Chapter 57: Chapter 57

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Bang!

A gunshot cracked through the stormy night, the sound swallowed by the pounding rain. A brass bullet tore through the air, shearing off four of Fisk’s fingers at the knuckles, the sword clattering from his mangled hand. Pain like a fucking lightning bolt shot through him—ten fingers, ten nerves straight to the heart. Fisk’s face contorted, a guttural snarl escaping as the blade, thrown off course, plunged into Jason’s arm instead of his throat.

John Wick holstered his pistol, a shadow in the chaos, his work done without a word.

Jason hissed, pain searing through his arm, but his instincts kicked in. He yanked his arm free, blood streaming, and lashed out with a brutal kick to Fisk’s gut. The force sent him stumbling back, giving Jason room to retreat a few steps. Then, with a roar, he launched himself forward, his boots pounding the wet asphalt, eyes locked on his prey.

Fisk’s severed fingers bled rivers, the agony locking his body in a momentary freeze—a natural reflex no amount of toughness could override. Those precious seconds were Jason’s kill shot. “You cheating fuck!” He bellowed, leaping high, his knee driving toward Fisk’s right eye with murderous intent.

Thud!

The impact was sickening, Fisk’s brow bone shattering under Jason’s knee, his eyeball bursting like a raw egg. Blood and vitreous fluid mixed with rain, streaming down Fisk’s face in a grotesque mask. “Fuck!” He screamed, the pain a white-hot knife to his soul, staggering back like a wounded beast, roaring in fury and despair.

Jason, still reeling from the close call, turned to Wick, his voice shaky but grateful. “Hell of a shot, man.”

That moment had been a fucking razor’s edge. Everyone, Jason included, thought Fisk was done—out of tricks, out of fight. But the bastard had one last card, a hidden blade meant to end it all. If Wick, with his killer’s instincts, hadn’t clocked Fisk’s move and fired first, Jason would be a corpse, throat slit, bleeding out in the mud. The thought sent a chill down his spine, but he shoved it aside, ripping the sword from his arm and tossing it into the rain. His face hardened as he stalked toward Fisk.

Fisk, right hand useless, right eye gone, was a broken man, his fighting spirit snuffed out. He leaned against the Cadillac’s roof, his voice cracking with desperation. “Jason, don’t kill me! I know you’re pissed, but we can talk this out—work something out.”

“Talk?” Jason’s voice was ice, his steps relentless. “What’s there to talk about?”

“Compensation!” Fisk pleaded, his words tumbling out. “You want fame? I’ll hand you the fucking crown of New York’s underworld. Mansions? I’ve got dozens—worldwide. Money? Two billion in cash, sitting in Swiss accounts. Women? I’ll get you every goddamn Maxim cover girl to warm your bed. Just stop, please!”

The inmates around them gasped, murmuring in awe. Most had been in the game before Long Island, and Fisk’s name was goddamn mythology—untouchable, invincible, a king on a throne of blood and cash. But now? Begging? His legend was dead, his pride shattered, his reign over.

Jason paused, his mind a storm. Memories flooded in like a fucked-up movie reel: his first meeting with Fisk as a green street punk, heart pounding with ambition; Fisk’s approving nod when Jason pulled off a job, promising him a future; the nights when Fisk, arm around him and Wesley, painted visions of a criminal empire. Those moments had shaped him, fueled him—until Fisk’s betrayal crushed it all.

Crack!

The memories shattered, leaving only the pathetic sight of Fisk, broken and begging. Jason’s heart twisted with a strange sorrow, but he steeled himself. “Wilson,” He said, his voice cold as the rain, “I don’t want your money, your houses, or your women. I want your fucking life.”

He lunged, his fist smashing into Fisk’s left eye socket. Crunch! Blood sprayed, bone splintering. Fisk raised his good arm to block, but he was spent, a shadow of the titan he’d been. Jason’s punches rained down, relentless, each one a release of years of rage. Fisk’s face caved—nose twisted, teeth shattered, features unrecognizable, a pulpy mess of blood and flesh.

Fisk’s screams faded to gurgles as he collapsed, consciousness slipping. Jason grabbed his collar, dragging him to the Cadillac. He yanked open the door, propped Fisk’s head on the seat, and seized the doorframe.

Slam!

He smashed it shut, blood spraying with each impact.

Slam! Slam! Slam!

Ten times, twenty, the frame buckling, Fisk’s skull cracking, then shattering. His headless body slumped to the ground, a lifeless heap in the mud.

Fisk was dead.

Jason’s strength gave out, and he dropped to his ass, gasping, staring at the corpse. The rain washed the blood and brains from his hands, but his mind was numb, lost in the weight of what he’d done.

BOOM!

Thunder roared, the storm intensifying, cleansing the scene of its gore. The inmates stood frozen, none daring to speak, their eyes wide at the brutal end of New York’s king.

Harleen approached, crouching beside him, her hands gentle on his shoulders. “Honey, you okay?”

Jason turned, his dark, hollow eyes meeting her concerned gaze, her face a beacon in the chaos. “Yeah,” He muttered, nodding slowly.

“We gotta move,” She urged, her voice soft but firm. “Cops are coming.”

He nodded again, letting her pull him to his feet. “You got a safe place to lie low?” She asked, glancing at the inmates. “We could crash with some friends, but… them?”

Jason’s lips twitched, a spark of his old fire returning. He pointed to the churning Hudson River below the highway. “Got the perfect spot. You all can swim, right?”

The inmates nodded, some hesitantly, their faces grim but obedient. Harleen pouted, shaking her head. “Honey, I can’t swim.”

Jason smirked, grabbing her hand. “I’ve got you. You’ll be fine.”

He led them over the guardrail, down the muddy embankment toward the river’s edge, the rain masking their tracks. Five minutes later, sirens wailed in the distance, closing in.

[Ding! Mission [Unfinished Fight] completed. Reward: 10,000 Villain Points. Current progress: 11,670/9,000]

[Ding! Congratulations, Host has reached Level 10, earning 10 Attribute Points!]

[Ding! New downloadable content detected. The system will update automatically in 10 minutes, entering sleep mode for approximately 24 hours!]

Jason’s eyes flicked to the system interface, a surge of triumph cutting through his exhaustion. Level 10, a shit-ton of points, and a new empire to build. He squeezed Harleen’s hand, the river’s roar ahead, ready to vanish into the night.

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