"The road to hell is paved with good intentions."

Present

Suffolk, Long Island.

Senator Joseph Mcladen shook his head in disapproval as he finally closed the front door with a large thud. It was bad enough that he couldn't even have the liberty to have a little wine all to himself by his penthouse in Manhattan; that he had been advised…no, recommended by his security staff to relocate to this shabby little house- barely two stories it was, and it's interiors were so damn bland- for that particular day…but the thing that he hated most about this ruckus was that he had this damned Secret Service agent trying to check up on his status every two minutes.

It was not like that he did not have enough people around him trying to get in his face during working hours that he needed someone else to henpeck him like his dearly departed mother. Heck, back in the car, that suit wearing hooligan had even tried to check his Vodka to see if it tampered with or not!

Perhaps they would need to test his stool samples next to see if he had been slicked a mickey or not in the three different fundraisers he had attended throughout the evening.

And all of this, for what…a ridiculous prank card being found on his office desk all those weeks ago?

All it contained was a curiously detailed picture of a horned devil on one side, and today's date on another!

So what, that someone had phoned his personal secretary, providing an anonymous tip that there was going to be an attack on his life at that very same date?

He received such vague death threats every other day of the week! From disgruntled ex-aides to drug-ridden hippies, there must be at least at least hundreds of people who want him dead for one reason or the other.

Not that they would ever try to actually attempt an assassination; he had…connections in all the right places, and if he played his cards right, there would be a new record for the Youngest POTUS in history within the next ten years, and he would be sipping margaritas behind the Resolute desk. Oil barons, Drug lords, corporate sharks…you name it. He knew all the right buttons to push to get them on his side.

But apparently, some hotshot in his staff thought that he needed protection from this little prankster, and the next thing he knows, he is being carried off from a humanitarian awards ceremony in the middle of delivering his victory speech by this… clown of a Secret Service agent.

He was scheduled to have a very important meeting along with other fellow senators with the Secretary of Defense about the China situation, but the agent would have none of it. He was led through to the back of a rather conspicuous looking Black Ford Crown Victoria, and the man wouldn't even tell him where he was being led to…this was the height of ridiculousness!

And to top it off, that scoundrel tried to crack jokes all the way to this little shack in the middle of nowhere…as though this was all an elaborate prank like that MTV show!

"I really, reallyneed a good drink", Senator Mcladen muttered to no one in particular as he eased his tie off the collar of his thousand dollars Raymond shirt.

Luckily for him, he had just remembered to bring that last bottle of Jack Daniels with him all the way from the awards ceremony.

Well he still had to celebrate his win properly…so a sip or two before asking the agent when in hell could he go back to his wife and two children sounded like a good idea.

Now all he had to do was locate a wine glass in this damn shack.


He stood perched atop one of the branches of lone fig tree that stood in the small garden at the front lawn of the house. This must be one of those readymade properties prepared by private developers, he summarized inwardly as his senses scoured the surrounding area with uncanny accuracy comparable to that of a multi-purpose radar.

If anyone would have looked straight at the strange man crouched nimbly on that tree top during that moment, all they would have seen is the dark silhouette of a man, his clothing masked by the darkness of the night, save for the two large horns protruding out of the retractable cowl which also functioned as his mask. The metallic maroon wrist plates that he wore on each hand, along with the light-plated arm guards that covered his bulging biceps shone silently in the crescent moon, but not enough for him to be visible to any prying eyes.

There was something wrong about this place. He just couldn't place it.

All of it seemed…too simple. If the target had been moved due as caution due to the Mark of Fate he had sent, then he sure shouldn't have been transferred from a high-security penthouse in the middle of busy Manhattan to an average suburban duplex in Long Island.

Far…far too convenient.

It was almost like someone was trying to lull him into a sense of false security.

The building was inconspicuous to say the least, at least from the outside. It was almost indistinguishable to the outsider's eye from the dozens of other houses that were lined up in this suburban street; all painted white and built in the same shapes.

Not that all these visual details mattered to him, for-

"I am blind.", he thought as he prepared to shift positions, "But I have been compensated for my loss. He has blessed me with other gifts. Wonderful gifts. Dangerous gifts."

He leapt from the tree without making nary a sound, his movements swift and graceful as he twirled in mid air, his hands reaching for his waist. Within the next second he had drawn his nun-chucks, which were already extending with one press of his finger on the midsection, the chains spiraling out as he aimed for the window sill situated on the second floor to break his fall.

The robe like red garment that hung beneath his waist billowed as his weapon safely lodged at it's intended target and he landed upon the grassy knoll without even a scratch, despite the jump being almost twenty feet in height. He silently dislodged the nun-chuck from above and holstered his weapon in it's leather sheath again as he swiftly pressed himself against the nearby outer wall.

"I do not see anymore with my eyes. But it matters not. He has transformed me. I am now so…so much more.

In blindness I see the world in much more clarity, for my other five remaining senses have been sharpened almost beyond comprehension."

When he was sure there was no one in the near vicinity, he quickly turned around the corner and searched for any viable point of entry.

This was too quiet. Not a soul to be found, nearby. In his neighborhood, the city is scarcely quiet even at twelve in the midnight, and it was only past nine thirty now.

All his hearing could register was a faint murmur…barely comparable to a heart-beat. Perhaps it was a rat, or better yet, a squirrel?
Then again, there was a large rat infestation in the apartment he lived in, and their hearts were rarely as calm and steady as this one seemed to be.

"Someone is watching me. Studying me."

He decided to play along for the time being and not let the new heightened level of alertness show in his movements.

He found his point of entry moments later: an open window, with the sliders drawn aside in a most conspicuous manner.

One could not have been more obvious even if he had painted a large sign beside it saying "Enter HERE!"

When he reached to grab the glass of the window to see if it has been tampered with, he hears it almost as fast as it happens.

A single object tore through the calm air, it's velocity almost more than sound itself as it races straight for the head of the horn headed man, it's motion linear and fluid, unrelenting in it's path; but it struck only the woodwork of the window sill in the second after, for the man dressed in the manner of a devil had deftly dodged what was certainly a steel arrow by swiftly swerving his head aside in the nick of time.

He immediately readied his stance as he heard heavy footfalls on the grass no more than a few metres away, his nun-chucks already firmly grasped in his hand as he silently tried to measure his opponent.

This man was tall, he could tell at least this much through his sonar-like combination of his other five senses…a good three inches more than his own 6'0" frame if he wasn't mistaken. The weapon in his hand…long and somewhat hollow in between places…it must be a bow.

That was all he could muster from such a range, but it was more than enough to raise a dozen questions swirling inside his head.

He had a guess as to who this man's identity might be, but he wouldn't act upon it just yet.

He had learned long ago, while studying for his…other profession, that one shouldn't jump to conclusions based on pure speculation without having a pillar of hard evidence being present to support that notion in the first place.

Finally the mysterious attacker spoke, his voice controlled and maintained with deliberate pace.

"Funny day to wear a devil's costume.", he spoke, in a tone which almost sounded like jeering to the horn-headed man's hyperactive hearing , "What, you forgot the date for Halloween?"

His timber and pitch…it's too much controlled. He is deliberately lowering his voice to avoid detection.

"You seem to have arrived at the wrong address yourself, if you were looking for the nearest archery range.", the reply was made as both men circled each other, their weapons drawn as each waited for the first move.

"Look", the one with the demon-like appearance began, "There is no need for unnecessary violence. You seem to know of my purpose in coming here. If that is so, let me pass.This a matter of fate…you cannot avert the Senator's destiny no matter how hard you try."

When no reply came towards his way, save for the tightening of his opponent's bowstrings as he too prepared to swing his weapon towards his enigmatic enemy.

All this was doing was increasing the chance of his failure exponentially, but he would play along with this little manipulator…for now.


"Ahh. Now that felt good.", Senator Mcladen rubbed his lips together as he drowned the last bit of Jack Daniels he had left in the wine glass, "Now if only I had a fine little broad by the bed…"

At least he wasn't in bed with his wife for this last few hours now. God, but that woman could whine! She could win an award all by herself in the 'b#!%s of the world' category. What's worse, she has gotten awful in the sack every since she hit her menopause two years ago…served him right for marrying a woman five years younger than him, it did.

He slowly rose off the sofa, his mind already intoxicated by the wine. He was almost half-naked now: he had taken off all but his red and white striped boxers, for he was getting thoroughly uncomfortable in the small bedroom- if it could be called that- of the duplex; there wasn't even a window facing the correct wind direction there, and to top it off, this house had an acute electricity shortage, it seemed.

Not that he didn't appreciate being able to take a drink all by himself in the middle of nowhere, but he felt that now would be a good time to abandon this fool's errand and return to his Manhattan home.

Just as he tried to reach for his khaki pants, however, he suddenly lost his sense of balance and fell face first into the floor, the wine glass still in his hand.

The glass shattered into a dozen different pieces as he fell with a loud THUD.

That shouldn't have happened..! He was barely past his salad days that emptying one bottle of wine into his gullet would have this drastic of an effect of him, he wondered as he tried not to cut himself on one of the stray pieces of glass.

As he staggered out of the room however, the Senator's eyes widened when he realised that there was a really unusual feeling starting to burgeon in his gut.

It must have been that blasted wine!

"Guuugghhh…that f$!%! jokester of an agent must have spiked my bottle when I wasn't looking!", he grunted through the horrible feeling that was now rising up his throat.

He would strangle that fu#!$% with his bare hands if he had to, but first he needed to-

There! He at last located an open window at the far side of the house, and ran towards it as fast as his wobbly legs could at that moment.

"Ugghghg…ullrrpph..", the Senator could scarcely hold it back now as he peered over the window sill, but then what he saw gave him the shock of his life.

A goddamned arrow was sticking into the wooden sill, it's metal exterior shining dangerously in the moonlight!

He was so shocked at the sight, in fact, that he threw up right then and there, over the sill and arrow et all.

"F$! this s#!%! It's a damn trap!", the Senator kept mouthing off with vomit still falling off his lips, "It's a damn tra-"

A slick object wheezed past his right ear, it's tip narrowly missing his skin by a couple of centimetres as it stuck into the nearby wall.

Terrified, he whipped his head around to see an arrow identical to the one he had seen before, lodged ominously in the wall.

"AAAAAHHHH!", the Senator fell down on his back, his legs scrambling as they though had a life of their own as he desperately tried to back away from the window.

They were going to kill him.

By God above, they were going to kill him!


The man disguised as the demon winced in annoyance as he heard the terrified squeal of the Senator.

The time for games were now over.

His opponent realised that as well, for the archer took his focus off the demon for a split second, and that was all that the latter needed.

He rushed towards his enemy, his head stooped low as he swung his nun-chucks around the man's bow before the latter could react any further.

Then with a swift tug, he threw away the large weapon away into the darkness, before countering the incoming jab at his face with his own block.

"Hah, you are better than I imagine-", the archer stopped cold in mid-speech as realised the demon's other hand as firmly directed at his neck, the palm outstretched as a small, dangerous blade drew from the wrist-plate.

The demon had gotten tired of this charade.

He could tell from the texture of a stray fabric or two on the man's kevlar armor that he had recently worn a black suit over it, and he could certainly recognise that smell that came from the man's cropped hair…definitely blond, with liberally applied conditioner and much lesser ratio of shampoo.

Yup, he now was positive who this man was.

He could never forget that stench of cheap beef-jerky coming from the man's gasping mouth.

This, like himself, was another fellow Weapon of Fate.

"Codename Blackhawk,", he spoke with contempt, anger implied in the undertones of his baritone as he continued, "This was none of your business. The Mark of Fate has been delivered, and it is my place to see the job being completed. Stick would have your head on a platter if he knows of this."
"Whoah, whoah. Easy with the blade…Codename: Daredevil.", the one identified as Blackhawk said as he slowly pushed away the sharp blade positioned near his throat, "If you didn't know, the Senator was going to be escorted away by a group of additional guards to an unknown location, you should be thankful that I was in the neighbourhood when I was."

Daredevil gritted his teeth as rage begin to take control of his mind.

"He mocks me through this whole exercise. It's as if though he has doubt whether or not my skills and resolve are enough to make me a true Weapon of Fate."

He turned away from Blackhawk, his small blade retreating back into it's hidden sheath as he confirmed that the peaking heartbeat that belonged to the Senator had not yet left the building.

"Do not interfere with this any longer.", was all he said as his form melded almost perfectly into the thick of the night while he rushed off in pursuit of his target.

"Geez. No one appreciates a bout of good humor these days. What's the world coming to?", Blackhawk said to no one in particular.

As he reached to pick up his bow from the ground, however, he noted thatthe acolyte- and soon to be a genuine Weapon of Fate- was too driven for his tastes.

Years of training under Stick should have cooled the Demon down, but that does not seem to be the case.

"Maybe I can use his…malleability to my advantage".

The half nude Senator made a dash for the front door, not caring to pick up his clothes as he went. He didn't know exactly how he was going to escape- he didn't have the car-keys to tell the truth, and he didn't even know where that blasted vehicle must be parked- but at times of desperation like this, and with wine and adrenaline both flowing freely through his veins, logic was certainly not the dominant emotion running through his jumbled mind as he gripped the door handle with his sweat covered hand.

To his further horror, however, it didn't budge, not one bit as he wrenched the handle clockwise and anti-clockwise again and again in frustration.

"Come on, you stupid lock, just open will you…"

All he could do was pray for a miracle.

But within a few seconds he had to scramble away from the door as he heard the sound of footsteps emanating from it's other side, followed by a large crashing sound as the door fell apart right in front of his eyes.

The figure that stepped through the broken hinges was a sight which induced fear in his soul like he had never felt before.

"Mary mother of Jesus,", he stuttered as he tried to comprehend what was the being that stood before his eyes.

Was it the wine that distorted his eyesight so?

As he stood upright, he figured that his eyes surely weren't decieving him.

There, clad in dark red armor from head to toe, complete with the large sash hanging down from his waist and touching his feet...Senator Mcladen couldn't take his terrified eyes of it…him…her?

But what terrified him most were the blood red lenses where the eyes should be…and the huge…horns that seemed to stick out of his forehead!

"I can feel the stench of morbid fear coming off his vomit-covered body. His heart is beating like a jackhammer, akin to that to a fluttering bird as it desperately tries to escape it's cage. But it's all futile."

"Stay away from me, you freak! I am a Senator of the United f****g States, for God's sake!", Mcladen screamed as he tried to think of any possible way to escape from this situation, though none would come to his fear-riddled mind.

The demon approached his prey with a terrifying calmness, his steps all measured and his posture formidable.

"There are those in the world who inspire greatness in others by their mere presence, possessing extraordinary abilities which they strive to use for the betterment of mankind."

Suddenly, Mcladen turned and made a dash for the other side of the apartment with speed which wouldn't seem to be attainable by a man who seemed not long ago petrified by fear.

It is astonishing what fear of impending death can enable men to do in times of desperate circumstances.

Daredevil did not even flinch as he drew his nun-chucks from his waist and threw one of the twin sticks directly at the knee-cap of the fleeing Mcladen.

"Then there are those like myself, the Bogeymen of the world. More monster than man. Mothers tell their children frightening tales of our deeds to put them to sleep."

The steel of the weapon struck the back of Mcladen's knee with great velocity, the impact shattering the bone and causing the Senator to go down on the floor in a howl of pain.

"I…am not sure how I feel about that."

The demon wouldn't be so cruel as to play with prey before moving on to the kill. Whatever this one's crimes may be, no one deserved to be tortured before departure to the afterlife.

While the Senator lay there on the floor, clutching his broken knee as blood oozed out of the newly created fracture, Daredevil crouched beside his prone form, and positioned his hands above the man's throat for the kill.

"Do not struggle anymore. That will only make this all the more painful.", he uttered in a grim voice as the small blade slowly slid off his right wrist-plate.

"Uggh…Why are you doing this? Money? Power? Fame? What do you hope to gain by this?", the Senator barked in an almost manic manner, his hazel eyes now fierce with the last burning candles of his life as he stared directly at the man who was to be his murderer.

"I gain nothing. This not a lone man's act of vengeance. This is an act of Fate."

The senator, now delirious from pain, tried to laugh at the suggested notion, but ended up coughing instead from the blood loss he was now suffering from.

"So, fate would conspire to take an honest man's life? Someone who is a husband, a father to two children? I attend church every Sunday morning for God's sake! You call this fate?", he now spoke as loud as he could, for he could now see that he could stall this…madman anymore.

The demon hesitated, even if for the smallest portion of a moment. For once in the entire night, he felt the pang of conscience hit upon his being.

What right did he have to take this man's God-given life? What right he had to deprive his wife of her husband, and his children of their father?

No…he must not stray from the path like that.

He was now no mere man…he was a weapon.

A Weapon of Fate itself.

Conscience could wait until later.

"You say you are a church-going man, Senator? Let me give you one parting verse to consider. Leviticus 27:29.", the demon spoke with finality as he brought down his blade towards the man's jugular in one swift stroke.

Senator Mcladen's eyes widened for the last time as he remembered the verse which he heard so many times during mass.

"All human beings that are doomed lose the right to be redeemed. They must be put to death."

Hot blood splattered across the demon's mouth and his body as the blade slit the man's throat cleanly, the life leaving out of the man's eyes instantly.

Daredevil paused a bit before wiping the blood off his lethal weapon with his gloves. He then reached the dead man's whitened eyes and closed their eyelids.

"Requiescat En Pace.", these were the last words uttered from the demon's mouth before he left the corpse's side and disappeared yet again into the darkness of the night.


2 hours later…

Brownstone, Hell's Kitchen

He slinked through unnoticed into the opening of the croft above, before taking off his blood soaked cowl and detaching his wrist-plates from his dark gloves.

It wasn't easy commuting on foot from Long Island to Hell's Kitchen of all places, but as they say there's a first time for everything. And it was not like someone dressed like him could exactly walk through the streets unnoticed.

No, he had to take the more scenic route, he thought to himself as he descended down the decrepit stairs. Jumping from rooftop to rooftop, balancing himself on poles, and the like.

He had felt so liberated. Like he was genuinely flying through the air, akin to the super-heroes that now seemed to pop up on the landscape every other day.

"Enough daydreaming for one night. Don't forget, you are now Matt Murdock, not a demon of the night anymore. And you must think accordingly."

Indeed, he need to seriously evaluate his current standings in life, Matt thought inwardly as he threw the blood-covered costume into the laundry pile and made a mental note to himself to get the laundry done as soon as possible: it's why he bought his own washing machine a couple of months ago.

First of all, he should really focus on the fact he had been sitting idle without nary a case at his hand even though he had received his lawyer's license in last January.

It wasn't like the bills were going to pay for them by themselves, so he really needed to get around this particular dilemma…

Then he remembered Foggy Nelson.

His buddy from his days in the law school of Columbia University…yup they were the best of pals in those innocent days.

Didn't they make a pact of some kind that they would operate their own law practice together once out of college?

Hmm…looks like he would have to take Foggy up on that pledge…problem was, he didn't exactly bother to contact Foggy for the last year and a half after they had graduated from Columbia.

Well, there's no time like the present to renew your friendship with estranged law colleagues, he would say.

Matt grabbed his Zeiss glasses off the table and pulled one of the woodlice-infested chairs he had become so accustomed to.

He really needed to sit down and cool off a little…wading through the city rooftops in the night had certainly left his hyperactive hearing jumbled, and his nose was still not as used to shifting through the various tastes of the city as he would have liked. He found it difficult to block out the stenches he would rather not contemplate upon…dried urine, the smell of junkies as they got high for yet another night, to name a few.

"Well, this was your first rodeo, Murdock.", Matt sighed to himself as he reached for the newspaper he had left ajar.

Yes, at such an hour someone else would opt to watch the late night news on TV, but to him sensing the words from the ink through touch was more interesting than trying to make sense of the news through sound alone- after all, his senses could exactly help him figure out what was going on a television screen.

He had gotten half-way through reading the front page story about the takeover of Stark Industries by some Schmidt individual, when the auburn haired man noticed that he had somehow forgotten to get his gloves off his hands.

Now that was incredibly careless of him, Matt chided himself inwardly as he removed the gloves with great care. These belonged to his father, Jonathan "Jack" Murdock, after all, and these were all he had left off after that…dark night three years ago.

"Whenever I focus on his gloves, it is as though he comes to life around me. I feel his spirit, standing behind me and looking over my shoulders. The scent of his Old Spice aftershave is as strong as ever, as is the talcum powder he used to put on just before the fights…"

But there was something else too on those gloves, Matt realised as he caressed them with tenderness. Some kind of fluid, thick and coagulated…

It was blood! Of course, how could he have forgotten…it had splattered all over his body!

The smell, it was almost overwhelming. As was the guilt that was now starting to boil over from his repressed urges.

A manic rage gripped over him, and Matt was almost possessed by an unseen force that willed him to cleanse himself of this impurity.

"I must wash them. I must not let the taint remain!"

He grabbed those sacred raiments and rushed as fast as he could to the bathroom, almost tripping over the carpet a few times in his hurry. He cursed inaudibly a few times until he reached the door ten seconds later and swung it ajar with great force.

He turned the tap so quickly, it was almost a miracle that some gear or the other didn't snap from his uncontrolled strength, and just as soon as the water had started flowing, Matt almost threw the red gloves under the basin, and started scrubbing them with soap without any signs of stopping.

The guilt was almost a monster inside of him now, clawing it's way to the surface of his consciousness.

The devil and Matt Murdock are supposed to be separate, dammit! As a Weapon of Fate, the demon must feel no remorse for his actions; he must not only act as fate dictates. Nothing more, nothing less.

Then why was Matt Murdock getting giddy from the stench of blood that seemed to fill his house?
"The blood, the smell…it just won't go. It just won't GO!"

He lifted his head up at the mirror, the tap still running with full force and his hands now covered with vigorous amounts of foam.

He wondered that, if he still had his eyesight, he would see a horned devil staring at him, taunting at him for the little coward that he was.

"GRRAAAHHH!", Matt cried out loud in frustration as his right fist slammed right into the middle of the mirror, shattering the object into many pieces and cutting his hand in the process.

The soap made the wound sting even worse as drops of hot blood appeared through it.

Warm tears dropped down his cheeks as he fell to his knees by the bathroom floor, his left hand clutching the fresh wound on his other tightly.

"Back when she was alive, my mother used to call me her little angel. She said that to her, I represented all that was good in the world."

"I wonder what she would have to say about me if she could have seen the devil I have now become."


A/N: Yes, a large part of the inspiration comes from Assassin's Creed, undoubtedly- plus, I was fresh off finishing Assassin's Creed II when I started this, hence the RIP phrase and the twin-blades under the wrist plate. The other Weapon used in this issue, Blackhawk, was originally intended to be Hawkeye- indeed, the alter ego of the man is Clint Barton, who carries the mantle of the purple-kilted archer in the mainstream MU. However, this is, as I mentioned in the summary, part of a larger effort between writers managing various titles- Fantastic Four, the Avengers, X-Men, Spider-man, Dr. Strange and the Punisher- under an event-line called the Currents. This tale is originally titled Currents: Daredevil as it is published in the Marvel Message Boards, and the writer of Currents Avengers had already used a Hawkeye by the time I had finished writing this, so...a last minute change to the name. It isn't the best, I know, but ehh hopefully it won't detract from the overall story much.

Hope you folks enjoy the origin arc, which starts next!