Derelict stood there, panting. His fist hurt from when he had punched the super in the metal suit. He had put all of his might into that blow, sending the super flipping back. That would show him for what he had done to Derelicts crew, and he was just getting started.

Derelict, real name Ryan Bradford, didn’t know what had gone wrong. He was young, in his second year of college, when he discovered his powers. Ryan had always known what he wanted, and knew how to get it, and superpowers just made him more effective. He had gathered up some of his rougher friends, and when they thought the Heros would be distracted, (normally during some other emergency), they would rob stores and businesses, or commit other petty crime.

This was their fourth job, and it should have been a walk in the park. Almost every hero in the world was away, dealing with some sort of major emergency, meaning there was almost no-one left to guard the city.

Ryan and his crew had known that there was always a chance an amateur looking to be a hero showed up. If it had been one of the real heroes, the few that were left to watch over the city, they would have surrendered immediately, if they couldn’t run. His crew couldn’t handle that kind of fight, and Ryan wouldn’t put them through it.

An amateur hero should have been light work, though. They had dealt with two in the past, once during a robbery, another confronting them when they were loitering on their turf. The game plan was simple, stall and distract the hero until Brian, who had a gun, could arrive to deal with it, or, even better, Ryan himself showed up. It had worked like a flaw the first two times, Royce and John easily fulfilling their roles. Hell, the second time, they hadn’t even needed his help, able to use their bats to beat the wannabe into submission all on their own.

But look at where that had led them. Ryan and Brian had been in the back, trying to get the safe open, when they head the shouts and sounds of metal on metal. Brian had gone to check it out, and Derelict had heard gunshots, and then silence. Abandoning the safe, he had ran out to check on the situation, only to see Brian with a fucking bat embedded into his skull, Royce on the ground with his teeth out, and John laying unconscious, under a man wearing dull power armor.

At first, it was sadness and helplessness that had filled Derelict, but that was quickly replaced with rage. This “hero” didn’t have to kill Brian. He didn’t have to maul Royce like that, either. Derelict had forgotten something, something that it was wise for anybody in his field to keep in mind: Amateurs could be far more dangerous than professionals. Professionals were normally stronger, but that meant that they could hold back. They had rules, and the experience necessary to keep a calm head. They had resources, medical on standby, and often they had reinforcements.

This meant that they were less likely to feel threatened enough to go lethal. An amateur, on the other hand, often had none of that. Hell, many of them didn’t even accurately know their own strength to begin with.

Because Derelict had forgotten that, his friends, his comrades were dead. He would make the hero pay. Break him so badly he would never think about hero work again.

Derelict was shaken from the whirling storm of anger in his mind as the man in power armor smoothly stood up, and shook out his arms.

Derelict started to feel worried. The armored man had just taken his strongest blow, and stood up, seemingly unfazed. Shit.

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Shit. Dylan’s entire body hurt. The villain in red had just sent him flying. His armor had protected him from most of the blow, but it had been so mighty that it rocked Dylan’s entire body regardless. He struggled to catch his breath as the servos on his legs smoothly brought him to his feet.

The villain in red shook his hand out, his rage clouded eyes focusing on Dylan. The man stood tall, legs faced evenly apart.

“My names Derelict. You’re going to pay for what you did to my friends”.

The voice washed past Dylan, barely registering in his ears. He was too dizzy to even think about responding, and his pre-pubescent voice would probably kill all the tension in the situation, regardless.

Derelict stood there, seemingly waiting for a response. When none came, his face contorted into a snarl, the brief veneer of civility washed away.

“Ready to die, huh?”

Derelict crouched down again. This time, Dylan saw his legs flex, before he flew through the air like a thrown missile, right towards Dylan’s head. Dylan brought his fist forwards, blasting it into the Red Villain's gut, staggering him, before he himself stumbled back as Derelict’s fist hit him in the head.

Dylan’s headache got worse. He would have rather gotten hit in the head with the bat than take another blow like that. Just how strong was Derelict?

The man in question was crouched over, clutching his stomach. Dylan wound his leg back, preparing to try and knock the man's head off with his foot. When he swung his leg, however, the red clad figure dropped to the ground, avoiding the attack, before grabbing Dylan's leg and throwing him to the floor.

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He landed with a metallic clatter, just in time to see a red-elbow slam into his face, smashing his head onto the ground. When the elbow came back up, preparing for a second strike, Dylan pushed himself to the side as hard as he possibly could, rolling free of Derelict’s grasp just before he elbowed again. It hit the ground, sending shards of cheap flooring flying through the air.

Derelict was on his feet in a flash, tackling Dylan through a display shelf, ripping through the low quality metal and sending bags of chips flying through the air. That didn’t stop Derelict, who continued to push Dylan until he felt his back slam against a wall.

Derelict rained a flurry of blows down on Dylan, hitting both his head and chest. While the metal of his suit mostly held up against the furious storm of attacks, Dylan couldn’t say the same for himself. He felt his ribs creaking, and his vision fuzzing. He cocked back his hand, preparing a blow that should get the villain away from him, and buy him a little time.

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Derelict kept up a barrage against the silent vigilante, but he was starting to tire. His furious rain of blows seemed to be barely effecting the figure, at most pinning him in place. Shit. Derelict wished he could see his opponent's face. If he could see him wincing in pain, then he could at least know if his blows were having any effect.

He was starting to tire, having used up a large amount of his energy at the start of the fight. Derelicts power allowed him to be far stronger, faster, and tougher than a normal person, but only for a very limited amount of time. He could sustain peak human performance for far longer than any normal person, but the same wasn’t the case for when he was operating at peak performance.

His flagging stamina was the reason why he didn’t see the vicious backhand thrown by his opponent, which caught him in the face, after which he was sent sailing half a dozen feet back to tumble over the floor in an inglorious tangle of limbs.

As he rightened himself, Derelict saw the hero take a step out of the indent in the wall that he had been punched into. No hint of unsteadiness, no tremble of the legs. Who the fuck was this guy? Was he really an amateur?

Pushing himself to his feet, Derelict started at the armored figure.

“Who the hell are you?”

Instead of answering, the hero bent his legs, jumping at Derelict, crossing the half dozen feet of space between them in an instant. Derelict ducked the first blow that came sailing towards his head, but was caught by the hero’s elbow as he spun with the punch, completing a full rotation.

Ryan felt something in his nose crunch, accompanied by a sharp pain. Bringing his hand up to his nose, he saw a crimson smear, barely visible against the red of his glove. He coughed, wondering how long had it been since he had bled. He had gotten cut only one time since using his power, and it was a minor scrape, obtained the first time he had fought an amateur hero.

Another surge of anger ran through him. This prick killed his friends, and then broke his nose? He thought he could do anything he wanted, come in, toss Ryan around? Not going to happen.

Ryan -no, Derelict, stood back up, straightening his spine, recentering his balance. He ignored the pain in his nose, and centered his breathing. He toned down the power running through his limbs, preserving it.

The man in the armor stood there, watching him. Seeing Derelict settle into a ready stance, the hero followed suit. Tensing his legs, Derelict launched himself towards the metal clad figure.

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When Derelict shot towards him, Dylan follow suit, pushing down through the floor, servos adding power to the movement. He held back this time, trying to lessen the strain on his damaged body.

Dylan tilted his head to the side, causing Derelicts fist to glance off of his head. Dylan followed up by throwing out a low kick that hit the red suited man in the shin. He stumbled backwards.

Dylan tried to press the attack, but a kick to the center of his chest sent him sprawling onto his back. Derelict jumped onto his chest before he could get back up, and tried to slide into an arm bar. Recognizing the danger of letting his opponent recognize that his limbs weren’t fully armored, he lifted the super up, slamming him into the floor.

With a pained wheeze, the red clad man released his arm, pushing himself to his feet. Dylan followed suit, smashing his arms into the ground to propel him into a standing position.

All Dylan saw was a flash of red before he was sent flying again.

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Derelict felt his power fleeing him after that last blow. He had put almost everything he had left into it. He was weakening further the longer the fight went on, and feared that if he didn’t end it in one conclusive blow, then it would be too late. His enemy seemed tireless, strength coming from an untiring mechanical suit.

Derelict felt his leg throbbing where he had been kicked. It was hard to put all of his weight onto it. If he were at full power, a blow like that would have barely harmed him. Now, it greatly decreased his speed, and his ability to use his leg in general. His back and head hurt where he had gotten slammed into the floor. His nose, of course, still hurt.

The mechanically clad hero lay on the floor, unmoving. Derelict let out a sigh of relief. It was over. He turned around, surveying the destruction that lay behind him. With a sigh, he moved to collect John, when he heard a quiet, mechanical whirring behind him.

Ryan started to run. As fast as his legs would take him, he tried to flee the destroyed interior of the store he had set out to rob earlier that day. He hurled over a small ice-cream freezer, and was approaching the exit when he felt a pressure on his back. The floor loomed in his vision, and went it consumed his entire field of view he felt a pressure in his head, and it all went black.

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Dylan stood over the unconscious body of his defeated foe. His entire body ached, and he wasn’t sure he would be able to stand without his armor. His headache was intense, pounding on the inside of his skull, and his vision swam with spots, where it wasn’t covered by a persistent dark ring.

He smashed Derelicts head into the floor one last time for good measure, before limping out of the gas station, passed the bodies. The door whirred open as he approached. Dylan had never been more grateful for the conveniences of modern life.

The police had tried to keep him from leaving, but after he stared at them for a bit, they nervously backed off and let him pass.

When he made it back to his house, he made sure to go around back and hop over the fence there, before stripping from the power armor. He deposited behind the shed, with the rest of the scrap, before heading to bed, not even bothering to wash off. He fell into a deep, dreamless sleep immediately.