Chapter 2143: Battle of the Two Cities! (Twenty-One)

"That's right, I can't describe it in too much detail, but generally speaking, it's like this... Okay, thanks, thank you very much, Doctor."

Peter hung up the phone, pushed the door open, walked into the room, and said to Bruce: "A very impressive surgeon will be here shortly. He'll give you a thorough examination to ensure your wounds won't affect certain important functions, then perform debridement and bandaging."

Bruce leaned against the headboard and said: "I can understand a very impressive surgeon, but how's he going to examine me here? There aren't any instruments."

"As it happens, he's also a sorcerer, and the Sorcerer Supreme." Peter spread his hands. "If the problem isn't serious, he can even heal you directly, though it's hard to say. If even Spider-Man's self-healing ability can't do much about this kind of wound, that suggests there might be something wrong with Ms. Natasha's weapon."

Bruce pursed his lips. He suspected that malicious female agent had done this to him just to watch him walk like a crab, and he wasn't falling for it. He absolutely wouldn't get out of bed before the wound healed.

Before long, Bruce saw a flash of light outside the room, and an unfamiliar voice came from outside the door.

"Sorry, Peter, I've been a bit busy. Rarely hear you've got something you can't handle, so I hurried over."

"Really sorry to disturb your work, Doctor. Has another emergency come up in New York? Uh, the reason I didn't show up was actually because..."

"No need to explain, Peter. I already heard from Nick. There's no emergency in New York, except the Brooklyn Bridge broke again, some guy wearing his underwear on the outside suddenly stuck a building into the coastline, and the people inside another strange building started fighting the mechs inside this building. Other than that, everything's perfectly normal."

"Then what are you busy with, Doctor?"

Bruce heard the voice let out a long sigh and say: "The New York Sanctum's Master Sorcerer sent me a message. Unknown demonic energy has been passing through Earth's defense network, landing in New York. And they'd already caught up to that guy before."

"But his methods are bizarre, unlike any type of magic we know. In the end, he still got away. The Master Sorcerers unanimously agree this guy is very dangerous, so I ended my seclusion early, left the Sanctum Sanctorum, and prepared to exchange a few moves with him."

As they spoke, Bruce saw a man in bizarre attire walk in. He had a neatly trimmed beard, bright eyes, a red cloak fluttering without wind behind him, and a faint magical glow shimmering between his hands.

"Bruce, let me introduce you. This is Stephen Strange, Earth's Sorcerer Supreme. You can call him Doctor Strange. He is the world's most outstanding surgeon."

"Was." Strange corrected. He stepped forward and waved a hand at Bruce. Bruce found himself pressed against the headboard out of thin air.

Strange glanced at the wound between Bruce's legs, then narrowed his eyes, then looked at Bruce with a slightly admiring gaze and said: "I can hardly imagine what kind of lustful demon would dare lay hands on Black Widow. Don't you know her whole body carries poison?"

Bruce's Adam's apple bobbed. He knew he should have guessed it, because at the time, one whiff of Natasha's perfume made him dizzy. That wasn't an illusion; it was definitely a drug effect.

But he truly lacked the willpower to resist the drug's effects, and Natasha was indeed a bit too beautiful and fiery.

Strange sighed. He pressed down on Bruce's knee, light flashing on his hand once, twice, three times.

The wound didn't heal. Strange straightened up and looked at Peter: "Contact S. H. I. E. L. D. This should be a special cell-suppression toxin, specifically used to create unhealable wounds on people."

"The Time Stone doesn't work either?"

"I'm not sure it wouldn't affect certain functions." Strange glanced at Bruce and said: "I've never done this before. And you kids this age always treat these things like they're bigger than the sky. Even if there's a one-in-ten-thousand chance of a mistake, would you be willing to let me try?"

Peter and Bruce shook their heads like rattle drums.

In S. H. I. E. L. D.'s office, Natasha hugged her arms and leaned against the floor-to-ceiling window: "Rest assured, Director. Boys this age treat their weapons like they're bigger than the sky. The wound's enough to keep him lying down honestly for a week."

"Good. He doesn't know how many people in this city are watching him, yet he still dares to wander the streets." Nick shook his head with clear dissatisfaction, threw the file onto the desk, and said: "If he had half of Peter's steadiness, I'd be thanking heaven and earth."

Natasha raised an eyebrow: "So there really are that many people who want to kill him?"

"That's the key." Nick flicked the file on the desk: "Wayne Enterprises is terrifyingly massive. Any incident involving the nominal Chairman Bruce Wayne would affect the situation of this country, even the world."

"With the situation this chaotic, it's inevitable someone wants to fish in troubled waters. Important figures like Bruce Wayne and Tony Stark absolutely cannot have problems."

"Tony's side is easier to explain. That evil Iron Man in silver-white armor disappeared. Looks like he's planning to hide. Only this Bruce Wayne — he can't even navigate a fish tank, yet insists on jumping into the pot."

Nick looked up through the floor-to-ceiling window at the new city's skyline. At this moment, this newly merged city welcomed a new night.

Moonless, windy night, night for killing. Behind the curtain woven from treacherous waves, flashing blades and sword shadows wove a glittering skirt hem. Amidst the dazzling lights and decadent pleasures, they spun into a flower of desire full of killing intent.

Gordon stood at the edge of the dance floor, wine glass in hand, coldly observing from the sidelines. Bullock, however, fully exercised his celebrity detective social butterfly instincts, chatting and laughing amiably with Gotham's elite.

The short, fat Penguin walked over to Gordon's side, not very covertly. He sized up Gordon's expression, then said: "Your daughter's alright now?"

"Can't say she's alright." Gordon's face darkened at once. He knew Barbara was safe. His daughter had kept in contact with him. But that Hell's Edge place she was in sounded like no good place. Gordon wanted Barbara to come back, but Barbara refused.

Just as stubborn as her mother. Gordon thought helplessly. Penguin raised his glass and said: "Sometimes women are just that hard to understand. That's why I choose to stay far away from them."

Gordon looked back at him: "Has the situation improved? Mayor? Sounds like you've got victory in the bag?"

Penguin revealed a mysterious smile. Leaving aside the actual situation at the bottom, after the two cities merged, Penguin had indeed gained the upper hand in high society.

Of course, earlier he'd been at a complete disadvantage. But the shifting winds of high society are just that cruel. To put it bluntly, Penguin won by lying down.

First, his struggle with Fisk began when Fisk hired supervillains, destroying many of Penguin's important facilities.

But Fisk played this hand poorly. Because the current incumbent Nick Fury is from Shiler's universe. This universe's Nick — never mind his ability — his bones are genuinely hard.

He's not some stifled sandwich cookie struggling to survive in a chaotic power vortex, desperately maneuvering for a sliver of survival.

Since Shiler's arrival, S. H. I. E. L. D. has advanced triumphantly all the way. Nick has held full authority since taking office. No one's ever been able to question him. He's never been a dog, never played the grandson.

Though this made his temper more explosive, his character more stubborn and arbitrary, when cooperating with the greedy, what they've always wanted is to make money standing tall. If you're a dragon, you coil. If you're a tiger, you crouch.

The S. H. I. E. L. D. of Shiler's universe has transformed from a democratic institution sandwiched in the middle pleasing neither side, into something more like an Eastern strong government. Nick holds sole power; his word is law.

This led to Fisk openly hiring superpowered criminals — practically a slap in Nick Fury's face. And this Nick never tolerates anyone's nonsense.

S. H. I. E. L. D. went all out. Didn't care if you were actually breaking the law. Even a fire code violation could get you thrown in on some pretext. Let alone Fisk's pile of already-illegal industries.

Drug ships sunk directly. Docks and ports fully blockaded. Sex industry entirely seized. Even nightclubs and bars that only generated mosquito-leg profits were all shut down.

Of course, Fisk isn't made of mud. He knew he couldn't beat well-equipped S. H. I. E. L. D. agents in a straight fight, so he immediately unleashed his money power, getting the FBI's hands and Congress's mouth moving simultaneously to pressure Nick.

Normally at this point both sides should sit at the negotiating table and talk terms. Each side steps back. Good for everyone.

But Nick Fury went mad with stubbornness. Full-on posture of 'whoever dares show their head, I'll execute on the spot.'

This stance was a bit too crazy. Like there was no tomorrow. Others didn't know what medicine he was selling in his gourd. Out of political slickness and self-preservation instinct, they all planned to observe first.

This pause of theirs spelled Fisk's doom. Just as Penguin experienced, a crime boss's most important asset is not losing face. The prestige built on violence must be maintained by violent means.

But Fisk truly found it hard to use any violent means against Nick. Nick has no family, no friends, not even a residence. All his activity is confined to S. H. I. E. L. D.

Fisk wanted to send assassins to infiltrate S. H. I. E. L. D. But don't forget. Hydra just caught the Owl and gnawed on them hard. Right now Nick Fury is Hydra's beloved patron saint. They'd love to enshrine him. Even this busy, they still spare manpower to protect him. The kind of protection that's death-defying, absolutely loyal.

No assassin can beat Hydra with their subjective initiative cranked to this level. Moreover, the already-arrived Deathstroke has brought Fisk enormous pressure. He really can't spare manpower for anything except protecting himself.

Fisk chose to hide, withdrawing from the stage. Meanwhile, the business and political fronts brought frequent good news. Mainly because the Owl's core membership consisted of Gotham's wealthy tycoons. Hydra's entry hit them hard.

Not wanting to be eaten clean by Hydra, they had to increase investment. But funds are limited. Money put into one thing must be tightened elsewhere.

From the current situation, the least important thing is political donations. Penguin's mayoral term is smooth sailing. Letting him serve another year is no big deal. So many Gotham tycoons tightened investment in next election's funds. Penguin has even fewer opponents.

Penguin was quite pleased with himself. He believed this was the fruit of his own long sleeves and good dancing, his masterful planning. Tonight's banquet wasn't just an elite mixer; it was a victory celebration. And inviting Gordon had a showing-off meaning too.

Penguin walked up and struck up a conversation with Bullock. Because he vaguely heard Bullock mention something about the Wayne couple murder case. He had to give this young, inexperienced detective a taste of his power, let him know not to meddle in things he shouldn't.

But just as he reached the window, a shocking commotion erupted from the dance floor, and Penguin followed the crowd's terrified gazes to look out the window——

Beneath the bright moonlight, a massive city descended upon the New City's head.