. Ron couldn't hear the classical music coming from inside—Armament Haki blocked his eardrums. But his Observation Haki detected the vibration frequency of the speaker diaphragm.
Vivaldi, The Four Seasons, third movement.
Ron pushed open the door.
Kilgrave sat on the sofa, a wine glass in his right hand, his left leg crossed over his right. The cuffs of his purple shirt were rolled up to his forearms, revealing a Patek Philippe watch face.
He saw the black sheen covering Ron's entire body, and the wine glass paused at his lips.
His lips moved.
Ron couldn't hear what he said.
But his Observation Haki detected the change in the concentration of pheromones surrounding Kilgrave's body—a sudden surge to three times its previous level.
The pheromones collided with the Armament Haki membrane in Ron's nasal cavity.
They didn't penetrate.
Ron continued walking forward.
Kilgrave's lips moved even faster. His Observation Haki read his lip movements—"Kneel down."
A sharp, intense pain shot through Ron's scalp. The corrosive power sought a breakthrough in the gaps of Armament Haki, meticulous, persistent, and all-pervasive.
The system displayed data on the left side of his vision.
[Pheromone Penetration Rate: 0%. Mental Corrosion Resistance in Progress. Remaining Armament Haki Coverage Duration: 3 minutes 12 seconds.] Ron quickened his pace.
Kilgrave stood up from the sofa and took two steps back. His right hand pressed the remote control on the coffee table.
The hidden door on the left side of the suite popped open. Three security personnel in black uniforms rushed out. The sound of shotguns being cocked was muffled by Armament Haki, but Ron could clearly see the muzzle flash.
Three shotgun shells were fired simultaneously.
Ron's torso began to liquefy from his chest. Magma surged from his muscle fibers, the shotgun shells piercing through the magma fluid, the lead pellets evaporating into metallic vapor at 1200 degrees Celsius.
His right hand rose.
"Inugami Crimson Lotus." Three fist-sized magma balls flew from his hand, accurately hitting the barrels of the three shotguns. The metal softened, bent, and crumbled. Three security guards tossed aside the scalding scrap metal. Ron flashed between them, tapping three fingers in quick succession, taking them all down.
Kilgrave turned and ran.
He rushed towards the emergency exit door at the far end of the suite, pulling a black remote control from his pocket—not the one he'd used to open the hidden door.
He pressed the button.
Ron's Observation Haki detected the anomaly in the hotel lobby at the same instant—three heat sources activated simultaneously, the temperature soaring to 800 degrees Celsius in half a second.
Incendiary bombs.
Flames exploded simultaneously from three corners of the lobby, spreading upwards along the carpet and curtains.
His Observation Haki scanned quickly. From the first to the fifth floor, twenty-three civilians stunned by his attack and twelve ordinary guests. The fire's spread—reaching the top floor in seven minutes.
Ron stopped.
The purple-haired man had already pushed open the emergency exit door and was running towards the rooftop.
Ron didn't chase.
He turned, his hands pressing against the suite floor. Magma seeped into the building structure through his ten fingers, but instead of releasing heat outwards—it absorbed it inwards.
The Akainu Fruit grants absolute control over temperature.
The flames on the first floor lost their heat source in 0.8 seconds. 800 degrees, 600 degrees, 400 degrees, 200 degrees—the temperature plummeted. The flames shrank, extinguished, and disappeared.
Only charred marks and the acrid smell of smoke remained on the carpet.
Sweat beaded on Ron's forehead. All the absorbed heat surged into his body, his core temperature soaring to 2000 degrees Celsius in three seconds. The Armament Haki membrane on his skin began to crack under the combined pressure of the high temperature and the drain on his energy.
[Armament Haki Full Coverage Remaining Duration: 47 seconds.] Ron sprang up from the floor and rushed towards the emergency exit.
The stairs. Floor by floor, he ascended.
The iron door to the rooftop was kicked open, and a blast of cold air rushed in.
Kilgrave stood on the edge of the rooftop, three meters behind him, the rotors of a black helicopter spinning rapidly. Kingpin's evacuation plan.
Kilgrave's lips were still moving. He was calling out to the pilot, and also to Ron.
Ron couldn't hear him.
[Armament Haki Coverage Remaining Duration: 31 seconds.] A black figure lunged from the edge of the building on the left side of the rooftop.
Frank.
The fully transformed gray wolf drew an arc in the air, its forepaws glowing with Armament Haki, slamming into the helicopter's tail rotor.
The metal blades shattered, the tail rotor was destroyed. The helicopter lost balance, the fuselage shook violently, the pilot's head hit the instrument panel, and he passed out.
Kilgrave tumbled from the helicopter door onto the rooftop, his knees hitting the concrete, his pants torn.
He looked up and screamed at Frank.
Frank's beast-like body paused.
The movement of his forepaws hesitated for a second. A faint purple ring appeared around the edge of his vertical pupils.
Pheromone. The beast form weakened the effectiveness of his verbal commands, but the pheromones continued to erode his nerves.
Ron's right hand retrieved conceptual seastone handcuffs from his system space.
Armament Haki concentrated on his wrists and fingers, precisely controlling the parabola.
The handcuffs slipped from his grasp.
The black metal arced through the air, passing over Frank's head and landing precisely on Kilgrave's hands.
Click.
The locks snapped shut.
Kilgrave's body stiffened abruptly. He opened his mouth, forcing out a syllable, but it lacked any power.
The pheromone diffusion ceased at the same instant.
The purple hue at the edges of Frank's vertical pupils faded. He shook his head, pawed at the ground twice, and regained his footing.
Kilgrave knelt on the rooftop, his hands bound in front of him by black handcuffs. He looked down at the swirling patterns on the handcuffs, his fingers frantically digging into the metal surface.
"My… I'm speaking—did you hear me—untie me! Untie me!"
No one obeyed. His vocal cords trembled, not from anger.
It was because, for the first time since birth, no one was listening to his words.
Ron walked up to him and knelt down.
The Armament Haki faded from his body, the blockage in his eardrums and nasal passages was released. The sound of wind, the metallic hum of a helicopter engine cooling down, Kilgrave's rapid breathing—all sounds rushed back at once.
"What...what are you?" Ron's right hand rested on Kilgrave's shoulder, pressing him down half an inch.
"Your judge." A crack appeared in the concrete floor of the rooftop. Dark red light shone through the crack, swirling and expanding.
Kilgrave's body began to sink.
"No—no—I can help you control anyone! Anyone! The president, the general, anyone—" The vortex swallowed his waist. His fingers gripped the edge of the crack in the floor, his nails scraping white powder from the concrete.
"Please—" The vortex closed.
The rooftop returned to silence.
[Ding. Purple Kilgrave successfully captured.] [Imperial City Level 2 Devil Capture: 2/50]
[Sin Value +8000. Justice Value +5000. Total Justice Value: 10200.]
[Transcendental Origin Detection: 'Pheromone Mind Control', Rating SS. Can be put into the Devil Fruit Furnace.]
[Furnace Options—]
[Option 1: Paramecia-type Soul Fruit (Soul Control)]
[Option 2: Paramecia-type Sound Fruit (Sound Wave Manipulation)]
[Please Select.] Ron didn't have time to finish reading.
The system interface was covered by a red alert.
[Emergency Warning.]
[The entire process of the Purple Man's capture has been recorded by the security cameras on the Crown Hotel rooftop.]
[The video signal is being transmitted in real-time to—Fisk Tower Control Room.]
[Wilson Fisk has learned of the existence of the "Spatial Rift Capture" ability.]
[Threat Level Reassessed—Highest.] Ron stood up.
Frank reverted from his beast form to his half-beast form, his gray fur shrinking back beneath his skin. He walked to the edge of the rooftop, his vertical pupils sweeping across the street below.
"Camera."
"I know." Midtown Manhattan. Fisk Tower. Top-floor office.
Wilson Fisk sat behind his oak desk, his hands crossed on the surface. His frame filled the entire custom-made leather chair, his suit's shoulders taut.
On the screen in front of him, the rooftop surveillance footage was frozen on the last frame—a crack in the concrete floor, a dark red vortex engulfing a person.
Fisk tapped his right index finger on the desk.
He picked up the encrypted phone on the desk and dialed a number.
Three rings.
"Take over the organization."