The city was always loud. Taxis honking, sirens wailing, people yelling into phones, laughter echoing in alleyways.
But atop the high-rise, above the chaos, there was only silence.
He stood alone, hoodie flapping in the cold wind, eyes scanning the skyline. Below, New York pulsed like a living organism. Crime ran in its veins. Money beat like its heart.
He checked his Status.
---
[STATUS]
Shadow Power: 3.14
Shadow Storage: 6/15
Active Shadows:
Thug (Lv.1 – Street Smarts, Pistol)
Mugger (Lv.1 – Knife, Close Combat)
Fixer (Lv.2 – Money Laundering, Crypto Access)
Sniper (Lv.2 – Marksmanship, Recon)
Driver (Lv.1 – Evasion, Vehicle Handling)
Enforcer (Lv.2 – Intimidation, Drug Circuit Knowledge)
Title Unlocked: Collector of the Damned
Effect: Shadow extractions now retain more skill data and personal memories.
---
Each kill had built more than strength.
It built strategy.
Every new soldier brought new fragments of New York's underbelly into his mind—networks, passwords, safehouse locations. The shadows weren't just tools. They were pieces of a puzzle.
And now, it was time to assemble something more.
He needed an elite. Not just puppets—commanders.
For that, he needed a monster.
---
Lower Brooklyn – 1:45 AM
The name was "Brickhand" Malone. 6'6", muscle-bound, ex-military, and the enforcer for one of the most vicious East Coast gangs—The Iron Dogs. His rap sheet was a novella. Assault. Racketeering. Murder. Untried, unsolved, untouched.
A monster in a man's skin.
He was the perfect candidate.
"Sniper," the teen whispered.
A shadow flickered beside him atop a rooftop opposite the bar where Malone drank.
"Mark."
The sniper's eye glowed faintly, a shadowy glint of focus. He raised his ethereal rifle and peered through a scope of dark energy.
"Target in sight. Corner booth. Two guards. No armor. Drinking heavily."
The teen nodded. "Begin."
The sniper faded into mist.
---
Inside the bar, the first bullet didn't make a sound. It entered through a boarded window and buried itself in the first guard's skull.
The second turned—too late.
The back door burst open, and shadows flowed in like water.
Malone stood slowly, bottle in hand, already reaching for the pistol tucked beneath his coat.
"Who the fu—"
THUNK.
A shadow blade pierced his thigh, bringing him to one knee.
The teen entered last, calm and quiet, as the shadows pinned Malone down. Blood pooled. The bar was dead silent, everyone else already unconscious—courtesy of a gas grenade from the Driver.
"Brickhand Malone," the teen said.
The man spat at his feet. "You've got no idea who you're screwin' with, kid."
"I do. You're a killer. A monster. Exactly what I need."
"What?" he sneered. "You gonna arrest me?"
"No."
The teen's eyes glowed violet.
"I'm going to recruit you."
The shadows tore through Malone like wolves.
And when it was done, he knelt—dead, silent, powerful.
---
[Shadow Soldier Created: Brickhand (Lv.3 – Elite)]
Specialization: Brutal Combat, Military Tactics, Intimidation Aura
Mutation: Iron Arms (Enhanced Strength + Shadow Density)
---
His status screen dinged softly.
[Elite Unit Unlocked]
You may now designate and evolve shadow soldiers into Elite roles.
Limit: 1/3 currently active.
---
The moment Brickhand rose, the air around him thickened. His body was wider than in life, arms coated in shadow-armor that resembled dark iron plates. His eyes smoldered.
He bowed his head slightly.
"Commander," Brickhand rumbled, voice low, distorted.
The teen took a step back, breath catching.
This... this is different.
He wasn't just a puppet. He had retained his full intelligence—and then some. Enhanced by death. By shadow. By purpose.
The teen smiled.
"Good. You'll lead the front line."
---
Days Later – West Harlem Warehouse
Brickhand didn't just kill. He planned.
With his military instincts and brutal efficiency, they cleared out an entire weapons trafficking ring within three days.
No noise. No witnesses. No mercy.
Each takedown brought more shadows. Some usable. Some discarded. But every one added knowledge, maps, names, locations.
The Fixer updated accounts daily. Stark Industries stock continued to rise. The teen's holdings quietly grew.
$100,000.
Then $300,000.
All blood money. All clean. All reinvested.
---
He sat in the warehouse, now upgraded. Surveillance blockers. Medical kits. Even power generators. Paid for by shadows. Installed by criminals turned slaves.
Brickhand stood beside him, arms crossed. The Sniper knelt on the roof above. The Fixer flickered through stolen tablets, checking stock feeds.
This wasn't a gang.
This was a shadow army.
And it was just beginning.
---
Late Night – Manhattan Bridge
He stood alone again, the city below him.
But he wasn't really alone.
"I can feel them," he muttered. "Their thoughts. Their fragments."
Every shadow he created left a scar on the world—and a whisper in his mind.
Brickhand. Thug. Fixer. Sniper. Each one pulsed inside him, like nodes on a growing neural web.
He wondered if Sung Jin-Woo had felt this too. The weight of leadership. The danger of forgetting who you were beneath the power.
He glanced at the water far below.
Then up.
The stars were cold and distant.
Soon, Tony Stark would be captured. The timeline would begin.
And while the Avengers were being born under sunlight—
He would build his empire in the dark.
---