The Marvel Knights Group presents: The Enforcers #10

Montana blinked, trying to ignore the tears that had sprang unbidden to his eyes thanks to the smoke that layered the streets. Ox plodded behind him, silent as a stone. If the smoke bothered him, he gave no sign.

Gunfire rattled off the buildings around them, the echoes spiraling up into the darkening sky. There were sirens in the distance, but no sign of the police. Considering who was involved, Montana wasn’t surprised on that score. What did surprise him was the heretofore complete absence of costumes of any type. No Spider-Man, no Daredevil, nobody.

Plenty of bad guys though. Case in point…

Montana staggered back as something hammered into his gut and face. Ox caught him and looked around wildly.

“What-”

“Hiyaboyslongtimenosee.” The rush of words zipped along, trailing behind a black and crimson blur. The lanky figure stopped, grinning at the two men.

“Speed Demon,” Montana said, getting back to his feet, wiping blood from his lip. “That’s perfect.”

“Ain’t it just?” the speedster said, gesturing. Montana shook his head.

“What are you doing here?”

“Same as everybody else-putting it to the Kingpin. Getting a few kicks in while the big man is down. It’s a brand new day, boys. Too bad you’ll be missing it,” Speed Demon said.

“Yeah?” Montana said, trying to think. How did Spider-Man do it? How do you win against someone who can move faster than you can think?

“You crossed a line, boys.” Speed Demon dropped into a crouch.

“Myers?”

“Myers.” Speed Demon nodded. “I’ve been taking out my professional frustration on the Kingpin’s boys, but now that you twoarehere-” His words blurred together as he seemed to leap forward. Ox yanked Montana out of the way even as the blur hammered into his massive frame. Hundreds of super-seed punches smashed into Ox’s gut, face and arms and the big man groaned. Montana could only watch helplessly. There was nothing he could do against that-

Wait.

Montana looked around wildly. There!

“Ox! The hydrant!”

Ox didn’t question. He never questioned. He simply acted. One big foot lashed out and caught the nearby hydrant, knocking it off its base. Water exploded up, and showered down. The blur skidded in the sudden downpour, slowing as it staggered. Montana moved like greased lightning, dropping his lasso over Speed Demon’s head and hauling the speedster off of his feet. As he stumbled forward, clawing at the rope around his neck, Ox swung a fist up into his stomach, picking the slender man up off the ground and bringing blood to his lips.

Ox hit him again, leaving the speedster flat on the street, unmoving. Neither he nor Montana had time to savor their victory as a blast of energy caught the big man in his chest, sending him sprawling.

“Idiot,” the Beetle said, hovering overhead. “I told him to wait for us. Still, no reason we can’t finish what he started, don’t you agree?”

“Oh yes, quite,” the Shocker said, energy crackling off of his silver gauntlets. He stood on the roof of a parked car and slammed his fists together, creating an ugly, sparking sound. “Time to fry, cowboy.”

Don Fortunato watched as the world fell apart and smiled bitterly. Ancient and one-eyed, he sometimes felt like Odin himself, doomed to see Armageddon in everything. On the rare occasions when his worries where proven correct, he couldn’t help but smile.

He stood in the penthouse suite of the Merovech Industries building-a Hydra front-and watched as his expensive attack helicopters, the ones containing the assorted criminal figures of New York City and its assorted counties, crashed and burned.

“Bad karma,” Jimmy-Six said from behind him. Fortunato turned slightly, his patch-covered eye facing his eldest son.

“Sometimes, my beautiful Giacomo, the Devil must be served to restore the balance.”

“Balance or blessing?” another voice said. Fortunato turned, frowning slightly.

“Hobgoblin. Or is it Mac-”

“He’s back to wearng a pumpkin. Fortunato. Jimmy.” The Hobgoblin stepped forward, yellowish face glistening slightly in the light of distant fires. “Fisk Tower is burning merrily, I see.”

“Surprised you’re not down there with the other clowns,” Jimmy-Six said, hand resting on the big-bore pistol holstered beneath his left arm. “Getting your freak on and such.”

“I think big,” the Hobgoblin said. “And this was never about toppling the Kingpin.”

“No.” Fortunato turned back to the window. “Why are you here?”

“You speak for Hydra in New York, right?” The Hobgoblin said, stepping towards the window, his cloak swishing.

“If you’re not the mercenary, who are you?” Fortunato said. The Hobgoblin grinned, displaying sharply pointed teeth.

“I’m the original,” he said. “The one and only, ay-numba-one stunna, first and last. And have I got a proposition for you, old man. You and your scaly backers, both.”

“Oh?”

“This is just the first skirmish, you know. Sword from the stone, that kind of shit. I’ve been in Europe. I’ve seen the sights, heard the talk. The Society of Masks is looking for a new boss. And they’re looking to call in old debts. Hydra’s included.” The Hobgoblin traced the outline of Fisk Tower on the window. He looked at Fortnato. “Now, how much do you think your bosses would pay me to stop them?”

Fisk Tower.

Dan reacted on instinct. The pistols swung up, spitting lead. A Vulturion tumbled down, trailing red. A razor-edged wing caught him and spun him around as two more circled him, eyes hidden behind golden goggles, teeth bared in fierce grins. A slap from behind sent him sprawling and h rolled across the rooftop.

He kicked up, blind. His foot caught something. He heard what sounded like cartilage crunching and then he was on his feet, trying to hold his balance. Two down, ten to go.

Check that. Four down.

Fisk held two of the winged killers at arm’s length, one in either hand. Even at a distance, Dan could tell that their necks had been snapped, easy-peasy. The others were spiraling up. Preparing to dive again? He couldn’t tell.

Fisk tossed the bodies aside and smiled. “Really? Vulturions? Is that the best you could do?”

“I am possessed by the demon of drama,” the Rose said, bowing shallowly. “I merely wanted to see-”

“If I would-what? Panic?” Fisk’s smile disappeared. “You are a jester, then. Nothing more.”

“I-”

“Quiet. I am bored now,” Fisk grunted, his bulk swinging into motion, sudden and swift, a shark plowing through the swift. The Rose stepped back, raising his cane. Lightning burped between them, lashing out from the cane’s tip. Fisk staggered.

“Brito,” he rumbled. Dan charged forward, heedless of the Vulturions still milling above. The safest place, the best place, was in the Kingpin’s shadow. He spun, swiping a foot across the Rose’s arms, knocking the offending cane spinning. The Rose turned and Dan smashed a pistol across his jaw, sending him backwards.

Into Fisk’s arms. They closed like a trap around the Rose’s thin form, hoisting him up with bone cracking force.

“No! You can’t-” the Rose began. Fisk flexed and he fell silent.

“End it. Now.” Fisk’s voice was quiet. “We are done here. You have showed me your power, the power you can bring to bear, and brought me gifts a-plenty. We are done with the opening formalities. Call your troops off. End it. Or I crush you here and now and diplomacy be damned.”

“Diplomacy?” Dan looked around, confused. “What the hell-”

“Fine,” the Rose said. “It was becoming tiresome anyway.” Fisk released him and he straightened his coat. He slid a foot under his cane and kicked it up into the air where he grabbed it, twirled it and pointed it at the sky. He twisted the haft and a burst of energy popped into the sky, a rose-colored flare.

“What the hell is that?” the Shocker looked up over his shoulder as the pinkish-purple light filled the sky.

“No clue. Ox?” Montana said. Ox didn’t reply. Instead, the big man grabbed the broken hydrant and hurled it up towards the hovering form of the Beetle. The green armored criminal went flying backwards, then arced down into the street. The Shocker whirled, but Montana as already heading up over the car towards him.

“Get away from me!”

Montana leapt aside as a burst of electricity crackled from the villain’s gauntlets. He hit the ground and rolled, praying that he would be fast enough to get to his feet before-

A crackling splash caught him and he twitched like a bird on a wire. Ox roared and started forward, but another burst staggered him, knocking him to one knee.

“Back off, Tiny!” the Shocker snarled. “You guys have had a streak of luck lately, but it’s over as of-”

WHAM.

“What was that? I couldn’t quite hear you over the sound of your jaw shattering, dipshit!” Sheila Dupree (or Ethel Carter, depending on your perspective) watched the Shocker topple off of the car and smiled grimly. Montana and Ox looked up at her in shock.

Sheila clanged together the metal gauntlets that had belonged to ‘Hammer’ Harrison and looked down at them.

“Well? What are you two lying around for?”

“Sheila-”

“I’m a friggin’ stripper, Jackie…what, you think I can’t throw a damn punch?” Sheila hopped off of the car and extended a hand, helping the battered cowboy to his feet. “And did you really think I was just going to let you two go off without me?”

“I was hoping you would display some common sense, yeah!”

“Well tough shinola, cowboy.” Sheila clanged her gauntlets again. “Besides which-”

“Those ain’t yours to use!” Montana said. Sheila’s eyes narrowed.

“Take them from me.”

“Ox!”

“Momma said I can’t hit girls,” Ox mumbled, clenching his fists helplessly. “Momma said-”

“Soon as we get Dan back you can have them, cowboy,” Sheila said, poking Montana in the chest. “But until then…”

“Ain’t that sweet.”

The trio turned as a tall figure stepped towards them, holding a gun. The pistol looked small in Tombstone’s hand, but he looked as if he’d been through Hell, so it all evened out. Blood marred his marble-hued features and his suit was ripped and stained. He smiled, displaying sharp teeth.

“Just when I thought this day was going to be a total wash,” he said. He raised the pistol.

The Owl hit the ground and staggered up to his feet, face clenched in pain. Leland Owlsley was not one for fisticuffs and this…war had swung from grand strategy to nightmare. He looked up, peering through the smoke. The crimson forms of the Vulturions still swung through the air like so many birds of prey. They had harried him after is escape from the helicopter,chasing him as if he-HE- were the prey! The sky was denied him. He would have to slink away like some sort of groud dwelling mite-

“Going my way?”

The Owl turned, the steel claws hidden beneath his sleeves sliding into the open with a flick of his wrists. He glared up at the hovering form above him. The Hobgoblin grinned down at him, crouched on his glider. Other forms moved in the gloom of the smoke, surrounding the Owl. He bared his teeth.

“You.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. How badly do you want to live, Owlsley?” the Hobgoblin said.

“More than anything.”

“Then have I got an offer for you…”

Fisk Tower.

“There. That was the signal to cease hostilities. My men are pulling out, leaving behind only those tattered remnants of your foes behind. For you to handily clean up.” The Rose put his cane across his shoulders and cocked his head. “Satisfactory, no?”

“I did not require your aid,” Fisk said.

“As you yourself said, it was a gift.” The Rose gestured towards Richard Fisks slumped form. “As is that.”

“What the hell is going on?” Dan barked, waving his pistols. He looked at Fisk. Fisk ignored him, his gaze resting on the slouched, limp figure of his son. Then he looked at the Rose.

“What do you want?”

“Truthfully?”

“Plainly.”

“You,” the Rose said, pointing at Fisk. “We, the Society of Masks, the Blackcoats, the Under-bosses, desire you, Wilson Fisk. Kingpin.”

TO BE CONTINUED

Next Issue: Is it starting to make sense yet? No? Don’t worry, it will. Be here in thirty for ‘THE KING IS DEAD…’!