This was the power of the First Avenger. Captain America, the pinnacle of human potential, forged in the crucible of the Super Soldier Program. A man whose strength, speed, reflexes, endurance, and strategic mind were so far beyond the norm that he was a living legend in his own world.
Dodging bullets was trivial. Defeating men who thought moving fast was a superpower? That was child's play.
The two crumpled forms in the craters at Riven's feet were a testament to that fact. They were barely breathing. Two of Spandine's best men, his most 'elite' agents, were annihilated in a single, contemptuous blow.
From his hiding spot near the ship, Spandine watched, his face a mask of pure, unadulterated terror. "He… he took them both out?" he squeaked, his voice a pathetic, high-pitched whine. "In one hit? My best men! This is a disaster!"
Panic overriding what little sense he had, he screamed at the remaining agents, his voice cracking. "All of you! Stop that… that man-child in the ridiculous theater costume! Hold him back!"
Having given the order, Spandine turned and fled, his long, clumsy limbs pumping desperately as he scrambled back toward the safety of his ship.
Riven's head snapped toward the fleeing commander. His eyes, cold and hard as chips of obsidian, narrowed. "Theater costume?"
"You dare mock me?" Riven's voice was a low growl that carried across the battlefield, freezing the other agents in their tracks. "And you think you can run?" The words were not a question. They were a judgment.
In one fluid motion, Riven unslung the shield from his back. His muscles coiled, a perfect symphony of stored kinetic energy. He spun, his body a blur of red, white, and blue, and unleashed the disc. It flew with an impossible, silent grace, a Frisbee of doom slicing through the air faster than a cannonball.
THWACK!
The resonant sound of Vibranium meeting bone echoed across the port. The shield struck Spandine square in the back, sending him flying through the air with a comical shriek. By some twist of cruel, slapstick fate, he flew headfirst into the steel hull of his own ship, his body going limp as his head became embedded in the metal with a dull, final clang. He hung there, an ignominious trophy pinned to his own vessel.
For a moment, no one moved. The sheer, shocking absurdity of the sight held them all captive.
Then, the spell broke. "Lord Spandine!" some of the agents cried, rushing to aid their fallen, and now deeply unconscious, leader.
The rest, their faces grim masks of fury and fear, formed a semi-circle around Riven. There was no more hesitation. There was no more shock. There was only the cold, hard resolve to eliminate the threat. Rifles were raised, dozens of barrels all pointing at the lone man who had single-handedly dismantled their operation.
"FIRE! KILL HIM!"
The world erupted in a storm of gunpowder and lead. But Riven was ready. He snapped the handle of his shield as it returned to his hand, the Vibranium humming with energy. He planted his feet, holding the shield before him like a bastion, an unbreakable wall against the tide.
PING! CLANG! PING! PING! TANG!
The sound was a deafening, metallic chorus. Sparks flew like fireworks as hundreds of bullets flattened themselves against the shield's surface. They ricocheted wildly, whining through the air, but not a single one penetrated. Riven stood his ground, utterly immovable, a fortress of one. When the clicking of empty rifles finally brought silence, he lowered the shield. Not a scratch. Not a dent.
"Impossible…" an agent breathed. "The shield… it's completely undamaged!"
"What is that thing made of?!"
"He has to be a Devil Fruit user!" another agent declared, a new, cunning light in his eyes. "That's the only explanation! The shield is part of his power!" He began reloading his rifle with a different kind of ammunition. "Men! Switch to the Seastone rounds! If he's a Devil Fruit user, this will turn him into a sitting duck!"
A murmur of agreement ran through the ranks. It was their ultimate trump card against powerful ability users. Seastone, the rare mineral that drained the very life from those blessed and cursed by the sea.
Riven watched them reload. He saw the dull, sea-green tips of the new bullets. He understood their logic. And a slow, dangerous smirk spread across his face. To their utter disbelief, he slung the shield back onto his back, leaving himself completely exposed.
"What is he doing?!" an agent yelled. "Is he insane?"
"Who cares! Fire!"
The second volley began, the Seastone rounds cutting through the air with a distinct, heavy hum.
But Riven didn't try to dodge. Not this time. Instead, he moved into the storm. He became a whirlwind of motion, his hands and arms blurring as he stepped forward, directly into the hail of supposedly power-draining projectiles.
It was a sight that broke their understanding of reality. He wasn't just moving between the bullets. His hands were a blur, plucking the Seastone rounds from the air as if he were catching raindrops. One by one, the lethal projectiles vanished into his grasp.
"No… no, he's… catching them!"
"BARE-HANDED?!"
"But they're Seastone! Even if he's not a Paramecia user, the contact should weaken him! It's impossible!" another agent screamed, his mind refusing to accept what his eyes were seeing. "This can't be real! Keep firing!"
They emptied their clips, their limited, precious supply of Seastone ammunition exhausted in seconds. The frantic clicking of empty chambers once again echoed in the sudden, ringing silence.
Riven stopped. He stood before them, unharmed, that same infuriating smirk on his face. He slowly, deliberately, opened his hands.
A cascade of metal clattered to the ground at his feet. Dozens of Seastone bullets, every single one they had fired, lay in a pile, gleaming in the harsh afternoon sun. He had caught them all.
He looked up, his eyes locking with the terrified gaze of the nearest agent.
"Looks like you're out of bullets," Riven said, his voice laced with a cold, predatory cheer. "Don't worry." He gave a wicked smile. "I'd be happy to give them back."