When Velocity arrived on the scene, all he saw was pandemonium.
Cars were crushed and flattened, buildings that once lined the streets now lay collapsed like a pile of building blocks, and the roads themselves had a dozen or so craters in them as if Brockton Bay was hit with a meteor shower.
Knowing Brockton Bay, even that theory sounded possible.
He tried to ignore the foul-smelling red paste that painted the pavement with a sickly crimson.
A crushed metal cage, the size of a head, caught his eye lying on top of one of the destroyed cars. What may have been a body rested on top of it, with bones broken and shattered, protruding at awkward angles. The car's jagged metal pierced through mangled limbs.
Velocity, despite all his years as an active cape, and his brief stint in the military, felt like he was going to be sick.
"Console." He reported. "I think I found Cricket."
"Copy that. PRT troopers are en route. ETA 7 minutes."
"We'll also need a few body bags. Cricket's dead." Velocity couldn't help but glance at the other similarly pulverized corpses that decorated the street. "And multiple civilians."
There was a brief pause before Velocity received a reply from the PRT agent handling the console.
"Velocity, keep your eyes open for any hostile parahumans. We have too little information on the situation at hand. Armsmaster, Dauntless, and Miss Militia have been directed to your location. ETA should be 10 minutes."
It was at that moment that the building next to him exploded.
Time ground to a halt as he watched bits and pieces of concrete whiz past his face. He backtracked and swiveled his head to one of the few buildings left standing and observed in slow motion how Stormtiger, his shirtless form battered and bruised, leaped away from a large yellow sphere, framed with black outlines. The building began the process of collapsing, and a storm of dust started to form as debris and concrete came plummeting to the ground.
Velocity moved away from the fighting, took a breath, and as sudden as it started, his perception of time began to move normally. In the space of a second, the building came crashing into the ground, kicking up a cloud of dust. Stormtiger fell into a roll and swiped his hands through the air, launching claws of wind into the dust cloud.
What Velocity could only describe as an overly large roly poly pierced through the dust and crashed into the ground next to them, the asphalt giving away into a splinter of cracks to the mystery cape's force and weight.
The mystery cape uncurled to reveal a hulking, broad-shouldered form. He had a pair of wide, lengthy arms and a pair of almost stubby-looking legs when compared to the rest of his body. He had a white underside and yellow armor plating on his back, shoulders, arms, and waist. He didn't have a head, and his face was instead located on his chest. His crimson eyes glared down balefully on Stormtiger, his wide lips set into a thin line. On his chest was a strange hourglass symbol that glowed the same crimson shade as his eyes.
"Heh, looks like this kitty's got claws!" The cape boomed a deep baritone. "A shame I can't say the same with your friend." He waved a hand towards where laid Cricket's crumpled helm.
"You bitch!" Stormtiger roared. "Do not think for a second that the Empire will forget this!"
The cape laughed at his words, his voice mocking. "Oh, Empire this, Empire that." He spat. "If anything, I'm counting on it. It would make my job easier if you all came to me. It saves me the trouble of having to round you all up after all." The cape grinned at that, his smile full of jagged teeth.
Stormtiger shook in fury, winds circling around him like a tempest squall.
"No… I see what you're trying to do." Stormtiger growled like an actual tiger. The winds receded, calming as the villain collected himself. "Your petty boasts don't mean shit to me."
"Well—" the cape started, only to be interrupted by a charging Stormtiger and menacing gales. Claws of wind that could cut through steel like butter were brought to bear.
In a blink of an eye, the mystery cape curled himself into a ball, covering himself in his yellow armor as he started rolling in place. Supernatural armor dug into the asphalt as the cape continued to build momentum, uncaring of Stormtiger's strikes.
The world once again slowed to a crawl.
Velocity dashed forwards. At the same time, the mystery cape shot himself forward, launching himself like a cannonball. Stormtiger tried to dodge, but in this world of slowed perception, Velocity could see the mystery cape's trajectory. Stormtiger was too close and had little time or warning to move out of the way.
The faster Velocity was, the less he could affect reality. His punches felt like love taps, and he was more similar to a sentient human-shaped breeze than a true speedster.
But he still could affect reality at his current speed, and as a hero, he wasn't going to let someone in front of him die, even if he was a villain. For all his crimes, Stormtiger deserved justice in the court of law.
He couldn't exactly push the villain away, not at his current speed, he didn't have enough force. No, instead Velocity reeled his arms back and delivered blow after blow on Stormtiger's side, generating enough force to knock him out of the way just as the mystery cape barrelled past them.
Time accelerated back to its standard pace as the giant cannonball-shaped cape crashed into the building across the street, and once again another building came tumbling down into a useless pile of bricks and masonry.
Stormtiger sat prone on the floor, gazing up at Velocity with begrudging respect.
"You saved me," Stormtiger said, almost unbelievingly.
"Yes, Velocity." Came that deep, rumbling voice again. The dust cleared to reveal the mystery cape, unharmed and unscathed. "You saved him. Why?"
"Villain or not." Velocity's tone was stern and layered in steel. "You can't just kill people like this."
The cape gave him a flat, unamused look. He tilted his body, sneaking a glance at the trail of flattened corpses he left in his wake. He turned his body back towards Velocity.
"No, I think I can." He said with a smile.
"Don't you understand what you've just done?" Velocity snapped. "You've killed people, and you can't go back from that. Even if you wanted to do good, you crossed a line, and the PRT is going to take you in."
Velocity didn't expect the mystery cape to double down in laughter, bending down to clutch his stomach.
"Hahahaha! Oh, you're good!" He said. "These guys here? They were E88 grunts, a dime in a dozen. Literal. Nazis. I don't really care about them." He said with a shrug, showing no remorse for the lives he took.
"And really, the PRT will take me in?" He continued in disbelief while he looked at Velocity as if he was a dumb-looking rock. "The PRT couldn't take in Lung. The PRT couldn't take in any of the Empire's capes. Heck, the PRT couldn't even take in those drug-addled merchants or a pair of idiotic gamers. Last I heard, a couple of teenagers were running circles around Armsmaster. How do you expect to take me in?"
Velocity stepped forward, his face resolute and righteous fury bursting from his chest. "You don't have the sheer power and destructiveness of Lung, and you don't have the vast cape roster of the Empire 88. The only reason we left the other villains alone was that they knew to keep their heads low. To stick to the status quo." He gestured wildly to the splattered remains of what used to be people. "This? These are the kind of actions that could get you sent to the birdcage."
The cape scoffed derisively at his words. "Oh please, Lung and Hookwolf have higher body counts than me, and they've been running around the city just fine." The cape paused, raising a clawed finger to tap at where his chin would have been. "Though if it's power you want, then don't worry. I've got power in the tens!"
He slapped the symbol on his chest, and there was a flash of red light. Velocity flinched away—it felt like getting hit with a flashbang.
He almost missed Stormtiger's warning.
"Changer!"
Velocity blinked back the spots from his eyes, and he nearly gawked at the sight. Gone was the large and bulky armored blob, in its place was a muscular bipedal tiger, with a pair of dangerous-looking claws protruding from his wrists.
The red hourglass-shaped device rested on his chest.
"Rath!" The cape shouted what was presumably this form's name.
"Let me tell you something, Velocity of the PRT ENE. Rath is going to hit you so fast, you and your space whale in another dimension won't even see it coming!" Rath roared, his voice somehow sounding primal, like a dangerous predator of the wilds, mixed with a strange caricature of a professional wrestler.
Velocity blinked, nonplussed. "That didn't even make any sense."
"Enough of this nonsense!" Bellowed Stormtiger, who was already rapidly condensing the air into his infamous claws.
Rath clenched his fists, matte black claws glinting in the sunlight. He let loose an animalistic growl, directing his attention to Stormtiger. "Let me tell you something, Stormtiger of the Empire 88!"
Velocity and Stormtiger, by some unspoken agreement, both moved at once. The world slowed once more as Velocity dashed towards Rath, planning to disturb and distract him while Stormtiger—
—And then Velocity was on the back foot, narrowly dodging Rath's hammer blow, his long dangerous claw drawing a thin line of crimson fluid across his cheek. Velocity stared, wide-eyed in his world of slowed perception, where he should have been faster than anyone else. How Rath's angry, glaring eyes tracked his each and every movement.
The wheels in Velocity's mind immediately spun into motion. The cape was a changer, a possible tinker if his assumptions about the strange device on his chest rang true. His current form netted a brute rating, at the very least. Enhanced reflexes and eyesight that could keep up with his super speed? A definite thinker rating. Velocity knew when he was outmatched. His powers wouldn't be able to be of much use other than to hamper the brute.
Velocity backed away, letting go of the hold of his power just as Stormtiger reached Rath, leaving the two tiger-themed capes to contend against one another.
"Console." Velocity reported, just as Rath caught Stormtiger's blow, containing his furious winds. "The new villain's a changer. He has two confirmed transformations, both are brutes, at least."
Stormtiger unleashed an explosion of condensed air, gusts of wind, and an audible thoom! escaped Rath's enclosed fist, the brute not even flinching when assaulted by the mighty gales.
"Did you just interrupt Rath? No one interrupts Rath, except for Rath!"
Velocity blurred into motion once more, not even deigning to wait for a reply from console. He moved in a wide arc, away from Rath's reach. The brute was faster and stronger than most brutes, but Velocity was the premiere mover of the city. He was caught off guard that first time, and he won't make the same mistake again.
Velocity appeared right behind Rath, his arms a blur as he landed a hundred punches in the space of a second. They couldn't actually hurt him, but his attack worked as intended when Rath let go of Stormtiger and turned around, swiping a strong arm through empty air.
"Grah! Stand still so Rath can hit you!"
Stormtiger, forgotten and free of his restraint, landed a second set of condensed claws on Rath's back, and an explosion of air sent the brute careening and crashing into the streets.
Stormtiger sent Velocity a silent nod of acknowledgment. The two were enemies on opposite sides who have clashed on numerous occasions. It was only natural that the two could work together, while not perfect, they wouldn't get in each other's way.
Rath got up once more, shaking the spots out of his eyes. He turned around in a low crouch, muscles bulging beneath his fur, ready and bursting into action.
"Cosmic Clothesline!"
Rath barreled forward, arms outstretched to catch them both. Velocity dashed to the side, Rath's arm missing him by a wide margin with the distance Velocity put between them.
Stormtiger was not so lucky, as he was—for lack of a better word, clotheslined, Rath hitting him in the face, knocking him flat on his back. Rath squatted over the downed form of the Empire cape, a finger pointing at his metal mask.
"What was I saying? Oh, right—let me tell you something, Stormtiger of the Empire 88!" Rath started once again. "Rath doesn't need to make sense, because Rath knocks the sense out of you!"
Stormtiger replied with a set of claws of cutting wind. Rath's face was assaulted by knicks and pricks but otherwise remained fine. The attack, however, bought Stormtiger enough time to clamber up and away from Rath. He would have succeeded too if Rath had not caught Stormtiger by the leg in an iron grip.
"Going up!" Rath shouted, hefting Stormtiger up and over into the air, before slamming him back down to the ground. The pavement cracked on impact, and a pained groan left Stormtiger's lips. Whatever winds that Stormtiger had wrapped around himself displaced, leaving him more vulnerable than ever.
"And stay down!" Rath growled at the downed cape.
A raspy cough escaped Stormtiger's lips, blood splattering against his dented mask. "Fuck…" Stormtiger said, sweat dripping down his forehead from the effort. "You." Finished, his head lolled back down bonelessly.
Of course, it was at this moment where a terrible screech pierced through the streets as rubber burned against asphalt when two PRT-issued vans skidded to a halt, blocking Rath from advancing further, containing him in the already-wrecked neighborhood. Dozens of PRT troopers in armor akin to SWAT teams poured out like bees defending their hive.
On the vans were turrets, nozzles that shot out their notorious containment foam were pointed directly towards Rath, ready to be fired at a moment's notice.
The PRT had arrived.
"Unknown parahuman!" Shouted the PRT captain, who looked indistinguishable from his team. "Surrender peacefully, or we will have to use force!"
Rath snorted, his face twisting into a disdainful scowl.
"Let me tell you something, faceless PRT goons!" Rath growled a low, rumbling sound like that of a predator, waiting to pounce. "Rath has a better idea!" Rath raised a hand, finger poised as he continued glaring at the PRT troopers. "I'm going to go over there, and I'm going to force-feed you your containment foam like it was hot soup!"
The PRT troopers had seen many things during their career. Brockton Bay was a particular city, one which boasted one of the largest parahuman populations in the whole United States. Not to mention the cape who turned into a dragon or the cape who fancied himself an emperor. This was not even getting into the city's past, during the days of the Teeth and the Marquis.
So when Rath charged at them with all the reckless abandon of a raging bull, they were quick to act.
"Fire!"
The rank and file leveled their guns, rifles they may be, but they were only rubber rounds. Their guns fired, pellets bouncing off uselessly against the cape's thick hide.
The turrets fired, and they discharged sprays of white, quick hardening viscous fluid that flowed like water out of a fireman's hose. Rath, with deceptive feline-like grace that looked unnatural with his muscular stature, bent down on all fours and dashed forward, dodging and swerving from side to side, narrowly avoiding the thick globs of containment foam that were sent his way.
The captain's thoughts raced as he watched none of their shots land true. The ammo they had were strictly non-lethal rounds. Judging by the surrounding destruction, the captain suspected that Rath would more than likely shrug off the heavy-duty ammunition. Containment foam, however, was an effective tool, especially for brutes like Rath, but that was only when they actually hit the target. He had only a few seconds before the cape reached them and tore through their lines.
He would not let that happen.
He reached into one of his vest's pockets and pulled out a black cylinder with a pin on top.
"Grenade!" He shouted, and lobbed it over.
His warning did not go unnoticed, the cape already pounced away to the side, narrowly avoiding the explosion of white goo from the con-foam grenade. Which just so happened to be right in the PRT troopers' line of fire.
Rath growled and grunted in exertion as he got sprayed down, the sticky fluid clung to him as digits clawed away in a futile attempt to escape the ever-expanding prison. He strained his arm, growling as he reached for something on his chest.
"Let me tell you something, stupid quick-hardening chemicals! Rath will destroy—"
The captain watched in bated breath as Rath's form disappeared beneath gallons of containment foam.
There was a beat.
Then the captain let out a breath he did not know he was holding.
"Ok, that's enough boys, let's wrap it up!"
And then there was a bright flash of red light, and a far too large mouth ate straight through the containment foam as if it was cotton candy.
Like a chrysalis bursting open, the containment foam gave way to reveal the sight of what looked to be a giant beetle, one the size of a truck. It had two horns vertically placed on top of its head, one of which was far longer and larger, shaped in a Y. The cape was covered in a dark chitinous carapace, with spikes jutting out of its natural armor on its arms and legs. Its lower jaw was overly large, so much so that it covered its upper lip. The underside of its carapace was a blood-red color, with a strange hourglass symbol sticking out on the middle of its chest.
"Eatle!" The cape, Eatle, shouted. "Eat this!"
And then Eatle fired a ray of crimson light from the tip of its Y-shaped horn, where it struck one of the PRT-issued vans which exploded into flames as the laser tore through the armored vehicle like wet tissue paper.
The captain and his squad ducked down from the utter carnage and dancing flames. They were facing a changer, a powerful one at that. They need to hinder the rampaging cape and stall him until more support arrives.
"Fall back!" The captain shouted. Death was an unfortunate constant in his line of work, but damn him if he won't try his best to minimize the casualties.
The other turret fired once again, containment foam spewing out right as Eatle fired a second beam, one which cut through the torrent of containment foam, splitting it apart right down the middle where it reached the turret, blasting it into scraps and flames upon impact.
"Get down!" Someone shouted, and the captain heeded the warning just in time.
Eatle, on all fours, charged towards the remaining PRT van with his horn pointed forward with all the force of a stampeding rhino.
Eatle's horn shredded the vehicle's armor. The van exploded into bits of useless scrap, the PRT troopers tried to duck out of the way as dozens of blazing metal rained on them.
A red blur appeared, streaking across the war-torn street. Velocity knocked all the flaming metal away, they were small enough that he could divert them—saving the PRT troopers from burns or worse.
Eatle shifted on the balls of his alien feet, taking in the reappearance of the PRT cape in stride.
"Velocity? I thought you ran away." Eatle kept his voice even. Casual, as if they weren't in the middle of a scene that wouldn't be out of place in a warzone. "That's all you're good for after all."
Velocity bristled at the insinuation, but a gruff voice interrupted the red speedster.
"Unknown parahuman. You are outnumbered. This is your only chance to surrender. Should you do so, then there may be a chance for you to plead for a lighter sentence." Armsmaster commanded, decked in his gleaming blue power armor, halberd at the ready.
Eatle spared a glance at his sides. Miss Militia had herself propped up on the roof of a nearby three-story building, her sniper rifle shrouded with a mysterious green glow, its sights leveled on the beetle-like cape. Her American flag-patterned scarf hid whatever expression she was wearing, save for her narrowed eyes. Dauntless was much closer, being much better suited to close combat. He flanked Armsmaster, ready to support him if necessary. He was dressed in ancient Corinthian armor empowered by strange energies. Electricity crackled and danced on his spear and shield.
The Protectorate had arrived.
Eatle stared at Armsmaster. In lieu of a reply, he scooped up a pile of scrap in his claws, and the heroes immediately tensed. And when they watched Eatle shove the pile of scrap in his mouth and started chewing, the heroes could only watch in stunned silence.
There was a terse stillness, a lull in the action broken only by the sound of grinding steel.
"You must think yourself invincible." Armsmaster growled, clenching his halberd even tighter. He advanced with assured steps, intent on arresting Brockton Bay's newest villain. "That just because you have a little bit of power, you must be above reproach."
Armsmaster was but a few feet away from Eatle, the smoldering flames casting a dark and menacing glow on the armored hero. He flourished his halberd, the light gleamed at its tip.
"Allow me to disabuse you of that notion."
That was when Eatle struck. A beam of crimson red shot out from his horn, it headed for a straight path toward Armsmaster. With reflexes faster than the normal man, Armsmaster deflected the blast with the flat of his halberd's blade. The stray laser veered off to the side where it detonated in a miniature explosion.
"Take him down!"
Armsmaster reached Eatle first, the complicated machinery in his power armor enhanced his movements to an inhuman speed. He brought his halberd down on Eatle with all the strength he could muster. It was not the most flashy of moves, but it was efficient.
Eatle had been readying another one of his lasers, a ball of crimson generating from the tip of his horn when he received Armsmaster's precise strike. Eatle's aim was instead diverted to the side, where another lance of light struck uselessly against a building. Glass shattered, and stonework fell to pieces where the laser impacted.
Dauntless was next, his spear resembled a lightning bolt, now far longer than it should be. He struck at Eatle's side, the tip of his spear digging a gash on his protective chitin. Dauntless, seemingly frustrated with the small bit of progress, drew his spear back and slammed it down on Eatle's horn. Paired with Armsmaster's halberd, Eatle was effectively pinned down.
Velocity appeared, carrying a few containment foam grenades. He wasn't as fast as he could be, seeing as he had to carry something, but he had his own part to play.
"Alright, I'm here!" Velocity announced his presence.
"Quick, unpin the grenades," Armsmaster ordered, observing as another stray bolt shot to the side. "The longer this goes on, the more damage he could cause."
Eatle squirmed and struggled beneath his improvised restraints. He tried pushing himself off the ground, but Armsmaster and Dauntless strained themselves to keep their hold, muscles bulging in the effort.
"Clearly, this is not going to work." Eatle grumbled, slumping down and interrupting the two.
Armsmaster scoffed in derision, his lips set to a visible scowl. "Clearly." Armsmaster agreed. "You should have surrendered when you had the chance."
His words were met with silence. Armsmaster's lips curled into a victorious grin.
"What? Nothing else to say? No more quips? No witty banter?"
Eatle chuckled. Suddenly, Armsmaster felt that something was very, very wrong.
"Velocity!" Armsmaster barked.
"I got it!" Velocity threw the grenades at Eatle's prone form. Armsmaster and Dauntless would get hit the the containment foam too, but they had a solvent that would dissolve it saved for occasions such as this.
"Actually, I think I still have something left in me!" Eatle proclaimed, his hand hitting the symbol on his chest. Armsmaster's visor protected him from the sudden flash of light. But what he was not prepared for was for the weight of Eatle's horn to suddenly disappear.
How many forms did he have?
"Ball Weevil, really?" The cape—Ball Weevil, whined. No, chittered, his pitch notably higher. Inwardly, Armsmaster had to agree with the villain's incredulity, because he now stood a much less imposing sight than before.
Ball Weevil was small, like a puppy. He was similar to an insect, much like his previous form, though this one was much different. His color was a bright yellow, almost offensively so. He had four, stick-like legs and his body was shaped in a way that bore a passing resemblance to a very short banana. He had a beak-like jaw, and a pair of large, beady eyes, with black sclera and red pupils. A short, stubby stalk sprouted on his head, where rested a pair of jagged, U-shaped antennae. The hourglass symbol can be found in the middle of the black and red brace that he wore around his neck.
Ball Weevil turned to the grenades thrown in midair. His jaws split open in the middle, its edges sharp and jagged. He spat twice—shooting twin projectiles of crimson spit that consumed the grenades. The grenades burst open inside, the balls of spit massively expanding, easily growing from the size of a basketball to the size of a car, the containment foam giving it its mass.
And then the two balls exploded into a shower of superheated plasma. The force knocked Velocity off and to the side and out of sight, his red costume blending in with the explosion. Dauntless had retreated, the sheer magnitude of its detonation having been too much for his armor to bear.
When the dust settled, Ball Weevil was greeted with the sight of Armsmaster's halberd. His pupils crossed, staring at the very sharp tip of his blade.
Ball Weevil chuckled nervously, a thin leg pushing the blade away from his face.
"Can't we talk about this?"
Armsmaster responded by thrusting his halberd right into Ball Weevil's face.
Reacting entirely on instinct, Ball Weevil leaped meters into the air. The halberd's blade was driven down into the street. It would have skewered the insect-like cape had he not dodged.
While he was still in the air, Ball Weevil aimed down and spat another globule of spit. It burst open upon hitting the halberd, the sticky saliva coating the blade and the ground, binding the two in a gross adhesive.
"Wow, talk about being caught in a sticky situation!" Ball Weevil taunted, landing on his adhered halberd.
Armsmaster remained silent, his face set in stone, a smoldering flame of rage bubbling up just underneath the surface. He set such emotions aside, and instead focused on extracting his halberd, hands gripped tightly as he pulled his weapon like the sword in the stone.
"Aww, what's wrong, Armsy? Got nothing to say?" Ball Weevil pushed, his tone chipper. "Not going to threaten me with the birdcage? No more of that condescending arrogance?"
Armsmaster liked to think of himself as a professional. He had to be, to get to the position he was in now. A lauded tinker known across the country. The leader of the Brockton Bay Protectorate. But right here, right now? His prized halberd, coated in red gunk and stuck to the ground. He and his team, unable to capture a single inexperienced parahuman. The incessant quips. It was degrading. Humiliating.
Armsmaster snapped. He opened his mouth—
—only to find it slapped shut by a chunk of Ball Weevil's spit.
"I suppose not." Ball Weevil chittered, his eyes curved in mirth. He spat out another clump of spit which glued his hands to the shaft of his beloved halberd.
"Well, if you've got nothing to say—" Ball Weevil said, producing a ball of spit beneath his feet. He jumped on it, his skittering legs had no trouble balancing on top of the ball. He drove it forward, and Armsmaster might have been amused as it looked like a scene ripped straight out of a circus. However, Armsmaster couldn't appreciate the novel sight, seeing as he was vibrating with pure unadulterated rage.
"—I'm going to roll out."
Ball Weevil only managed a few feet before the ball abruptly exploded, throwing the tiny cape forward and into the ground, his face grinding against the pavement. Weary, Ball Weevil extracted his face from the sidewalk and came face-to-foot with a pair of bronze-gold boots. He looked up and saw Dauntless, who slammed the butt of his spear down on the space next to Ball Weevil's head.
Ball Weevil, disoriented as he was, was only able to catch the tail end of Dauntless' conversation.
"—nice shot, Militia." Dauntless said before a gauntleted hand reached down and wrapped around the small insect-like cape.
"The new cape—Ball Weevil has been… captured." Dauntless reported, somewhat awkwardly. He looked like he was holding up a particularly mangy cat by the scruff of his neck. Only the cat was this strange insect creature.
Armsmaster attempted to articulate his immeasurable rage at the sight of Dauntless taking credit for the capture.
Dauntless was as dense as ever.
"Don't worry Armsmaster. I won't let him escape." Dauntless reassured his superior.
Armsmaster screamed. It was a sad and pitiful thing, muffled as it was. It sounded like a goat giving birth mixed with the dying career of a middle-aged man.
"Whazzat?" Ball Weevil slurred, regaining his senses. The fist around him tightened, lightning surged briefly through the bronze-gold gauntlet.
"Don't try anything. You're in enough trouble as it is." Dauntless warned.
"Your advice has been noted and ignored—yeowch!" Ball Weevil yelped as Dauntless shocked him.
"No. None of that. No back talk from you."
Ball Weevil slumped, his chitin smoking, slightly fried. "Well how about…" he whispered, a stick-thin leg tapping the hourglass symbol on his chest.
Dauntless reflexively let go, bringing a hand up to shield himself from the violent flash of bright light. He blinked the dancing spots out of his eyes before training and instinct took over and he swung his spear, lightning flashing and crackling at his command.
"Feedback!" Feedback shouted, a slight distortion to his voice as he caught the spear by its shaft.
Feedback was lean and slender, with black rubbery skin, and a red stripe that split his torso down in the middle, diverging into two lines that wrapped around his shoulders. The hourglass symbol rested on the middle of his chest. His arms were long and lanky, reaching his ankles. He had gold bolts adorning his shoulders, forearms, and waist. The tips of his fingers ended in gold cylinders. A pair of tendril-like antennae lay on top of his head, their tips ending into a golden facsimile of an electric plug. A long similarly tipped tail swayed idly by. His cyclops eye curled, expressing amusement. A savage grin played on his lips, full of sharp teeth.
Dauntless frowned, his brows furrowing in thought. The energies in his spear, the Arclance should have electrocuted the cape—Feedback, or whatever he called himself. The built up voltage should have been strong enough to down an elephant.
And then Dauntless watched to his horror how the white-hot electricity of his Arclance flowed fiercely in violent and crackling energies into Feedback's golden barreled fingertips, where his own lightning danced an angry red on the palm of his hand.
"Let's see how you like it!" Feedback cackled, discharging the absorbed energy in shimmering crimson arcs.
Dauntless screamed in agony, his bronze-gold armor blackened and scorched with blistering heat. His body spasmed as electrical streaks ran through the conductive metal, the outline of his skeleton showed in one-second intervals.
Golden-tipped fingers wrapped around Dauntless' neck, lifting him up an inch from the ground. Electricity ran through his body and into Feedback's fingers, absorbing the remaining energy stored within Dauntless' armor.
Once he absorbed enough, Feedback dropped Dauntless on the ground, his armor-clad form collapsing like a puppet with its strings cut.
Feedback shook his head, scoffing disdainfully at the crumpled cape. "And they call this chump Triumvirate tier? Ha! What a joke."
And then there was a distant gunshot, a sound that tugged at the edge of his hearing, and Feedback only had a second to jump to the side, smoothly ignoring the bullet that would have pierced through his leg as it dug itself into the asphalt.
"Now that's not very nice." Feedback admonished. He wasn't sure if Miss Militia heard him or not, but he supposed it didn't matter when he lazily raised an open palm, lightning flashing in his golden fingertips. There was a crackle—and then there was a searing, white-hot beam of coalesced electricity. The nearby windows exploded into sparkling dust as it traveled to hit its mark. The ray of surging lightning blasted the building's roof into smithereens, its surviving remains forever charred black. Smoke rose above as bits and pieces of cement and plaster rained down from the sky.
There was a dull creaking sound of servos whirring into action. Feedback turned around to look at Armsmaster, who tore the sticky red goo apart with his bare, cyber-enhanced hands. Now unbound, he fiddled with the hidden buttons on his halberd, which buzzed to life with electric blue currents and ignited the glob entrapping his prized weapon. A combustion of smoke engulfed the hero before a grappling hook shot itself out of the black haze.
Feedback leaned back, the grappling hook missing his body and embedding itself into a nearby wall.
"You just don't know when to stay down, do you?"
Armsmaster flew out, his halberd rappelling him in a burst of motion with his fist cocked and ready. Before he could react, Armsmaster slammed his fist into Feedback's face, knocking down the villain in one, smooth motion.
Armored boots skidded against the ground, kicking up dust and gravel. His grappling hook dislodged itself from the wall, where it zipped back into the halberd.
Armsmaster pointed his blade's tip at the downed villain, where metal shifted and a compartment opened up. A small, cylindrical object flew out of it, a tranquilizer dart that he had been working on. It was something he made to take out bigger, badder targets, but the villain before him would have to do.
A bronze-tipped tail swatted it out of the air, Feedback getting back up with crimson arcs sparking around him, his baleful eye glaring at the hero's armored form.
Armsmaster harrumphed, so assured of victory. "Do not think yourself the first electrokinetic cape that I have seen." He declared. "My armor has been designed to withstand high amounts of voltage."
"Is that so?" Feedback said, his tone inquisitive. "Well then, I'll just have to amp up the ante!"
A web of crimson-hot lightning discharged from Feedback's hands. The lightning was uncontrolled and chaotic, it raged through the streets, scorching lines in the asphalt. Armsmaster gritted his teeth as he was assaulted by crimson arcs, yet he soldiered on. He dug the tip of his Halberd into the ground, the lightning conducting towards the weapon and traveling to the ground.
Smoke waved off of Armsmaster's scorched armor. He took a breath in this reprieve, only to find a beam of pure white-hot energy slam into him. He was sent flying into a nearby building where glass shattered and concrete broke into an Armsmaster shaped-hole.
Feedback strolled, lazily through the wrecked street to the direction where Armsmaster fell. His fingers brushed against a nearby car, where electric blue arcs traveled from its engine and into his hand.
Feedback airily raised a finger, where the bronze tip glowed bright red. Another beam of lightning shot out and cut through the building's walls. Smoke wafted gently out of his fingertip, where Feedback raised it to his lips where he blew it out like candlelight.
There were a few seconds when the building shook and wobbled, but it remained uncollapsed. By the time Feedback reached the gaping hole at the building's side, a Halberd tore through the open air. Feedback tilted his head, the blade nearly brushing against his rubbery skin.
Feedback raised a hand, no longer amused. Armsmaster drew his Halberd back, only to pause when streaks of electric blue lightning left his armor, and Armsmaster could feel his strength leaving him. With a defiant roar, Armsmaster raised his halberd for one final blitz even when he could feel his joints creaking and straining when he felt slower.
His armor's energy pooled into a crimson orb in Feedback's palm. The villain gave it a lazy flick, and the ball was launched straight into Armsmaster's stomach where it exploded into a torrent of white-hot electricity.
The building shook and groaned and crumbled like a house of cards. Armsmaster's world closed in on itself, his vision blurring before everything went black.
Armsmaster came to consciousness when a rubbery hand wrapped itself around his face, where he was lifted up and out of the rubble, only to be violently thrown face down towards the ground, his unpowered armor dully ringing at the impact.
He was flipped over, and he was met with the sight of Feedback standing over him, his crimson eye glowing menacingly against the gloomy, overcast skies.
"Well?" Feedback started, "I'm waiting."
Armsmaster wanted to speak, to question the cape, to ask what the hell he was on about but he found himself unable to do even that when he opened his mouth and spat out a puddle of blood.
"Why, for the thank you of course." Feedback said, voice dripping with grim amusement. "I saved your life after all."
Armsmaster would rather bite his tongue than thank the villain. He glared at him, even with his eyes covered by his cracked visor. The message was received all the same.
"You know, I was much more gentler with you Protectorate capes than with Stormtiger." Feedback droned. "Consider it as… my thanks for keeping my city from tearing itself apart, as ineffective you and your organization may be at times."
Sensing Armsmaster's growing confusion change into dawning horror, Feedback decided to wrap it up. "Goodbye, for now, Armsmaster. The next time I meet you and yours, I'll be killing you. " He said it so casually like he didn't just threaten the entirety of Brockton Bay's Protectorate. "You know, this wasn't even supposed to be my official debut but those Empire capes heard of a tinker in the city, and you know how those sort of things usually goes." He added almost as an afterthought.
There was a flash of bright red, and what stood before him was no longer a transformation worthy of being mistaken as a case 53, but instead, a man, covered from head to toe in silver power armor, not unlike his. Armsmaster's eyes drifted to the crimson gauntlet at his wrist, where it housed the strange, hourglass symbol that accompanied all his prior transformations.
"I know that having names for all my transformation can become confusing." The man shrugged, raising his gaunleted wrist, fiddling with the dial. "But, it's something of a tradition you see."
The man raised his helm from his wrist. "But you can call me—"
He slammed his hand down on the dial, and there was another flash of red light.
Nemesis