Marvel: DNF Invades

Chapter 14: The Aftermath

Luke climbed into his room through the window, quietly opened the door, and peeked inside. His adoptive parents seemed to have gone to bed already, and the living room downstairs was completely silent.

After closing the door, he flopped onto his bed and quickly passed out.

Throughout the night, he had cast the Mind Shield multiple times, but it had drained him. Now, he was so exhausted that he couldn't even keep his eyes open.

Luke slept soundly, even having a good dream before dawn.

In his dream, he was the emperor of luck, perfectly clearing the toughest dungeons with the B-set. He could wipe out entire groups in seconds while a crowd of little followers cheered behind him, shouting, "666!"

When he woke up, it was already past nine in the morning.

After all the chaos last night, the city had to be in an uproar.

Luke got up, washed his face, brushed his teeth, and headed downstairs for breakfast.

When he walked into the living room, he noticed that Daredevil—Matt—was gone. Only a few bloodstains on the sofa remained as evidence that he had been there. Luke pretended not to notice.

"Morning, Karen."

"Morning, honey!" Karen, who was making breakfast, greeted him with a warm hug and a kiss on the cheek.

Luke wiped his face casually, pretending it didn't bother him. He still wasn't used to this kind of affection.

After all, mentally, he was an adult. Even though Karen was technically his adoptive mother, she was only in her early thirties.

Getting kissed every morning by a woman not much older than him—who wasn't even his real mother—was… complicated.

On the table was a typical American breakfast: toast, milk, bacon, and fried eggs.

Noticing there were only two sets of utensils, Luke asked, "Fudge skipped breakfast again?"

Karen paused briefly before smiling. "Sweetheart, Fudge had an early morning. He already ate."

"Oh."

Luke didn't press the issue. He knew Fudge had been tending to Matt's injuries.

Most likely, he had snuck the blind lawyer back to his place early this morning. That meant Daredevil's injuries weren't too serious.

The morning news was playing on TV, and the reporter looked thrilled as she covered the gang battle that had rocked half of New York last night.

The footage showed the aftermath in Hell's Kitchen. The area had been cordoned off by a swarm of cops, their flashing lights painting the streets in red and blue.

According to the report, five NYPD officers had been killed in last night's shootout. The scene had been bombarded by heavy firepower, leaving the entire area looking like a war zone.

Shattered glass and fresh blood covered the ground, bodies had already been taken away, and the scorched marks from explosions were visible everywhere. The whole block looked like hell.

As the reporter dramatically put it:

"As you can see, this neighborhood looks like it was ravaged by demons straight from the abyss."

"Oh my God," Karen gasped, covering her mouth in shock as she stared at the devastation on the screen.

The broadcast switched to an on-the-ground interview, where frantic residents were seen packing up and moving out.

One elderly woman complained to the camera, "This place was already hell. But after last night? Satan himself paid us a visit!"

The report named the gangs involved: the Russian Mafia, a local New York gang, and the Japanese Yakuza.

Then, a blurry photo flashed onto the screen.

The low-resolution nighttime image showed a short figure wearing an Iron Man mask. A giant question mark hovered beside the image, with the caption:

"He's not Iron Man. So who is he?"

Luke froze, his fork halfway to his mouth.

That was him.

Someone had snapped a picture of him!

Damn it!

Judging by the angle and poor quality, it had to be a nosy neighbor with a smartphone. Some people had no sense of self-preservation—who the hell takes pictures in the middle of a warzone?

Luke sighed in relief. At least he had been wearing the Iron Man mask.

Next time, he'd have to be more careful. These people were everywhere, sneaky bastards…

He casually stuffed the rest of his fried egg into his mouth, unbothered.

He wasn't worried about anyone showing up at his doorstep. Last night, he had been stealthy—using a dwarf illusion, a voice changer, and a mask.

Even if the gangs dug deep into their investigations, all they'd be searching for was a mystery dwarf. Meanwhile, he was just a seven-year-old kid, eating breakfast like an angel. No one would ever suspect him.

---

Meanwhile, in the lavish office at the top of Stark Tower, Tony Stark watched the news footage, his mouth slightly open.

After a long silence, he muttered, "Didn't know I was this popular…"

Even gangsters were rocking his mask now?

"Sir, would you like me to investigate this individual?" asked a calm, mechanical voice.

"That won't be necessary." Tony thought for a moment before shaking his head. "Not my problem. Alright, Jarvis, update me—how's the portability test on Mark 5 going?"

"Everything is prepared, sir."

"Great. Let's get started."

---

Hell's Kitchen – Roulette Casino

A tall, sharp-dressed man with black-rimmed glasses strode into the casino.

The moment the casino manager saw him, he rushed forward, bowing his head.

"Mr. Wesley… I didn't expect you to come in person. It's an honor…" His voice was laced with nervousness.

"What have you found?" Wesley's voice was low and steady—the same voice that had spoken on the phone last night.

"There's no solid lead yet…" The manager hesitated. "That dwarf vanished without a trace. Neither our people nor the Russians could find him."

Seeing Wesley's cold expression, the manager added cautiously, "Sir, the man didn't even win that much money. Maybe we should just—"

"It's not about the money."

Wesley cut him off with an unreadable stare.

"No one takes money from Kingpin and walks away. If you can't handle this, should I inform him personally?"

The manager's face drained of color. "No, no, no! That won't be necessary."

He knew exactly what Kingpin's right-hand man was implying. Wesley might act like an assistant, but in reality, he was one of Kingpin's enforcers.

Wesley adjusted his suit and tie. "Handle it."

"Yes, yes! I'll keep searching!"

As Wesley disappeared out the door, the casino manager finally exhaled, wiping the sweat off his forehead.

Then, his face twisted in anger as he barked orders at his men.

"Find that damn dwarf!"

---

"Achoo—" Luke rubbed his nose.

Somebody must be talking about him.

After last night's chaos, one thing was clear—Kingpin wasn't at his peak yet.

Right now, Hell's Kitchen was still a battleground, with gangs fighting for control. Just last night, three different groups had clashed.

The Russians and Yakuza were about evenly matched. Kingpin's crew, though? They had more balls than both of them combined. It was only a matter of time before they took over.

Luke pushed those thoughts aside.

It was Saturday—no school today.

Honestly, going to school as an adult stuck in a seven-year-old body was humiliating. Sitting in a classroom full of little kids, learning 1+1=2? Yeah, screw that.

Locking his door, Luke pulled out his bank card, flipping it between his fingers.

He had $75,000 to spend.

After working hard all night, it was time to collect his reward.

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