Chapter 4: Profit And Power
The clang of metal on metal sent a spray of sparks into the dim room and everything narrowed to the rhythm of steel. Each strike echoed, slow and heavy, as if the world had been tuned to the frequency of our duel. I had trained with blades for years of swordplay, polearms and a measure of spear. So by utilizing the nanobots, I could switch between forms mid-fight, sliding from close work with a sword to longer reach with a spear as the moment demanded.
But Battle Beast was a seasoned warrior, he adjusted to my weapon forms easily keeping up with my attacks. The he did something unexpected, he flung his mace aside with a roar clenching his fists, daring me into a fistfight. That challenge sounded almost like a laugh to me.I welcomed it gladly. He was soon to find out he had made a gruesome mistake.
I exploded forward. The nanotech sword that had formed along my arm unspooled into armored gauntlets, filling my forearms with living metal. Battle Beast swiped his claws in wide, crushing arcs. I ducked and weaved, letting the wind of his strikes pass me, and then I answered in a blur of a flurry of measured, brutal punches. My fists found ribs, jaw, throat; the metal in my gauntlets bit into his flesh and hide.
He stood absorbing the impact of my attacks. His chest rose and fell; his breathing becoming ragged but still continued attacking relentless. The exchange of our attacks shaking the room but I needed to end it soon, I had no stamina to keep up with a beast like him.
Then I jumped back and burned him. Twin beams cut from my eyes, scorching his chest. He raised his arms and took the hits like armor; the lasers bit into him, searing, but he didn't falter — he barreled forward through the heat, claws skimming my chest.
The claws tore at the fabric of my shirt, shredding threads, but my skin beneath received only a shallow cut. Battle Beast blinked, puzzled — he had never met a body that shrugged off violence like that. In that flicker of hesitation, I closed the distance and drove an uppercut into his ribs. He launched upward, a thunderous crash as he tore through the roof and beyond then bounced back hitting the ground hard, but before he could find his footing, I smashed a fist into his face and sent him hard back down. He lay there, winded, the fight draining from his limbs. He could not rise.
He stared up at me with that raw, ancient hunger still in his eyes. "Kill me," he rasped, voice full of the warrior's pride. "Give me a warrior's honor — a glorious death."
I looked at him. For a heartbeat, I felt the tug of something like pity, or respect — whatever lived in the space between predators and soldiers. Then I said no.
"Why reject me? Are you mocking me?" he demanded.
"No," I answered, calm. "I think I can give you better than this. Imagine facing beings stronger than you — constant challenges, the thrill of discovery. That's the glory you chase." My tone was measured; the offer was deliberate.
Battle beast was amazed, he had never found someone so interesting before. His breath came slow and ragged, curiosity and hunger warring across his features.. I extended my hand and he took it.
Machine Head, meanwhile, had been frantically searching for Isotope after seeing the outcome but froze when he found nothing — the teleporter gone. He tumbled back, suddenly alone in a room that smelled of ozone and blood. Panic crept across his metal face.
"We can talk, Mr. Adams," he stammered, scrambling to regain control. "You can have half of Chicago — hell, take my entire turf."
A strange, small question escaped him in fear: "How are you that strong? My calculations surely confirmed you are human, this must be some kind of illusion" He staggered back, eyes wide.
I pulled a small bottle from inside my pocket, inside the bottle a syrup dark as night sloshing inside like a promise. "This is super serum," I said, plain and cold. "This is the source of my strength." I told him, going to an extent of briefing him of it's origin. During one of my ventures I was lucky enough to come upon a special being in a crushed alien ship and sort the help of the technicians who synthesized a serum from it's genetic makeup that amplified solar absorption in a human frame lasting for twelve hours but thinned the muscles abit as a side effect, but in the moment of twelve hours it turned men into weapons.
After the briefing I shoved my fist into his chest. The motion was brutal and certain. Machine Head's systems failed in an instant; his eyes flickered out as as life -electrical or otherwise left him. I pulled his head free from his shoulders and held it up. His robotic skull gleamed in my hand; it was a tool now, a useful piece I could well put into use.
But with machine head gone I needed someone to take his place. Someone could oversee my businesses in check in this dimension. I scanned the destroyed room then noticed Titan as he struggled to his feet, he was battered but already tightening into a defensive shell of rock as if daring me for a fight. The sight of him stitched a calculation through my mind. Business, I thought — alliances, leverage. I stepped toward Titan, proposition ready on my tongue.
"What do you say you and I work together" The offer hung heavy in the ruined air. Titan stilled; there was fear there, the kind that comes when you consider the cost of saying yes.
Before Titan could answer, Mark's voice cut across the chamber, raw and ragged. "No! Don't take him up on his offer,his a criminal. He belongs in prison." He was on his feet now, bloody but standing.
I turned to him, stepping over debris, and studied him. There was something in his eyes, a determination that snapped at the edges of me.
"Why do you call me a criminal?" I said, stepping close enough that I could smell the iron of blood and ozone on him. "My only objective here is to do business."
Mark's face twisted. "Business?" He spat the word out like a bitter pill. "Your business ruins people's lives. You work with criminals — that makes you one of them."
I closed the distance, face inches from his. "I don't give a shit who I work with as long as I make a profit," I said, quiet and dangerous. He tightened, ready to swing, but something stopped him before his fist left his hand.
It was the sudden deep mechanical roar announcing an arrival: the Guardians. Their presence changed the air as they bulged inside the wrecked room, they had traced Mark's location to this place.
Robot tilted his head, astonished. His optical sensors locked onto another of his kind — an unfamiliar counterpart twisted up in the wreckage. Monster Girl let out a questioning sound in her altered form, and in her voice was equal parts curiosity and recognition.
"Hey don't get me wrong but is that you?" she asked, half hopeful.
Robot's systems ran scans. "I don't know who that is," he said slowly, voice electronic and strained. "He isn't on my radar."
Black Samson's dark gaze landed on me, sharp and assessing. I could see the question there, bright and heavy.
"who is this man who held Machine Head's head like a trophy?" He asked.
Robot responded by pulling up records from his data base crossing sectors of identities and then shook his head. "I can't identify him. There are no records of his activities or existence." His words made the Guardians narrow their eyes suspiciously at me. "He's like a ghost," he added stunned.
Hearing that lit something in my chest — a hot flare of anger. These were the ones who'd torched my shipments. Everything they represented had been an obstacle to the calculations that built my empire.
"Ah," I said, letting a grin spread — slow, intent. "How nice of you to come. Now all the pieces are on the table. How lucky am I. You arrived just in time for a lesson, it's time you learnt respecting another man's property."