Chapter 165: Where It Will End (Part 6)
The City of Townsville. Outskirts. Lombardi Family Estate.
25 MAR (Saturday) 1989. 2316.
The Girls fired all they could at the Amoeba Boys as they rushed them, Blossom with her heat beams, Bubbles with her ion beams, and Buttercup with her laser beams, but it seemed that the Amoeba Boys were able to bear with them. Blossom could see that her heat beams were burning Bossman, but he didn't seem to care, but her sisters were having less luck if it was possible. Buttercup was able to cut through Slim when he rushed her but there was, again, no blood, not even a reaction from the slender man. The tomboy could even see the new slits she made in her close right back up like zippers on a jacket.
Within seconds, the Girls were shoulder-deep in danger once more when the Amoeba Boys started throwing punches at them. Blossom was able to block a wallop from Bossman, but she could barely float under it; pushed back by what felt like a train, she couldn't even counterattack when another wallop came from under, aimed at her stomach, forcing Blossom to form a pink X-shield. She was pushed further back, and she buckled from the strain of blocking Bossman's attacks. Without letting up, Bossman threw another punch, this one diagonally, but she ducked and dodged this one, the blow sliding past her hair. Sensing an opening, Blossom threw her own punch, aimed at the throat. The jab stumbled the bruiser back, but he hardly flinched at all.
Instead, Bossman delivered another hammering blow at Blossom, but floating sideways allowed Blossom to dodge it. She gave him two punches in the face, and when Bossman was stunned enough, spun herself up for a kick, sure that it would at least buy her time to rest and recalculate her moves - only for her foot to go right through Bossman's chest!
Her foot had blown through his suit and the shirt underneath. Of what flesh was exposed from the tearing of fabric, Blossom could see that the skin had turned a sickly blue-green, the kind of color that would induce puking.
Blossom tried to tear herself free from the hole she made in Bossman, but the blue-green goo that he had become had started wriggling, sliding over her calf and shin, and it wouldn't let her go. The true nature of Bossman and his brothers had shown itself when he became blue-green entirely. Shifting as an amorphous mass, Blossom saw Bossman's chest become his arms, and the rest of him changed to fit a humanoid form before he returned to normal. Through this weird transformation, Bossman had caught Blossom by the leg. Swinging her around, he slammed her onto the floor with such force that the wood underneath splintered, forming a crater, revealing concrete and rebar in the structure underneath.
In the meantime, Blossom's sisters had been routed. Bubbles had sustained a few more punches and had flown away, only to be harried by Junior's pistol fire. Buttercup was a little more conservative because of her broken jaw and had been dodging and avoiding blows until she was eventually hit in the jaw again; the pain from that one hit was all it took for her to retreat.
While Blossom was still on the ground, moaning and groaning in pain while she felt half-paralyzed, half-blind with what vision she had left a blur, Bossman seized her by the throat, intending to choke and wring the life out of her. Blossom created another fireball in her hand; she tried to punch Bossman in the side of his face with it, but he had seized her by the forearm before she could.
"Stubborn little shit!" Bossman scolded as he slammed her arm back down. The fireball dissipated shortly after that. Blossom lifted her head up, aiming to shoot him with a heat beam, but he knew. She soon felt another punch in the head; next thing she felt was the concrete underneath her shatter. "We are destined to rule this God-forsaken town!" Blossom felt another punch in her face after that; it was like feeling a one-tonne steel beam falling on her head. The ground underneath cracked from the force once more. "And you along with it!" Another punch; another weakening of the foundation underneath.
Bossman straightened up, though he was still crouching over Blossom, who by now could barely see anything. She could feel a migraine coming on; her whole skull, in fact, felt like it was all crunched up. "But no, you just had to go against the natural order of things," the Lombardi don continued. "You went against the natural order that He established for this place and look where that got you!"
The only other thing Blossom could (barely) see was the ceiling past Bossman's head, but that was enough. A massive chandelier hung overhead. She fired a quick heat beam without a second thought, to Bossman's surprise. And equally surprising, he was hit with the chandelier. It wouldn't kill, or even hurt much, but it was a wildcard that Blossom used. Scrambling out from under him, she flew upwards while the huge man was untangling himself from metals and wires. Giving him no time to react, she blasted into overdrive, slamming herself into him.
The next thing that happened surprised them both: the floor gave way. Sufficiently weakened, a rough circle of the floor gave out from underneath, and both Blossom and Bossman fell. Through momentum alone, Blossom and Bossman had made a crater on the next floor down too, right in the middle of a guest room.
"Blossom!" Bubbles shouted when she saw it happen while she was still dodging bullets from Junior. It didn't take long for her opportunity to come, however, as Junior's pistols did not have many rounds. Flying in an arc, she went through the hole Blossom and Bossman made.
Buttercup, at the same time, had been hiding behind fire and smoke, still nursing the jaw fracture that silenced her. The fire was spreading quickly, and it wouldn't be long before she would be forced to abandon her hiding space. Bullets ripped through the smoke and fire, all seeking the weakness that was her jaw. Buttercup stayed low for a time, then dashed out of the smoke. She had heard the commotions beyond her grey veil; she knew what had happened. Leaping forward, she jumped down the hole after Bubbles while still dodging bullets.
The City of Townsville. Outskirts. Lombardi Family Estate.
25 MAR (Saturday) 1989. 2319.
The skirmish between General Blackwater's detail and Fedele Palladino's gangsters had raged for long, but it eventually simmered down when the general's unexpected trump card was dealt. The general had lost almost all his soldiers to death or injury by bullets and explosion, but backup had arrived to bolster his rank, including Captain Brian 'Brick' Griffin and the men with him.
But the captain wasn't the trump card. Stanley Talker the talking dog tore through Fedele's crew like a starving combine harvester, dragging down gangsters one after another to mangle or kill. The criminals had no Duranium with them, which meant that they couldn't do much about him. When it became clear which way the wind was blowing, Fedele's constant flow of reinforcement all but dried up, replaced by the shouts and screams of men running away.
Much to General Blackwater's surprise, Fedele himself wasn't a runner. He had fought to the last man, and he was the last man. His gang lay all around him, some dead, some still groaning or begging for mercy. He'd kept firing his submachinegun until he heard the wet, animalistic growling of the talking dog behind him, and when he stopped, he recognized the trees from the woods; he was surrounded by well-trained soldiers from a paramilitary federal agency. He knew he was a goner if he kept up with his bravery.
Standing up, Fedele Palladino held his SMG above his head, keeping his finger off the trigger. The growling continued behind him, kept him straight about his intentions to surrender. He was promptly swarmed by soldiers, pointing rifles at him, taking up positions to guard the dining hall. Next to him, Detective Wednesday came up to him with his pistol pointed at him.
"Drop it," the detective demanded. Fedele didn't hesitate. On the contrary, he did it with a knowing smile, that he had done far more damage and dragged plenty down with him, far more than what a man of his kind should be capable of.
General Blackwater marched up to him, sizing him up. The general towered over Fedele, who himself was a man who could be considered large.
"Do you know who I am?" the general asked the head gangster, strangely cold and calm.
Fedele snorted, suppressing a laugh. "Everyone knows who you are. You're that world war relic who painted a target on what was supposed to be a secret organization, the old man who didn't know the way of the world but crawled out of his bunker, guns blazing, regardless. How many of your own have you gotten killed?"
"Fewer than what you managed," the general said, keeping it brief. "You've missed one crucial detail about me."
"Yeah? And what's that?" Fedele said, his smile still unabated.
"I didn't lose that many soldiers, but one of those that I've lost. Bunny. You know her?" the general enunciated his words with military precision, his cold demeanor turning a mite hotter.
Fedele snorted once more, his smile widening. "It was a fun rabbit hunt while it lasted. You should be proud of her. Bitch wouldn't go down no matter how many times she got fucked over. You do know that I'm the man behind the scenes, right? That I made the arrangements to kill Bunny? She died slow. Couldn't have done it better myself no matter how much I wanted to." He laughed brokenly, dryly, expecting some kind of a reaction from the general, but the general stayed cool and calm, his eyes penetrating Fedele's as something simmered beneath them.
"You were saying?" Fedele asked when the general stayed silent for a while.
"Bunny. Yes, she was a determined one, wasn't she? A born soldier. Gifted in more ways than one. Disciplined, obedient, unlike her damned predecessors and successors. Does it sound familiar to you?" the general said as he got closer to Fedele, his face just a foot away from Fedele's. "Does she look like someone else?"
Fedele laughed, thinking that the old man was cracking up. "What the hell are you rambling about?" But his laugh faded as notions of what the general might mean came up. In the place of mischief, fear took over. "What the hell are you talking about?"
"Look at me," the general said sternly. Fedele's eyes did not leave the general's face. "And tell me what you see."
That was when Fedele begin to notice. The same jawline, the same facial structure, that same determined gaze. The hair color was different, but that could be attributed to the mother. Sure, there were differences, but the similarities were uncanny.
"You killed my daughter, you son of a bitch!" the general finally yelled, and Fedele finally lost it. It was like facing a bear, except worse.
"W-wait-"
Before Fedele could say anything further, he felt a punch like no other cross his face, sending him flying to the floor. He'd lost a few teeth from that, he knew. The smell and taste of blood was instantly overwhelming.
It wasn't the first punch he'd taken, but it was the first that he couldn't recover from. It wouldn't be the last either. The general did not give him time to reflect upon his words and actions save those that came with the beating. He couldn't even try to get up without the general cracking his ribs with a few well-placed stomps, and when that was done, the general knelt over him and began raining punches down on his face, ejecting a few more teeth before the jaw began cracking and dislodging.
"W-wait…" Fedele managed to squeak, but General Blackwater was way past listening. Even now, Fedele struggled, blocking another punch and grabbing the general by the arms feebly. The general rewarded him for his efforts by peeling off his hands and, on seizing one of his hands, snapped a few fingers all at once.
Content with his destruction of the man who arranged the killing of his genetic daughter, General Blackwater stood back up. Backing away, he watched as Fedele the living corpse spewed a few mouthful of blood from what used to be his mouth, and flailed his arm with its grotesquely misshapen fingers, still trying to speak.
Without a word, General Blackwater drew his pistol and shot him in the chest; Fedele croaked miserably as he wheezed for a few more aching breaths in his final moments. Seeing that he didn't die fast enough, the general trained his pistol upon the dying gangster's head and shot him through an eye, putting him out of his misery.
"Go to hell," the general said nonchalantly. With that, he put the safety on his pistol and returned it to his holster.
"At least he'll be as far away from your daughter as humanly possible that way," Professor Utonium said; he'd come up next to the general while he was sending off Fedele. There was another death, but the professor did not have his usual sympathetic look about him. "Thank you, General Blackwater."
"Don't, prof. I just took from you the chance to kill that low-lifer," the general spat.
"I don't know if I ever could," the professor said. The general stared at him, as if offended. "I would have advocated for life imprisonment, but I guess death by General Blackwater is one alternative."
"Damn, that's one hell of a way to go," Detective Wednesday, who had only just joined in the conversation, said. "Wouldn't want to be that guy."
Stanley Talker, who had been padding beside the detective, was silent. He was wiping blood off his mouth once in a while, like a kid who didn't like the taste of the vegetable he'd just eaten. He stayed silent, as if still bathing in the glory of having singlehandedly decided the course of the battle.
"What do we do now?" the professor asked.
And just when he did, something came through the ceiling, something massive. Instinctively, all parties concerned dived for cover behind tables, chairs and or on the floor. Whatever it was that took down the ceiling had been powerful; there was an equally massive hole in the ceiling. Large amounts of material had been gouged out of it, turning into debris that rained down upon everyone in the dining hall. A mist of dust, powder and the particulate remains of part of the mansion architecture made the massive thing a mystery.
The professor was prone on the floor; he had covered his head with his hands. He thought that he had been struck by a piece of the ceiling, but whatever it was, it hadn't done much harm to him, if smiting him in the hand and putting a bleeding gash there could qualify as 'not much harm'. Physically unsuited to combat though he was, he was nonetheless able to ignore the wound while he tried to discern what was in the mist. He could discern writhing bodies within…
But it didn't take long for him to finally identify what had crashed into the dining hall. After all, not many beings in Townsville could glow bright pink, baby blue and lime green. All of a sudden, the shapes in the dusty mist made sense. He could see bigger and smaller shapes exchanging punches, with the smaller ones being nimbler and able to throw kicks as well. What confirmed it was when laser beams shot out of the dust, having sliced through one of the largest, perhaps the largest man-shaped thing.
Blossom, Bubbles, and Buttercup! They were so close! And they were also in danger, fighting a force that seemed to be evenly matched with them. Before anyone could do anything, however, more of the ceiling came down. Billows of smoke clouded the ceiling before rising once more. Fire could be seen in the floor above, spreading from some origin point the professor did not know. Once again, he was forced to take cover.
When the coast was clear, the professor got up again. He'd wanted to at least let the Girls know that he was close, that he could just swoop in to get them, but before he could, the floor of the dining hall gave way. There had been a flash of light, green lasers likely from Buttercup which had inadvertently cut through the floor and weakened it. Tremendous forces put out by the rest of the participants in the slugfest had caused the floor to give way.
"Blossom!" the professor screamed, hoping that she could hear him.
"Bubbles!" he shouted again when he couldn't hear a reply. The plume of dust from below wasn't encouraging. The sound of the slugfest resuming below without much of a pause had put doubt in the professor. The struggle that continued underneath him was loud enough that even he could hear it with clarity. His voice was probably drowned out.
"Buttercup?" the professor called out once more after coming up to the hole and looking down. Wherever his Girls were, they had already moved on elsewhere, either to retreat or to pursue the Amoeba Boys. He was swiftly yanked back from the hole by General Blackwater himself.
"Be careful, damn it!" the general barked his warning. "Wouldn't want to get split in half by your daughter's beam, would you?"
"We have to get to them!" the professor said.
"Not by that route, we won't," the general replied. "Hole's too small. We'll be picked off one by one if we try to rappel down there." He looked up at the source of light that came from above, and it wasn't from any ceiling lamps. "Fire's spreading from the next floor. We'll need an alternate route."
In the meantime, gunshots were resounding from beyond the dining hall. The general's own men fired back. A fresh new firefight was breaking out. Captain Brick rushed up to him.
"We're going to have to fight our way to the stairs if we're going down!" the captain reported to the general. "They're massing in that direction."
Without a second thought, Professor Utonium unholstered his pistol again and made a rush for an empty spot at a door.
"Wait, prof!" the general swiped at the professor, hoping to hold him back, but he was too slow. "Wait, damn it!"
"I'm done waiting, general. It's all I've been doing for days," the professor said to him. Shots rang out from outside the dining hall, and the professor returned fire.
