Gauntlet of Titans
What…what just happened?
Wonder Girl's eyes snapped open and all she saw was the sky above. Feeling returned and she knew she was laying on…the street. How did she…?
Opened eyes widened and the armor-wearing blonde rolled out of the way of the booted foot that nearly stomped her face in. She was back onto her feet, putting as much distance as she could between herself and the masked man.
The dual-colors of the mask watched her and didn't let up for a second. She had barely gotten to her feet as a powerful leg swung at her. She blocked as best as she could, teeth clenched as she felt the force of the blow running up her arms. Even the gauntlets she was wearing couldn't cushion that hit.
Metal-clad feet slid against asphalt, not digging in and making trenches as seemed to be a habit. It was odd that, and so her balance was a bit off when it came to correcting for it.
No time to think about it. The fists were incoming and they were fast. Her arms came up once more, and she blocked the first two blows, but the third mixed it up by latching onto her left lower arm and twisting it to a side. The palm of a hand slammed into her chest and then picked her up off of her feet. There was a weightlessness she felt and then the smash onto the street once more.
Apparently that was enough to jump start her armor, and her torso and head was suddenly covered. Small spikes emerged from her shoulders, the gauntlets on her arms, and her boots. The helm that now protected her head had a gap for her eyes, nose, and mouth to remain visible.
The feel of the mystical armor seemed to give her jolt, and she brought her knees to her torso then kicked with her legs. The masked man flowed with it, not resisting, and flipped back where he landed on his booted feet with ease. How the hell he did that with all that gear and not even giving a groan from the effort was baffling.
Wonder Girl gave another kick of her legs so that she could get back onto her feet. Alright, round two asshole. Time to turn the tables on him.
The masked man was giving her an appraising look—don't ask her how she knew—and a hand reached to one of the sword handles peeking over a shoulder. The long blade slid out silently and not even that sound effect you heard in the movies could be heard. Had Hollywood lied again? He seemed to give an experimental slash through the air, as if testing the weapon. He seemed satisfied because he took up a stance and looked ready to take her.
She almost threw out her lasso…that was tying up that eye guy from before. Alright, fists it was. Taking advantage of her flight, she made like that sword and sliced through the air between them, racing closer and closer with an arm cocked back. Her metal-clad fist practically trembled from the strain she put on it and when she could see that single visible eye, she lashed out with some power in that punch.
He ducked. Nothing special. He ducked. Like a fool she began to pass over him and then that sword slashed at her from her right. Magical armor blocked, more spikes dotted her back now. The armored blonde was past him and several buildings too. She pulled up and U-turned vertically, flying back the way she came and more determined than ever.
He waited for her. That sword was held at the ready, but good luck with that. He wouldn't be able to cut a single inch of her skin. She was going to play a drum solo on his skeleton with the skull as a cymbal.
That was the plan, and when the proverbial point of no return was passed, the masked man reversed where the sword was angled. Powerful arms bent, the large male body couched slightly, and as fast as a snake, the butt end of the sword handle was jabbed forward. It fitted right into that gap in her helmet and then there were stars in her vision. After that, she had no idea of where up was as pain just exploded all over her face.
There was a feeling that her head snapped back, her body shook and jerked all about, and then…nothing. There was…nothing. She was still, unaware of pretty much everything, and nothing was making any sense anymore.
Vision was…blurry. Her head—her face—and…and…why was it dark? Oh, yeah, the armor must be covering her whole face. Okay, alright, get it together. You could do this, Cassie. You can totally…totally…oh she was dizzy.
There was a voice, it sounded distorted. For curiosity's sake alone, she tried to focus…with her eyes. Double vision. Shit. What had hit her? The guy? Um. Name? Name, anyone? Why could she not focus? Find focus? Just focus!
Light gleaming off the sword blade, hurting the eyes now. What…what was he doing with his other hand? He was holding something in it. What was it? What was it?
Suddenly green.
That armor was some trick. Practically appearing out of thin air at the slightest hint of harm to the wearer. Only covering the affected areas, and if that wasn't enough, it would add on until it was. Nifty. Could use one like that.
The girl, this Wonder Girl, really didn't appreciate what she had. What could she do with it? Guess they weren't going to ever know. This was where she was going to die.
There were still a couple of those Canidite grenades he had those H.I.V.E. flunkies cook up. He was curious how well that armor would hold up against such an explosive force. Could it take it? Or would it shield the girl once more?
Deathstroke was about to find out.
The pin was removed, his skill such that all he needed was a thumb to do it. Now, before letting go of the final safety measure, where to stick it? Maybe on one of the spikes that dotted the helm. Even if it survived the explosion, the concussion force was going to lay a number on her.
Speculation ended when he leaned his body to a side and narrowly avoided the green bolt that nearly seared into him. Automatically, he identified the source of the threat: the Tamaranean. Starfire.
The alien was incoming and quickly. A new target for the grenade then. His stance slightly changed, his arm was almost whiplike as it began to slip into a throw. The Tamaranean was more controlled in her flight, her speed greater than what the armored girl had been able to achieve one-on-one with him. The grenade had just began to leave the palm of his hand when the back of an orange-skinned hand backhanded the incendiary device.
It provided a demonstration of the strength possessed by the Tamaranean. High up did the grenade go and Deathstroke mentally counted down the seconds before falling into a crouch, slipping under a swinging leg that tried to follow that deflect.
The roar of the detonation would have deafened the assassin had his headgear not possessed sound dampeners to protect his hearing. Still, it was loud. The concussive force he mentioned earlier? That was going in every direction imaginable, which included the buildings around them.
Defenestration occurred as countless windows shattered from the shockwave. Shards of glass spewed out of every window around and fell to the streets below. It was raining now, not water but the shards of glass that would have caused significant injury had he not been wearing his armor.
The Tamaranean used that green energy she was able to emit, using it to practically vaporize any of the shattered glass. An interesting application. However, it left her open.
He gripped the handle of the sword he still held and lunged. Air whistled around the sharp edge while the pretty little head of his target was only just turning to see the attack coming for her. Lithely, she bent out of the way and his sharp eye noted the slow recovery. She had really put too much into that dodge.
Muscles in his right arm tensed, and his elbow jabbed back and struck that humanoid face. Down she went, but then the alien body went into a roll. Back on her feet in record time, green eyes blinked away the dazed fog, only just succeeding as he stabbed with the tip of his blade. Back she went, and the assassin pursued, a thrust switching into a slash, slicing back and managing to remove a few orange hairs.
It would be so easy to commit to another attack, but that would be a rookie mistake. Green lit up around her hands, and seamlessly he flowed into a defensive stance, quickly jerking out of the way of each green bolt fired at him and avoiding all even at this distance.
From a shooting stance to an offensive one, the Tamaranean lunged and Deathstroke seized the opportunity to try and thrust forward. The attempted impalement was just that, an attempt. The lunge had been a feint that the Tamaranean swiftly adjusted to, clamping down her hands on either side of the blade and stopping its forward momentum.
That took some strength to do. He remained unphased. His right leg swung out and his foot hooked around her left calf muscle. A jerk back, her balance was disrupted. Now he had leverage to push down on the sword while she had to push up. Metal began to push, slipping against skin and the green alien eyes recognized this.
She did the only thing she could do, and that was to force the sword to go to the side, the downward thrust causing the weapon to stab into asphalt instead of meat. For that, he gave a backhand to strike the left cheek and followed that by reversing his arm to land a palm against the left cheek. The Tamaranean's head snapped left and right, but then she caught his offending arm and held it with her alien strength.
Green eyes flared, Deathstroke arched his back, and twin beams of green energy nearly scorched the front of his mask. Without taking a second to gasp, he thrusted upwards his right knee and hit under her chin, snapping her head back and ending those eyebeams.
Gripping the sword handle tighter, he pulled it back and out of the asphalt, then had booted feet belonging to the Tamaranean slam into his stomach. He gave a grunt as he was tossed back, but he landed on his feet and remained standing, even if he did bend over slightly. Two bolts of green firepower blazed on either side of him, the Tamaranean buying time to get back onto her feet.
Still ready for another round? Sure. Her stance was defensive, and so the assassin accepted the offer to go on the offensive.
The assassin dashed into a sprint, zeroing in on the Tamaranean. It was predictable that those bolts of hers would be fired at him. They always went in a straight trajectory so anticipating where they would be going was child's play. It took time to charge one of those bolts, maybe two seconds at the minimum, but that was a short eternity for a man like him.
Reflexes made it a cinch to keep up evasion and once he was in range, his sword did all the talking. Bravely, or stupidly, the alien was using the energy-emitting hands to try and parry his blade, slapping it on its sides to deflect. An interesting gambit, but one that took up most of her attention. After the second block, he spun on a heel and swung his leg out, landing the blow into defenseless ribs and throwing her off her feet.
She regained her footing and he thrusted without giving her a chance to recover. The Tamaranean had reflexes of her own, barely moving her torso out of the way and bringing an arm down to trap the blade against her. Her other arm pulled back and lashed out, but it was another miss for the alien as Deathstroke tilted his head to a side.
Releasing his grip on the sword's handle, his jab struck right into the middle of her chest, a punch curling into her side, and following that a one-two to either side of her face. Spittle seeped out from her lips and he continued the assault with two more hits to her gut region. Abdominal muscles were firm there, and absorbed some of the force of his hits but not all of it.
The Tamaranean heaved, her arm slackening so that his abandoned sword began to fall. It was easy to snatch it up and swing it about, his aim for her little neck. Impressively, her neck seemed to lose some stiffness and she tilted her head just enough that the movement gave the impression that she was flowing under the sword edge.
An orange-skinned fist lanced forth and committed as the assassin was, he was unable to avoid it hitting him in the middle of his torso. Incredible strength propelled him back, but his armor took in the entirety of the punch's blunt force. Unscathed to put it simply.
If the Tamaranean thought she had bought herself time, then all she purchased was a single second. Once more he closed in, slashing downwards and then going horizontal with his next slices. The tight outfit that covered her body was cut, but he didn't seem to be close enough to draw blood. Let's change that.
A little closer and his third slice almost had her. Change it up then, kick with a boot into the shin, let her gasp as she knelt, and the next downward slash was incoming. The alien had to turn the majority of her body to avoid that one, but it was a maneuver he predicted. Another change to the sword's trajectory and going at a diagonal angle and this caught her in the back.
Huh. Red blood. Who knew alien blood would be that color as well? It was staining the back of her little costume, rapidly discoloring the purple and white. There was a keening noise, one that implied she was trying to hold back a scream. She would not face her death in indignity.
Dignity in death meant nothing to him. Death was death and it wasn't pretty.
With an injury like that, reaction time would be slower. Deathstroke would capitalize on this, already altering the course of his blade so that it was slashing once more towards the wounded Tamaranean.
An O-shaped sonic blast succeeded in knocking him off his feet. For perhaps the first time, he did not land on his feet. Instead, his back slammed into the front of a building from which he propped himself up against.
His single eye narrowed as he observed the approach of the cyborg. Right in the nick of time, wasn't he?
Obviously, the cyborg wasn't going to let him kill the alien. He would have to be dealt with first. Predictable.
Fine another delay of execution. Let's handle this tin man now.
So those plants in the crowd, bad guys pretending to be Teen Titan fans, not much of a challenge. Easy to spot too once they didn't have a crowd to hide in.
That explosion? Powerful. Much too powerful. He left BB and Terra to handle those losers. He was going to check what caused that.
What did he find? Wonder Girl laid out and not looking well, though how could you tell with all that armor on…don't tell him the explosion caused that too. But wait, there was Star over there fighting a man in black and orange and she was clearly losing. He didn't let up not for a second, and once he had managed to cut into her back, Cyborg knew he couldn't stay out of it.
His arm transformed and he chose sound over energy. Had to angle himself too just so he didn't get Star. Didn't want to accidentally kill this bastard either because the cybernetic young man had questions that needed to be answered.
The first one was who the hell did this asshole think he was?
"You don't treat ladies like that," he called out, keeping his arm cannon trained on the orange and black man. "Stay where you are unless you feel like me opening a can of whoop ass on you."
"So would you prefer I focus all of my attention on you…" the mask-wearing asshole quipped back, pausing before adding, "...Lady?"
Bastard had a mouth on him.
And he was fast. The insult had been distracting, a second's worth of distraction but a second seemed all this ass needed to begin running down the sidewalk. Cyborg followed with the barrel of his arm cannon, trying to keep him in his line of sight. Aiming just ahead of him, Cyborg fired an O-shaped sound blast, but the man abruptly changed direction the second he fired.
The front of the building that the blast hit now had an O-shaped hole in it. Quickly, Cyborg tried to aim and fire once more. Again, the man dodged, and the cybernetic man noted that the asshole was closing the distance between them. Looked like he wanted a hand-to-hand fight.
Might as well give him what he wanted.
His right arm retransfigured, returning to its default mode complete with titanium hand and everything. The man was observant of this and put on some speed, sword held aloft. There was only one place on Cyborg's body that would be vulnerable to it. If he played this right, he'd have this fight in the bag.
Sword against cyborg? Too easy.
The moves that Starfire had drilled into the team, including him, had the cyborg raising his arms up in a defensive stance, hands curled into fists. Turned out, that was all the time he had, to get into that familiar stance, when the masked killer got into range.
The swing of that sword was fast, practically a blur to both his human and robotic eyes. Yet, the speed of that swing was not fast enough that he couldn't successfully bring up an arm in time. Steel clashed against titanium, and titanium held even with the screeching of the sword's edge against his arm.
There was no stopping; the masked man didn't even show surprise. The sword pulled back and slashed and sliced at him. Hit after hit was blocked by an arm, small adjustments needing to be made to keep up and the cybernetic parts of his head were doing all the calculations needed to keep up. His face remained protected, no sharp edge getting anywhere near close.
Right, left, right, right, and left again. He was really getting the hang of this. Keep the legs bent, back up when necessary, and wait for this guy to tire himself out. His own internal battery would make sure that he remained energized and able to outlast this man.
The guy, though, wasn't one to keep doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result. His footwork was somehow complicated and simple, and the guy practically spun like a ballerina to the cyborg's left. An upward thrust aimed for the lens that made up his left, cybernetic eye. Cyborg jerked his head back, the flat of the sword's blade slipping past his face less than an inch away.
The flat side of the sword turned abruptly turned, the sharp edge suddenly much closer than before. The sword-wielding man pulled back his blade and Cyborg swore he felt the sword edge biting into the skin of his nose.
An alert from a sensor informed him that a breaking of the skin was detected. As he was coming to terms that maybe, just maybe, he might be getting a scar right on the bridge of his nose, the guy he was fighting was spinning around him once more. A booted foot lashed out and struck the back of a mechanical knee, but unlike one that was flesh and bone, the cyborg's leg didn't buckle.
In retaliation, Cyborg bent an arm and swung it back, trying to elbow the asshole in the head. The masked man ducked the elbow, continuing to move and that now placed him with a direct line of attack on the one fleshy part of his head.
The sword was heading for the right side of his head, nothing standing in the blade's way. Well, not exactly nothing. His left hand came to the rescue and caught the sword, stopping it in its tracks. With his right hand balled into a fist, up it shot and slammed into the sword, breaking it into pieces.
See, steel had nothing on titanium.
Now to capitalize. His right arm bent, then he swung it out. Would have been a nice backhand had it hit. Masked asshole ducked and danced around him again, but your boy Cyborg was starting to catch on. He twisted his torso back the other way, throwing a punch along the way. The guy had some quick reflexes and jerked back practically at the last second. A pushing of the legs put some distance between the two, but that wasn't going to help.
Once more, he transformed his arm into a cannon, this one to shoot blasts of energy instead of sound. He brought it up, the masked attacker dead in his sights.
"Last chance, pal!" he roared.
A gloved hand held up what looked like a detonator. "Raincheck," the man quipped as he pressed down on it.
Cyborg braced himself for an explosion. Some kind of bomb, maybe the same kind that shattered all the windows around here earlier. He was wrong on that account.
Planted on his back was some kind of rocket booster. Hexagonal, it stuck out two small nozzles that fired off twin flames of lift-worthy power. Before he knew it, the cybernetic young man found himself being propelled upwards into the air, screaming all the way. In his wake was a small column of smoke, all the better to mark where he had just been.
Now he had a good view of the skyline. He was also racing through it. Crap, crap, crap, crap, crap! What the hell was he suppose to do? How the hell could he—wait—damn, couldn't reach it! Of course it had to be stuck on that one part of the back no one could reach!
Right now his best bet was waiting the fuel out. Who knew how long that would take?
Who knew where he would end up.
The cyborg was taken care of. His sword hadn't fared well. Should have expected it. He did expect it, and that was why he had a contingency made. Still, the fight had been informative and the next time the two of them would face off, it was going to end differently.
From the corner of his eye, Deathstroke found his attention drawn to the Tamaranean who was also rising up. She flew after the launched cyborg, giving chase. Lucky for her that she was able to still do that. Another raincheck.
That just left…the first one.
Still clad in her armor, the not quite Wonder Girl had gotten back on her feet, but her balance was all sorts of thrown off. The wobbling, the unstable legs, the way the head weaved back and forth…looked like a concussion.
Now how was he going to pry her out of that magical tin can? The assassin supposed that he could experiment and find out.
An orange gloved hand reached up to the remaining handle and gripped it. Another sword was slipped out of its sheath. Unlike the previous one, now broken, this one had more heft to it. Thicker, double-edged with a sharp point tip, and a pommel that was more decorative than a man of his tastes preferred, this weapon was a favorite of his.
Yes, more of a medieval European design, but there was a special quality to the metal that made up this sword. The first one was to really test out these Teen Titans, so standard steel to get a baseline. His baseline was complete, and now to really get a workout.
With what was becoming a trend, the assassin was interrupted before he could enact his next move. As if someone anticipated what he would do, a black shape reared up from behind the armor-wearing Teen Titan and took on the appearance of a bird. Its wings folded in front of it and provided cover for the girl in magical armor. Deathstroke brought himself up short, his eye searching for the source of this latest interruption.
This Titan made more of an entrance, emerging from the black wings and stepping out to place herself between the masked assassin and his target. This was the one known as Raven. Had to be.
H.I.V.E. had had a file on her, one that reported on the basics of her powers, or what H.I.V.E. had been able to learn about them. Curiously, she had been sold and shipped off to Gotham where later stories on monsters roaming not just the streets of that city, but those of the surrounding area began to crop up.
His own research into this Titan had been limited as there was nothing to go on. It was as if she had popped out of the ground one day and became a menace. She had an origin somewhere, but that even some of the best clandestine organizations out there had come back with question marks indicated something big was involved.
Whatever it was would need to be disappointed. Raven had made herself a target of his and it didn't matter if the H.I.V.E. Queen was spooked by her. This was a job he would complete one way or another.
"You want to kill me," the girl in the hood stated. Her head tilted downward, shadowing her face. "You're more than welcome to try."
An invitation. Very well.
Boldly he took a step forward and then another. You didn't rush someone with whom power, real power, was indicated to possess. Caution was needed, a means to coax her to use some of that power was necessary. It appeared that just approaching her was enough coaxing, though, so he didn't need to get creative.
The cape that draped over the girl's body flared away from her, exposing the leotard she wore. An arm stretched out and another black bird blasted from her, a searing shriek crying out. Deathstroke regarded the approaching attack, watching it as he braced himself. Both hands held the handle of his sword and he waited the few precious seconds as what may have been death descended upon him.
His single eye widened and he slashed. The sword blade cut into the bird and there was initial resistance. Black wings were passing on either side of him, but he pushed forward, exerting more and more strength. The blade began to cut into the bird, then burrowed deep. His arms kept up the pressure as his torso turned. The wings pulled back, the bird head raised up, and then the sword cleaved through, black…stuff tearing and clinging onto the weapon.
Reverse, slash again, and the bird-shaped attack screeched. Another reverse, slice now, this time into the neck. The bird head detached and fell away, becoming amorphous as it did so, losing all details until it was a blob flying through the air. The same thing began happening to the rest of its body, if you could call it that, cohesion slipping away as it disintegrated.
All that remained was the girl who continued to block his path. The sole difference with her was that her head was up and even from where he stood he could tell her eyes were wide and bulging. Shock, surprise, and dumbfounded. She didn't know how to process what had happened.
Well, he had mentioned that this sword was special.
Confirmation was at hand. Deathstroke had theorized there was some kind of supernatural quality to this girl. There were also relics and artifacts that had a way of dealing with such supernatural forces. This very sword of his had been tested first; he knew what it was capable of. There was something about the metal it was made up of, nothing like steel.
It didn't matter really what it was. As long as it worked.
Perhaps he had stalled too long. The hooded girl recovered from her shock and raised both of her arms up, her eyes glowing black. From her, a wave of blackness rushed out, keeping low to the ground. Deathstroke watched it, noting how it passed by him, flowing around his feet like water. It accomplished absolutely nothing.
Had it been visible, his raised eyebrow would have communicated skepticism. The girl, however, responded anyway, "I wasn't aiming for you."
She wasn't? But then, what was she…
Whipping his head around, the assassin saw how that blackness levitated countless shards of glass from the street, the same glass that had been shattered by the Canidite grenade that had detonated earlier. So many rose up, higher and higher until it was a veritable wall. Behind him, Raven's hands clenched into fists and her arms pulled back towards her. In response, the shattered glass, hundreds if not thousands of shards came rushing towards him.
Clever girl.
A hand released the sword handle and went to his belt. Flashbang grenade. He was hoping to use it later and take advantage of its concussive force, but now seemed as good a time as any. Arming it, he threw the concussive device into the approaching wall of death and relied on his helmet to protect him from the shock.
The detonation slammed into the black-hued glass, scattering enough of it to make an opening. Running, Deathstroke dived through it, tossing two normal grenades up into the air as he did so. Standard explosions followed, but they further meddled with the many jagged points attempting to tear him apart.
Not all of the glass shards were rid of. Those that remained changed course and headed right back for him. Alright, he couldn't keep throwing grenade after grenade, no matter what kind they were. A different approach.
The wrist of his sword-wielding hand began to rotate and as a result so did that sword. Spinning in a circle in front of him, the assassin waited, braced, then picked up the speed. A blur before him, he chopped through as much of the glass as he could, taking steps back as he did so. He didn't blink, didn't stop to think, just kept at it until a streetlight came into his periphery. The barrage kept coming and a second's slowness could spell death.
With his free hand, he yanked himself behind the pole and while he wasn't one hundred percent covered, enough of his body was protected with only the armor he wore truly in the line of danger. His head and the vital organs in his torso were out of the barrage of fire and glass crashed into the metal pole.
Then black wrapped around the streetlight itself. It yanked the large object out of the sidewalk and then swung it at him. Rolling out of the way, Deathstroke quickly located where the girl was, and then began to do what he should have done earlier. A mad dash, no choice, it needed to be done to get her taken out of action all the faster. He had underestimated her; he would not make the same mistake twice.
Another streetlight was torn out, cables still attached to the pole, and now two of them were chopping and slashing at him. Bizarre. Yet the assassin was still incoming and the details that made up this adversary became clearer with each second. Black formed a spherical shield around her when he was mere yards away, and his sword was held at the ready. Dodge the streetlight from his left, leap that same direction to avoid the one on his right, leapfrog off the head of the left streetlight and he was about to slam right into that shield.
His sword slashed, there was some momentary resistance, but a tear formed in the blade's wake. He could see her, see her face even with the shadow caused by that hood. Raven remained in control, her dark eyes never leaving. One of her arms yanked to her torso.
The killer jumped straight up, body arching as he avoided the streetlight that thrusted for his back. Beneath him it passed, missing him. It continued with its momentum which, unfortunately for the girl, he had been between her and her makeshift weapon.
Just like that, the Titan was struck by her own attack, her body was carried back even as her shield collapsed. The black power released its hold on the streetlights, though while one fell, the other continued to push against the hood-wearing girl. Behind was a rapidly approaching building and any second she would go splat against it.
A flare of black engulfed the girl and the streetlight crashed into the face of the building. Further down the street, there was another flare of black that left behind the girl who now wrapped both of her arms around her torso. Gasping, practically heaving lungs. There was a good chance she had some broken ribs.
Booted feet were silent against the asphalt as he began to move to her. Let her remain distracted by her pain. Once he was close enough, he would do her the favor of ending it.
Author's Note: The conclusion of Cyborg's portion of the fight is a reference to the 2003 Teen Titans show, specifically the episode Final Exam in which something similar happened to him. Starfire naturally chased after him as well. But right now, half the team isn't doing so well. I wonder if they can turn it around next chapter.