Grief 7.11b

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –

Hardkour's fingers clenched tighter, his red gloves stretching audibly under the tension, each breath filtered through his helmet's mesh as he faced the trio of villains. The air felt like it had thickened somehow, not from humidity but from the weight of what was about to go down. Texas, standing out front like some brooding antihero who had completely lost the plot, was making no effort to hide his relaxed menace. His boots scraped gravel as he took one deliberate step forward, his duster swaying faintly like it had a personality of its own. The skull on his bandana caught the light, making it look like it was laughing at them.

Behind Texas, Walker casually stretched his massive shoulders, the motion somehow managing to be both lazy and intimidating. It was like watching tectonic plates shift, slow but promising devastation if they ever got going. Meanwhile, Ranger flicked a coin between his fingers with the casual skill of someone who'd spent too much time practicing for that one party trick no one asked for. The metallic tink-tink filled the silence between the three teens and the villains, like a countdown only he could hear.

"Hello," Texas greeted, his voice calm, deliberate, and dry as the desert he was apparently named after. "I'm Texas. This here's Walker"—he gestured lazily to the man-mountain behind him—"and Ranger." A nod toward the gunslinger still playing with his coin. "I'm assuming you're Hardkour."

Hardkour tilted his head, his lenses narrowing slightly. "And if I say you assumed wrong?"

Texas's eyes crinkled behind the bandana, a clear smirk in his tone. "Then I'm assuming you're a dirty liar."

Ranger chuckled, stepping up onto a bent steel beam like he owned it. "So, uh… either we got bad intel, or this fella's real popular. Reckon he sent out invites?"

Texas sighed, the kind of sigh you'd give when your idiot friend wouldn't stop making jokes at a funeral. "You think I planned for this? Hell, I didn't even bring my good gloves."

"Wouldn't be the first time," Ranger fired back, his tone mockingly sweet. "You remember Chicago, don't ya?"

"This ain't Chicago," Texas shot a pointed glare his way, his voice sharper now, "and you ain't funny. Focus."

Walker didn't even acknowledge the back-and-forth as he cracked his neck and grinned. "Well, three's just a party, ain't it? Let's give 'em somethin' to dance to." He took a step forward and even the ground seemed to groan under his weight.

Hardkour didn't flinch, didn't move, though his mind raced through the info he'd pulled on these guys. Levels in the 20s, decent powers but nothing world-ending. Dangerous if underestimated, though — especially since Walker's whole gimmick was turning into an unstoppable wrecking ball.

He snapped back toward his team, moving so fast his helmeted head had to be nothing but a red blur. Analyze. Analyze. Sparky on his right, shifting into a low, tense stance, and Theo floating just behind him and to the left like some kind of ominous ghost in a smiley-face mask.

> Axel "Sparky" Ramon Lv 24

> Alias: Apex

> Title: Karate Kid

>

> HP: 600/600

> MP: 20/20

> WP: 200/200

> Who else but Sparky?

>

> Your one and only best friend in the world. Sure, he's a dick on occasion, but so are you. He's always had your back before and, in the last two weeks, he's proven to be a suitable sidekick. Just don't call him that.

>

> With an instinctive aptitude for martial arts and physical intuition that nearly matches your own rapid absorption of skills and talents, he can take down entire groups of normals with nearly as much ease as you had a month and a half ago

> Theodor "Theo" Anders Lv 25

> Alias: [None]

> Title: Sorcerer (Apprentice)

>

> HP: 400/400

> MP: 200/200

> WP: 20/20

> Your godbrother, Theo.

>

> Sure, he's been a bit weird ever since you gave him powers, but he's still Theo. He seems to take to mana and intellectual stuff with the same ease Sparky has with fighting and physical stuff.

>

> Do you really wanna know why he's so obsessed with the melting points of various metals at 3 in the morning? Of course not… But, he figured out how to develop actual Spells so you don't wanna ignore him either in case he makes a Gigaflare by accident.

>

> After all, you like being alive.

Wait… Greg's eyes widened, his bright blues darting from side to side behind his mask looking for something. When it didn't show, his grin became downright evil. These guys are lower leveled than my guys… and no quest… means…

"Apex," Hardkour said, his voice barely above a growl.

"Yeah…" Sparky's voice had dropped too, quieter now but still steady.

"The guy in front," Hardkour continued, keeping his gaze locked on Texas. "Don't let him touch your skin. Got it?"

Sparky pumped his fists once, the soft thud of leather on leather punctuating his response. "Got it."

Hardkour tilted his head slightly toward Theo. "Player Three."

Theo's head cocked ever so slightly, his tone quiet and measured as he replied, "Yes… boss?"

Hardkour's gaze flicked toward the metallic debris scattered around them. "How good is your metal control?"

Theo paused for the briefest moment before answering, his voice even. "I don't like to brag."

Sparky let out a low chuckle, his posture shifting just enough as he rolled his shoulders. "That means it's pretty shit."

"No," Theo replied without missing a beat, "that's what you'd mean if you said it. I simply don't like to brag."

Hardkour raised a hand, the sharp motion cutting through their bickering like a knife. "Answers, Player Three."

Theo's head dipped slightly. "It's functional. I can manage."

Hardkour turned back to face the villains, his shoulders squaring. "You're taking the guy with the bullet hole in his hat. He's a shooter. Keep his junk off me."

"Understood," Theo said, his voice clipped but certain.

"Hardkour…" Sparky said, voice questioning.

The blond boy in question clicked his tongue. "What?"

"Promise you won't kill these guys."

Hardkour clicked his tongue again, mouth angled down in a harsh frown. "Only killed one out of fifteen, I have better control than that." He did, honestly. Greg knew he was wanted for at least a dozen confirmed murders. He didn't really have any interest in getting any more added to his body count.

As long as they didn't piss him off too bad, at least.

"What do you mean, you already kill-"

"On three…" Hardkour growled to cut off Sparky, his voice dropping even lower, each word deliberate. "Two…" His fists clenched tighter, the leather groaning under the strain.

"Break their fucking legs."

The trio moved as one, their motion sharp and sudden, cutting through the stillness like the snap of a rubber band stretched too far. Hardkour surged forward, his boots hitting the ground hard enough to send a faint ripple of dust in his wake as he locked eyes on Walker, the big merc's grin widening like he'd just been handed the world's biggest beer and told to have fun.

Behind Hardkour, Sparky cut right, aiming for Texas with a speed that left a faint blur in the dusty air. Theo veered left, moving with that eerie smoothness Hardkour was only starting to get used to. His godbrother looked more like he was swimming through air than flying—graceful in a way that made Hardkour look and feel like a wrecking ball by comparison.

Which, honestly, was fine.

He wasn't here to be pretty.

He was here to hit things.

Walker's boots slammed into the ground, each step heavy enough to shake the wreckage around them. The guy was built like a linebacker who moonlighted as a construction crane, and his outfit only added to the vibe. That canvas jacket, red shirt, and steel-toed boots screamed "practical ranch hand," but the way he carried himself? Pure brute. His bandana-covered face did nothing to hide the intensity of his hazel eyes, which locked onto Hardkour like a missile tracking its target.

Hardkour didn't slow. His boots pounded the gravel as he closed the distance, fists clenched so tight his gloves whined in protest. "Yo, cowboy!" he called, his voice cutting through the chaos. "You want a dance partner? Let's tango!"

Walker snorted, a low rumble of amusement that matched his lumbering steps. "You talk big, kid," he drawled, his voice muffled but no less menacing. "Hope you hit big too."

Hardkour didn't dignify that with a response—he just lunged. His right fist shot out like a piston, aiming square for Walker's chest. Walker twisted mid-swing, forcing Hardkour to pivot fast to avoid the follow-through. The big guy wasn't just slow—he was deliberate.

"Not bad," Walker said, rolling his shoulders like he was warming up for a workout. "But you're gonna have to do better than that."

Hardkour didn't wait for him to finish.

He pivoted, dropping low to sweep Walker's legs out from under him. But the big guy was faster than he looked, which wasn't saying a lot.

Walker jumped—well, more like stomped—upward, his boots hitting the ground with enough force to send a shockwave rippling outward. Hardkour managed to keep his footing, gritting his teeth as the vibrations rattled through his bones.

"Okay, fine," Hardkour muttered, taking a step back to reevaluate. "You wanna play hardball? Let's play."

Walker didn't hesitate.

He charged, each step gaining momentum like a freight train building speed. Hardkour's Danger Sense flared, a sharp prickling at the base of his skull, but he didn't move. Not yet. He waited, watching the way Walker's shoulders tensed, the way his right fist cocked back.

And then, at the last possible second, Hardkour ducked.

Walker's punch missed by inches, the force of it whipping the air past Hardkour's head.

But Hardkour wasn't done.

As Walker's momentum carried him forward, Hardkour planted his feet and slammed an open palm into the side of the man's face. The impact sent Walker stumbling, his boots skidding across the gravel as he struggled to regain his balance.

"Still not enough?" Hardkour called, his tone mocking as he straightened. "Man, I thought you'd hit harder. The force of a freight train, but you can't break the speed limit?"

Walker growled, a low, dangerous sound that made the hairs on Hardkour's neck stand on end. "You got a death wish, kid?" he snarled, turning back to face him. His movements were slower now, more deliberate, but the tension in his frame gave off a nervous energy that Greg could taste.

Meanwhile, Sparky was a blur of motion, weaving around Texas like a boxer dodging jabs. The black-wearing villain moved with the kind of trained precision that screamed experience, each step calculated, each strike deliberate as he reached out to latch onto Sparky time and time again.

But Sparky was faster, darting in and out of range like a mosquito too quick to swat.

"Hardkour!" Sparky shouted, his voice strained but steady. "How's it going over there?"

"Fantastic!" Hardkour shot back, dodging another slow swing from Walker. "Just bonding with my new buddy here. You?"

"Livin' the dream!" Sparky replied, landing a quick jab to Texas's side that had the man groaning, before leaping back out of reach before the man could do to him what his hand just did to a piece of metal sticking out from a train car. "Livin' the dream!"

Hardkour smirked, his focus snapping back to Walker as the big man charged again.

Like last time, he was ready.

He waited for Walker to close the gap, watching the way his shoulders bunched, the way his right foot planted just a little too firmly. And then, just as Walker's fist shot forward, Hardkour ducked low and slammed both glowing yellow palms into the man's chest, Reinforcement doing its job like a pro.

The impact sent Walker skidding backward, his boots tearing up gravel as he struggled to stay upright. Hardkour straightened, his chest heaving as he adjusted his stance. "You done yet?" he asked, his tone light but his grip tightening. "Or do you wanna keep embarrassing yourself?"

Walker didn't answer. He just grinned behind his bandana, his hazel eyes glinting with something dangerously close to amusement. "Kid," he said, his voice low and steady, "you ain't seen nothin' yet."

"I mean, you're right. I haven't." Hardkour was starting to get a feel for Walker's movements—the big guy was all power and no precision. The kind of bruiser who could turn a wall into powder but couldn't land a clean hit to save his life.

He ducked another wide swing from Walker, the man's fist grazing the air above his head with a sound like a whip cracking. Man, he's slow. Not exactly "buffering on a 90s internet connection" slow, but almost as slow as some of the non-capes he had fought before. Hardkour darted to the side, letting Walker lumber past him and slam into the side of a derailed train car.

That said, even glancing blows from a guy like this could probably send him flying into next week, so Hardkour kept his steps light, slipping and weaving around Walker's sluggish punches like a pro.

"You're gonna wear yourself out at this rate," Hardkour taunted, shaking out his arm. His gloves were still just a tad scuffed from the force of his earlier punches.

Walker grunted in frustration, swinging another massive fist that barely missed Hardkour's head as he narrowed his eyes. "You gonna dance all day, or you actually gonna hit back?"

Hardkour grinned under his helmet, his voice calm but with a cocky edge. "Oh, okay, I just didn't wanna hurt you too bad, but if you say so."

He poured Reinforcement into his arm—golden light flickering around his forearm like the aurora borealis had decided to make a pit stop in his limb. His fist shot out, catching Walker in the gut with enough force to lift the man clean off his feet. The impact sounded like a bowling ball smashing into a brick wall, followed by Walker's deep, wheezing gasp.

Walker turned, wiping blood from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, knees shaking for just a second before he found his balance again. His hazel eyes sparkled with something halfway between amusement and genuine irritation. "Hoo boy, you got a punch on ya," he admitted, spitting off to the side. "Lemme guess—farm work?"

"Sure, why not?" Hardkour shot back, watching Walker steady himself, knees shaking for just a second before he found his balance again.

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –

Across the battlefield, Theo hovered mid-air, dodging a barrage of coins and ball bearings that Ranger flicked at him with surgical precision. Each projectile whizzed past, narrowly missing Theo's silvery robes as he raised a hand.

"Erde: Eisenruf!" Theo's voice was calm, deliberate, and far too composed for someone under fire. The metal projectiles stopped mid-air, caught in an invisible field before joining the small cluster of floating debris.

"Spells", as Theo had discovered, required a certain level of both imagination and certainty — binding his power's effects to "incantations" allowed him to better control his power and direct it efficiently. "Mana" was a mysterious energy that Theo could direct through conscious focus alone but stray thoughts made that control waver. Verbalizing his intentions and using hand-gestures helped make things easier and the effects more predictable; sort of like a mental mnemonic for manipulating magic efficiently, but even that had problems — trying to bind the idea of a flame-spell to the word "Fire" just set things ablaze every time he thought about fire in general.

Eventually, Theo realized he needed a language he understood with some fluency — so he would have a versatile arsenal of words and incantations to draw from — but which was not so comfortable that he would cast spells while thinking idle thoughts.

Sadly for Theo, the only language he knew well enough to bastardize for use in his spellwork was German… which had unfortunate connotations in Brockton Bay, especially given his family's use of it to twist culture and ideology, but no matter.

He would take it back and make it his own. To take it and make it his weapon against the Empire.

Against his father.

Ranger cocked his head, clearly unimpressed. "Oh, that's cute," he drawled, flicking another coin that Theo snatched out of the air. "You gonna catch every one o' these, or just the ones I don't mean to hit you with?"

Theo hovered a few feet above the broken ground, his baggy hoodie swaying slightly as he raised one hand and muttered another "Erde: Eisenruf." Ranger, still crouched behind a battered train car, flicked another coin with a sharp twist of his wrist.

The coin zipped through the air like a bullet, but Theo barely moved. His fingers twitched as he muttered the spell he had formulated, and the coin stopped mid-flight, spinning lazily before joining the orbiting scrap metal around him.

"Predictable," Theo said, his voice calm but cutting. "For someone with a power like yours, you're incredibly boring."

Ranger laughed, loud and sharp, as he stood up from his makeshift cover. His maroon poncho shifted with the movement, catching the wind. The bullet hole in his hat's brim gave him a lopsided silhouette that somehow made him look even cockier. "Boring, huh?" He reached into his vest and flicked two coins at once, their trajectories splitting apart mid-air like they had minds of their own. "Well, sweetie, you ain't seen nothin' yet."

Theo's eyes—hidden behind his expression-reactive mask—narrowed. His hand shot out, fingers splaying wide. "Erde: Eisenruf."

The two coins stopped inches from him, their spin perfectly synchronized as they joined the growing constellation of metal hovering at his command. "Erde: Eisenpfeil! Schieß!"

Theo's other hand moved in a sharp, precise gesture, and several pieces of nearby debris formed together into a makeshift spear of rusted iron and twisted steel that flew toward Ranger in a line of sharp-edged destruction.

Ranger ducked and twisted, his movements unnervingly fluid. The train car he'd been standing near bore the brunt of the attack, the metal groaning under the force as shards of steel embedded themselves deep into its side.

Ranger emerged unscathed, his grin unfaltering. He spun another coin between his fingers, the metallic flick-flick sound loud against the tension.

"Pathetic," Theo muttered, his voice carrying over the din of the fight. He lifted his hand again, and a larger piece of debris—a rusted bolt as thick as a man's wrist—floated up to join the arsenal around him. He flicked his wrist, and the bolt shot forward like a cannonball.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

Ranger's eyes widened slightly as he sidestepped, the massive projectile grazing his shoulder and slamming into the ground behind him with enough force to leave a shallow crater. "Oh-ho, now that's more like it!" he called, still grinning. "Didn't think you had it in you, kid."

Theo didn't respond, his focus razor-sharp as he brought his hands together. The pieces of metal around him began to orbit faster, a faint hum filling the air as they accelerated. The next barrage was already forming.

Ranger, for his part, seemed almost delighted. "Keep 'em coming!" he taunted, tossing a coin high into the air before catching it again. "I like a good challenge. Builds character, y'know?"

"You're mistaking incompetence for character," Theo replied, his voice cool. He extended his arm, and several smaller shards of metal shot forward, converging on Ranger from multiple angles.

Ranger spun on his heel, his poncho flaring out dramatically as he dodged each shard with precision that bordered on unnatural. A coin left his fingers mid-spin, aimed not at Theo but at one of the floating shards. The impact sent the shard hurtling back toward Theo, forcing him to raise a hand and catch it mid-air with another "Erde: Eisenruf."

"You're learning," Ranger said, mockingly. "Nice to see some growth. Warms my heart."

Theo adjusted his stance slightly, his feet hovering just above the ground as he tilted his head to the right. "And yet you remain as unimpressive as ever. Fascinating."

Ranger's grin twitched, just for a moment, before he tossed two more coins. This time, they curved mid-air, one arcing high and the other low, forcing Theo to split his focus. With a flick of his wrist, he caught the higher coin first, but the lower one was faster, aimed squarely at his chest.

Theo dropped slightly, letting the coin pass just above him, before flicking it back with a sharp motion. The redirected projectile zipped toward Ranger, who leaned back just enough for it to miss, the edge of the coin nicking his poncho. The Texan villain swung a hand behind him, the coin Theo had just shot back at him, reversing position immediately and launching back at the floating boy.

A hiss left Theo's lips unintended, forced to dodge in mid-air as it seared past him, the velocity somehow doubled from before. His gaze snapped back to Ranger, mask barely able to hide his quickened breathing.

"Close," Ranger admitted, his grin returning. "You've got potential, kid. Shame you're wasting it on a losing fight."

Theo's mask shifted slightly, the glowing smiley face turning into a thin, unimpressed line. "Bold words," he said, his tone flat as he recovered his breath, "for someone losing control of the battlefield."

With another sharp motion, Theo sent the collected debris spinning outward in a coordinated strike, forcing Ranger to dive and roll to avoid the barrage. The older man landed in a crouch, his hat tilted slightly from the movement, but his grin never wavered.

"You think you're smart," Ranger said, standing slowly and brushing dust off his vest. "But smarts don't mean jack if you can't close the deal." He flicked another coin, the movement almost lazy, and it shot toward Theo like a missile.

Theo caught it, of course, but this time, he didn't send it back. Instead, he let it join the thin swirling mass of metal around him, his calm demeanor unshaken.

"And you think bravado compensates for lack of strategy," Theo replied, raising his hand lazily again. "You're not strong enough for that."

A dozen meters away, Sparky crouched slightly, arms loose at his sides, his weight shifting back and forth on his toes like a boxer waiting for the bell. Across from him, Texas moved like a snake—smooth, deliberate, with a coiled tension that made every step feel heavier than it looked. He wasn't bulky like Walker or flashy like Ranger; Texas radiated control, his wiry frame hiding a dangerous precision. Those pale blue eyes locked onto Sparky, cold and calculating, as if measuring every breath he took.

Sparky didn't wait. He lunged forward, closing the gap in a blur of black and yellow. His foot struck out in a high arc, aiming for Texas's jaw, but the man stepped back just enough to dodge, his boots crunching softly against the ground. The kick missed by inches, and Sparky twisted mid-air, flipping back to his feet like it was all part of the plan.

"Quick," Texas muttered, his voice low and dry, like gravel grinding against itself. "You're good, for a green chickadee."

Sparky smirked, rolling his shoulders as he reset his stance. "And you're slow, old man."

Texas didn't respond with words. Instead, he shot forward, his movements faster than they had any right to be. His right hand lashed out, fingers splayed like claws, aiming for Sparky's chest. Sparky ducked low, feeling the rush of air above him as the hand passed inches from his face. He spun on his heel, using the momentum to drive an elbow toward Texas's ribs. The strike connected with a solid thud, but Texas barely flinched.

"Cute," Texas said, his lips twitching under the bandana into what might've been a smirk. "But you're gonna have to do better than that, sugar."

Sparky's eyes narrowed. "Sugar? What are you, a grandma?"

He leapt back, putting distance between them, but Texas followed like a shadow. The man's left hand shot out this time, but Sparky pivoted, narrowly avoiding the strike. He spun again, this time delivering a low kick aimed at Texas's knee. The man moved just enough to absorb the blow, his booted foot stomping down to steady himself.

Texas chuckled, a low, humorless sound. "Playin' games, huh? That's fine. I'll play too."

The next exchange came fast. Texas pressed forward, his hands moving like strikes of a viper, each one calculated to cut off Sparky's angles. Sparky dodged, ducked, and weaved, the air between them crackling with tension. A right hook aimed for Sparky's temple was met with a parry, but the force behind it sent a jolt through his arm. He retaliated with a spinning kick, the edge of his sneaker grazing Texas's shoulder as the man twisted away.

"Not bad," Sparky muttered, breathing a little heavier now. "For someone pushing forty."

Texas's eyes narrowed. "Pushing forty? I'm twenty-eight, you little shit."

Sparky grinned, hopping back a few paces. "Oh, sorry. I didn't realize that's when AARP started sending membership cards."

Texas's jaw tightened. "Funny." He suddenly crouched and slammed a hand onto the ground, the impact sending a faint ripple outward.

At first, Sparky didn't register the change. Then his foot shifted, the once-solid dirt beneath him crumbling into loose grains. Texas had destabilized the ground, turning it into something closer to sand. Sparky's footing wobbled, his balance thrown as he stumbled to stay upright.

"Problem for you is," Texas said, his voice sharper now, "I don't lose. You're just buying time until you figure that out." He lunged like a viper, hands darting out to take advantage of Sparky's fault balance.

Sparky's arms flailed for half a second before instinct kicked in. He dropped into a cartwheel, his hands planting firmly on the unstable ground as he swung his legs overhead. The movement was fluid, almost effortless—until the tip of his sneaker caught something solid.

There was a loud crack.

The world seemed to pause for a beat as Sparky's kick connected with Texas's face. The man's head snapped back, his body following as he staggered, and fell to the ground. Sparky landed on his feet, crouching low and wide-eyed as his eyes widened in surprise.

Only for them to dull again as Texas flipped back onto his feet.

"Shit."

Texas wiped his bandana with the back of his hand, his eyes locking onto Sparky. "Not bad, chickadee. try again." His tone was almost... encouraging.

Like sparky was a kid learning to ride a bike.

That was just annoying.

The teenager shot forward, faster this time and Sparky's foot snapped out. Texas's hand moved to block it, eyes wide and eager as he shouted, "Gotcha!" —too slow to notice Sparky's real strike as he spun fast enough to blur and the other sneaker connected squarely with his jaw, in the exact same place with a satisfying crack.

This time, Texas flew back and dropped to the floor for a full second before Sparky let go of his breath. The villain lay motionless, his angular features slack beneath the bandana. Sparky straightened slowly, brushing the dust off his gloves as a grin spread across his face.

"Well," he said, glancing down at the unconscious villain. "Guess you did lose."

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –

Hardkour dodged another of Walker's swings, darting to the side and delivering a rapid series of blows to the man's ribs. Reinforcement made each punch land like a sledgehammer, but Walker barely flinched. If anything, he seemed to be enjoying himself.

"Alright, kid," Walker said, his grin widening as he cracked his neck. "Lesson time. Hurt me once, shame on you. Twice? Well, that's me."

Hardkour snorted. "Nah, it's you both times."

Walker turned his head slightly, calling out to Ranger. "Hey, think fast. How good's your pitchin' arm today?"

Ranger ducked another one of Theo's projectiles, flashing a grin. "You thinkin' what I think you're thinkin'?"

Walker braced himself, crouching slightly. "Yep. I'll get the height, you give me the distance. Make sure I stick the landin'."

"Oh, hell no," Hardkour muttered, watching as Walker charged toward Ranger, and the smaller man met him halfway. Ranger's hand slapped onto Walker's back, and with a flash of kinetic energy, Walker was hurled skyward like a human cannonball.

"Dodge this!" Walker roared from several dozen meters in the air, his shadow growing larger as his massive frame plummeted back toward the ground.

Hardkour stared up at the incoming meteor for a split second. "...Okay." He leapt back several meters, clearing the impact zone easily.

"Fuck!"

Walker slammed into the ground with the force of a wrecking ball, leaving a small crater and sending shockwaves through the debris. Train cars rattled, and dust rose in a choking cloud around him.

Walker groaned as he pulled himself to his knees, but Hardkour was already moving. With a burst of speed, he closed the gap and launched himself into a flying knee, the blow connecting squarely with Walker's jaw and sending him sprawling onto his back.

The big man gasped, wheezing for breath, but Hardkour didn't let up. He planted a gloved hand on Walker's neck, leaning close enough for the glow of his helmet lenses to catch the cowboy's hazel eyes.

"You ever played Dungeons and Dragons?" Hardkour asked, his tone mockingly casual.

Walker blinked, dazed. "Wha—?"

Hardkour grinned under his mask. "Shocking Grasp."

Electricity surged from his palm, arcing through Walker's body. The man seized up, his muscles locking as the current surged through him. After a moment, Walker's eyes rolled back, and he went limp.

"Well," Hardkour muttered, shaking his hand to dispel the last of the sparks. "Guess you failed your saving throw," he muttered, glancing toward the others. "Who's n-oh."

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –

Ranger crouched, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth under the maroon bandana. He flicked another coin into the air, watching Theo hover silently, unmoving, the space around him disturbingly quiet.

No floating metal.

No shards. No bolts.

"Where'd all your toys go, kid?" Ranger asked, voice casual, though his eyes narrowed slightly as they flicked around the battlefield.

Theo didn't answer. The LED face on his mask had shifted into a calm, eerie smile.

Ranger's fingers tightened around the next coin, his gut prickling with something he hadn't felt in a long while. Unease.

He scanned the area more carefully, his gaze darting between Theo and the empty air around him. Nothing in immediate orbit. No incoming attack. Just silence.

Then his eyes caught it.

A faint glint above Theo's shoulder, almost imperceptible in the light. His gaze traveled upward, following the shimmer of something metallic. Then another glint. And another. His grin faltered as he finally looked past Theo—past the immediate space and up, his eyes roaming across the sky.

Above and around them, forming an enormous sphere, dozens of coins, ball bearings, and shards of scrap metal floated in perfect suspension. They hovered in formation, almost serene in their positioning, like stars caught in the middle of an invisible constellation. Their polished edges gleamed faintly as they shifted ever so slightly, catching the light.

"You were never trying to hit me," he breathed, realization dawning fast and cold.

Theo's mask didn't change, but somehow the LED smile looked sharper. The faint hum of mana resonated in the air as he clasped his gloved hands together with deliberate force.

"Not yet," Theo said, his voice calm, clinical, almost bored.

The lack of emotion made it worse.

Ranger's grin vanished, dropping into a faltering smirk. "Not yet?" He repeated, stepping back instinctively. His fingers twitched, but the coin he held felt pointless now, absurdly small in comparison to the massive trap hanging in the air.

The Texan tried anyway, three coins launching from his palm at once in a desperation move. The floating teenager hissed, his hand twitching as a single coin's edge cut through his sleeve. The sphere faltered, its orbit flickering for a split second. but Ranger's smirk didn't last long. Theo tilted his head slightly, as if examining a chessboard and finding his opponent's king hopelessly exposed.

Then, in a single, commanding motion, he clapped his hands together.

The sound was sharp, ringing through the air like a judge's gavel.

"Erde: Eisenchor."

The hum became a roar. The suspended metal didn't just move—it converged. Every single piece accelerated toward the center point with terrifying speed, slicing through the air with a whistling shriek. For a split second, the sound was almost musical, a metallic harmony vibrating in perfect unison. Then it hit.

From every direction, the metal slammed into Ranger's body, striking him like a collapsing star. The force sent him flying backward, his poncho whipping in the air before his body hit the ground with a sickening thud. The coins and shards scattered harmlessly to the ground around him, their purpose fulfilled. The discordant clangor of all that scrap clattering to the earth was like metallic rainfall, a sound of its like not heard in Brockton Bay since Iron Rain had fallen.

Theo hovered there, his LED face unchanging, the serene smile still glowing faintly. He watched as Ranger's body slumped, unmoving, the man's hat rolling off to reveal a mop of dark, sweat-soaked hair.

The slow clap echoed off the wreckage, faint and deliberate, pulling Theo's attention from the mess he'd just made of Ranger. He rotated in midair, the faint hum of his mana keeping him aloft. Sparky strolled toward him first, his black-and-yellow hoodie swaying with each exaggerated step, and behind him, Hardkour—red and gold against the carnage—followed with a grin practically radiating through his mask.

"Okay…" Hardkour said, his hands slipping into his pockets as he stopped just short of Ranger's unconscious form. "First of all, legit." He pointed lazily toward Theo

Theo adjusted his gloves, tugging them tighter with the methodical precision of someone resetting the pieces of a chessboard. "I don't waste energy," he muttered, barely audible, seemingly more to himself than Greg. "Efficiency wins."

Sparky groaned, throwing his head back like Theo's words physically hurt him. "Efficiency wins," he mocked, dragging out the syllables. "Yeah, cool, whatever, Einstein. You figured out how to do actual magic, but you still can't pick a decent name."

Hardkour leaned on one foot, crossing his arms. "Jesus, dude, why the Negative Nancy routine right now? Y'all just won your first real cape fights. Vibes should be at least moderately immaculate."

Sparky shrugged, glancing around at the three downed villains sprawled across the trainyard. "What? I'm just saying."

Theo tilted his head slightly, his glowing smiley-face mask betraying none of the subtle annoyance in his tone. "...Call me Hakham."

Sparky's head snapped toward Theo, his brow furrowing beneath his goggles. Hardkour's masked gaze shifted between them, his body language practically screaming Oh, this'll be good.

"Okay," Hardkour said, nodding slowly. "I like where this is going. Hakham. Strong start. Exotic, kinda mysterious. What's it mean?"

Theo hesitated for a fraction of a second, but the lights on his mask blinked twice, almost like a sigh. "...Hakham, or Chakam," he began, "is a Hebrew term. It means someone who's wise, skillful, learned."

Sparky's expression, or what little of it was visible, shifted into full Bruh mode. Hardkour, meanwhile, nodded even slower than before, like he was testing the weight of each syllable.

"Not bad," Hardkour said, after what felt like a beat too long. "I mean, it's no Hardkour—" he jabbed a thumb at his own chest. "—but it's got some character."

"Yeah," Sparky jumped in, his voice dripping with mockery. "Not like Apex. That's cool. You pick cool."

"Oh, absolutely," Hardkour said, ignoring the edge in Sparky's tone entirely. "You know me—coolness connoisseur."

Theo's glowing eyes narrowed, the smiley face expressionless despite the rising tension in the moment. "Fine. I could try Cosem. If Hakham is too… obtuse."

Hardkour tilted his head. "Oh, what's that mean?"

Theo hesitated again, visibly regretting whatever rabbit hole he'd stumbled into. "...Another Hebrew term. It also means wise, or—"

"Bro, again with the Hebrew," Sparky interrupted, throwing his hands up in mock exasperation. "What is it with you and Hebrew? I had my Bar Mitzvah and forgot all of it the second I got home."

Theo cocked his head to the side, clearly intrigued. "You're Jewish?"

Sparky puffed his chest slightly, like he was about to deliver the punchline to a joke only he found funny. "Betach, brah."

"The hell does that mean?" Hardkour asked.

"It means 'Of course,'" Sparky explained, shaking his head like the answer was obvious. "Man, Greg, pick up a book sometime."

"Ah, cool," Hardkour said, throwing up finger guns. "The more you know."

Theo folded his arms across his chest, hovering just a bit lower as if retreating from Sparky's overbearing energy. "I just happen to like Hebrew. It sounds cool, and I wanted to learn a bit."

Sparky waved him off. "It's not that cool of a language, man. Trust me."

Theo's head tilted again, and the smiley face blinked slowly, radiating confusion. "But you're Jewish?"

Sparky shrugged. "What, you think I had a choice? This is Brockton Bay. I own it 'cause it's me, but there's nothing cool about it, brah."

There was a long pause.

Finally, Theo muttered, "...Fine. Call me… Magi."

Sparky and Hardkour exchanged a long, wordless glance. Then Sparky broke the silence.

"Ehhh… Yeah, sure, why not?"

Theo turned away slightly, muttering just loud enough to be heard. "You're making me regret spending time with you both."

Hardkour clapped him on the back with just enough force to jolt him mid-hover. "And yet, here you are, Magi. That's what I call a wise decision."