He is the devil, red and blind

Beleaguered and pained

Left behind in some wasteland of pain and darkness

Forever in dark, forever the spider’s shadow.

He is the devil,

The devil you know, the devil you fear.

The devil that coddles you,

Protects you while you sleep.

He is the one, the chosen…

Man Without Fear.

He has been your mentor, your savior.

But who will save him.

For he is slowly going…

INSANE

New York City: Parker home - 2002

Sobbing, the sobbing of his wife was the first thing Peter Parker heard as he crept slowly into their lonely apartment. It had once felt so big, spacious enough for more than just Peter and Mary Jane Parker. Now it was cramped and cold. This wasn’t the first time Peter had come home to the sound of Mary-Jane’s rhythmic sobs, but tonight was the only night he knew to expect it.

Three years to the day, and the wound still hadn’t healed. Three years to the day that the Parker family had been perpetually foreshortened to two and two alone. They had planned to name her May… but three years ago to the day she had been stillborn. And now Peter and Mary-Jane Parker could have no children of their own.

Peter shed his Spiderman costume quickly and strode into the living room. Before opening the living room door, he knew the only light in the room would be from the television. He also knew that Mary-Jane would be on the couch, staring blankly at the evening news. On both counts, he was one hundred percent correct.

He scooped her up into his arms, the whole time whispering that it would all be ok. He’d been saying this to her for three years, and if he had to he would say it every day for the rest of his life.

As he carried her into their bedroom, he heard the beginning of a news report. Had he been paying attention to anything other than his beautiful yet sad bride… he would have stopped to watch it.

CHANNEL 13 NEWS REPORT

"I’m Kent Taylor for Channel 13 News, and I’m standing outside the Stan Lee-Kirby Memorial Hospital in Manhattan, where billionaire and reported Kingpin of Crime Wilson Fisk has just come out of emergency surgery. Fisk, pictured below in his trademarked white suit, fell from the fifth floor window of his own office in downtown Manhattan.

Police assume that Mr. Fisk was thrown from the building, but Fisk Towers security has been uncooperative in handing over the security camera footage.

Doctors doubt that Wilson Fisk will survive, and if he does it is unlikely he will ever walk again.

Back to you Jim."

Murdock's Brownstone - Hell's Kitchen

His mind was reeling. The death of Bullseye was bad enough, but add to that what Stick had just said… it was unbearable. Those three little words continued to echo back and forth in his mind, and just when he thought he’d grasped it, it bounced off of a heretofore-unseen crevasse. ‘Matt, I’m dying…' How could he? Murdock had always thought of Stick as immortal, he’d once thought that of Karen Page as well.

"How long have you known?" They were the only words he could find amid the clutter of his all to fragile mind.

"I’ve known all my life… To think one’s self, incapable of death is foolhardy. But, I did not arrive at the conclusion that the end was so close until very recently." Damn him, he sounded calm about it. Like he was looking forward to it.

"What do you need me to do?" Words were still hard to find, but calm was slowly returning to Matt Murdock. He had faced a thousand more terrible things in his life as Daredevil, and he knew he would surely face more. That thought was oddly calming.

"I need you to fulfill your destiny and replace me."

"Replace you? ‘Did I hear that right? Or am I slipping further into the throes of mania?’ Murdock thought.

"Perhaps succeed me is a better choice of phrasing. My parents did not inflict the name Stick upon me at birth. It is a title, the title of the leader of the Chaste. I was born John Nochede. And I was chosen to succeed the previous Stick, as you have been chosen to succeed me." Murdock’s response was almost immediate, as it had been all the other times Stick had heard it.

"I can’t."

"You have told me this many a time, and proven yourself wrong at every turn. You told me you couldn’t learn what I had to teach, but you did. You told me you could not stand up to the Kingpin, but you did. You told me you could never wear that red costume again, but I smell its fabric beneath whatever you are wearing now." Stick tapped his staff against the floor for emphasis, it was almost scary how quickly he had slipped back into the role of the teacher. "You will come to this on your own terms, just as I did. And one more, and sadly for the last time dear friend, I will show you the way."

Stan Lee-Kirby Memorial Hospital - Room 309

Sure, the Kingpin couldn’t move below the neck. Sure he might never do so again, but there was vitality in his face that made John Leturgian nervous, even now. Leturgian had been one of Kingpin’s chief lieutenants when the Magneto War had started. He had there been as an advisor until the fight between Daredevil and Bullseye only a few short hours ago. But from the moment that Bullseye began to fall, Leturgian lost that status. Now, he was the man who’d thrown the Kingpin of crime through his office window. And he knew he might never be anything else.

But right now he was the small man flanked by Kingpin’s largest, scariest and most loyal muscles. Again… he knew he might never be anything else.

"John, do you really believe you’re the first? I’ve run this city longer than you’ve lived in it. I took it from the Fixer, and do you know how I did?" His voice was just as commanding, just as thunderous as ever. He didn’t seem weakened in any way, even though he was laying immobilized in a hospital bed.

"I did it, because the Fixer’s men respected me more than they did him. Frank, Peter, do you respect Mr. Leturgian?"

"No boss." Leturgian cowered as they said that in unison. He was a peon to them, and there was no way his plan would work with schmucks like these two.

"I thought not." The rumble of his voice was like a storm rolling in from the east. "You did not earn their respect, John. And without their respect, you will fail to seize my businesses. Just as those who came before you have failed. Do you know what happened to those others?" Leturgian shook his head ‘no.’ He didn’t want to provoke either of the two hulks holding him. "Neither do I, John. You see… I truly dislike violence. See that you go home, and think about what you have done."

Leturgian walked out of the room, but listened at the door for a moment.

"Boss, wassat ya said ‘bout na likin’ vilinze?"

"The truth, Frank… I detest it. Doesn’t make it unnecessary. Arrange a very violent end for Mr. Leturgian." He paused and scanned the morning paper for a moment." And send my regards to Mr. Matthew Murdock. Flowers should work. Care of Nelson Law, be sure to include a note. Make sure it reads: 'To congratulate you on cold blooded murder.' Sign it WF."

And with that, John Leturgian was darting for the nearest exit.

Murdock's Brownstone

The cold cement of the roof was all he felt beneath him, the brownstone the Kingpin had once destroyed, the brownstone Murdock had rebuilt to house Nelson & Murdock: Attorneys at Law. It felt odd having to go a few blocks over to go to work, but Foggy had found them new quarters about six months ago. Then again, it wasn’t even Nelson and Murdock anymore. He could feel the sun's rays beating down on him, trying to wash him clean of his sins if he would let them. But he wouldn’t.

He tried desperately not to think of all the things Stick had told him last night… but of course he couldn’t avoid it. As much as he didn’t want to become the next Stick, he knew he could step up when the time came. But it wasn’t that that was doing a number on him. It was what Stick had said about her…

Elektra.

Even now she was assuming the leadership of the Hand. If that were indeed so, her redemption meant nothing now. The fierce warrior inside had won, and what remained of the woman he had once loved was dead.

I COULD SAVE HER, I’VE FAILED SO MANY OTHERS… BUT I WON’T FAIL HER AGAIN.

‘You say that now, but how long would she be redeemed for this time? A month? A year? A decade? Eventually she will be lured back to her old ways once again, and nothing you have done will have mattered in the slightest.’ The two conflicting voices in Murdock’s head were getting louder as time bore onward. Soon, he feared, they would be all he would be able to hear.

To placate them and shut them out in one fell swoop, he thought of quieter times. Times when the world had made sense. Times with Elektra.

Within moments he was back there, on her family's estate in their gym. He was still wearing the yellow and brown suit, and was still for the most part good. She had had a dark streak within her then, that had been what attracted him to her. She had a duality about her that mirrored the line within himself between Murdock and Daredevil. They were fighting, he could almost feel her foot jab into his abdomen. It was as if he had stepped into the body of a much younger Matt Murdock. The fight, as always, turned into a hot sexual encounter, and rapidly so. For some reason, he couldn’t remember as much detail about the sex as he did about the fight. One minute she was holding him, and the next she was handing him his costume.

"Put it on for me?" Was all she asked. He took the suit and suddenly he could see. But Elektra was gone, and the suit he held in his hands was not yellow and brown. It was the color of blood.

As he stared at it, a giant hulking bat flew into his face and commanded him once again: "LET IT GO."

Murdock awoke to the sensation of Stick’s staff tapping him on the shoulder. The heat from the sun, and the direction it came from told him he had been asleep for nearly an hour.

"Perilous dreams, my friend?"

"Like you wouldn’t believe. What brings you up here after me?" Murdock rose and stood, facing his master. You would almost fail to believe these two men were blind.

"Your partner, Mister Nelson, called. He says you should come to the office immediately."

"He say why?"

"You are to meet someone who has information you might want about Wilson Fisk."

Nelson Law

Nelson Law, the office. Murdock’s Law? ‘Always carry the billy clubs, just in case.’

Murdock could almost smell the tension the moment he walked through the double glass doors of Nelson Law. He quickly walked back to Foggy’s office, slipping back into the blind man act. As he opened the door he could feel the man seated across from Foggy. He smelled like Brill Crème and Chinese food. Foggy, again, smelled of make-up and perfume. The other man also smelled of something else... a hospital.

"Matt," Franklin "Foggy" Nelson began. "I want you to meet John Leturgian. Mr. Leturgian, this is Matthew Murdock." Murdock felt his way down into the seat next to Leturgian but did not offer his hand. All the better to play up the blind angle.

"Mr. Leturgian, maybe you should tell Mr. Murdock what brought you to Nelson Law."

Murdock could hear Leturgian’s heart begin to beat faster, but whether it was out of fear or the beginning of a lie, he couldn’t tell.

"I have information that will put the Kingpin away."

"Mr. Nelson and I have heard all of this before, let me guess… You’ll need us to ensure your safety. Well the last time I made such a promise, the man who came to me was killed in my own office." The tension in his voice was palpable, even for those without heightened senses.

"I believe what Mr. Murdock is saying is that this is a situation we’ve faced before. Certain assurances must be made. Perhaps you could tell us a bit about what you know?" said Foggy, ever the diplomat. It almost made Murdock smile.

"Fisk is selling armaments to Magneto. American Military armaments." Murdock held up a finger to silence Leturgian.

"Why bring this to me, the police are who you should have gone to." He could almost feel a setup of some kind. This was not a situation like the one with Larry the mumbler after Karen died. This seemed more like a classic Kingpin ploy.

"Because Fisk is planning on killing me and framing you for the murder." Normally Matt Murdock could feel almost every molecule in the room, all he could have felt at that moment was shock.

Later - Murdock's office

Murdock could feel the Braille letters of the card beneath his fingers. Each one felt like a pinprick to his very soul. Bullseye’s death was his fault, and what made that fact all the more painful was that his oldest enemy knew it. He held the phone in one cold hand, awaiting a response. Each agonizing second made him reconsider his decision.

And then he heard the click of the phone, and all other recourse was cut off.

"City desk, this is Peter Parker. Lynn isn’t in right now, how may I help you?" Something was wrong, Peter sounded very weary. Of course, Murdock had a damn good idea what it was about. It was about the kind of injustice he wished he could fight but could never hope to. It was about a love deeper than Murdock had ever felt.

"Peter, it's Matt. Are you alone?" There was a long moment of mumbled conversation between Peter and someone else. Murdock knew that it was J. Jonah Jameson… He tried not to listen, but he heard Jameson mention needing photos of Bullseye’s funeral. Ironic, send one of the killers to the to the victim's funeral.

"Am now, need to talk about last night? I can meet you at the usual spot." Despite all the pain, he could feel concern dripping from Peter’s voice. He felt like thanking Peter for the years of friendship, but now was not the time.

"No, I need to talk about tonight. Can you be at Fifth and Broad, eleven thirty?" There was an urgency in his voice he’d never put across before… they were on the verge of something bigger than all the good either Daredevil or Spiderman had ever done.

"Yeah, need me to come in costume?"

"Definitely."

"What’s up Matt?"

"Tonight we put Wilson Fisk away forever."

Murdock's Brownstone

Stick heard him coming a mile away, slower, and sloppier than anything else on God’s greenest Earth. This one had been closer to her and that last. He reeked of Elektra. He crept through the apartment, scanning with all his senses for Stick. But Stick’s senses were by far better.

Say anything good about Elektra… but she lacked in the ability to train her clansmen. He wondered briefly if Murdock would be able to train the Chaste when his time had come, which he knew would be very soon. He almost laughed aloud at this, his first doubt. He knew Murdock would far surpass him, he’d known that the moment he’d first met Murdock.

Stick stepped into position, his index finger finding the right spot at the base of the Hand ninja’s skull.

"The slightest pressure, you drop like a sandbag."

"You don’t have it in you, old man. Your disease has made you weak." A second later, the Hand member lay crumpled on the floor and Stick stood speechless as he noticed Murdock’s presence for the first time.

"When did you get here?" Stick was amazed, and admittedly quite proud that Murdock had completely slipped past him.

"Came in with the cat. Thought you heard me." Murdock was already trussing up the Ninja on the floor.

"I didn’t. That was impressive, son." And it truly was. He’d only trained one better, his faithful servant Oshu Kin.

"Did you find out what you’d hoped?"

"In a way. I have to go out, will you be alright by yourself till I get back?" Stick closed his eyes tight as a tear crawled down his face. And for once he was glad his student was likewise inflicted with blindness. ‘He knows the candle is burning out, he can sense it as well as I.’

"I’ll be here when you get back. I promise it." He knew it was a promise he could never keep. It was nothing more than a sweet lie to the child he’d never had. There were so many things he wished to say to the child of Jack Murdock. So many things that would chase Stick to the grave. Especially the most important thing he’d never said.

"I’ll be back soon, I promise." Lies all around tonight, and something unexpected. Murdock hugged him… the way a son would hug a father. And for the first time Stick wished Murdock truly was his son. That would make this so much easier for both of them. Father and son could at least say they loved each other. But between Stick and his surrogate son, it would always and forever remain unspoken. Lost to history and the shadow of memory. And before Stick could comment, Murdock was off into the night, the smell of Kevlar and the unconscious ninja clinging to him.

"He will do you proud, Master." Oshu Kin said from the edge of the void.

"And you, my old friend… how long have you been here?" Stick had not felt Kin either.

"I’ve never left Master, and to let you know… none of the lights in this house work."

"It matters not… lights go out. For Murdock and I, the lights have been out a very long time."

"No Master, your lights are all the brighter."

Fifth and Broad Streets

Leturgian had been waiting for five minutes, hiding in the shadows. He knew he was safe there, but as for when Murdock arrived… he had no clue how safe he would indeed be, either of them for that matter.

"John Leturgian?" A voice full of menace said from the shadows of the alley called out. Leturgian would have said it was the voice of the devil himself. He was damn close to the mark. Daredevil stepped out of the shadows. "Matt Murdock asked me to meet you here." Leturgian suddenly had no doubt as to his safety. In a moment, he’d be even more assured.

Paradigm Shift

Daredevil stood facing Leturgian, already aware of the two others about to join them in this self-same alley. He could feel them dropping to the pavement. He was glad they were with him. He might need them both.

Spiderman touched the ground inaudibly, except of course to Murdock, and immediately after him so did Natasha Romanov: The Black Widow.

"Thought a little extra help would be a good thing." Spiderman said. Black Widow was oddly silent.

"Good idea." He said as the scent of Natasha’s hair struck him hard. He had once loved her. YOU STILL COULD! ‘shut up! Shut Up! SHUT UP!’ Now was certainly not the time for the voices. As if hearing them herself, Natasha put a hand on his shoulder. Then he heard it. He saw Peter tense beside him, within the throes of Spider-Senses.

"Down!" Peter screamed as he threw Leturgian to the cement a moment before the bullet would have torn through his head. Murdock could easily tell that the semi-automatic fire was coming from multiple directions. He whipped his head around, trying to get a feel for each distinct shot. Even as bullets sprayed into the ground at his feet, he tried his damnedest to locate all the shooters.

"How many?" Natasha never missed a trick… always calmer than Murdock imagined even Christ could be.

"Five." Murdock said as he honed in on each in turn. The voices in his head were getting louder, and he hated them both. "Four at the end of the alley, one on the roof." Focus, he needed to focus. He began to recite the chords of his piano.

He focused in on the remaining four as he heard Peter’s web-slinger cry out into the New York evening. Peter had the roof shooter covered. All the better for him and Natasha, all the worse for the other four shooters.

He felt the wind flow harder as Natasha launched herself forward toward the end of the alley.

His billy club launched from his hand in a split second. But the voices would not cease, in fact they began to get louder. He launched himself and snagged on of the shooters. Three hits - one to the chest, one to the jaw, and one to the back of the neck - and he was down.

The other would prove harder.

Murdock's Brownstone

It was once said that a child born in celebration would live a long and merry life. John Nochede was born in the bright times of a post-war world. Much celebration. Stick had lived long, but it had been far from a merry life. And now it was ending one second at a time.

Oshu Kin held the old master in his arms, listening with the heightened senses Stick had trained him to use… to the fading of his heart.

"Matt? Matt… is that you?" Oshu Kin knew time had come full circle. He was cradling Stick as the clock wound down, just as John Nochede’s mother had when it was just beginning to tick away. He loved his master more than life itself. And in his last moments with him, Oshu Kin planned to do the one thing he had never done.

He planned to lie.

"Yes, it’s me." The heartbeat was fainter now… with gaps between that seemed enormous.

"I have and ever shall… love you." With that, all things ceased. There was silence in his chest. The great master Stick had passed into the next world.

Fifth and Broad

One moment is the difference between sanity and madness. He could feel Natasha nearby, catching her breath as he dodged bullets, counting all the while. As he leapt toward the shooter he heard the click of the empty clip. He raised his billy club and was prepared to strike. The voices had been dueling throughout the fight. But now they were screaming one word in perfect harmony.

NO

‘No’

Matthew Murdock, the Daredevil, fell to his knees crying out in time with the voices. He barely heard the slam of Natasha’s fist into the flesh of the last shooter before his senses melted into a sea of disembodied sounds.

"TAKE ME TO ELEVENTH AND BLEEKER PLEASE… GO THEN THERE ARE OTHER WORLDS THAN THESE… BEEP BEEP… COME AND GET IT! HOT DOGS, I GOT YER HOT DOGS… NOW WE PROCLAIM THE MYSTERY OF FAITH .. Widow, get Mr. Leturgian to safety…. But Spiderman, what about? … Widow, I’ve got him… THE DAY, THE MUSIC DIED… MY HUSBAND CAN NEVER KNOW… BLAM BLAM… GIMME ALL YOU GOT KID… But… ENGLISH MOTHER-FUCKER, DO YOU SPEAK IT? … I’ve got him, now GO!…

The cacophony became too much to bear, and as the darkness finally claimed him, Matt Murdock’s last thought was:

‘C Major is the taste of blood…’

Parker home

It was midnight when Peter Parker slipped into his apartment. Once again all he heard was the sound of sobbing. But this time, he had brought the horridly painful sound with him. In his arms, the mewling form of the Daredevil shook violently, sobbing and moaning the word ‘no’ over and over.

Mary Jane was standing in the hallway outside of the bathroom, her nightgown flowing in the breeze from the street side window.

"Peter… what?"

"Mary Jane, please make up the guest room." He knew he feared taking Murdock anywhere else, and that was all he knew.

"But Peter?"

"Mary Jane, for Christ's sake, darling… make up the guest room. This man needs a place to rest. And to not let him stay here, I would be betraying the trust of the only I person I dare trust out there on those forsaken streets. Now please, make up the guest room." And she did.

Stan Lee-Kirby Memorial Hospital - Room 309

Willie, Willie, it’s a shame you’re not awake to witness this momentous moment. You see, I killed your boys Frank and Pete, they have no place in my bright future. No one loyal to you does. It’s beautiful… I used both of your mortal enemies: Murdock and Daredevil to spoil your murder plan. But… you know what makes it all the more beautiful? Ten years ago, in exactly three minutes… you killed the Fixer you honor so damn much.

12:00:58 AM

At the stroke of 12:01 AM, John Leturgian slammed a pillow down onto the massive face of Wilson Fisk: The Kingpin of Crime. It was almost too easy. It took him no longer than two minutes to die.

Leturgian laughed heartily as he took a red rose from the Kingpin’s nightstand and placed it onto his own lapel.

Wilson Fisk was dead. Long live John Leturgian. The New Kingpin of Crime.

TO BE CONTINUED…

Next: Madness, death, and Ghosts long thought buried.