Serious People, Who is Learning Magic at Marvel?

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Things went so smoothly, so smooth that Darius didn't even feel any real sense - he thought it would be a tough battle, and many people would die. Unexpectedly, their weapons were not even stained with blood, and Shane completely resolved the matter.

What he didn't know was that Sean was actually surprised too.

Only Kronos looked like he had expected. He had already seen the extraordinary personalities of the Primarchs. Such a small fact was not worth mentioning. He's also not interested in the current political turmoil in Noxus, for Astartes, he's seen too many similar things. Not to mention a country, he has not seen a rebellion based on a planet.

The most urgent task is to restore Noxus to combat power quickly, and then unify the world, so that the humans of this world will be free from unnecessary wars and infighting. You know, dying at the hands of one's own countrymen is the most stupid.

Let's leave the Noxus story for now, and turn the perspective back to the mage.

What is he doing?

He was walking on the streets of New York, and the people coming and going turned a blind eye to this strangely dressed man. He traveled all the way from the Manhattan peninsula to the notorious Hell's Kitchen, where life plays out in all its forms.

You can see a drug addict lying on the street in broad daylight, and you can catch a glimpse of a few sneaky guys as you pass by an alleyway secretly trading something. Here, crime and violence are the themes. But these people aren't the mage's target, and he's not here for these addicts.

He just came to find someone.

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The burly man was grinding the tactical dagger in his hand in a hurry. A man with a bruised nose and a swollen face was tied to the chair in front of him. The two seemed to be in an abandoned factory building.

"You can't get what you want from me... Punisher." The guy who was tied to the chair gave a low laugh, looking like he didn't care about the torture he was about to face.

"I'll wait and see." The burly man said something in a hurry, then put the dagger back in his waist and walked to the other side of the factory building. He was wearing a long black trench coat, revealing the skull pattern on his chest between swings.

Over there, there is a table. There is a black leather case on it. The Punisher opened the suitcase, took out an injection, and walked back. He squatted in front of the guy who was tied to the chair, held the injection in his hand, and asked, "Do you know what this is?"

The guy sneered, even at this point, he was still very tough: "I'm just selling this stuff, can I not know?"

At this point, even the Punisher laughed. His laughter sounded as if two stones were rubbing against each other, making a cold and rough voice: "You are really inferior to being a drug dealer here, and you should really fight your wits with the CIA."

The guy spit on the ground with a look of disdain: "Do you think I haven't dealt with them? Come on! I've tried things worse than this, trust me, you either kill me or Useless work on me."

"Really?" The smile on the Punisher's face gradually calmed down, and he pushed the injection into the guy's thigh. His fingers pushed a little bit, and the man's expression became a little slack. He couldn't resist the effects of the drug, and after about half a minute, he started rolling his eyes.

"I never said I wanted anything from you, idiot."

The Punisher turned around and took the suitcase, which contained dozens of such injections. Then he grabbed a handful, stuck it all on the man, and injected all the transparent medicinal liquid into his body.

After doing all this, he put a black cloth bag over the man's head and left the factory.

No one can take so many medicines at once, he will die soon, and the death will be very tragic-so tragic that even people like Punisher don't want to see it.

Leaving the factory building, he didn't know when he had put on a wide hat, covering his entire face tightly, and his windbreaker was buttoned tightly. It was not until he returned to his room in the cheap hotel that he took off the trench coat, revealing the tight short sleeves covered in blood.

He didn't choose to wash up, but took out a small kraft paper and began to write something on it. This habit has been maintained since two years ago. During the operation to exterminate the gangster, he was almost killed by a guy with a cold gun behind his back. At that time, he realized that sooner or later he would die.

It was just a matter of sooner or later, so he chose to start writing something. Not to prove anything, but to be able to understand something when people find his body.

"The clue is broken, as it should be. I should have thought that he could have been operating in New York for so many years without leaving a tail."

Writing here, he paused for a while, then started another line and started again.

"I thought of that girl again. She was just one of the bones at the feet of that bastard. But I can't forget her face. For some reason, I often think of that rainy night. From that day on, I understood that some people Must die."

"No second option, no jail time, no occasional visits, no parole rules. I'm not going to let them get away easily after committing a crime, he must die."

After writing this sentence, he threw the kraft paper on the bed, then lay back, staring at the dark ceiling, and said no more.

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Somewhere in New York.

Inside the office on the top floor of a building.

"So he's dead?"

"Yes, boss."

The man called the boss turned around from the chair. His body was extremely large, not fat, but extremely strong. Bulging up his specially made white suit. His suits are meticulous in every detail, from the cufflinks to the embellishment on the carefully chosen tie.

He stood up and started pacing the office with his hands behind his back: "Suspend the sale of new drugs, let them know if they don't agree, that's what I mean."

He stopped in front of his floor-to-ceiling window, stared at the beautiful scenery of the sunset outside the window, and said calmly: "I will try my best to investigate this matter, I want to know who is in the middle of it. Marceau's promotion has only been in a short period of ten years. God, he was killed in the warehouse, and all the hundreds of people under his command died."

He turned around and looked at his subordinates, with a thoughtful tone in his tone: "...Who do you think has such a ruthless heart?"

Before waiting for his subordinate to answer, he waved his hand: "Forget it, let someone prepare the car, I can't be late."

Half an hour later, he arrived at a high-end restaurant on time. The restaurant was empty, and he made a special reservation for today. The waiter opened the door for him and led the way respectfully. The temperament of a man at this time has also changed a lot compared to the one in the office. With a genial smile on his face, he looked much kinder.

After being seated, he summoned one of his bodyguards and asked, "How long until she arrives?"

"Five minutes left, boss. Our guys contacted Twilight and asked them to adjust the number of traffic on the road today."

The man smiled and nodded: "Very good, remember to notify me when she gets downstairs."

"Yes, boss."

Before long, the bodyguard came over and whispered a few words to him. Immediately, a brighter smile appeared on his face, and he stood up from his seat. A woman who was not beautiful, one could even say ordinary walked in through the door. It can be seen that she has tried her best to dress up, but the pale green dress still looks a little inconspicuous in this restaurant.

She obviously realized this, and her steps were a little restrained. The man turned a blind eye to this, and he quickly greeted him, indicating that the waiter would not have to trouble him any more. When the woman saw him, she immediately laughed: "Fisk!"

She took Fisk's arm affectionately and whispered to him: "Why is there no one here?"

Fisk patted her arm reassuringly, and responded in a low voice: "Don't worry, Vanessa. I'm a bit shy with the chef here, and he sold me a favor."

When he said this, the chef's bruised nose flashed in his mind.

A peculiar cold sense of humor reverberated in his heart, and he knew he shouldn't be laughing, but he couldn't help laughing. However, he concealed it well: "Come on, Vanessa, this is a surprise for you."

He pulled up a chair for Vanessa and let her sit down.

Needless to say, the dinner for the two went very smoothly. Fisk even sent her home in the middle of the night, and it was not until he saw her go upstairs that Fisk was relieved. At the same time, the expression on his face once again changed to that cold and ruthless look.

The black-clothed bodyguard who had been following him wisely came over, lit a cigar for him, and then whispered, "It's been checked out, boss. It's Frank Custer."

While smoking a cigar and savoring the mellow fragrance, Fisk narrowed his eyes and said casually, "Of course, who else could it be? It seems that our old friend is not dead."

He laughed twice and sat back in his limousine with the bodyguard sitting beside him. The driver ignited the car and everything seemed so logical.

His voice echoed in the car: "The official price of this cigar is nine hundred dollars a piece, and their rhetoric blows this cigar into hype. Of course, we all know that if this thing is not sold by me Get out, it's worthless."

"Nine hundred dollars?" He sneered and continued, "Money is the least valuable thing..."

Then, he threw the cigar out of the half-open window, and the bodyguard heard his calm and unquestionable voice: "After three days at the latest, I want to see Frank Custer's head in my head. on the desk."

"Yes, boss."

The limousine quickly moved away from this mid-range neighborhood, leaving only a cigar rolling on the side of the street, and the smoke spewing from the rear of the car to prove that they had been here. A man walked out of the darkness on the street corner, wearing a long trench coat, his face was expressionless.

He stared at the taillights of the distant limousine, turned his head and glanced at Vanessa's house, where the lights were already on.

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In He Shenyan's view, the city of New York seems to be cursed.

No matter how many worlds he traveled through, New York in each world was either miserable or horrendous in crime. Just like the place under his feet, in just half a day, there have been more than thirty crimes that he saw with his naked eyes - every one of them was stopped by him, in an unexpected way.

For example, when a robber is working, he suddenly finds his gun and his palm fused together. The thief fell just after he succeeded, and the thing he stole luckily fell in front of the owner. There are countless kinds of these.

He Shenyan was floating above New York at this time. He was watching a certain person in the city below his feet, his eyes were running after him, but he did not communicate directly with him. This is an assessment, but the person being assessed is not informed. After leaving the world of Batman, he has traveled through forty worlds, and there is no suitable person in it.

The Emperor created the Primarch, but he could only choose the Primarch. This also caused him to be cautious. Without sufficient consideration, he would not choose a person at will. Some worlds do have faces that he is familiar with, but they are a bit worse than the people He Shenyan is familiar with.

In more worlds, there is simply no soil that can give birth to genetic primordials. It should be noted that heroes also need the environment to grow. If a world is too peaceful, it is impossible for him to find the person he is looking for. In a way, this is a bit of a bit of irony.

Thinking of this, he smiled.

The Punisher of this world is the most...poor one of the many people with the same name he has ever met—perhaps it has something to do with his experience, or maybe just because he is simply special. But no matter what, this man named Frank Custer was very different from the one he remembered.

He's younger, and what he's been through is even more horrific. His personality was not as extreme as the Frank he knew. Of course, this is just not extreme compared to the punishers. For those who are petty, he will not kill them directly. Instead let them go after breaking hands and feet, but if you commit a heavier crime. …

Then there is a good show.

In his sight, Frank Custer had sneaked into the house of the woman named Vanessa. She was taking a shower and Frank was rummaging through the closet. He is looking for possible criminal evidence. Vanessa may not know, but he knows the man named Fisk - he is better known by another name than Fisk.

Gold and.

The uncrowned king of the New York underground can even take New York as the core and control the entire American underground black industry. To bring down such an opponent, killing alone cannot solve the problem. Even someone as murderous as the Punisher knows this. He believes that his previous investigation of Jin Bing has been completed enough, but for this Vanessa......

He didn't know anything about her. Jin Bing obviously hid the woman well, but he does not believe that Vanessa knows nothing about Jin Bing's identity. Just as he was rummaging through the boxes, the sound of water in the bathroom stopped.

The Punisher stopped, he pulled a pistol from his waist and opened the safety. A female voice said in the bathroom, "Sir, if you want something, take it. I don't have any cash at home, it's all in the corner of the nightstand. I just ask you not to hurt me, okay?"

"You can take anything you want, I won't come out, I won't fight. I can't call the police, my phone is on the sofa, you can see it. If you want, you can take it too Go. My only request is not to hurt me."

Her voice sounded calm, and the Punisher was silent for a while before asking, "Fisk."

"What?" she asked in confusion.

"Wilson Grant Fisk. Tell me how much you know about him."

"...Sir, he's just a philanthropist, a businessman. If the people behind you want to compete with him, please do the right thing, okay? It's no use threatening me, I won't tell anything you want to know of--"

"boom!"

A crisp sound interrupted her, and the Punisher smashed the glass of her bathroom door and opened it. Then he pointed the gun at Vanessa, who was wrapped in a bath towel, and said coldly, "Put on your slippers and come here."

Vanessa obediently complied. In her opinion, this man's identity has changed from a thief seeking money to a helper hired by a competitor who wants to be unfavorable to Fisk in business. But people's guesses are often wildly different from the truth.

After she sat on the sofa, Punisher leaned against the wall of her living room and said calmly, "Your name?"

"Vanessa Eli."

Facing the muzzle of the Punisher, she obediently began to answer questions.

"age?"

"34."

"What about occupation?"

"I have to say, I run a gallery in the heart of New York. Sometimes I show works by young painters."

Punisher narrowed his eyes: "That's all?"

Vanessa asked rhetorically: "Or else? I am proud of my career. Over the years, I have helped many young painters through their difficult periods of fame..."

Facing the rising muzzle, she closed her mouth.

The Punisher asked again, "How did you and Jin Pei know each other?"

"Jinping?"

Her face looked confused and puzzled, how could a woman who runs a gallery have such natural acting skills? The Punisher buried this question in his heart, and he knew that Vanessa probably didn't lie.

She really didn't know who Kim was.

"Okay, let me tell you something..." As he said, he turned his head suddenly, and fired three shots at Vanessa's door. The sound of heavy objects falling to the ground came from outside the corridor.

Seeing Vanessa's panicked face and her hands covering her mouth, Punisher smiled rarely. The smile on his face was so abrupt and discordant: "He protected you very well, ma'am."

As he spoke, he fired three more shots toward the corridor, like a prophet, and the sound of heavy objects falling to the ground came from the corridor again.

"The fun begins," said the Punisher softly. chaptere