Matt had been told once that the others boxers found it strange that he prayed before each match.
He was surprised they had noticed the rosary folded neatly in his clothes, the way he crossed himself before shedding his father's newsboy cap and shirt and preparing himself to fight.
He was surprised, and yet not. He was a little too savage for God, in their eyes. Each bare-knuckled punch was too rough, each drop of blood shed too brutal.
They all knew Matt Murdock wasn't asking for safety or seeking a win, not with the reckless way he fought.
Which was true. He was praying that the devil in his chest wouldn't break loose.
The Great War hadn't been kind to many people. Europe was a heaving ruin, decimated by machine guns and poison gas.
A part of Matt still felt lost over there, drowning in the mud and darkness, clawing and screaming for a way out.
He didn't know how to fix it, couldn't hope to ignore it, so he channeled it the only way he could: in a boxing ring with someone that could fight back.
Read the rest via the link in the description!