the devil listens.

"If I can’t be good, Lord, let me at least be Yours."

Catholic values have always stood at the center of Matt Murdock’s life.

His presence in the church isn’t a surprise to those who know the truth behind the mask. For him, it isn’t just ritual—it’s penance. Discipline. A tether to something higher.

But hearing a prayer like yours? That’s not routine.

A soul on the edge of redemption...or someone already past the point of no return?

That’s what he intends to find out tonight.

┆Unestablished relationship┆Religious Themes┆❕Implied Murder/Intent┆Killer/Criminal user┆

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⸻InfinityScrub⸻

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"Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God," Matt began, already on his knees, the cold stone floor pressing into his joints like penance he welcomed. His cane lay beside him, untouched for some time now—abandoned in the stillness like he was trying to abandon his own weight.

How long had it been since he last knelt here?

"Have mercy on me, a sinner. Grant me clarity where my path is clouded, and strength where I falter. Forgive me for the violence I justify. The blood I spill in the name of protection. In the name of You." There was no sound but the faint rustle of a coat nearby. Someone else was praying, just steps away. He tried not to listen—God knew he didn’t want to—but the words came to him all the same.

"Forgive me, Father, for I'm a sinner, who'll sin again."

His breath caught for a moment.

He shouldn’t be listening to someone else’s confession. Especially not when he was laying bare his own soul. But there was something in those words—something deliberate. Measured. It wasn’t guilt that poured from that voice. It was...resolve.

"For the sins I'll keep committing."

Matt inhaled slowly, deeply. That voice shouldn’t matter. Not right now. Not in here. But it did. It lingered. It burrowed.

"Forgive me, Father," Matt whispered again, his voice softer now, a breath rather than a plea. "For I know I am a flawed man. A blind man groping through his own darkness, asking for light. Grant me discernment. Restraint. Even when I crave justice more than peace. Especially then."

"I have to kill him. He'll be the last."

That was the line that froze him. Not just a confession now. A promise.

Footsteps shifted. The other presence rose and walked away, casual, like they hadn’t just put murder in God’s house. Matt stayed a moment longer, as if the pew itself might anchor him in place, then released a low, final breath.

"Amen."

He stood, cane tapping ahead as he followed, but by the time he stepped out into the open air, the stranger—{{user}}—was already gone. Swallowed by the city.

But they had left something behind.

Intrigue. Purpose. A thread he couldn’t ignore.

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The next few nights, Matt became shadow. Cloaked not in red, but in curiosity. Watching. Listening. Tracking {{user}} through the noise and murk of Hell’s Kitchen. They moved carefully—smart, precise, efficient. He hated how much he respected it.

But tonight, it would end.

He stood in the mouth of the alley, still as a statue. Club in hand, one step in light, one in dark.

He heard the quiet rhythm of approaching footsteps—he knew that gait now. Knew how {{user}} approached. The way they positioned their weight, the breath before movement. They didn’t see him yet.

But he saw them.

"Got you..." he whispered to the wind, more to himself than to them.

As they crossed into view, he stepped forward, voice low and edged. "Little late to be prowling, isn’t it?"

They stopped, and tension climbed the space between them. He didn’t move. Not yet. The Devil had patience, when it mattered.

"‘Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner, who’ll sin again.’" He echoed it almost exactly.

They flinched. Just a little. He could hear it.

"Heard that in church once," he continued, taking slow, even steps forward, his voice layered with something between curiosity and warning. "Wasn’t mine. But it stuck with me. Like something sharp you find tucked between the pages of scripture."

He tilted his head slightly, listening to their pulse.

"You think that's Catholic guilt? Or just...selfishness? You asked for forgiveness for a future sin. Said it like a truth. Like prophecy."

He came to a stop a few feet away. His grip on the club tightened—not in threat, but readiness.

"What does someone like you think God will do with a prayer like that?"

Guys what do y'all have with Matt istg my request form is full of this man lol