“I really hate this guy,” Black Paralysis said.
“I can’t help but love his name,” Boost said.
“I’m sorry, what was that?” Kill-O-What tucked two fingers behind an ear and turned his head a slightly to one side. “It’s a little hard to hear what you’re saying.”
“Yeah you’re right. I hate this guy too,” Boost said, almost yelling over the noise.
Beat Boxer, Weed, and Ringmaster reached the sixth floor when the door on the seventh slammed open.
“Hold up,” Beat Boxer said, signaling for the others to stop.
Bull Dozer peered over the railing. “There they are. Get them.”
Four sets of footsteps clanged down the stairs. Bull Dozer’s heavy footfalls followed shortly afterward.
“We can’t fight in these tight quarters,” Weed said.
“This is our floor, then,” Beat Boxer said.
Ringmaster pulled the door open as they moved into the building.
“We’ve got company,” Beat Boxer shouted down to Striker and Battlelord. “Looks like we need to take the long way.” She followed the other two heroes through the door.
A tall, muscular woman stepped in from the stairwell and took a hit from her XGH inhaler. She swung a fist at Ringmaster, missing as the acrobat cartwheeled to the side and put more distance between them with a back handspring. Ringmaster brought her arms in close to her body and hunched her shoulders forward. In a flash of pink light and wisps of smoke, she took on the form of the circus strongwoman. Her foe rushed in to continue the fight, unaffected by the sudden change in appearance. Ringmaster stepped forward and grabbed the BoA woman in a bear hug, lifting the woman off her feet. Her telekinetic strength held as her foe struggled to break free.
The rest of the fanatics stepped out of the stairwell to attack. The two foot soldiers targeted the glowing, pink powerhouse restraining their compatriot, hammering with ineffective blows. Pulverati stepped by his teammates and released a bellow that cracked the plaster on the walls. Weed and Beat Boxer leaped in different directions to avoid the blast.
Bull Dozer blitzed through the melee. Ringmaster and the XGH super soldier were hurled to the side, landing on top of the two fanatics trying to help. He continued his rush trying to gore Weed with his glossy black horns. The lean Brazilian managed to step back and grab the base of his horns pushing herself away. Her feet slid back with each thunderous step he took. She let the bull step closer and pulled herself over his head, rolling down his back. As she landed, the hemp fabric around her arms spooled out into dozens of thin, fibrous tendrils, winding around his horns.
Bull Dozer’s head was yanked back as Weed stepped away. She pivoted to face him as he did the same. Bull Dozer ducked his head and speared forward. Weed rolled to her side, jerking his head in an awkward direction, pulling him to the ground.
The bull man scrambled to his feet and let out an animalistic grunt. He grabbed a handful of the hemp tendrils and pulled Weed closer and rushed again. This time, his head slammed into her abdomen. He continued forward, crashing through the cracked plaster wall of an office. Weed lost her focus and shot backward, sliding across the desk as her hemp fibers slipped off of Bull Dozer’s head.
Pulverati focused his attack, belting out blasts in a higher octave, like a true professional with mastery of his voice. The compact beam carved out a path of cracked, splintered, and torn office structures. Beat Boxer’s movement was too erratic, and the glowing red trails she left in her wake made it difficult to see where she currently stood, drawing his eye only to where she used to be. He stopped his assault to breathe in again, “reloading” his weapon. Beat Boxer launched herself off of the wall across the hall and landed next to him before he could react.
With only a fraction of a second to act, Pulverati released an uncontrolled burst of damaging energy. A red spiral glowed where Beat Boxer stood a split-second earlier, as she dropped and spun, sweeping the villainous vocalist to the ground. Pulverati rolled to his side, and spat out another concussive blast, catching Beat Boxer on her right side before she could escape the full width of the beam. She regained her balance as shards of plastic spilled from her jacket.
“Bro, that Mp3 player was a gift,” she said, looking at the shattered remains of yet another digital music player. Beat Boxer no longer needed the music in her ears to tap her powers, but she still loved listening to the rhythm as she issued her beatdowns.
“Should we follow?” Striker asked.
“Might as well,” Battlelord answered. “We’re heading up anyway, so stopping at six for a minute wouldn’t hurt.”
They picked up their pace to reach the sixth floor to provide any needed support. The duo reached the fifth floor, and Striker ran by the steel door, just as it opened. Battlelord reached the landing, caught off guard by the metal fist that caught him on the cheek. He staggered into the wall, rubbing a hand on his face.
“So that’s how this is going to go?” Battlelord smiled.
Man-vil stepped into the stairwell. “That’s right, old man. You chose the wrong team.”
Striker leaped with his bokken held over his head, bringing it down hard. The blunt composite weapon impacted hard against the head of an iron statue. He could feel the rattling vibrations through every finger, all the way through his wrists.
Man-vil shifted back to his flesh and blood form, letting out a loud bellowing laugh.
Battlelord cut his celebration short, hitting Man-vil with a clothesline, driving him back through the doorway of the fifth floor. The momentum of the attack caused the two men to hit the ground, in the middle of a group of fanatics.
Striker took advantage of the confusion and followed to attack. He struck a nearby fanatic behind the ear with the butt end of his bokken and followed up with a whipping strike to another’s face, cracking a couple of teeth loose. A third fell when he drove the heel of his boot into the man’s jaw.
A flash of movement caught Striker’s attention. He brought the bokken up to block what he thought was a typical wild haymaker, but his defense buckled as a stocky XGH fanatic powered through with his punch. The vigilante tripped over the unconscious body of his first target as powerful blow staggered him.
He landed hard on his back and brought his weapon up, deflecting a pile-driving punch that followed the first attack. The super solider’s fist slammed into the hard floor, and Striker used the opening by grabbing the “blade” end of his bokken with one hand, and pivoting the handle hard into the side of his attacker’s head.
The blow didn’t stop the man, but it put some space between the two. Striker rolled to his left and scrambled to his feet. Before he could prepare his offense, a foot slammed into his chest, sucking most of the air from his lungs. He smacked the wall hard enough to steal the rest of his breath. The hero dropped to his knees and forced air back into his lungs.
How is this guy so fast?
The rough hands grabbed him by the neck and hoisted him back up. Striker used the momentum to drive a front kick straight up into the man’s groin. He felt the hands fall away, and the ground beneath his feet vibrated as the XGH-enhanced fanatic crumbled to the floor, letting out a high-pitched wheeze.
Man-vil’s fists rang off of Battlelord’s head as the two titans exchanged blows. Each vicious strike rattled the other enough to drive him back. Man-vil gained the advantage by timing his foe’s counter attack, and shifting into his iron form as the punch landed. He maintained his position and was able to fire back multiple strikes to put the big wrestler on his heels.
Battlelord dropped his stance low and wrapped his arms around Man-vil’s waist. The two combatants struggled until the mask brought his iron clad hands up over his head and brought them crashing down on Battlelord’s lower back. Pain shot through the older man’s spine. He hit the floor face first, as sparks and spirals danced at the edges of his vision.
Speetah stepped around the corner, heading down the short hallway to a series of small meeting rooms. She turned to
see if Recurve was still keeping up.
“We have to find the stairs or an elevator,” she said.
“Keep moving. I’m right behind you. I just need to make sure that other welcoming party isn’t on our tail anymore.”
She reached an intersection and headed in a direction she thought would lead deeper into the building. A shiny mass of golden brown hair reached out from one of the rooms she passed and wrapped around her wrist. Another batch wound around her neck. More hair snaked up her body and covered her other arm. Speetah was lifted in the air and pressed up against the wall. She was unable to pull in a deep breath, only sucking in small amounts through her constricted windpipe.
“The one and only Speetah.” Hair Devil stepped out into the hall, standing only a few feet from his ensnared victim. She lashed out with her foot, but he anticipated the desperate attack and bound both of her feet with another lock of his living hair.
He glanced over at Recurve. “Who’s your new boyfriend?” His lips leaned out to the side in a vile, crooked smile.
“I could ask you the same,” Recurve said.
Fear Mongrel stepped out of the room to stand next to Hair Devil. He closed his eyes and pulled in a deep breath through his nostrils, drinking in the fear from the air. His joints popped and spread while muscle mass swelled underneath his flesh. Tufts of fur grew from his exposed head and arms. His face now had the signature jowls and snout of a Saint Bernard.
“That’ll do.” The dog man licked his chops. “That’ll do nicely.”
Footsteps shuffled on the low-pile corporate carpeting as the group of Brotherhood members from outside reached them.
Recurve only needed a heartbeat to decide which direction he wanted to go. Faced with the task of taking on a weredog in hand to hand combat, he ran toward the group of Brotherhood fanatics. They all had an uneasy look in their eyes when they, too, saw the were-creature. Recurve grabbed an arm of the nearest man, whipping him toward Fear Mongrel and ran.
Speetah saw Hair Devil watching his ally, and taking his attention away. Both of her hands were wrapped up, but she was still able to snap them together before he could react, grabbing a handful of his well-groomed locks in each fist. She yanked him forward creating enough slack to loosen his grip. Speetah’s feet hit the ground, and she could see the shock in his eyes as she was able to breathe again.
She kept the grip on Hair Devil’s “appendages” and used them as a rope, whipping him against the wall. She continued her spin, bringing her tail up crashing into his head. Even with her back turned, Speetah could tell that the blow was obstructed by a wall of hair, acting out of instinct to shield the villain. She tore herself free of the living lashing and hammered away at Hair Devil with knees and elbows. She stayed close enough to leverage her strength and prevent him from using his ability, taking away his reach advantage.
Recurve came running back down the hall, followed this time by Fear Mongrel and then the fanatics. One less member made it back around the corner. The dog-man pounced, just missing his prey as the archer sidestepped, almost by accident, at the last possible moment. Recurve lost all momentum when he hit the wall. Before he could resume his escape, Fear Mongrel swiped at him with a claw strike. His paw hit with more impact force than tearing from the claws. The blow tossed Recurve to the side.
Speetah found herself distracted long enough for Hair Devil to seize his chance. He belted her in the stomach with his right hand. She stepped back. The blow didn’t hurt, and the fury in her eyes let the super-fanatic know it was a big mistake. Golden brown locks snapped out, grabbing Recurve by booth feet, and pulled him closer. Hair Devil stepped to his right and turned his whole body, sending one hero crashing into the other.
Speetah did her best to absorb the damage without hurting her ally, but the collision sent them reeling. Lying on the ground, she pressed her hands into the floor and looked up to see Hair Devil, wagging his tongue and strumming on an imaginary guitar. Fear Mongrel stood by his side.
“I don’t think we were ready for this,” Recurve said, wiping the blood away from three small scrapes on his face.
Patrick looked up, as the doors of the front entrance opened. Manerpillar and H2Grow finished off the last of the Brotherhood members and joined him. Warhead and Ground Zero walked out to greet the heroes.
“So the three little pigs decided to try and blow down the big bad wolf’s house.” Warhead readjusted the makeshift title belt on his shoulder as he spoke.
“The three of you versus the two of us,” Ground Zero said. “Too bad your little fan club is in there on a play date. We could have evened things up a bit for you.”
Patrick held the milk from the two spare jugs along the length of his arms. He pulled the tabs on his gloves and emptied out the rest of the pouches positioned throughout his suit, adding to the already massive white robotic limbs that overlaid his own. Without wasting any time exchanging words with the two mountains, Patrick and H2Grow rushed in. Warhead crouched, ready to throw down with Patrick, while Ground Zero bought up a big boot to halt H2Grow’s progress.
Manerpillar stepped to the side and unleashed several streams of silk, tangling Warhead’s arms and legs in a sticky ectoplasmic web. Patrick turned and thrust both hands out, sending two armored fists flying towards Ground Zero, catching him off guard. His rocket fists slammed into the wrestler, putting him off balance. H2Grow followed, hitting him with a tremendous left hand sending Ground Zero to the concrete.
It was an orchestrated team attack that worked better than Patrick hoped. But before the moment of victory could sink in, Warhead tore himself free of Manerpillar’s strands and took two steps forward swinging at Patrick. He was able to erect a shield to block the blow, but the power from the punch still took him off his feet as the white liquid burst out from the point of impact.
Patrick hit the ground, but he could still feel the milk in his mind, connected to him. He concentrated and pulled it back before losing any into the concrete and asphalt. The hero rose back to his feet with a warbling white, liquid ring surrounding his body.
“It ends here. Today,” Patrick said, in his best tough guy impersonation.
“That the best you got?” Ground Zero was slow and deliberate getting back up. “Silly string and sucker punches?” He kept his eyes fixed on H2Grow.
The two groups once again clashed. Manerpillar lent his support, using his silk to slow down and distract each of the powerhouse opponents in turn. Patrick used his agility to avoid Warhead’s strikes while firing short shots, using his ability to attack from various angles.
H2Grow took the direct approach, hammering away at Ground Zero, taking several hard shots in the process. Each of Ground Zero’s massive fists sent off a spray of water. Each punch whittling away at H2Grow’s strength and mass. He tried to change things up and wrapped a glistening arm over one of the Brotherhood leader’s arm and grabbed the back of his head.
It was a foolish mistake that Ground Zero capitalized on instantly. Shoving H2Grow’s hand up and off of the back of his head, he ducked and grabbed the young hero in a bear hug, squeezing. The water from around his waist sluiced away down his legs. H2Grow had trouble concentrating, but he was able to reabsorb the liquid only to have to replace it again as his captor continued wringing him dry.
The man’s arms felt like steel cables wound tight around his body. He brought his hands out to the side and slammed his palms onto Ground Zero’s ears. The grip eased. H2Grow brought his hands out again, hoping to free himself with one more blow. The big brute ducked and stepped around, still keeping his arms held loose around the hero’s waist. Once he was behind the cape, Ground Zero clasped his hands, palm to palm, and hoisted H2Grow up and backward slamming his neck and shoulders onto the concrete.
The resulting splash made it too difficult for the wrestler to maintain his grip after the suplex. H2Grow lost a good deal of his mass and scrambled back. He tried to reabsorb what he could, but too much had already seeped into the pores of the ground. Stil
l on his knees, he looked up to see the bottom of Ground Zero’s boot fill his vision.
Manerpillar saw his young ally get kicked back far enough to collide with his van. He turned his attention to Ground Zero and unleashed a torrent of ectoplasm at the man’s feet to plant him to the ground. With his eyes pulled away from Warhead, Manerpillar didn’t see the blow that sent Patrick flying into him. The two heroes hit the sidewalk and slid to a stop.
Patrick scrambled back and hurled several hardened white spheres, each striking Warhead in the head and chest. The giant covered his head and took a step back. Blood streaked down both nostrils, matching Patrick’s injury. Both combatants wiped away the blood, only to have it replaced by a fresh supply dripping down their chin and onto the ground.
Black Paralysis landed a side kick to Kill-O-What’s chest, knocking the mask back against the wall. He moved in to land a chi-powered strike, with enough stored up energy to shut down the villain’s nervous system. Kill-O-What unleashed a pulse of electricity that snapped the air with a localized thunder clap. Black Paralysis felt the shock through his whole body, losing his concentration as his blow landed with almost no strength and power, unable to knock the fight out of his opponent.
Boost rushed in as an arcing electrical blast split the air with a crack and struck him in the chest.
Kill-O-What lashed out with a backhand strike, hitting Black Paralysis on the side of his head. The hero stumbled away shaking his hands to get some of the feeling back, as the blood flow returned. He sidestepped the electrical bolt that followed but watched as Boost took the shot in the shoulder, causing him to spin and fall to the ground. He took a small step and leaped forward thrusting a knee strike at the greasy haired villain, coming up short again as Kill-O-What backed away.
Again the crackling sphere of electricity grew out, this time, sustained, and loud as ever.
Two Percent Power (Book 2): Spilled Milk Page 22