Chapter 11: Escalation [Part II]
Another senior stepped forth to take Marvin's place. The crowd booed and made derisive remarks at Marvin's cowardice while Hank held his ground.
Hank outsmarted Marvin, so this chump would be a piece of cake.
Hank saw the twelfth-grader go for his stomach; his attacker lacked finesse, even more so than Marvin. Hank jumped to the side, and drove his fist into the side of the young man's jaw. It was a solid hit, and judging from the cracking sound it made, Hank wouldn't be surprised if his last punch had broken the jawbone.
The senior fell back, groaning in pain and clutching his jaw. He fell on his side, and his head bounced against the concrete; he was out cold. Marvin became red with rage. He stepped back in the circle, making signal to the rest of his gang.
Hank felt his sore legs, his bruised forearms, his skinned knuckles, and adrenaline coursing through his body.
He could easily outsmart one senior at a time, but there was no way he could beat four people. He had been fighting non-stop, but these attackers were fresh and eager for blood.
This was trouble.
Hank saw the second senior come in with a cautious jab to the head, so Hank bent his knees and struck low, punching straight to the stomach. The third took advantage of this, striking while Hank was getting back into fighting stance. A amateur roundhouse kick neatly smacked Hank's outer thigh, but Hank turned on his heels, hooked his arm under his opponent's leg, and elbowed the exposed kneecap. The weak bone cracked under Hank's brutal blow.
Hank's ears picked up shuffling behind him, so he dropped his screaming victim and whirled about, hands raised.
The fourth senior charged once again. Hank prepared to counter, but to his horror, his hands sluggishly reacted, moving at half speed. Hank realized that he was breathing heavily, and that sweat drenched his shirt.
His strength was bleeding away.
Hank's feeble block did nothing to stop the punch. It connected, full force, into his ribs. Hank wheezed as the air whooshed from his lungs.
Marvin saw Hank's weakness and darted in with a hard hit to the stomach. Hank cried out in agony and staggered backwards, straight into the arms of the fourth senior, who hooked his arms around Hank's shoulders. Hank struggled to break free, but the third senior grabbed Hank's wrists and pinned them to his sides.
At this point, Marvin didn't care about the booing and the insults from the audience around him.
"Hold him still!" Marvin ordered.
Hank's head swung left and right with every smack with every blow Marvin sent at his vulnerable face. After the fourth hit, Hank's vision began to blur. Marvin continued to rain blows on Hank's face with brute force.
Pure terror and pain filled Hank's head. Marvin had lost his mind; he was trying to kill him. Hank's body was in overdrive, as if it was somehow reacting to the wave of fear from his brain. He could feel his heart beat getting slower and slower. Hank shut his eyelids, waiting for Marvin's next strike to end his miserable existence.
And that's when it happened.
When he didn't feel anything, he opened his eyes, and was surprised to see that Marvin's fist suspended mid-air. The crowd was still cheering, but they moved as if they were insects in molasses.
Hank couldn't believe it; he refused to believe it. Time always went forwards at a constant rate! For it to slow down or go backwards was physically impossible... and yet, it was happening, right here, right now.
Marvin was moving so slowly that Hank could see exactly where he was aiming. Accepting the strange turn of events, Hank took the advantage, calculating his next move.
When Marvin's knuckles were mere centimeters away from Hank's face, Hank tilted his head at an angle, making Marvin's attack a clean miss. However, the overwhelming power that Marvin put into his punch continued to drive his fist forwards... straight into his friend's face. The senior loosened his grip ever so slightly, his head slowly rocking backwards.
Hank slipped out of his captor's grip. He didn't know what this slow-motion effect was, or how it was possible, but he wasn't going to let the opportunity go to waste.
Hank elbowed the senior behind him, driving the sharp corner straight into the sternum. He whipped his head about. Where would he strike at Marvin to slow the onslaught?
A passage he read in some library book flashed through his mind:
Human Anatomy Explained, by Doctor Karl Fleisher. Page 422, Paragraph five: "The thoracic diaphragm is a sheet of internal skeletal muscle which plays a crucial role in respiration. Through its contraction, it increases the volume of the thoracic cavity, thus drawing air into the respiratory system."
Hank's eyes snapped to Marvin's exposed chest. Kicking off the senior behind him, he used the momentum to thrust his fist straight for the gang leader's diaphragm.
Hank watched as Marvin's facial expression slowly transformed from confidence to painful surprise as his fist dove straight for his stomach.
Marvin fell backwards, slamming into the ground. The crowd jumped up, cheering. Hank felt the rush of pride in his chest.
He had averted disaster!
He was a hero-
A long, hard mass crashed into his ribs.
Hank felt his body scream in pain as he staggered to the side. A baseball bat, Hank realized, with much bitterness. The senior behind him, who he had foolishly ignored, had just hit him in the floating ribs with a goddamned baseball bat.
Hank felt his heart rate accelerating; the motions of the people around him became faster and faster. Time was speeding up.
Marvin clumsily stood over Hank, watching as his victim clutched his side in pain and sharply inhaled. Hank realized that a few of his ribs were broken.
The crowd gasped. The schoolyard brawl had escalated into a life-or-death situation.
Marvin caught the bat his colleague threw him, glaring downwards at his opponent. Disgust and hatred flooded his thoughts, replacing the shock and pain from earlier.
If things continued the way they did, the odds of Hank surviving this fight were little to none. He had to escape; to come back and fight another day when Marvin still had half his sanity left intact. Maybe he could isolate Marvin and crush him while he was alone. Cut the head off the snake.
Hank reached out at the girl he'd just saved. All he needed was a small helping hand; anybody would suffice at this point.
"... Help me up. Please."
Confused and bewildered, the girl only kept her stare with the fallen fighter. After what seemed like an eternity, she stepped back into the crowd.
She had left him to suffer.
Marvin grinned as he watched Hank beg for help. He took an ominous step forwards.
"Asking my girlfriend to fight? And you're calling me the 'low' one? That's sad!"
Hank began to backtrack as fast as he could, but Marvin, who was not as damaged and on his feet, got to him quicker. Reaching Hank's body, he placed his foot over his chest, applying pressure onto his broken ribs. Hank saw stars; the pain was enough to make him black out. His breathing quickened, and cold sweat streaked across his face.
"You mess with the bull and you get the horns."
Hank smirked. This wasn't so bad, Marvin would just dash his brains out onto the concrete with his bat. At least it would be quick.
The crowd was dead quiet. Birds chirruped cheerfully in the telephone wires above. The wind gently rustled the leaves in the trees.
The senior raised his bat over his head. Hank closed his eyes, waiting for oblivion to come–
"You are covward, Marvin Dayton!"
A voice with a thick Russian accent voice shattered the silence into a million pieces. Marvin turned around, glaring with his arms still holding the bat raised behind his head.
"Which of you motherfuckers just said that?"
The crowd parted, and Hank opened his eyes, just a sliver. The same man from the subway – the same that had broken into his room – stepped into the circle and stopped a few feet in front of Mavin and Hank. He wore exactly what Hank had seen him in the day before: a closed hoodie with the hood pulled over his head. The stranger's hands were in the pockets on his denim jeans and combat boots.
"Me."
Marvin narrowed his eyes. "You wanna get your face smashed in too, fuckface?!"
The man nodded at Hank, ignoring the senior's bluster. "Look at him. Tiny child in nine or ten grade with no ekstrodinary strength, fight five seniors, and get hit with bat. If that is not covwardice, then vwhat is?"
"This ain't none of your business." Another one of Marvin's friends spoke back.
"Is my business now." The man's voice turned cold. "How about you try strength against someone of own size?"
"After I'm done with this dipshit, maybe!" Marvin shouted, raising his bat for the final blow against Hank. Once again Marvin brought it down, but this time, Hank's savior shifted forwards at a surprising speed, extending a hand to stop the wooden stick mid-flight.
Marvin struggled to push the bat downwards, but the newcomer easily matched his strength. The defender flicked his wrist to the side, and Marvin's bat slammed into the ground, diverted away from Hank's head by mere inches.
"No. First, you fight man, like man, and if by chance you win, you take little boy." The man took his other hand out of his pocket and cracked his knuckles. "But you vwon't vwin."
"That so?" Marvin asked, standing up straight and hefting his bat. His henchmen assembled in a half circle around Hank's defender, and to Hank's horror, each took out a weapon.
"How 'bout now, fucker?"
"So you need outnumber, bat, svitchblade, and metal knuckle against unarmed man." The man sighed. "Very well. Go on. Take best shot." He smiled mirthlessly. "Come to comrade."
With a confused expression on his face, Marvin turned to the others in his group, then back to the intruder. "You really have lost your mind, haven't you?"
He cocked his head towards the man. "Fuck this commie's shit up."
The others showed hesitation; they knew nothing about the man's fighting prowess. When they hesitated, Marvin started feeling unsure about himself. He cast his eyes over the two seniors Hank had taken down.
One was lying on the ground, unconscious. The other had crawled away and was clutching his swollen leg.
"Fff...My leg… my leg... "
Watching his beaten goons somehow sparked Marvin fury. "Guys. Do I have to repeat myself? Beat this fucker back to the Soviet Union!"
The two seniors eyed each other, nodded, and charged the man at the same time – switchblade and brass knuckles wildly swinging, towards chest and head respectively. The stranger's hand snaked out to catch the brass knuckles by the wrist, but the switchblade struck him squarely in the pectorals, ripping a long gash across his chest.
The crowd gasped, and even the senior who'd done it looked horrified. Marvin watched apprehensively from behind. The man looked down at the knife in his chest, then back up to his enemy. "I'm sorry. Did you just… stabbity, stabbity? Me?"
One hand pushed the senior with the brass knuckles backwards, while the other closed around the trembling hand that still gripped the knife. The man yanked the blade from his body.
There was no blood.
"What-?" The senior gasped.
"Kevlar." The man said, flicking his chest. "You should vear."
The stranger smacked his elbow into the senior's chest, knocking him backwards. Marvin caught him, but immediately tossed him to the side, gritting his teeth.
"Fine. If you idiots can't handle it," Marvin stepped forwards, turning his body for a full swing right at the man's head, "I'll take care of this problem myself-!"
"Fahckoff." The man spat.
The speeding swing was stopped once again, and the stranger yanked the bat from Marvin's hands. This time, however, Marvin didn't skip a beat, sending lightning-fast jabs at the man's face once, twice, three times.
Marvin watched as his opponent staggered backwards and into the crowd, who pushed him back into the ring. The boxer sent another punch in, and then stepped back to let his henchmen do their work. The lackey that had gone with the switchblade snatched Marvin's bat from the ground and followed his friend with the brass knuckles.
For thirty painful, long seconds, metal and wood battered Hank's guardian, who fell to his knees. When they were done, the hooded man was gasping on all fours, blood dripping from his mouth.
The crowd remained dead silent, its members unsure as to whether or not they should call the police or run.
"Still think you can take us, huh?" Marvin asked mockingly. "Take his hood off!"
Hands reached down to yank the hood off the man's head, revealing clean-cut brown hair a moment before-
"I save best for last!"
The man surged forward as soon as he yelled this, colliding his forehead with Marvin's nose and driving him backwards. The seniors tried to restrain their foe, but one of the stranger's arms swung out, the back of his fist slamming one senior in the face and backhanding the second with brutal force.
Marvin took another step back, a stupefied, dazed expression on his face.
The crowd roared, and Hank saw his savior look around, smiling from the standing ovation. Hank had started the end of Marvin's reign of terror, but the man standing before him had just concluded it.
The man busied himself with knocking out Marvin's henchmen first, kneeling next to each body to pinch a nerve that brought them into unconsciousness.
As the man stood up and pocketed the brass knuckles and switchblade, Marvin charged at him with a desperate battle cry. Perhaps if he could beat down this stranger, he could save what was left of his tattered reputation… maybe even elevate it even higher.
Unfortunately for him, the man surged forward as well, one hand taking hold of Marvin's neck while a foot swept him off balance, sending him into the ground and delivering a single punch into his chest.
"What was that about taking me, again?" The man asked conversationally, looking down at a dazed and writhing Marvin.
Marvin coughed, trying to compensate for the air he lost from his lungs; he gulped slightly, taking in as much oxygen as he could from under the combat boot that was planted on his chest.
"Who... Who are you...?"
Mouth bloodied, the man looked down at him coldly. "For you, I am worst nightmare."
Hank's guardian raised his head, meeting the faces of the shocked crowd. "More?"
Hearing this, the crowd quickly scattered in different directions. The man grinned. When he spoke, his voice was utterly accentless.
"Thought not."
Marvin raised his head slightly off the ground, but he collapsed with a groan. The man turned to look at him. "This is the end of your little escapade. I find out you're pulling this type of shit again - and I will find out - you'll do well to expect me."
Hank felt himself being lifted off the ground. Before darkness began to swallow him into unconsciousness, he heard one last line from his savior.
"Right, up you get..."
With Hank slumped over his shoulder after walking a couple of blocks, the man saw a dark figure standing in the distance. He had jet-black hair, green eyes, dark blue jeans, a black shirt under a black hoodie with skull designs on it, combat boots, and grey gloves.
"You blew your fucking cover again, didn't you?"
The man placed down Hank. "The kid was about to have his face smashed in with a wooden bat. Brass wouldn't appreciate a dead hero. It's alright, though." His voice morphed back into a Russian accent. "I cover tracks, da?"
"Oh, great idea, 574. It's not like anyone would think a Russian criminal would have a Russian accent, right?" Shane retorted with blatant sarcasm.
574 grinned. "Where were you then, Shane, when I was taking down five eighteen year-olds at once?"
"I prefer not to fight high-schoolers in my free time. Do you always have to bring violence into the equation?"
"Violence doesn't solve everything... but it solves quite a bit." 574 pulled out a pack of gum and slid a stick out halfway through with his thumb, offering it to Shane. "Gum?"
Shane waved him off. "I'm good."
574 slid the stick out and unwrapped it, popping it into his mouth. "Your loss."
As he chewed on, Shane stared at the teenager slumped over his partner's back.
"That's the kid? Hank Shawnson?"
574 nodded. "Believe me, it's a real pain in the ass looking after this idiot. He just can't stop getting himself into trouble."
Shane frowned. "Well I can see why! He barely has any muscle on him to be fighting in the first place! Why the Hell would The Higher Powers want this runt?"
"Bullet-Time."
Shane paused momentarily. "Yeah, because I was thinking... wait, did you just say Bullet-Time?"
"Da."
Once the words hit him full force, his face morphed into one of utter confusion.
"Huh?! How's that even possible?!"
"If I knew, I would have told you by now. Despite no formal training, his skills are impressive. Sloppy, but for his age, shows promise. It wasn't until the bastards starting playing nasty though that I had to step in." 574 replied, rubbing the back of his neck.
Shane sighed. "Well, I suppose there could be a chance that there's more to him than just…this." He agreed, referring to Hank's battered, exhausted body.
After checking his surroundings carefully, Shane raised another important question.
"Where to?"
574 picked Hank back up."Somewhere near the orphanage. Not too close, but at least a place where we can hide the kid until he wakes up. Shouldn't be that too far off."
Two men, wearing black shades and suits, ran up behind an orphanage and hid from visibility. The first turned to the other, sticking out an open palm.
"Alright, just like boss said, let's burn this place to the ground. Hand me one."
The second man visibly hesitated. His partner crouched in silence, his arm still outstretched.
"What the Hell are you waiting for, Henry? Hand me a match before we get spotted!"
Henry opened his mouth slightly, then heaved a large sigh. "I...I don't know, Boris. Isn't this too messed up? There's kids in there, probably even babies. This is fucked up, even by agency standards."
"Are you serious?!" Boris angrily whispered, "If you wanna preach to me about that shit, do it later! Hand me the match!"
His partner looked up at him, and shook his head.
"... No."
Angered, Boris lunged at him, struggling to pry a stick from the matchbook. They wrestled for a short while, causing the bush to rustle.
"Don't-!" Henry gasped, as Boris managed to get a hold on the small paper packet.
"Stop fucking around already, we don't have time!" Boris shouted, tightening his grip around the matches. "Hand it… over!"
Forcing out the last word, Boris finally grabbed a matchstick from his partner and lit it. He stood up, dusting himself down before glaring down at his ally.
"I ain't going back to Sheriff just to have my head on a stick!" Boris declared.
Before Henry could protest or do anything to stop him, the match flewthrough the open window. Boris sighed in frustration.
"There. We're done. Was that really so hard-?"
A loud explosion knocked the two off their feet, flinging them into the dirt. They sat back up, momentarily deafened and blinded.
"Jebus fucking Christ! What the hell did you do?!" Henry shouted, rubbing the grime off his face.
Boris winced as he pushed himself off the ground. "I don't know! Must've accidentally thrown it near the gas tank or something!"
"What?! You didn't even check inside the window before throwing the damn thing?!"
"Well if you hadn't made it so goddamn hard, I probably would've!" Boris shot back.
Henry's eyes widened, watching as the flames quickly engulfed the orphanage.
"Fucking hell, the fire spreads fast!"
"No shit! We have to get out of here now!"
Henry stood up, ready to flee until he realized a crucial part of his headgear was gone.
His glasses. They must have flown off his face from the blast.
The man crouched over, frantically searching the ground for what he lost. Boris turned around.
"What're you doing?!"
"My shades! I lost them!"
"Your shades?! Fuck your shades, idiot! We have to get out of here!"
"But-!"
"NOW!"
The second man quickly scanned the terrain once more for any sign of what he lost, only to have his eyes stung by clouds of smoke billowing from the orphanage. Sighing, he followed his ally after giving up on his search. Their escape proved successful, as bystanders were too busy watching the screaming children running from the burning building. But there was still one person missing from the crowd of escapees.
Julia Shawnson.
Reviewers' Credits:
DodgeStreaker: Thank you for the support! I'm sorry this took so long though, but I think you can understand why, judging from the word count. I'm glad you liked all the twists from the previous chapter; those were just there to spice things up!
I hope to see the next chapter of your fic too! :)
DJ Anderson-Madness For Life: Wow, that's real deep to hear bro. Yeah, and I can understand that too. But like I said before, Hank's life does get better eventually, so he just has to go through this gravel road to his salvation.
Thanks for the review!
Sacrom574: Thanks! It means a lot to hear those compliments come from you! And as for the adjustments, I want to worry about them later. Right now, I just want to finish the large list of fics on my head, and then we'll talk about making things epic!
Also, I appreciate the contribution you put in this chapter. Thanks dude. The 1,000 words you gave me really did make things easier.
Kagami: Thanks for sticking around buddy! I hope you liked the payback Marvin took from Chapter 9! Sorry for the slow update. I've just been trying to calm down for a few days from schoolwork, but I will get back to writing whenever I can!
I'm glad you also give your sympathy for the victims of the Connecticut shooting. Although it doesn't affect most of us directly, I think it's the right thing to show our respects for the people who suffer from it. Thank you for caring, and I hope you stick around for more.
That's it. I know it's shorter than usual, but the word-count is too massive in this chapter, and I just don't want to make it anymore worse. I was planning to put a little extra here as well, but 6,000 is just too much to handle in one passage.
And now, O.C. Credits:
O.C. Credits:
Agent574/Mikhail by Sacrom574
Shane by DodgeStreaker
O.C. Credits, done! I wanna give a special thanks to "billytheixi" on Deviantart. She supported me by saying she enjoyed Final Salvation, and although she couldn't do it here, I appreciate her words greatly! Yes, I've posted my stories on Deviantart, but it's only the first three chapters of Final Salvation. I'll work on everything else later, but I suggest all of you guys focus on what's going on over here rather than over there.
Also, another special thanks to "Gibb50" on Newgrounds. I just talked to him the other day about the Revolution, and he was all in the idea. Unfortunately, he doesn't use this site, so he couldn't join, but many thanks to you too for listening!
You can check out both their works on their sites!
Okay, enough. I don't want this chapter to reach 7,000 words by the time it's done. I'll hopefully see you guys soon, and I will start on my schoolwork early so I can focus on this more clearly. Thank you all for being so patient and I'm so sorry for this being so late. I hope the word count makes up for my absence, and I'll see you all later.
Thanks guys, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter of Hank's Legacy!
~Spirit9871