devilist
It was strange for him to recognize anyone in this unfamiliar place. For a while, he had assumed that he would be all by his lonesome within this indiscernible city and yet he had a chance encounter with his brother, of all people.
And now the Russian’s dark jade hues glance at a man nearby, Anatoly’s eyebrows furrowing together as he began to squint at the stranger. It wasn’t exactly his looks that garnered his attention but rather, his voice. There’s something so familiar about it… So much so that it begins to eat at the man’s mind, beckoning him to approach the other in an attempt to satiate his curiosity.
❝ … Have we met before? ❞
「⛤」—» There had been the vague hope that the Russian wouldn’t notice him, amidst the crowd on the street, busy as it was. That he wouldn’t recognize him, wouldn’t recognize the voice he now cursed himself for not thinking of disguising, his body shape and walk. At the time, it had seemed fine. Of course none of them would see him out of his costume. Of course they wouldn’t. Why would they? The answer to that question was, if they had all found themselves jumbled onto a small island together, with a relatively small crime rate and little to do. When Matt had made the decision to come here, he hadn’t counted on the majority of his enemies coming to follow him. The next thing he knew, Fisk would be here, too.
And on top of all this, Matt really wanted people to stop coming back from the dead.
❝ I don’t believe we have. ❞








