The city never slept. But tonight, Hell's Kitchen felt colder, harsher—like the shadows themselves had sharpened their edges, waiting for something.
Dante had been here before, prowling these streets cloaked in darkness, blending into the grit and grime that clung to the narrow alleys and crumbling fire escapes. But there was a difference this time. This part of Hell's Kitchen wasn't just dark—it was alive with something unspoken, something ancient. The night air wasn't just thick with the usual city stink of exhaust and stale beer. It carried a warning.
Dante's boots made no sound as he moved, the weight of his still-recovering powers dulling the usual thrill of the hunt. The fight against Copybreaker had taken more out of him than he wanted to admit. Muscle aches, a fading adrenaline rush, and the gnawing sense that his abilities were still on the mend made every movement feel like wading through molasses.
But Voss had been clear. There was no rest. Not yet.
"Phantom's back on the radar," she had said, her voice clipped over the comm. "We need you on this. He's escalating."
Dante had swallowed down the protest bubbling in his chest. The man called Phantom was no minor league villain. Voss's tone left no room for hesitation.
Now, standing before a building that time seemed to have forgotten, Dante studied the rotting façade of the old office tower. Windows shattered, paint peeling, shadows pooling in the corners like spilt ink. This place wasn't just abandoned. It was forsaken.
He slipped into the darkness, his figure folding into the night like smoke.
The silence was broken by a voice, smooth and confident but carrying the unmistakable edge of challenge.
"Planning on knocking?"
Dante spun, instincts flaring. A figure stood just inside the faint glow of a flickering streetlamp. Black costume, red lenses reflecting the meagre light like twin rubies carved from shadow.
"Daredevil," Dante said, low and guarded.
"That's me," the man replied. "I could ask the same about you, but your 'outfit' gives you away."
Dante smirked despite himself. No room for jokes, though. "I need information on Phantom. I've been tracking him for days."
Daredevil's stance tightened. "Phantom's no street thug. He's connected—deep in the city's underbelly, and more dangerous than you think."
"Which is exactly why I'm here."
Dante shifted his weight, keeping a careful distance. Daredevil didn't give trust freely, and Dante wasn't sure his powers—still flickering like a weak flame—belonged in this world of blind justice and precise discipline.
"So," Daredevil said, voice dropping to a near whisper, "what do you need from me?"
"I'm not here for charity. I'm hunting," Dante said, eyes narrowing beneath his mask. "I want to know where Phantom's hiding."
Daredevil stepped closer, voice dropping even lower. "You're not the only one after him. I've been on this ghost for weeks. Phantom's got tech that keeps him one step ahead. We need to work together."
The unspoken truth hung between them: this wasn't about friendship or alliances. It was about survival—and catching a ghost that threatened to disappear forever.
"I'll take point," Dante said, voice steady despite the tension tightening his chest. "You track his moves. I'll handle the tech side of things."
Daredevil's lips twitched into a rare smirk. "Deal. But remember, you're not the only one hunting Phantom. Watch your back."
Before Dante could press for details, a soft sound drifted from above—the faintest thud.
Both men's heads snapped upward.
From the rooftop, a silhouette dropped down, landing with a controlled but heavy thump on the cracked pavement.
Dante's senses went on high alert, muscles coiling.
Daredevil, by contrast, remained relaxed, arms crossed, a knowing smile tugging at his lips.
"This is going to be fun," he said quietly.
The newcomer stepped fully into the dim streetlight. His suit was vibrant against the night—red and blue, a web pattern gleaming faintly on the fabric. His eyes, wide and expressive behind the mask, twinkled with mischief.
"Well, well," the figure said, voice playful yet sharp. "Looks like we've got ourselves a new player in town."
Spider-Man.
Dante's pulse quickened. Spider-Man's reputation for leaping headfirst into danger—and somehow coming out swinging—preceded him. But what was the web-slinger doing here, in Hell's Kitchen's dead of night?
"I don't usually work with strangers," Dante said, voice steady but cautious.
Spider-Man bounced lightly on the balls of his feet, grinning beneath the mask. "Lucky for you, I'm not just any stranger. I've got a bone to pick with Phantom, too."
Daredevil folded his arms. "We're tracking a ghost with dangerous tech, a guy who's been eluding every shadow this city throws at him."
Spider-Man's grin widened. "Sounds like my kind of party."
Dante eyed the two vigilantes. Trust was thin currency on the streets, but right now, it was the only thing standing between them and a killer who slipped through cracks no one else could reach.
"Alright", Dante said, pulling up the data pad from his utility belt. "Here's what I've got so far." He tapped the screen, casting a faint blue glow onto their faces. "Phantom's been hitting tech suppliers, stealing experimental gear. Military-grade stuff. Not just your average black market knockoff."
Daredevil leaned in, nodding. "Makes sense why he's been hard to pin down. High-grade gear gives him the edge."
Spider-Man crossed his arms, his head cocked thoughtfully. "So, if we can figure out where the next heist is—"
"We stop him before he disappears again," Dante finished.
For a moment, the three of them stood in silence, united by a shared purpose.
Then a noise shattered the quiet—a metallic scraping from the building's side entrance.
Dante's heart rate spiked.
"Showtime", Daredevil whispered.
Spider-Man cracked his knuckles, shifting into a crouch. "After you, new guy."
Dante moved first, shadowing the others as they approached the source of the noise.
The building's side door hung ajar, creaking softly in the night breeze. Beyond it, darkness swallowed any sign of life.
Dante's fingers brushed the edge of his coat, fingertips tingling as his powers stirred faintly, sensing electronic signatures nearby.
"Phantom's close," Dante muttered.
They slipped inside, the stale air thick with dust and the scent of rust.
Dim emergency lights flickered, casting long shadows on cracked walls.
Every step echoed, magnifying the tension coiling in Dante's gut.
Suddenly, a whisper of movement from above.
Spider-Man's voice was sharp. "Rooftop. Multiple targets."
Daredevil's face tightened. "Stay alert."
Dante felt his powers hum in response, energy flickering beneath his skin despite the fatigue.
Together, they ascended the rickety stairwell, every creak a countdown.
Bursting onto the rooftop, they caught sight of Phantom—a figure cloaked in sleek black armour that seemed to absorb the moonlight. His eyes glowed faintly behind a mask embedded with tiny digital displays.
Without hesitation, Phantom fired a pulse from a gauntlet—an electric shockwave that crackled through the air.
Spider-Man flipped backwards, webbing flying to snag a nearby pipe for leverage.
Daredevil launched forward, aiming precise strikes at Phantom's exposed joints.
Dante, despite the drain on his abilities, tapped into his system. A flicker of blue light danced over his palms as he conjured a small energy blade, the hum steady, reassuring.
"Together", Dante called out.
The rooftop erupted into a chaotic dance of power, speed, and skill.
Phantom was fast and relentless, his tech adapting to every move.
But Dante, Daredevil, and Spider-Man moved with practised coordination, filling the gaps the others left open.
Sweat slicked Dante's brow, breath coming in sharp bursts. His energy flickered dangerously, but he forced himself to push through—this was what he was built for.
Finally, a synchronised strike: Daredevil's baton knocked Phantom off balance; Spider-Man's webs immobilised his arms; Dante's blade pierced the chest armour, triggering a cascade of sparks.
Phantom stumbled, his mask's glow dimming.
Dante stepped forward, breathing hard, eyes locked on the fallen foe.
"Who sent you?" Dante demanded.
Phantom laughed, a cold sound that echoed in the night.
"You think this ends with me? There are bigger players in the shadows. You're just pawns."
Before they could react, Phantom activated an emergency beacon embedded in his suit.
The rooftop erupted with the distant sound of sirens.
Dante's eyes met Daredevil's.
"We've stirred the hornet's nest," Dante said grimly.
Spider-Man rolled his shoulders. "Looks like the city's about to wake up for real."
The three shared a look of grim determination, knowing this was only the beginning.
The hunt for Phantom had just turned deadly.