Under the bewildered gazes of John Wick and Old Ma, Chen Ye strode toward the window.
"Chen, this is the fifth floor. You're not seriously planning to jump, are you?" Old Ma asked, stunned.
"The elevator's too slow. Jumping is faster." Chen Ye replied casually. "I won't let them damage my house—not even a little."
With that, he leaped out of the window.
As he plummeted toward the ground, a faint red glow enveloped his feet. Chaos magic softened his descent, allowing him to land lightly without so much as a sound.
He could've just taken the fall—his healing factor would let him survive a drop from even the twentieth floor. But causing unnecessary noise would disturb the residents, and he wasn't about to do that.
"Son of a bitch… we've got a superman," a sniper cursed, watching the scene through his eight-times scope.
John Wick and Old Ma rushed to the window, staring in disbelief. Chen Ye stood perfectly unharmed, as if gravity itself had bent to his will.
The two exchanged incredulous glances. As seasoned assassins, they had seen many things—but never this.
If Chen Ye overheard their reaction, he would've just called them inexperienced. He rarely used his superpowers to avoid unnecessary trouble, but after meeting Tony Stark, he realized times were changing.
The world was shifting.
Soon, those who ruled the high table wouldn't just be crime lords—they'd be gods. Thor, Hulk, mutants, enhanced humans… those were the ones who would dominate. Ordinary people would be left sneaking in the shadows, playing support roles like Hawkeye. And as for Black Widow? Well, she was proof of what happened when you couldn't keep up.
But there was no time for philosophy.
Before Chen Ye could even look for the assassins, five gunmen emerged, opening fire without hesitation.
Bullets rained down.
Chen Ye instinctively moved to dodge—but behind him stood the entrance to his restaurant.
"Damn it," he cursed under his breath. He flicked his right hand, sending streaks of red light through the air.
The bullets caught in the crimson glow lost all momentum, clattering harmlessly to the ground.
The assassins hesitated, stunned for a split second before one of them made a snap decision—if bullets wouldn't work, he'd try something bigger.
From out of nowhere, he pulled an RPG.
With a deafening boom, the warhead fired.
Chen Ye's expression didn't change.
His right hand flicked again, sending out countless red threads that wove through the air, intercepting every bullet still flying toward him.
His left hand moved in tandem. The RPG shell was caught mid-flight, engulfed in a crimson glow. It reversed direction, rocketing straight into the sky.
But in that brief moment, when both his hands were occupied, a bang echoed in the distance.
A sniper's Barrett rifle had fired.
The .50 caliber round, a bullet capable of shredding through walls and armor, was now hurtling toward Chen Ye's skull.
At that speed, there was no time to dodge.
Yet Chen Ye remained completely calm.
"Truly professional assassins," he murmured, watching the bullet streak toward him. "Good coordination."
His eyes flashed red.
The bullet, mere inches from his forehead, suddenly stopped—then reversed.
A fraction of a second later, the sniper who fired it was dead, his own shot ripping through his skull.
Above, the RPG warhead exploded mid-air, a brilliant bloom of fire and smoke illuminating the night.
With their own bullets turned against them, the five remaining gunmen collapsed, dead before they even understood what had happened.
Across the street, a father and daughter stood by a window.
"Dad, look! Fireworks!" the little girl exclaimed, pointing at the sky.
The man chuckled, watching the flaming debris rain down.
Meanwhile, the street had fallen into an eerie silence.
The sound of gunfire had drawn the attention of Hell's Kitchen's residents. But unlike outsiders, they weren't scared.
Here, gunfights weren't unusual. In fact, for them, it was almost… entertainment.
If this were some other neighborhood, people might've screamed and fled. But this was Hell's Kitchen. If you lived here, you either grew up in chaos or you chose to live in it.
Even now, the locals leaned out of windows, watching with interest.
Just then, another wave of gunmen arrived, reinforcements sent by the Marquis.
They fanned out, preparing to attack—
But in their haste, one of them sprayed bullets at a parked BMW, riddling it with holes.
A man watching from his window—a burly figure covered in tattoos—immediately erupted in fury.
"Oi! That's my car, you suit-wearing pricks! I just stole that!"
The gunmen, unfazed, fired a warning shot toward him.
It was a mistake.
The tattooed man's eyes narrowed. "Alright… you motherfuckers wanna play?"
To their horror, he shouldered an RPG.
Without hesitation, he aimed straight at the gunmen below.
The assassins panicked. Their bulletproof suits could stop small arms fire—but an RPG? That was a different story.
They scattered in all directions just as a BOOM shook the street.
A fireball engulfed the area, sending some of them flying.
The remaining assassins, shaken, realized they had made a grave mistake.
They hadn't just picked a fight with Chen Ye.
They had provoked Hell's Kitchen.
All around, windows slid open.
Guns emerged.
Not pistols, not hunting rifles—but serious firepower.
Residents armed with assault rifles, shotguns, and submachine guns leaned out, taking aim.
The reinforcements sent by the Marquis never even made it to Chen Ye. They were cut down before they could get close, mowed down by the very people who lived in this war zone.
From above, John Wick watched the chaos unfold, his face unreadable.
After a long pause, he turned to Old Ma.
"Are the people of Hell's Kitchen always this… wild?"
Old Ma smirked.
"What do you mean, 'the people of Hell's Kitchen?'" he corrected. "It's we people of Hell's Kitchen."
John Wick raised an eyebrow.
"You came here. You were given shelter. You fought with us. That means you're one of us now," Old Ma continued. "What, you thought you could just leave after all this?"
John didn't reply immediately. He simply watched, a thoughtful look in his eyes.
Maybe… just maybe… he really did belong here.