Chapter 38 – Barrels and Bionics
Location: New York City, Brooklyn – Castle Residence
Date: December 7, 2008
Time: 3:26 AM
To most people, 3:26 in the morning was a time reserved for nightmares, drunk texting, or the sort of anxiety that hits like a truck and disappears by dawn.
To Frank Castle, it was the only time he ever felt real.
The house was quiet, the kids were asleep, and Maria's breathing was steady beside him. That should've been peaceful. But Frank sat in the kitchen, fully dressed, polishing a .45 caliber pistol like it was communion. Coffee untouched. Eyes tracking shadows.
He knew something was coming. He always did.
He just didn't expect it to come through the window wearing a suit and floating six inches off the ground.
Frank didn't scream. He simply fired. Four shots, one clean burst. Center mass.
Adam watched the bullets pass harmlessly through his mana shield like angry rain.
"Well, that's one way to say good morning," Adam muttered, feet landing softly on the linoleum.
Frank stood, already reaching for the shotgun under the sink.
"I swear to God," Frank growled, "you have five seconds to vanish before I turn your spine into table salt."
Adam raised both hands. "Wait! I'm not a threat. I'm an opportunity."
Frank's brow twitched. "You sound like a telemarketer from Hell."
Adam nodded. "Close. More like a magical warlord from a hidden pocket dimension that runs on ambient mana and existential regret."
The shotgun clicked. "Still not helping your case."
Adam sighed, then reached into his coat slowly. "Okay. Let's try this."
He pulled out a sealed envelope. Stamped across the front were the words:
"Tomorrow's Tragedy – Avoided if Opened Before 4 AM"
Frank didn't blink. But his hand trembled.
"I don't like games."
"It's not a game," Adam said softly. "It's the truth. Your truth. The one you're sleepwalking toward."
Frank took the envelope. Tore it open.
Inside were two photos. One showed a crime scene—his home, shattered. Bodies covered. The second was dated three years later: Frank Castle, bloodied and raging, wearing the now-iconic skull emblem.
"Where did you get these?" Frank hissed.
"I don't get things," Adam said. "I see them. Or rather, my Foresight skill does."
Frank stared.
Adam continued. "You've got less than 30 minutes before a deal goes bad between some low-rent gangsters and a cartel that'll shoot first and panic later. They'll crash your family barbecue thinking your neighbor is hiding something. It ends with you the only one breathing."
Frank didn't speak. But his grip on the shotgun loosened.
"You're a good man," Adam said. "But good men get punished in this timeline."
"So what," Frank said finally. "You want me to sell my soul to you in exchange for a happy ending?"
"No," Adam replied. "I want you to fight smarter. With backup. With armor that matters. With a blade that doesn't dull and a gun that never jams. I want you on my team, Frank Castle. And I want your family safe so that you never have to become The Punisher."
Frank's eyes narrowed.
Adam held out a ring—matte black with blood-red engravings.
"I've got a place. It's a sanctuary. Hidden. Your family will be safe there. But this? This ring links you to me. No betrayal. You'll have power. Real power. In return, you protect what I build—and you don't shoot me in the face."
Frank eyed the ring.
"...What's the fine print?"
Adam grinned. "Just the standard magical soul-contract clause. Violating loyalty equals total soul erosion, skill loss, and potential spontaneous combustion."
Frank blinked. "You think that's funny?"
"I think the only reason you haven't turned me into paste yet is because you already believe me," Adam replied.
There was a pause.
Then Frank took the ring.
And the portal opened behind him—revealing a vast fortress shimmering under stars not found on Earth.
"…Jesus," he muttered.
"No, but I have met a few beings who claim the title," Adam said. "Come on."
Dominion Vault – Tactical Wing
Location: Primary Armory
Time: 4:12 AM
Frank stared at the wall of weapons like a child in Disneyland if Disneyland was run by John Wick.
"This is… absurd."
"Nope," Adam said, tapping a panel. "This is absurd."
A section of the wall slid open, revealing a single case surrounded by twenty arcane locks.
Inside: a sleek, metallic object—part sword, part rifle, part "the last thing you'll ever see."
[Item Claimed: Adaptive Warfare Engine – Bloodhound Mk. I]
Tier: A-Rank Artifact
Function: Shapeshifting Combat Tool
Modes: Sniper / Shotgun / Blade / Gauntlet
Special: Feeds on enemy mana to recharge ammo
Sync Bonus: Increases effectiveness with user rage and resolve
Frank picked it up. It morphed instantly to match the contours of his arm.
"...I love it."
Adam smirked. "Told you. Magic Apple."
Then came the second surprise.
[Skill Claimed: Hemocraft Regeneration]
Tier: A-Level Passive
Function: Regenerates wounds by manipulating blood cells via arcane feedback.
Bonus: Can regrow limbs over time. Auto-triggers on fatal trauma.
Frank's jaw twitched. "That's cheating."
Adam shrugged. "No. That's evening the odds."
He handed Frank the Dominion Contract. "Read it. Sign it. Or don't. But the clock's ticking. And someone's gotta teach my other recruits how to reload a cursed flamethrower."
Frank took the stylus, signed.
[Eternal Vow Activated – Subject: Frank Castle]
[Emotion Spike Detected – Hope / Vengeance / Iron Resolve]
[Currency Gained: +3,000]
[Skill Fragment Gained: Battle Precognition (3%) → Doubled to 6%]
"You'll want to see your family," Adam said, opening another portal. "They're safe. For good."
Frank stepped through.
He didn't say thanks.
He didn't have to.
Later: Dominion Strategy Room
Jessica Jones kicked her boots up on the crystal console. "So. This is the guy?"
Frank Castle stepped in, dressed in a new tactical set lined with mana-threaded armor, his A-rank weapon folded neatly against his spine.
Jessica whistled. "You look like if Batman started drinking protein shakes and stopped talking."
Frank glared. "You look like sarcasm with a hangover."
Adam clapped his hands. "Good! Mutual hatred! That means team chemistry is right where it should be."
"Do I get a room?" Frank asked.
"You get a wing," Adam said. "And a flamethrower training dummy that screams in Latin."
"…Nice."