Arkham might have been an intensely mismanaged institution built on a basis of trauma and poor decisions, which only got worse with time, but it remained a bastion of the city's iconic gothic architecture in its most opulent form.
Once the mansion of an impossibly wealthy family whose finances allowed the acquisition and maintenance of an entire island, though a small one, all for their private use and peace of mind away from the stinky, ill-mannered poor people and their unending violence.
That meant luscious gardens and awesome spires, structures so grand and enduring they lasted through centuries of use and misuse, even when repurposed to suit the needs of the criminally insane and keep their doctors and warden safe from them.
Relatively safe.
The beauty diminished with each disaster, every major breakout took its toll, but for now it remained mostly true to the childhood home of Amadeus Arkham.
Even the intensive care unit, whose security and refitting was second only to the penitentiary, boasted its fair share of gargoyles, spiked barriers surrounding the main building and even a rather large courtyard now used to provide some comfort to the patients during therapy.
…And for the staff to have a much needed smoke break between two crazies.
It was rather large, with plenty of garden beds now used for grass exclusively after an unfortunate incident involving thorny rose bushes and a patient who broke their restraints, as well as a large victorian fountain which had to be drained due to that same patient.
On a brighter note, the patient in question caused no further issues.
Such was the sight that greeted the bloodshot eyes of the monstrosity known as King Shark, though he had little regard for its beauty and history.
Not enough wanton violence, apparently.
He was here for one thing and one thing only, the answer to the almost primal call of fresh blood the likes of which he could hardly imagine, luring him away from unimportant things such as teams, missions and the imminent doom brought by the bomb stuck in his neck.
Not like it would kill him for sure, his skin was tough and his flesh was tougher, he has healed from greater wounds than that puny Waller woman could cause in many lifetimes, overcome greater hurdles and reached the most succulent meals unbothered by the restraints of arbitrary morality.
This would be nothing more than a new opportunity to test his mettle and fill his belly with a large piece of delicious, juicy prime quality meat.
The mere thought got him salivating, drool leaking from his mouth into his metal jaw, his eyes glazed over even as his body continued to step forward toward the scent.
Only for a dark shape to come flying down toward him, as if the world itself was just begging him to stop being weird and get on with it.
"Huh? Batman!" He said 'The Thing'.
'The Thing' was a series of two words, the first of which displayed some form of surprise or incomprehension, which gets explained by the second part of the sentence.
The two words, when put together with appropriate punctuation, are generally followed by a very quick and painful experience of justice at the hand of a six feet tall muscle bound master martial artist in tactical gear.
Fortunately for King Shark, this was not, in fact, Batman.
Unfortunately for him, it was something worse.
Something with the ability, desire and sheer willpower needed to pick up a broken gargoyle from the ruined warehouse and drag it to hundred yards away for the glorious purpose of being shucked like a cannonball.
Because bitches love canons.
Such dedication could make Garp shed a manly tear.
It did also end up making King Shark shed a tear, as it struck true due to his blood-induced distraction and attempted to rearrange his face into something more presentable.
It failed, predictably, but at least there was no way it could make things worse for him on that end.
He was knocked back and forced down to his knees, wiping the rubble and dust from face with hands too large to make a difference, condemning him to an imminent battle with dust in his eyes.
"Ouch," He grumbled, obviously uninjured beyond the hit to his pride and loss of comfort, "That was painful, little man."
His eyes darted around looking for that very annoying, very dead piece of meat that he hoped would at least make a good appetizer before the main dish.
Sight was the worst of his senses, but all he could hear right now was the chaos of an asylum breakout, and all he could smell was that delicious meal waiting for him once he crushed this bug.
"Where are you?" He asked loudly, getting up from his crouch and walking around the courtyard, surrounded by the antique tall buildings refitted into the medical facilities.
Despite his nonexistent education, very limited imagination, and downright basic mental faculties, he still held a certain predatory low cunning, not dissimilar to that of a beast who chooses to let a mighty prey bleed out instead of pursuing and getting into a dangerous fight.
Such intellect was enough to tell him that things that could chuck fancy rocks of that size had to be very strong, and probably very big too.
Not as strong or big as him, though.
Things like that were also slow.
Definitely slower than him.
'So you're not getting out, without Nanaue knowing,' He smiled, revealing a maw of atlantean steel.
"Come out, little pest, I won't bite too hard, Nanaue promises!" He shouted again, watching out for any sound, any hint of his prey's presence.
"I'm here," He heard an amused voice to his right, and immediately slashed at it with his large clawed hands, moving with surprising speed for his size.
Hubris was the fall of many of King Shark's enemies, though he wouldn't word it as such, people had the tendency to underestimate and waste time mocking the dimwitted brutish sadistic cannibal.
Only to realize that underwater or in-land, he was more than just a hulking ever-hungry abomination.
He was a quick hulking everhungry abomination!
And yet…he caught nothing but air.
Well, air, and a flying kick right behind his skull, colliding with the impact of a speeding car and twice the brutality.
*Crash*
The scientifically unidentified metahuman thing was sent flying for the second time, but this time the damage was more consequent than a mere annoyance and sensory disturbance, he actually felt that strike.
His skin might not break, and his flesh absorbed the power with all the might of the spawn of an oceanic lord, his bones remained unbroken all the same.
Yet for him, this was the first time he felt true pain since the batman struck him in the family jewels, and this thing did it while hitting his most resilient body part.
This was mildly worrying for the beast, though he remained confident in his own ability to survive whatever overdeal his foe would put him through, it was clear that this would be less of a quick snack and more of a long hunt.
He tried to recover from his loss of balance and recover, but seeing him seemingly unhurt for the second time after applying lethal force prompted his usually nonchalant enemy to take the battle more seriously.
Not that King Shark knew that, or could deduce it, he was too busy receiving another kick right in the liver.
This time his enemy was not holding back in the slightest.
"Guh!" He spat out like a man who just realized he made a very poorly thought-out financial decision, spittle flying from his open mouth and prompting the attacker to use his inhuman celerity just to avoid the unintended chemical attack.
Who knows what's been in there, after all?
"So you can endure this much damage without being hurt, huh?" His enemy, which he now could see was a man wearing fancy clothes like those men following Waller around, King Shark wasn't very aware of human fashions.
What he was aware of, however, was weaponry.
Like the curved sword strapped to the man's waist, which had yet to be unsheathed.
Blades never managed to cut him, but he was taught not to take them lightly, there was more than one way to skin a man, and even his hide wasn't absolute armor.
More worrying still was the look in the man's glowing red eyes, the mix of curiosity and predatory superiority, the kind that came when one was fully confident in his ability to vanquish, dismantle and devour his enemy.
Nanaue did not like being on the receiving end of such a gaze.
Not even one bit.
He felt a fury in his gut that soon brought about a rumbling in his chest, waves of anger that threatened to burst out in violence if he did not provide it with an outlet.
He was more than happy to release that outrage.
A piercing, screeching roar left his bloody maw and for an instant silenced even the chaos of the asylum's assault, he pushed the ground and flipped himself into a crouched position, one clawed hand on the ground.
His bloodshot yellowed eyes fixated on that small thing that dared look down on a mighty son of the seas, veins appearing on his sinewy skin as the roar faded into a deep, guttural rumble.
He forgot all about that darned bomb, the way he wanted to devour that fat morsel named Amanda Waller, the ragtag group he followed to this hellscape or even the most appetizing blood he ever smelled waiting for him mere minutes away from this new battlefield.
All he could think about was his enemy, and the many ways he could bring him misery.
In the words of the generation which will most likely never own a house, he was now locked in.
If he was more strategically inclined, if he was more than a simple mass of muscles who just so happened to have absurd resilience, then this would be the time when he analysed the situation.
He would think about what happened in the previous two engagements, about the strength and possible weaknesses of his adversary, about his own traits and how to leverage them in the best way.
He might even consider using his endurance and ability to withstand punishment in order to leave the area and regroup with the task force.
But nobody would ever accuse King Shark of being smart.
"I will rip you apart!" He shouted before charging face first at his more thoughtful foe, eager to bite his head off.
. . .
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