Brad half watched as a dog crashed into the fencing in front of him, rattling it noisily. It wasn't in good shape, fur matted in dozens of places from little cuts and larger bites. In some places the fur and skin had almost been scraped off completely. The dog struggled to get back to its feet, exhausted from being forced through fight after fight. The bitch had won most of them too, stubborn little bastard that it was. Whatever energy it had left was clearly gone as it lay on the concrete floor of the warehouse, blood slowly spreading out in a little pool beneath it. It panted heavily, though the exhales stuttered and gurgled.
"Up!" He sneered, "If you're still breathing, you're going to fight."
For a second it looked up at him, what little intelligence the beast had terrified of the towering man with a metallic mask crudely cut into the shape of a wolf's head. No matter how many times he saw it, Brad found satisfaction in how the dumb animals knew he was in charge, to be scared of him. No need for all that talking Max loved so much, fat lot of good it ever did them. All that talk of being the greatest faction in the Bay, the strongest, how everyone should fear them, never any action. Some days he wondered how the damn man had talked him into staying with the gang, but he knew better. What else was there for a man like him to do? At least here, with his men, he had the respect he deserved.
"Sir," Someone ran up behind him, one of the nameless newer recruits, panting and out of breath. It wasn't worth learning their names until they proved themselves, "Sir!"
The dog whimpered up at him as it struggled to its feet on shaking legs. It was too bad, he could already hear some of his customers angrily urging the thing on, frustrated that that they'd lose their bets. Stupid thing had been doing pretty well too, having survived as many fights as it had, but its luck had seemingly run out. Hookwolf let out an angry snort before turning to face the recruit. Beneath the flesh, the familiar feeling of his metal covered muscles grinding against each other relaxed him.
"What?" He barked.
The recruit cowered, showing the proper amount of fear and respect, but rallied after a moment. Huh, some backbone to this one. There wasn't anything special to differentiate him from any of the others. Bald head covered in tattoos synonymous with the Empire and dressed up in clothes similar to what he'd seen countless people wearing around downtown, Brad would have had a hard time picking him out from any of the other recruits. He did look young, maybe one of their recruits straight out of Winslow? That shit hole produced them on the regular, practically a factory processing them and doing half the Empire's work for them.
"We've lost contact with one of the other rings sir, over near the market," he paused. The man talked as if he was the star of a low budget action movie taking himself far too seriously in a debriefing scene.
Brad frowned heavily. If there was one thing he wouldn't stand for it would be his men costing him profits or stupidly fucking up. The last group that had failed him, they'd somehow leaked the location of a dog fighting ring just like this one to the cops. They weren't around anymore, what remained of them thrown in the Bay. This was the kind of shit he'd expect those fucking Merchants to pull, high off their asses on who knows what. At least his men had the sense to not take what they're selling.
Inside the cage, the battered dog barely managed to pull itself to its feet before the other pounced onto it. Jaws clamped around the throat and shook wildly and claws sunk deep, tearing patches out of the canine's hide. A weak yowl filled the air, warbling and tired. It bled into silence like the crimson flowing out to stain the cracked concrete ground. Its luck had to run out sometime Brad supposed, though it was a shame. The bitch had earned him quite a lot of money.
"When was this?"
Already he could feel the metal pushing itself from his core in the shifting spikes and hooks he knew so well. He took one deep breath, then a second, stopping the near instinctual pull as the metal roiled just below the surface. Experience and instinct told him that if he hadn't stopped it, he would've started changing form in full a moment later.
"They," the man's knees were shaking almost as much as his voice did. He stepped further away from the villainous cape, one foot behind the other and half turned at the waist as if prepared to run at a moment's notice, "They missed their check-in half an hour ago. Not answering their phones either. We sent in a couple of the guys to make sure they weren't messing around, you know, taking a sample or-"
"Get to the point," Hookwolf ground out, spikes starting to jut through his skin. The recruit gulped.
"Yes sir. The group we sent aren't responding either. They got close and then, well, nothing."
"You're only telling me this now?" He snarled, "How long ago did you lose contact with the group you sent out without telling me?"
The man quailed in the face of his anger, like one more harsh word would make him run away. Why did he even join up if he couldn't handle answering simple questions? Better yet, why had Max sent the idiot to him of all people? Sometimes Brad really didn't understand the man, even if he did respect him.
"A couple of minutes ago," it sounded more like a question than a statement, "I came to tell you as soon as I heard about it sir. And it wasn't my idea to send them-"
"I don't care whose idea it was, I care about losing contact with my men!" Brad cut him off, barely restraining himself from beating some sense into the shaven and clearly empty head of the fledgling gang member. Despite what he'd said, he very much did care about who gave the order. His fists clenched and relaxed imagining just what he would to do the asshole if something had gone wrong, right behind whichever dumbass had decided to fuck with the Empire.
The market ring wasn't that far away, on the other side of the Boardwalk. Far enough that either one could give the order to evacuate before the cops or whoever got there, but close enough that they could relieve the other if they were attacked. Normally, that is. Normally, they'd have had enough time to give at least some warning before going dark and they wouldn't have already lost a group investigating. What a fucking mess.
"We're getting out of here, whoever hit the market ring," and there was no doubt in his mind that it was an attack, not in Brockton, "could already be on their way here and we haven't heard shit from anybody. We're not getting caught flat-footed."
For a moment nobody moved, the only noise coming from the cages. Beside Brad, the surviving dog was still ripping away the body of its opponent, growling and snapping all the while.
"That means move it! Pack it up!"
The warehouse exploded into activity, gang members running back and forth corralling the snarling dogs back into their cages. Brad strode through the chaos, barely paying attention to anyone that got in his way. Every one of them moved quickly if they did, the near palpable aura of anger pushing them away like a physical force. They parted around him like reeds in the wind, partially out of fear and partially out of necessity. Large hooks and spear-like protrusions of metal bristled from his joints, creaking against each other angrily as he moved.
Inside his mind was a whirlwind of activity. What had happened at the other site, and more importantly, who had done it? Neither the ABB or the Merchants were known for their stealth. If it was Cape action, Oni Lee tended to 'handle' his problems with explosives but even with them he couldn't have taken down the other ring before they managed to get any kind of distress signal up. Lung had apparently been taken down by Armsmaster and… well, unless he'd managed to quietly break out, put himself back together again and gotten big enough to just sit on the whole damn building without alerting the whole damn city, there was no chance that it was the ABB boss' work. The scaly bastard didn't do quiet and from what the Empire had heard his body had been brutalised far beyond the norm; even he couldn't get back from the injuries their moles had managed to leak out to them.
Loud certainly described the Merchants to a tee too. When they weren't high out of their minds on their own drugs, they were doing something very stupid, very loudly while still high out of their own minds. Brad shook his head. No way, just the idea that his men would be thrashed so quickly, and worse, so quietly that they'd gotten no word of it? It was almost enough to force out a laugh from the bare-chested man, but it was quickly strangled into another wordless snarl.
Faultline wasn't stupid, definitely not enough to pick a fight with the Empire in their own backyard. Her and her little group tended to keep their noses out of things in Brockton Bay, always leaving the city for their jobs. Brad could almost respect their mercenary nature; they were better than the rest of the trash in the city at least. It meant that they definitely hadn't been the ones to attack the other ring, unless for some reason somebody paid them a ridiculous amount of money to do so. But for such a low priority target?
Could it have been that dog Cape, 'Bitch' he thought her name was? His men had reported that she'd been seen sniffing around some of the rings but, like the pest she was, she'd always managed to slip away before they could catch her. No, the idiot child, and she was a child wouldn't have been able to take anything down so quietly even with the help of the low life group of misfits that were the Undersiders.
For a moment Brad considered whether the Protectorate could be behind it just to dismiss it again. Max would've told him if they were planning anything. The man had fingers in so many pies he sometimes wondered if anything important in the city ever got past him. Then again, that was one of the reasons he respected the gang leader. That and how deadly the gang leader was.
An independent or new arrival then? As much as any number of people might have branded him a brainless idiot, Brad wasn't stupid. With the major contenders for control of the city dismissed, that was the only real option left. It wasn't unheard of, moronic new triggers with a bone to pick striking out at one of the gangs on their own. Needless to say they didn't last long. Either pressed into the gangs or more often they were forced out of the Cape world, permanently.
A metallic screech tore through the warehouse, not unlike the noise Hookwolf's spikes made when he moved at great speed. For a second nobody reacted other than darting their eyes towards the shirtless Cape worriedly.
"What the fuck is that?" Somebody yelled from the far end of the warehouse, reedy voice panicked.
Brad turned, eyes instantly focusing in on a drawn gun pointed towards the roof. Around him, the men that had been loading the dogs into their cages stopped and drew their weapons too. No, not the roof, he realised with a start. In the centre of the wall, a couple feet below where it connected to the ceiling, fingers were tearing through the wall like it was made of warm butter. After a brief moment of sliding, enough that Brad could see the clouds and stars in the night sky outside, they clamped down on the corrugated plastic.
Bullets cracked against and through the wall, the loud bangs making the dogs packed in their cages start barking and snarling. Some of them hit against the unprotected pale fingers but whoever it was gave no sign that it hurt at all and even from this distance Brad could see that they weren't hurt at all. He cursed loudly, a Brute then, maybe a Mover too assuming they were flying out there.
The wall ripped apart like a child tearing a piece of paper in a tantrum, only instead it was tonnes of solid material giving way with the howl of tortured metal. Floating high up in the air, a giant of a man stood as if he was on solid ground holding what had once been the wall of the warehouse in two pieces. As big as he was each piece still looked comically oversized in his hands, but he showed no strain in holding them.
Brad's men hadn't stopped firing for a single moment, but just like with the man's fingers the bullets flattened themselves against his skin before falling, tinkling against the ground in a constant stream.
If he wasn't so poorly clothed, Brad could've mistaken him for Manpower. It didn't matter that he was on the other side of the warehouse, it was clear how huge the Cape was.
But instead of the professionally made bodysuit Manpower was always seen in, he wore a ratty shirt, discoloured from frequent use with something on the front so faded that Brad couldn't make it out from where he stood. For all that it looked every bit the flimsy and tattered cloth, none of the holes were from the bullets. Similarly battered jeans covered his legs and the pair of old and out of date basketball trainers looked oddly clean and intact compared to the rest of him.
The only thing that gave away that he was a Cape, other than his immense size, was the mask. Mask was too kind of a description, Brad thought to himself, rusted sheet metal had been wrapped by hand around his head in a crude imitation of a knight's helmet. It was all jagged lines and brutally warped metal. Something about that struck him as familiar, though he could've sworn he'd never met this asshole before in his life.
Hookwolf didn't take the time to see more than that. He threw himself at the Brute, bodily flinging himself forwards in bounding strides that between one and the next flowed and shifted into a loping canine gait. Feet became paws as more and more metal sprouted out of his core and from the layers he always had encasing his muscles, while his flesh pulled inwards into the comforting safety of its wrappings.
"Move!" He roared, voice like the scraping of knives and forks only reverberating deeper and darker.
Around him, his men dashed hurriedly out the way, all of them aware what would happen if they didn't. They'd seen first-hand what kind of damage the spikes and hooks that coated his form did to people.
He crossed the floor of the warehouse rapidly, everything but the flying Cape blurring into the periphery in a charge of rolling metal and thunderous paws that shook the ground.
Any thoughts not about the fight fled from his mind with each stamp. Finally his blood sang, surging through him faster and faster. Deep down inside his core his heartbeat drummed through him, Hookwolf could feel it in the shaking of his fur and the glorious rush of combat.
It only took a few seconds for his now truck size form to cover half the warehouse floor, uncaring for what he trampled over. He coiled up his hind legs, bunched them against his lower body before pushing off leaving deep imprints in the concrete floor. For a brief moment the giant metal wolf was weightless.
One second he was 'flying' through the air, cutting through it like a missile, claws outstretched and grasping towards the idiot Cape as if he was already holding him.
The next, a wall swung to meet him almost faster than he could see.
With a great clang the Empire Cape was thrown back, rolling end over end back down to the floor of the warehouse. Below him, gang members dived out of the way, screaming, barely able to dodge in time.
For a moment Hookwolf just sat, flat against the ground in a shapeless mass of metal. His ears rang from the concussive force. Above, the Cape had barely moved. Though one hand was raised into what was reminiscent of a swatting position, the wall that had hit Brad still clasped tightly in his fingers.
He pried himself from the ground with a trail of crumpled concrete, form solidifying again into his preferred image. That wall hit much harder than it should have done, he should know he'd gone through a lot of them. A force field of some kind?
Shit maybe he really was a bastard child of someone in New Wave. The high and mighty ones always were the biggest freaks behind closed doors.
It didn't matter in the end, covered and protected as he was from the blades shifting around him and covering his form he was practically untouchable. Then it was just a matter of working out this new Cape's weakness. Deep beneath the hooks and claws Brad cracked a feral grin.
His favourite part.
"Out!" He yelled at his men. Admirably, or more likely foolishly, none of them had run away yet, choosing instead to continue pelting the attacker with bullets to no effect. Max would have wanted him to order them to call for help but Max wasn't here. It had been too long since the last time he'd been able to let loose.
None of them needed telling twice, fleeing in a constant stream past Hookwolf and away from the cheap Gallant knock-off. A brave few ran almost directly below the man, taking advantage of the missing side of the warehouse to get away quicker. The Cape didn't even glance in their direction, poked out eye slit unerringly locked onto the Empire Cape.
"Who the fuck are you meant to be?" Brad growled.
The man said nothing. His only response was to throw the two halves of the wall to the ground below him. They crashed together loudly, ringing through the now quiet night air.
"Not gonna say anything little bitch?" He taunted, prowling closer again.
Suddenly the Cape dropped, plummeting like a bullet towards the ground. His feet dropped straight through the remnants of the wall and cracked the concrete floor.
Seizing the opportunity, Brad blitzed forward, claws gouging out a trail in the stone. The cape must have been confident, too confident, in his defences because he didn't react at all, even when tonnes of shifting spikes and hooks swung towards him in the form of a paw.
Or at least that's what Brad thought. His attack connected dead on, a hook that would obliterate a normal person and even most capes. He'd held nothing back, there was no need to play by any pansy rules when this upstart nobody had attacked his business.
Instead of being torn up, or blown apart or even thrown away, the paw impacted with a dull thud. The cape hadn't even been moved! What the fuck was this?
A hand snapped up to grab a hook, blowing through others and ignoring them like they weren't even there. The protrusions he went through shattered into pieces as if they were made from glass instead of what should have been near unbreakable metal.
With a negligent flick of the Cape's wrist, the same as if he was brushing dirt off his shoulder, Hookwolf found himself airborne again. Instead of being sent flying towards the ground, he was sent speeding over it. Remnants of the dog cages that hadn't been packed away in time buckled as he tumbled through them.
Something collided with his back as he was spinning, the world blurred too much from the force he was thrown for him to see what. It was only when he came to rest against a crumpled car and felt the wind blowing across his armoured form that Brad realised he'd gone through the side of the warehouse and into the street outside. Below him the car's alarm warbled distantly, its noise completely forgotten and blending in with the still barking dogs behind the blood pounding in his ears.
"Who do you think you are?" He kicked away the half-crushed car as he stood, sending it spinning until it impacted the front of the worn down building to his rear, "Coming into my business, some upstart, some nobody. You're in over your head."
The Cape stood, partially silhouetted in the new large hole in the warehouse's side, the bright overhead lights inside almost blinding compared to the dim street lights outside.
A moment passed, the two Capes just staring at each other. The next, the Brute sped towards him so fast his form was just a blur to the disbelieving Empire Cape's eyes. It was almost like he'd teleported, if it wasn't for the sonic boom and the shattering windows all the way down the street Brad almost would've thought that it was.
He came to a stop right in front of Brad, even in his enlarged wolf-like form the helmet wearing Cape was at least at the same eye level. No, he was taller still, head rising to almost reach the height of his tallest spikes. There was no doubt about it, the bastard was looking down on him, judging him from some high horse. Without him even saying anything Brad could feel it seeping over him.
It was a familiar feeling. He'd felt it when he'd fought in cages much like the ones he made dogs fight in now, without powers and with fists and nails instead of spikes and claws. He'd felt it whenever he was made to interact with anyone not part of the Empire, like there was something to be ashamed of for wanting to raise humanity to a higher, better level. Fuckers would never give him the respect that he deserved, that he'd earned.
"Every fresh trigger is the same, you think you're hot shit, you think you're untouchable. That the Triumvirate is gonna come down here to eat whatever you shit out?" The silence pierced him, prickling his pride at being ignored. "You're nothing, alone and by yourself picking a fight with the Empire. Soon no-one will remember you."
Each word came out louder and louder, until he was bellowing in the face of the stoic Cape. If he'd still been human spit would've been flying onto the impassive helmet, as it was the whirl of spikes and hooks that made up his teeth snapped and ground in front of it.
Some part of him grew more and more worried with each passing second. The level of strength required to break through his metal, even if it was the weakest part near the tips of protrusions… He'd never fought Alexandria, as much as his blood sang at the idea of it, but he imagined that only a Cape of that level could maybe break his metal so casually.
The rest of him got angry. Angrier than he could remember being in a long time. Some new trigger shoulders into his business? What rankled even more was that it had worked. He had no doubt now that this man had taken down the other ring too, without Cape reinforcements they would've stood no chance. He'd already been made to tell his men to run.
What he needed was a decisive victory, to maintain his image, his respect.
Brad launched himself forward with all his weight, but instead of going directly at his opponent like he had before, he threw himself at an angle. His claws flashed out, slashing instead of smashing. He'd cut through metal and concrete alike like this before yet when it hit, his claws slid across the Cape's body with no effect. Even the sound was muted. What should have ripped and tore whimpered into a dull thump.
Just as he was about to pull away, the Cape whirled to face him. Or at least Brad assumed he did.
He had experience fighting Movers, Velocity was a part of the Brockton Bay Protectorate, practically forcing the two into semi-frequent conflict. The man was a near blur when he moved, capable of outrunning a speeding vehicle and he'd even seen clips of him running on water and even then he was only barely capable of keeping up with Kayden. Dauntless too when he was in town. He'd sparred with Kayden more times than he could count and he'd been able to react then, following the incandescent blur and making instinctual reactions. Fuck even earlier this big bastard had at least been visible when he moved.
This wasn't like that.
It was more like an old video skipping frames, one moment he'd been facing forward the next he was back to looking right at Brad. If before the Cape had been fast, then this was many times worse. There was no noise that accompanied the transition this time, just dead silence.
A hand snagged itself on the paw that had just arced across his body. There was a tug in near the same second, reeling him forwards and off balance.
Then he was weightless again, a hole in his stomach almost bisecting his metal body. Below him the Cape stood with his hand raised in a textbook uppercut, hand physically steaming from the speed and force of the blow.
The floating only lasted a heartbeat. Again the man's form flickered until the raised hand wrapped itself around the point of a spike without care, grabbing a hind leg and slamming him into the ground. It all happened too fast for Brad to morph his form to lessen the impact.
Asphalt cracked and cratered beneath his back, an indent so big it stretched across almost the entire street. The ground shook like an extremely localised earthquake had hit. Lying facing the sky as he was, Brad could see the nearest streetlights trembling in place.
The impact didn't hurt him, just as he knew it wouldn't. No, what he was focused on was the chunk of metal missing from his torso. What kind of force was this asshole hitting with to do that to him? Fenja and Menja at their strongest weren't close to applying that amount of blunt damage.
Before that could sink in a pair of trainers alighted next to him at the bottom of the crater. From this angle the Cape towered far above, piercing the sky like a skyscraper and nearly filling Brad's vision.
"Fuck you," he ground out, slicing upwards with both front paws, wrapping them around the Cape's head. Big as the man was, his head still looked like a doll's in an adult's hand inside his grip.
He squeezed with all his might trying to squash it like a grape. His metal body protested loudly from the strain, audible even over the whirling of his blades. There was no give. Between the gaps in his claws Brad could still see the pitch-black eye slit staring at him unerringly.
Then the Cape leaned down, bringing the paws with him. No matter how much he pushed or squeezed or strained there was no give. Instead he was pushed back, him. Hookwolf against what must have been some newly triggered bastard. There was no way someone like this could've thrown under the radar until now.
Redoubling his efforts Brad pushed, trying to get some space. It was becoming increasingly clear that as much as it galled him, he couldn't face the attacking Cape head on. At least not until he knew more about him.
It was no use though. Without a single hitch in his movement the Brute clasped his hands inside the hole. Hurriedly Brad pushed more metal out of his core, the energy cost wasn't significant but it was noticeable, a drain on his finite reserves. It flowed out from the criss-crossing blades that made up his power crafted body in a tide of blades, surrounding his assailant's hands. None of them were able to pierce the skin, their growth stopped dead if they tried.
Fingers dug deep into the inside of his body. Metal bent and screamed and tore apart, screaming against it all the while. His torso ruptured, first from where the hole had been blown into it and then across in an ever-growing line across the whole of his stomach. With a start Brad realised the giant bastard was trying to tear him apart.
His bucking increased, trying desperately to push the hands off him. The metal of his body gave first, an uncountable number of blades shattering as he was ripped in two.
Helmeted Bastard lifted the lower half to his face, head tilting slightly as he examined it. His other hand remained on Brad's upper half, pressing it against the ground uncaring in the face of his claws raking across his upper body.
Whatever he was looking for, he soon stopped. Idly, Helmet chucked the legs away, like throwing trash into the bin. All Brad could do was watch as it sailed away, almost reaching the horizon before crashing into the waves with a wet thump.
This wasn't good. Shit, it hadn't been 'good' right from the moment the Cape had attacked the other ring. With no way to reabsorb the metal he'd lost, replacing it would cost a lot more energy. It wouldn't drain his core completely, or even most of it, but it would still take a far more significant chunk than just the hole would have caused him. Not to mention that Helmet was still holding him down. There was no point in regenerating anything if it would just be ripped away again.
"Giving up?" Helmet spoke for the first time, voice surprisingly high pitch. It wasn't that high, but compared to what Brad had expected from the huge cape it sounded more like what he would expect to hear from a teenager. What struck him more though was the lack of emotion in his voice. It was calm, as if he was out for a walk instead of in a Cape fight. The derision he felt just at the suggestion of surrendering must have somehow shone through into his metallic body's expression because Helmet continued before he could say anything, "No, too pig headed for that I suppose."
"Like fuck," Brad quickly pushed aside his surprise at his opponent finally talking, eagerly sinking back into the red-hot rage coursing through his body, "do you get to talk down to me. Finally decided I was worth your time to talk to?"
He sneered the last sentence, derision dripping from every word.
"Worth it? You're not worth anything at all," what was clearly an insult was delivered blandly, just a statement of fact, "You can't even give me an interesting fight. No better than Glory Girl."
Helmet gestured down at Hookwolf's missing lower body and the crater around them with his free hand. If before the rage in his blood had been hot then now it was a blazing fire, though something else from what the asshole said burst through it.
Glory Girl?
Then it hit him. Max had briefed the parahuman lieutenants of the Empire on a new Cape, one that had apparently beaten down Glory Girl pretty badly. Their moles in the PRT and the BBPD had brought it to their attention, as there was no reference at all to the event in the news other than a small notice that a store had been robbed with suspected parahuman involvement.
A new Cape had supposedly handed Glory Girl's ass to her, easily at that. Enough so that she'd called Panacea to the scene before even trying to call the cops or the PRT. The description their spy had managed to get had been vague, mostly covering the size of her assailant. A small side note had described the clearly amateur helmet styled mask that should have given away his identity far earlier.
But Brad hadn't taken it seriously. Glory Girl, Victoria, whatever the fuck she wanted to call herself, put up a strong front. A very strong one at that. But before anything else he was a fighter, and he knew when someone was putting up a front in a fight. They all were to an extent, every single Cape, bravado and excessive confidence were practically job requirements. Glory Girl didn't like extended fights, always preferring to end things hard and fast, that much was common sense. What was odd was how she'd retreat after every hit for a few seconds, she'd back off even after a glancing blow. Some part of her clearly didn't trust her powers, she wasn't a fighter, just another teenage bitch with an overinflated ego.
So all Brad took from the briefing was the feeling of dark satisfaction that someone had finally put her in her place and a hope that the new Cape that had done it was an actual fighter before the meeting had moved onto other matters. The irony wasn't lost on him.
"You smack around Glory Whore one time and you think that makes you something," he spat out.
For all his vitriol Brad couldn't do much but lie-down and wait for back up. He could eject the metal that the Cape, Tyrant (and it felt good to finally have a name to curse out), was wrist deep in but he'd already shown that he was far faster than Brad, even in his wolfen form. If he disconnected it then Tyrant could catch him before he could move away at all.
The others would be on their way by now, his men would've called them as soon as he'd ordered them to leave. It was just a matter of stalling for time no matter how the thought rankled him.
"Better run now boy. Think you can take a blast from Purity? You don't even know what you're getting yourself into."
It was a bluff of course; the cowardly bitch was still halfway out of the gang. Too used to the benefits that it gave to be willing to leave completely but not having the spine to commit either way. Kaiser was convinced that she was just a push away from re-joining, but Brad thought she was gone for good. The woman just didn't have what it took to play an important role in the Empire beyond just flying artillery.
Tyrant's head tilted quizzically before his hand dug even deeper.
"Yes, I do. It's irrelevant though, Purity hasn't been a part of your little gang for a while now," His voice was calm and confident, utterly certain.
Little?!
"You're delusional," Brad shook his head, one of the few movements he could still do.
"She hasn't been seen with anything to do with your Nazi friend group for more than a year, there's no point lying to me."
"Really willing to risk it? Get shot full of holes for what? Looking for justice?"
The grin he sent Tyrant was full of flashing teeth and far more confidence than he felt.
"If I cared about 'justice' you'd already be in a PRT holding cell. This is for someone I used to… know."
For a moment he trailed off, enough that Hookwolf's instincts screamed at him to take advantage of the opportunity to try and get free. Before he could try anything, Tyrant snapped back and finished his statement.
"Revenge then," there had been a number of new triggers and even powerless vigilantes that had tried to get their revenge on the Empire. Brad had gotten more than any other and all of them were buried in pieces. He barked a vicious laugh, "want an apology? Or just looking to take your pound flesh? Hate to break it to you, you piece of shit, but I haven't felt a single fucking thing this entire night. Last chance to run away, you don't want to know what the Empire will do to you."
Tyrant's only response was to push his hand even further. It was far too close to his core, for a second Brad almost thought he could feel the Cape's fingers closing around it. Fuck, there was no other choice, he just had to delay the asshole for as long as he could.
The blades of his lower torso stopped whirling, falling back into inert metal as he cut it off from his core. Apart from his arms, he pulled what was left of his hulking form back inside, lightening himself enough that when he slammed his claws into the ground he ejected himself through the air at speed. Wind rushed over his bare chest, face again covered by the familiar wolf mask.
Brad landed on two feet, humanoid again other than the huge claws he had in place of his arms. For a second he skidded across the concrete, already facing towards where he'd come from by the time he stopped.
Tyrant was right in front of him, far taller than him now that he was back on his own two legs.
Cursing, Brad lashed out again, paw morphing into a trio of blades that sung as they swung through the air. Again they had no impact, stopping dead on the giant asshole's skin. It was like all the momentum behind every single one of his hits just disappeared the moment he made contact. He'd smacked the little ward brat around, Aegis, touted for his 'invulnerability' and felt more impact than this. There was none of the satisfying crunch that he so loved, the only adrenalin pumping through his body from the fear rather than the thrill and he hated it.
"You're running away," it was a statement, not a question, delivered in the same bland tone. The cocky bastard almost sounded bored, "after all that talk of 'the Empire this' and 'the Empire that'."
"Fuck you," Brad spat, back-pedalling away while bringing the trident of claws down and across in a disembowelling movement, "cocky piece of shit."
"Cocky?"
Tyrant cocked his head again, Brad could imagine the cold eyes behind the helmet boring into his body. It was a strange feeling, and one that he decidedly didn't enjoy. He wasn't meant to be the one on the back foot, wasn't meant to feel afraid.
"Cocky would imply that I have anything to worry about."
With a step that resounded in Brad's ears like thunder Tyrant stepped forward. Brad stepped back without thinking.
"That you are in any way a threat. What can you do to me? I could stand here all night and all day for the rest of your pathetic life and you wouldn't be able to touch me."
A note of something crept into Tyrant's voice, breaking the near monotone. He couldn't tell whether it was disgust, anger or anything in between. His focus was more on keeping away from the advancing Cape. Whatever it was, the feeling of it draped itself around his shoulders like a weight.
His mind flashed back to that night, a lifetime ago. He'd been a different person then, before he'd ever been Hookwolf. Pinned against the ground, bastards had ambushed him outside the ring, stabbed him again and again and again. Then a single moment and everything changed. He was strong.
"Shut up!" Brad roared, rallying against it.
His other hand came up, clawing and scraping. Every attack came in a different form, one a great scythe akin to a praying mantis that snapped around his neck, another a spear stabbed to the throat. None of them did anything.
After each one failed to damage him at all, deliberately waiting for each one to hit, Tyrant ripped them away. The metal crunched around his fingers, mocking him for even trying to hurt him. With every attack Brad felt his energy burning away to reproduce what he'd lost, just to have it torn from him over and over again.
Was this what fighting Alexandria was like? An unstoppable force that just kept coming?
No, he refused to believe it. There was no way some upstart brat from this little shithole of a city could be anything like her. He had a weakness, he must do.
"When we get our-"
"No," Tyrant cut off his roar, the single word delivered with near physical force, "not 'when', right now. What is the worth of all your boasts and bravado? Your 'strength', the people you've killed, the Empire, your pride? Tell me."
Something inside Brad compelled him to talk, to answer the demand but all that came out was an inarticulate scream of rage and pain as Tyrant finally ignored his latest attack and stabbed his hand straight through the side of Brad's chest.
"Nothing."
His voice returned to the dull, slow rhythm.
"You're just a rabid dog with more bark than bite," it rang with a note of finality, "better to put you down than watch you tear down more people with you."
Behind him, Brad could see the remnants of twisted metal flung all over the street like a trail, the giant Cape the final conclusion.
"And who's going to do it?" He asked, gasping for air between breaths, "You? Don't make me laugh."
He was just a kid. It didn't matter how strong he was, in the end Tyrant was just like all the other brats dressing up and running around the Empire's city. There was little that annoyed him as much as those little shits, acting like it's a party or a joke. They had no spine to speak of whatsoever, no guts to do what it takes. For them, everything was an opportunity for press, always posing for the camera.
They'd get what was coming to them.
But even his hate for them faded in the face of the rage he felt towards Tyrant in that moment. A child, another fucking teenager didn't have the right to judge him.
"Someone has to," the hulking man shrugged, the action jostled the arm impaled through his body making him grit his teeth.
Tyrant clearly noticed; his head tilted again before slowly removing the hand. Brad couldn't do anything but grit his teeth and watch as more and more of the Cape's hand was revealed. Pale skin was completely covered in Brad's blood all the way from the elbow down to the fingertips. The red liquid dripped against the ground, so loud it sounded like a waterfall right next to his ears.
"You're not fooling me with that shit," Brad shot back, spitting blood flecked with metal onto Tyrant's helmet. He staggered, swaying on his feet. His knees shook without the arm stabbed through his chest supporting him, "trying to act like you're doing this crap out of the goodness of your heart. Fuck you. Fuck your shitty excuses. You think I don't know what someone wanting revenge-"
He was cut off by wet coughs, blood bubbling up between his lips. Shit, he'd been fucked up really good. It brought back flashes of the old days, down in the ring. Or was that just his life flashing before his eyes?
"It's interesting that you think that I care."
Brad snorted out a laugh that transformed into another hacking cough. He tried to drudge up the energy to pull out more metal, to shift any of his body into something useful. All he managed to do was bring his arms up into a piss poor approximation of a boxing stance. His arms kept sinking down like they were made of lead, unable to muster anything to keep them up.
"Guess you wouldn't," he could feel the desperate pull on his core to pull out more metal but there was nothing left to give. Brad wasn't sure whether it was the blood-loss getting to him or what, but Tyrant's looked even bigger than before. Ignoring the excruciating pain as best he could, Brad forced his arms up and open, "Come on then you big bastard! Do it!"
If nothing else he would meet his end as he always knew he would, as he always wanted, facing down a deadly enemy without fear.
"You don't get to die on your feet," Tyrant's voice boomed out like a command from a king, "kneel."
No. Whatever it was the Brute wanted from him, whatever twisted pleasure he would take from it, Brad wouldn't give it to him. Whatever it was that kept him standing with a hole through his chest, be it pride, hate or anger, wouldn't let him. It would betray everything he believed in.
Before he could spit as much back, Tyrant flickered again. A split second later, like gravity had momentarily forgotten itself, Brad collapsed onto the street. Looking down at himself almost gave him a feeling of vertigo, like looking down a mountain at something so far away. Distantly, he saw both of his knees bent back the wrong way so far that they looked an inch from breaking apart into two pieces. The pain hit a second later, snapping him back to reality and Brad was unable to completely hold back a scream.
Hands clasped themselves around his head, the palms were so big they almost covered the entirety of it. He felt his own blood pressing wetly into his head like a brand marking his failure. Only his face was left mostly uncovered. With a rough yank he was tilted back, kneeling on the ruined remains of his knees but only kept upright by the grasp Tyrant had on his head.
"Goodbye Hookwolf," Tyrant's voice rang with a grim satisfaction.
The wailing of the car alarm, the dogs barking, even the thundering of his heartbeat in his ears steadily dropped away. All that was left was the cold darkness of the shadows in the rusted helmet's eye slit.
Ah-
A/N: So this took a while. Yeah...
I really struggled to get through this one but towards the end I found my groove a little bit more and decided to stop fretting over every detail and just try and enjoy writing again. Not super happy with it, and again a lot of the stuff I don't like is to do with the dialogue but it is what it is. Hopefully some of you will enjoy it anyways.
I think next I want to try and sit down and at least get the first chapter of the 'Emotionally (Un)Stable Teenage Superweapons' rewrite done and out but we'll see! Thanks a bunch for reading.