Marvel: Monkey King

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Madame Gao took a slow, deep breath. She needed to compose herself. Before her sat a Sage of K'un-Lun. And in the eyes of a being like that, she and her entire organization were nothing. Trying to deceive him would be pointless.

She would have to speak the truth. "Yesterday," she began, her voice steady but cautious, "Kingpin burst into our meeting."

Jack's brow raised slightly, but he remained silent, sipping his tea.

Madame Gao continued. "He demanded that The Hand—specifically my faction—assassinate you."

Jack's expression didn't change. He took another calm sip of tea. "Huh." 

Madame Gao swallowed. "However," she added quickly, still sweating slightly, "we decided against it."

Jack's golden eyes flicked toward her.

"We thought you were just an ordinary disciple of K'un-Lun," she admitted, bowing slightly. "So, rather than assassinate you, we intended to recruit you instead."

Jack tapped his fingers on the wooden table. Then—he smirked. "And now that you know who I am?"

Madame Gao's hands tightened against her lap. She knew there was only one way forward. She lowered her head further, bowing fully. Her subordinates gasped. Never, in all their years, had they seen Madame Gao bow to anyone.

"I would like to apologize," she said, her voice genuine but nervous.

"I did not know you were a Sage. I cannot possibly ask anything of you."

Silence.

Jack closed his eyes. At that moment, his clones scattered throughout his territory relayed their shared vision. Jack saw it clearly in his mind. A large group of Kingpin's gangsters had entered Hell's Kitchen. And among them—six or seven of them were metahumans.

Jack's golden eyes snapped open. His expression was no longer playful. It was sharp. Cold. And his voice? Steady. Absolute. "Are you sure that's all you want to confess?"

Madame Gao froze. She sensed the shift. The warriors in the room stiffened. "I… I have told you everything," she said carefully.

Jack's gaze didn't waver. "Then how do you explain the gangsters heading toward my territory?"

Madame Gao's eyes widened. She quickly turned toward her subordinates. They shook their heads. "We… We don't know," she insisted. "We have no involvement in that."

Jack watched her. Felt her heartbeat. Felt her fear. She was telling the truth. Jack's shoulders relaxed slightly.

"Okay then."

…

Meanwhile, in the heart of Hell's Kitchen…

One of Jack's clones stood in the middle of the street, hands tucked behind his back, facing a large crowd of gangsters.

The entire main road was flooded with them. They had come prepared. Weapons. Guns. Powers. And yet—Jack's clone stood alone.

Unbothered.

Unmoved.

And—deeply unimpressed. "Wow," he muttered, shaking his head. "Hell's Kitchen, middle of the afternoon, and you guys are just brazenly throwing an unscheduled brawl like this?"

Silence.

Jack sighed dramatically. "Tell me, boys—are you just stupid, or are you retarded?"

One of the metahumans stepped forward, sneering. "So you're the one who killed Volkov."

Jack raised a brow. "Oh, you mean that Masha-looking bear dude?"

The metahuman's eyes darkened. "Yes."

Jack shrugged. "Yeah, I killed him. What of it?"

The store owners hiding inside their shops held their breath. The street was tense. Then—one of the metahumans smirked, trying to be flashy. He lunged forward, aiming a blast of energy at the butcher shop. His intention was clear. A warning shot. A display of dominance.

But then—

The blast rebounded.

The energy shot backward, slamming into the attacker and sending him flying into his own gang. His subordinates scrambled, stunned.

Jack's clone sighed. "Wow."

The gangsters stared in confusion.

Jack tilted his head. "You guys really are retarded, huh?"

Then—more figures appeared. Not gangsters. Not enemies. More Jacks. Dozens. Each one perched on the surrounding rooftops, leaning against walls, or crouching on the pavement.

And all of them? Smirking. Jack's clone at the center gestured lazily. "See… you're not surrounding me." He grinned, eyes glinting. 

"I'm surrounding you."

The gangsters felt it, all at once—A terrible realization. They had walked into a trap they never even saw. And now? They were prey.

…

The street was dead silent. Dozens of Jack clones stood poised, perched on rooftops, leaning against buildings, or lazily stretching in the open street.

The gangsters? They were frozen. Their confidence wavered. They had the numbers. The weapons. The powers.

And yet…Something felt off.

Then—one of the metahumans snapped. With a roar, he charged forward, his fists coated in dark energy, aiming to crush the nearest Jack.

The moment his foot left the ground—The entire street exploded into motion.

Jack's clone moved first. A step sideways, a lazy pivot—The metahuman's punch missed completely.

Before he could react—Jack spun low, sweeping his legs out from under him. The metahuman crashed onto his back, coughing.

Before he could rise—another Jack landed from above, driving a heel into his gut. The thug wheezed, eyes rolling back.

One down.

The moment he fell, the rest of the gang surged forward. Guns fired. Mutants unleashed their powers. Blades flashed. But the Jacks were already moving.

A storm of movement unfolded. One of the gangsters aimed a shotgun, but before he could pull the trigger—A Jack appeared beside him, gripping the barrel.

Boom!

The shotgun fired—backward. The gangster yelped as the recoil flipped him over, landing flat on his back.

Jack snatched the shotgun mid-air, twirled it, and smacked another thug in the jaw with the butt of the weapon.

Crack!

The thug collapsed, unconscious. Across the street, a mutant thug swung a glowing energy sword, carving through the air. Jack's clone ducked, weaving through the slashes.

Then—he sidestepped at the last moment, grabbing the thug's wrist. A twist. A snap.

The thug screamed, dropping his weapon. Jack tossed him aside like trash, twirling the sword in his own grip.

He hummed. "Ooo, fancy." Then—he threw the sword like a javelin.

It soared through the air—impaling the car door behind another mutant just as he tried to escape. The thug froze.

Jack grinned. "Leaving already?" The thug whimpered.

The Jacks fought like a whirlwind. One leapt over a mutant's electric blast, flipping mid-air and slamming both feet into his face.

Another slid under a flying gangster, kicking upward, sending the man spinning through the air before crashing into a fruit stand.

A third Jack grabbed a lead pipe from a thug, spun it effortlessly, and cracked it across three heads in rapid succession.

One thug tried to use fire powers, throwing a massive wave of flame forward. Jack's clone sighed. He simply twirled his staff, spinning it fast enough to create a vortex.

The fire bent, twisted—then blew backward, engulfing the very thug who cast it. The man screamed, rolling on the ground, slapping at his burning clothes.

Jack winced. "Oof. That's gotta be embarrassing." A hulking mutant with rock-like skin roared, charging like a rhino.

A Jack clone met him head-on, sprinting toward him—Then vanished.

The rock mutant blinked. 

Then—a crushing force slammed into his skull from above. Jack's clone had leapt impossibly high and came down like a falling meteor, staff first.

The mutant's head cratered into the pavement. His body twitched once—then went still. Another one down.

Inside the safety of their shuttered shops, the store owners could barely breathe. They had seen gang wars. Turf fights. Crime on every level.

But this? This wasn't a fight. This was a massacre. And the worst part? It was effortless.

A butcher peeked through the window, gripping the counter. "Holy shit. There's more of them?"

The pizzeria owner, Mario, shook his head in disbelief. "Not more of them. More of him."

Auntie Vivi stood with her arms crossed, watching the chaos. She took a slow sip of tea. "Mm. Not bad."

One of the younger store assistants, barely nineteen, gulped. "Is he… human?" The pawnshop owner shook his head. "Does it matter?"

From the outside, it looked like one man was beating the hell out of an entire army. And in a way—he was.

The last remaining gangster—one of the metas, a telekinetic—was panting heavily. His crew was gone.

Beaten, broken, unconscious. Jack's clone cracked his knuckles, stepping forward. The telekinetic threw out his hands desperately, sending a wave of force toward Jack.

Jack didn't even dodge. He simply walked through it. Step by step. The pressure of the telekinetic blast pushed against him—but it did nothing.

The thug's eyes widened in terror. Jack tilted his head. "That all?" The telekinetic stumbled backward. Then—Jack appeared in front of him. One strike. A palm to the chest.

Boom.

The force sent the telekinetic flying, his body crashing into the side of a building before slumping down, motionless.

Jack cracked his neck.

Silence.

The fight was over.

Jack's clones turned to face the remaining shopkeepers. Jack's main clone smirked. "Alright. Clean-up time." 

One of the store owners hesitantly peeked out. "What… what are you gonna do with them?"

Jack thought about it. Then—he shrugged. "I dunno. Maybe I'll FedEx them back to Kingpin with a note that says 'Try Harder'."

The store owners stared. Auntie Vivi chuckled. "You're having fun, huh?"

Jack grinned. "Of course. Who wouldn't?"

And with that, he kicked one of the unconscious thugs onto the growing pile of bodies. The message was clear. Hell's Kitchen belonged to him now. And no one was taking it back.