SmilinKujo
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Chapter 45 – The King’s Fall
🕑 Added 2025-03-20 15:17:10 +0000 UTCThe stairwell echoed with the heavy thuds of bodies hitting the floor. Jack walked casually, his golden eyes gleaming, scanning, judging.
Some subordinates were beyond redemption. Their sins weighed on their souls like lead—Abusers. Murderers. Monsters hiding behind human skin. Jack gave them no mercy. A strike to the throat. A snapped spine. A crushed skull.
Floor by floor, he moved like a shadow of divine retribution.
But some—Some were merely here by circumstance. A kid barely out of his teens trembling with a pistol, eyes wide with fear. A man who had once owned a failing bakery, now clutching a bat, regretting every choice that led him here.
Jack spared them. He knocked them unconscious with precision, leaving them to wake up and reconsider their lives.
Each floor became a graveyard of judgment. But by the fifth floor, Jack let out a sigh. "This is getting boring." He plucked his hair, biting them apart, and instantly—Clones.
The hallways became flooded with versions of himself. He walked up another floor—created a clone. Another floor—another clone. Mutants, high-tech weapons, martial artists—it didn’t matter.
The clones spread like wildfire, tearing through Fisk’s forces. By the time Jack reached the final floor below the penthouse, It was no longer a fight. It was a slaughter.
At the entrance to the private elevator leading to Kingpin’s penthouse, four figures stood waiting. Cody Felan, one of the last remaining commanders. A low-level mutant with enhanced durability, veins still pulsing with traces of the drug he had flooded into his own streets.
Behind him, his three mutant subordinates. They were stronger than the others. More experienced. Battle-hardened. And yet—Jack couldn’t bring himself to care.
As Cody opened his mouth to monologue, Jack cut him off immediately. "Nah. Shut the fuck up."
Cody’s eye twitched. "You don't wanna hear my final words?"
Jack tilted his head. "Final words? You don’t get those. You flooded your own fucking territory with poison and then tried to pin it on me."
Cody grinned, unfazed. "I’m ready to die. I don’t have anyone to live for. You can kill me."
Jack sighed, shaking his head. "Goddamn, you people are exhausting."
Before Cody could react—Jack’s staff elongated forward like a bullet, grazing Cody’s right ear and impaling the skull of one of the mutants behind him. Cody staggered as the warm spray of blood hit him.
The corpse collapsed instantly, the light in his eyes vanishing before he even hit the floor.
Jack smiled, voice low and dark. "Then die."
The remaining mutants barely had time to react before Jack moved. A blur of white and gold. The second mutant lunged—an ability activating, his muscles swelling unnaturally—Jack’s staff expanded in an instant, slamming into his ribs. A sickening crunch.
The mutant’s body folded unnaturally before he was launched across the hallway, embedding into the wall with a lifeless thud. The third mutant—faster, smarter—He dodged.
Summoned a blade of energy in his hand. Slashed—Jack tilted his head, letting the blade pass harmlessly through the air.
Before the mutant could reset his stance, Jack grabbed him by the wrist. A twist. A snap. A scream. Jack drove his staff through his throat, pinning him to the wall like an insect.
His golden eyes flicked back to Cody, who had barely moved, watching as his last men died in seconds.
Cody laughed, half-mad. "That all you got? Fucking do it, then."
Jack rolled his shoulders. "You know what pisses me off?" He stepped forward. "You acted like a big man, poisoning your own people, selling out the weak, and when you finally get called on it—"
Jack’s staff spun—then slammed into Cody’s knee. A wet, sickening snap. Cody collapsed, howling in agony.
Jack leaned down, eyes glimmering. "—you just roll over and accept death? That’s fucking boring."
Cody panted through the pain, laughing weakly. "Just kill me already."
Jack clicked his tongue. "You don’t get to choose when you die." He stood up. "But lucky for you, I’m a generous guy."
Jack’s staff rose high—Then came down with a brutal, final swing. The crack of bone and flesh echoed down the hallway. Blood painted the walls. And Cody Felan, the last breath leaving his body, was gone.
Jack twirled his staff once, then stepped over the corpse. Without hesitation, he pressed the elevator button.
The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime. Jack stepped out, his white robe still immaculate despite the bloodbath he'd left behind.
Then—A wave of energy crashed into him. A force meant to send him sprawling. But Jack didn’t even flinch.
He blinked, looking down at himself, patting his chest. "Huh."
His golden eyes flicked toward the source—A man trembling behind a large, rifle-like device still humming with energy.
Jack opened his mouth to ask what the fuck that was, but—Another mutant lunged at him, fist cocked back in a desperate attempt at a sucker punch.
Jack sighed, caught the punch effortlessly midair, and grimaced. "Not the face, you ugly fuck."
Then—Jack drop-kicked him so hard that the man was sent flying backward. The windows shattered—glass rained like a thousand falling stars—And the mutant’s scream faded as he plummeted down the side of Fisk Tower.
Silence.
Kingpin, Michael Adams, and Peter Stokes all stood frozen.
Jack dusted himself off. "Alright. Who’s next?"
Kingpin was the first to snap out of it. He roared. "HIT HIM AGAIN!"
Another blast from the energy gun fired. Jack stood there as the energy wave washed over him. Still didn’t flinch. Still felt absolutely nothing.
Jack exhaled through his nose. "Alright. Time out. What the fuck are you guys doing?"
The gunman—who had clearly been expecting some sort of reaction—started shaking. "I-It’s a mutant destabilizer… i-it’s supposed to neutralize mutant powers for several seconds."
Jack blinked. Then tilted his head. Then snorted. "Well, guess what? I ain’t a—"
Before he could enjoy the revelation—Another mutant tried to hurl a roundhouse kick at his head.
Jack sighed again. Caught the leg with ease. Slammed him into the floor. Then did it again. And again. And again. Crack. Crack. Crack. By the time he was done, the man was nothing but a twitching, broken corpse.
Jack stretched his arms above his head. "Okay, I know you guys are stupid, but surely you’re not dumb enough to try this a third time—"
Michael Adams snapped out of his trance. "FIRE AGAIN!"
Jack exasperatedly pinched the bridge of his nose. "Oh for fu—"
Then—he moved. A blur of motion. In a blink, he yanked the gun out of the man’s hands. Then another. And another. The entire room watched in horror as Jack collected every single ‘mutant destabilizer’ in his arms.
He looked down at them. Then slowly snapped one in half like it was a cheap plastic toy. Then another. And another. The metal crunched in his grip, sparks flying.
Jack grinned. "Lemme get this straight. You guys built an entire arsenal of fancy sci-fi guns just to shoot me with something that doesn’t even work?"
Michael was sweating. Kingpin remained silent, his face unreadable. Jack sighed dramatically. "Man, if this is what you’re spending your money on, no wonder I took half your territory in two weeks."
He snapped another gun in half, then another, tossing the pieces behind him.
"What’s next? A gun that makes me lactose intolerant?" Snap.
"A bazooka that gives me a minor headache?" Snap.
"A fuckin’ slingshot that makes me slightly bad at math?" Snap.
Peter Stokes was gripping the edge of the table so hard his knuckles went white. Jack turned to him, golden eyes twinkling. "Oh hey, Pete. You enjoying the show?"
Peter said nothing. Jack grinned wider. "You should. ‘Cause it’s the last one you’ll ever see." Then—he lunged. And the room exploded into chaos. Jack moved like a shadow through fire.
He grabbed Peter Stokes by the throat, yanking him away from the table like a ragdoll. Peter gasped, struggling, but Jack barely registered it. With his free hand, Jack plucked a strand of hair—biting them to split into two clones.
The clones materialized instantly, their grins matching Jack’s own as they turned toward Kingpin and Michael Adams.
Jack tilted his head toward them. “Restrain them.”
The clones nodded, moving with inhuman speed. Kingpin tried to lunge forward—But one clone slammed him against the wall with bone-breaking force, pinning him like a butterfly to glass.
Michael attempted to run—But the second clone swept his legs out from under him, knocking him to the floor before planting a boot onto his chest.
Jack grinned at their struggle. But he wasn’t focused on them. Not yet. Because right now, he had a more interesting toy to play with.
Jack turned back to Peter, still gripping his throat. "Peter, oh Peter," Jack said, voice almost affectionate.
Peter was trembling violently. Tears had already gathered at the corners of his eyes. “P-please…” he stammered, his voice weak, barely above a whisper.
Jack sighed dramatically, shaking his head. “Tsk tsk. Look at you. The great Peter Stokes, head of the Stokes Crime Family, reduced to this. It’s almost… sad.” He smirked. “Almost.”
Peter’s breathing was ragged, his eyes darting toward Kingpin as if the larger man could somehow save him.
Jack grinned wider. “Oh, don’t look at him. He ain’t helping you.” Jack tilted his head, golden eyes gleaming. “You know why I’m here, Pete?”
Peter shook his head rapidly.
Jack leaned in close, his breath ghosting against Peter’s ear. “Envy.”
Peter let out a choked whimper.
Jack nodded. “That’s what you are, isn’t it? Kingpin’s envy. You’re the reason his public image never falls. The one who spreads the lies, who distorts reality, who makes the world believe he’s some kind of benevolent fucking saint.”
Peter sputtered, his lips trembling. “N-no! That’s not—”
Jack tightened his grip. “Oh? It’s not true?” he mocked.
Peter shook his head furiously. “I-I only d-did what I had to! I-I didn’t have a choice!”
Jack grinned, amused. “No choice? Oh, buddy, that’s a real funny thing to say. ‘Cause, y’know…”
He snapped his fingers. A clone gave Jack a phone. The footage played—A grainy, strategically angled video of a woman in tears, her bare shoulders exposed, and Jack figure looming over her.
Jack watched Peter’s face drain of color. "Oh? What’s wrong, Peter? Don’t recognize your own work?"
Peter sputtered, shaking his head. “T-that’s not—I-it’s Kingpin commands! I-it's not my work—!”
Jack laughed. "Ahhh, the classic defense of every liar in history."
Jack gripped Peter’s jaw, forcing him to look directly into his golden eyes. Then—He saw. The sins. The regret. The lies.
Peter had told himself, over and over again, that he had no choice. That he was just doing what was necessary. That he was only following orders.
Jack tilted his head, studying him. Then, his smile faded. "No amount of regret can bring back the lives you've destroyed."
Peter choked on a sob.
Jack sighed. Then—He grabbed Peter’s lips. And ripped them from his face. The wet, sickening tear of flesh echoed through the room. Peter screamed. Blood poured down his chin, his eyes wide in sheer agony.
Jack held up the torn lips, inspecting them like a butcher appraising a cut of meat. Then—he tossed them onto the floor like garbage.
Peter fell to his knees, his body trembling violently as his hands clutched at the gaping wound where his lips used to be.
Jack watched him suffer. Watched him bleed. Watched as his body slowly began to weaken from blood loss. Jack scoffed. "No more lies coming out of you."
Then—he let go. Peter collapsed onto the floor, writhing, his breathing shallow. Jack could already tell—He wasn’t going to last more than a few minutes.
And that was fine. The more he suffered, the better. Jack turned his attention away from Peter.
Jack walked forward, his white sleeves now stained with flecks of Peter Stokes’ blood. His steps were slow, deliberate.
Kingpin flinched. For the first time in his life—Wilson Fisk, the untouchable, unshakable Kingpin of Crime, flinched. He thought it was his turn. He thought death was finally coming for him.
But—Jack didn’t stop. He walked past him. Past that massive, trembling wall of a man. Instead, he approached Michael Adams. The esteemed doctor. The philanthropist. The man who, on paper, looked like a saint.
Jack tilted his head. “Let him go.” The clone obeyed, immediately releasing Michael from his restraint. Michael stumbled, almost collapsing to his knees before quickly composing himself.
Then—he bowed. Deep. Almost a prostration. “I’m sorry.” Michael’s voice trembled. “I—I’m just an ordinary doctor.”
Jack laughed. “KEKEKEKEKEKEKE.” He raised his foot—And slammed it onto the back of Michael’s head, pressing him against the cold, pristine floor. Michael let out a muffled cry.
Jack grinned. “Oh, Mikey.” His golden eyes gleamed. “I almost let you go, y’know?”
Michael froze. His breath hitched.
Jack tilted his head, amusement lacing his tone. “At first, I was confused.” He pressed his foot down harder. Michael whimpered.
Jack continued. “Why would a man like you—a respected doctor, a manager of hospitals, shelters, and charity foundations—choose to work under a man like Fisk?”
Michael shook his head frantically. “I—I was just doing my job! I—”
Jack ignored him. “But then…” He grinned wider. “I dug deeper.” Michael squeezed his eyes shut. He knew what was coming.
Jack leaned in, whispering directly into Michael’s ear. “You are Kingpin’s sloth.” Michael shuddered.
Jack chuckled. “All those hospitals? They never saved anyone who actually needed them. They only cared about the rich.” Michael trembled.
Jack pressed on. “The shelters? Just a front. Never actually provided real safety. Never gave anyone a second chance.” Michael’s body shook violently.
“And those charity foundations? Just a publicity stunt.” Jack sighed dramatically. “You never helped anyone but yourself.”
Michael desperately slammed his forehead against the floor. “I—I was wrong! Please! I’ll change! I’ll give you all my wealth! I’ll give back to the community! I’ll do anything—!”
Jack smiled. His golden gaze burned through Michael like a scorching flame. Then—his smile faded. “You know…” Jack mused. “I’m too lazy to kill you.”
Michael’s eyes lit up with hope. “T-thank you! I swear—I swear I’ll—”
Jack raised a finger. “But…” Michael’s body stiffened.
Jack crouched down beside him, his voice a low whisper. “I’ll let you relax instead.” Michael’s eyes widened.
Jack smirked. “So relaxed, in fact… that you’ll forget how to breathe.” Before Michael could process those words—Jack struck. His fingers moved with pinpoint precision, pressing into key acupoints along Michael’s body.
A paralysis took over—Michael’s limbs locked in place. His lungs constricted. No air. No movement. Only—pure, silent terror.
Jack hummed, dragging Michael toward the sofa. He gently laid him down, adjusting his body into a comfortable sleeping position.
Jack smiled softly. Almost affectionate. “Sleep tight.” Michael’s eyes bulged. He couldn’t scream. Couldn’t beg. Couldn’t do anything. All he could do was suffocate. Slowly. Painfully.
Jack stood up, dusting off his blood-streaked robe. Then—he turned. And finally…
His golden gaze locked onto the last man standing. Wilson Fisk.
The Kingpin. Jack smirked. “Your turn, big guy.”
Jack walked forward, his white robes stained with blood. His golden gaze bore into Wilson Fisk, stripping him bare—not just physically, but spiritually.
Jack saw it. All of it. The countless lives he ruined. The suffering he orchestrated. The pride that fueled it all. Jack smiled. This man. This broken, defeated husk. This is Kingpin? Pathetic.
His clones held Fisk down, keeping him restrained, his massive arms pinned. Jack sat down cross-legged in front of him. His head tilted, mock curiosity in his expression. "Hey, Willy. Or should I call you Wilson to be formal?”
A pause.
Jack shrugged. “Naaaahhh. I already called you Willy just now, so we’re basically buddies, right, Willy?"
Before Kingpin could answer—SLAP.
Jack’s palm cracked across Fisk’s face, hard enough to make the massive man’s head whip to the side. A bruise instantly began forming. Fisk’s jaw clenched.
Jack grinned. "Who do you think you are, huh?” He leaned in, voice dripping with amusement. “Trying to be buddy-buddy with me?”
Fisk stared at him, silent. Then—he exhaled. Regaining his composure, his voice was smooth, unshaken. "You can kill me, Jack.” His dark eyes locked onto Jack’s golden ones. "But what happens after?" Jack said nothing.
Fisk’s smile widened. "You're going to be branded as a killer. The man who massacred New York’s underworld. The terrorist who unleashed bio-attacks on Hell’s Kitchen.” Jack’s clones remained stoic.
Fisk chuckled. “The guy who bombed a hospital. The man who sexually assaulted a helpless girl. Your reputation is finished. Stained beyond repair.” Jack remained still.
Fisk’s voice grew stronger, more confident. "No amount of good deeds can wash this away. You are done." He leaned forward, as much as his restraints allowed. "And you know it."
Then—he laughed. A deep, guttural sound from a man who still believed he had the upper hand.
Jack’s expression didn’t change. His golden eyes didn’t waver. He simply… watched. Letting Fisk revel in his own delusion. Then—Jack spoke. "What makes you think I care?"
Fisk froze. His laughter cut short. Jack’s grin widened. "Kekekekekekeke…" The room filled with his laughter—loud, manic, unhinged.
Fisk’s jaw tightened. Jack tilted his head. "Do you actually think I care about my image?" He laughed again. "Kekekekekekekeke!"
Fisk stared at him, genuinely caught off guard. Jack sighed, shaking his head. "Oh, Willy… my sweet, delusional Willy."
He slowly stood up. Fisk’s eyes followed him. Jack turned, walking toward the balcony. The glass doors had been shattered during the fight, the cool night breeze drifting in.
Jack stepped outside, onto the balcony railing, balancing effortlessly. From here, he could see everything. The remnants of Fisk’s empire. His soon to be territories, now stabilized.
Madam Gao's people securing the final strongholds. His clones finishing what was left. Jack smiled. He glanced back at Fisk. "Do you wanna watch?" Fisk didn’t answer. Jack grinned wider. “The process of me taking the rest of your territory?”
Then—he jumped. Launching himself high into the night sky. Like a shooting star… descending upon the last remnants of Wilson Fisk’s kingdom.
Hell’s Kitchen was his now. And there was nothing the Kingpin could do to stop it.
Comments
_Neith_
Thanks again ☺️
Eonwe
Great chapter
