Episode six of Daredevil: Born Again, Excessive Force, kicks the door wide open on the chaos simmering beneath Hell's Kitchen, delivering a dark, unnerving chapter that is equal parts horror show and political manoeuvre. It’s the kind of episode where everyone’s hands get dirty, and even the most measured characters are forced to choose between ideals and action. For me, it’s one of the season’s most significant turning points—not necessarily because of what it changes in the moment, but because of what it foreshadows. Everything from here on feels like it’s about to spiral.
Let’s start with the headline: Muse.
Until now, this spectral artist-turned-serial-killer has been a haunting whisper—an urban myth lurking at the edge of plotlines. In Excessive Force, he steps into the light, and it’s as chilling as you’d hope. Muse is painting murals in blood, quite literally, and the horror of it is brought to life with a disturbing stillness that echoes the show's earliest seasons. When Fisk learns about Muse from the sanitation department, there’s a flicker of something we rarely see in him: discomfort. That alone speaks volumes.
The episode opens with a classic power play—Luca grovelling to Fisk after the failed bank heist. Fisk, ever the opportunist, doesn’t just punish him. He escalates the debt to $2.8 million and gives him a week to deliver it. Vincent D’Onofrio continues to deliver gold here, using calm dialogue and small movements to dominate every scene. Fisk’s brand of intimidation has always been about restraint, and in this episode, it’s on full display.
But Excessive Force isn’t content to dwell in backroom deals and quiet threats. It shifts the pressure onto the street level, where Muse’s latest artwork leaves two mutilated corpses at the base of a freshly painted mural. The visual is sickening, but it’s not just gore for shock. There’s intent behind it. Muse isn’t just killing—he’s curating. This is performance art as terrorism.
In response, Fisk does what Fisk always does when chaos threatens his grip on order: he centralises power. At a posh fundraiser surrounded by the city’s elite (including a smirking Jack Duquesne, whose presence is both amusing and menacing), Fisk makes his move. He forms the Anti-Vigilante Task Force—AVTF—a reactionary strike force made up of the city’s most brutal officers. It’s law and order by way of a sledgehammer, and it’s terrifyingly effective PR.
The AVTF’s inclusion of Cole North and Powell—both with controversial pasts—makes it clear that Fisk is no longer interested in even pretending to play fair. This isn’t about safety; it’s about suppression. About control. And about turning the public against the very idea of vigilantes, starting with Daredevil.
Meanwhile, Angela Ayala is continuing her late brother Hector’s crusade. She’s convinced he was investigating Muse before his murder, and she brings this to Murdock, asking for help. It’s a quietly emotional scene—Angela isn’t pleading; she’s demanding truth. But Matt, who has tried so hard to stay grounded, refuses her. He wants to believe that the law can hold, even now. But deep down, we can see the cracks forming.
When Angela goes alone to track Muse, everything shifts. Her abduction isn’t framed as a moment of weakness, but one of stubborn bravery. And her disappearance is what finally pulls Murdock back into the suit.
The return of Daredevil is framed not with fanfare, but with dread. We watch him return to the shadows—not because he wants to, but because there is no other choice. The lair he finds is something out of a nightmare. Muse’s space is more installation than hideout—lit by soft whites and deep reds, filled with grotesque displays that read more like gallery exhibits than trophies. It’s a perfect encapsulation of the villain’s psychology: he’s not just making statements, he’s demanding interpretation.
The fight that ensues between Daredevil and Muse is frantic and unpredictable. Muse isn’t physically dominant, but he’s smart—using distractions, exploiting his environment, turning the lair itself into a weapon. Matt manages to rescue Angela, but Muse escapes, leaving behind nothing but a bloody smear and another unfinished piece.
And then there’s the final scene. One of the strangest, most brutal things this show has done in a while.
Fisk, in his sterile, high-rise prison cell, calls in Adam. He hands the man an axe and challenges him to a fight. It’s not clear at first if this is punishment, training, or some perverse form of entertainment. But what it turns into is a raw, animalistic dominance display. Fisk demolishes him—not with theatrical flair, but with slow, methodical cruelty. When it’s over, he drags Adam’s limp body back to his cell. The message is clear: don’t cross Fisk. Not in the boardroom, not in the bank, and definitely not in the blood-soaked underworld he’s quietly rebuilding.
What makes Excessive Force so potent is that it’s not just a showcase for action or escalation. It’s about thresholds. Matt crosses one by becoming Daredevil again. Fisk crosses another by formalising his war on vigilantes. Muse is the match, but the fuel was already there—soaked into every corner of the city.
And while the episode teeters between the grotesque and the operatic, it never loses its core: people making choices under impossible pressure. Angela choosing truth over safety. Matt choosing duty over peace. Fisk choosing control over order. Every one of them is acting out of fear, faith, or fury—and every decision inches the city closer to collapse.
There are moments here that feel operatic, almost biblical in scale—particularly the eerie montage of Muse’s murals flickering across city walls as the AVTF boots march through alleyways. But the show never forgets the street-level cost of all this. What happens when you criminalise heroism? What happens when justice becomes a PR stunt? And what happens when the people entrusted with power decide that fear is more effective than fairness?
Episode six is a turning point—not a climax, but a deep breath before the plunge. It’s setting the stage for something even more dangerous. And after this hour of dread and violence, I’m not sure any of us are ready for what’s next.
But I’ll be watching.
Eyes wide open. Fists clenched. Heart pounding.
Because Daredevil hasn’t just been reborn. It’s burning.
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