His reserves were at half. Not low, but not safe. Enough for a few heavy hits or a good stretch of sustained movement, just not both.
Which, of course, was the perfect moment for the Hulk and Abomination to crash their kaiju-grade brawl right in front of him.
Ethan didn't even have time to curse before a chunk of concrete the size of a dining table missed him by a breath and pancaked a nearby car. His instincts roared louder than his thoughts, duck, roll, move, and he hurled himself behind the wreckage of an overturned bus as shockwaves rolled through the street like thunder.
He really could kiss Colleen right now for beating him black and blue, but the utter mess in front of him made him forget in less than a second.
This wasn't a fight. This was a natural disaster in a cage match.
Abomination was winning, somehow. Larger, meaner, and moving like a wild animal that just figured out it liked hurting things. Hulk looked sluggish by comparison, pinned more than once, slammed through pavement and rebar like drywall. Ethan watched it play out with a hollow pit in his stomach.
'Is Banner still in there?' He wondered, 'Now is not the time to feel self-pity doc, you got a monster to beat up for me.'
He wasn't convinced the timeline would "fix itself." Not here. Not in this weird patchwork of a universe where canon could shift on a whim. If Hulk lost, people died. Maybe a lot of people.
Maybe him.
So he had to act.
Brute force was off the table. Even with effort, he could only hurl a couple of cars before blacking out, and they'd bounce off Blonsky like pool noodles.
He needed to be smart.
Tactical.
Cheap as heck.
Priority one: don't get stepped on. Or seen. Or torn in half.
Priority two: buy Hulk some time to get back on the smash.
Priority three: irritate the crap out of Blonsky—enough to shift momentum.
His eyes locked onto a billboard across the street. One of those absurdly large vinyl ones hanging from scaffolding above a department store, latest OsPhone ad, smug minimalist font and all. Lightweight, durable, and the size of a big garage door.
Perfect.
He yanked it free with a mental shove, dragging its metal frame loose in a screech of snapping bolts. Then, before Blonsky could react, the whole thing snapped through the air like a massive towel whip and wrapped around his face.
The monster roared, yanking it off in under two seconds, but it was enough. Ethan didn't wait, he hurled every nearby curtain, bedsheet, awning, and tablecloth he could find straight at the bastard's face like a hyperactive poltergeist.
Did it hurt him? No.
Did it make him angry? Absolutely.
And more importantly, it made him blind.
Hulk surged forward. Ethan didn't see the blow land, but he felt it, concrete splintered, air warped, and Blonsky screamed as he was punched through an abandoned deli.
The tide was turning. One distraction at a time.
He was trolling a giant that could end him in a second.
But Ethan didn't stop. He couldn't.
Every moment counted. He yanked trash beans into Blonsky's ears. Loosened fire escapes. Sent manhole covers spinning underfoot like giant coins. If it slowed the beast down or blocked his line of sight, it was a weapon.
And then the military showed up.
Perfect timing, as always.
Black-clad soldiers rappelled from helicopters and opened fire, doing absolutely nothing but drawing Blonsky's attention and Hulk's wrath. Ethan groaned behind clenched teeth.
"Let the monsters cancel each other out, you absolute morons," he muttered.
Still, they had gear. Useful gear. Grenades, flashbangs, even a few shoulder-mounted toys he didn't recognize but made the little boy in him very happy.
One by one, grenades began floating upward, subtle at first, then quicker as Ethan gathered them with scraps of metal, wrapping them in a thick canvas tarp he'd salvaged from a food truck. They floated silently to a rooftop, safe, unseen, and stockpiled.
It was a good plan. A clever one. Right up until a soldier screamed and pointed.
"There! Something's moving the—!"
Too late. Goal one—don't be seen—failed.
Blonsky's glowing eyes locked on him mid-sprint. He snarled, stepped through a sedan like it was cardboard, and bellowed—
"It's you."
"No?" He answered, and was somehow heard if the smile on the man thing's face was anything to go by, a cruel ugly smile.
Ethan barely had time to react before he slapped a weighted bedsheet across Blonsky's face again, blocking his sight, yanking it tight just in time for Hulk to rocket in and hammer him with a two-handed smash that cratered the ground.
Dust exploded outward. Ethan covered his face with his forearm, coughing, ears ringing.
When the air cleared, Hulk turned his massive head toward him.
Ethan blinked.
Hulk didn't.
"I blind him, you smash him?" Ethan deadpanned, which wasn't really that obvious through the huge helmet that made breathing a pain in the arse.
Hulk grinned. It wasn't pretty. But it worked.
They moved like a strange duet. Ethan played interference, blinding, tripping, baiting, while Hulk did the damage. Every time Blonsky lunged for the smaller threat, the green juggernaut barreled in with fists like wrecking balls.
And Blonsky hated it.
Ethan saw the shift in his posture, the frenzied swings, the half-second glances toward him even mid-fight. He'd gotten under the monster's skin. Good. That made him predictable.
Then it happened.
Hulk went down. Hard. Blonsky had his hands around the big man's throat, choking the life out of him, roaring his victory to the sky.
Ethan didn't reach for another blanket.
He reached for the bundle.
It was soaked in fuel. Heavy with shrapnel and sixty-two grenade pins missing from their homes. Wrapped tight in cloth, like a present no one wanted.
And he shoved it into Abomination's open mouth.
"Please work." He muttered.
. . .
Alternative Title: No, it's somehow worse!
Author's Note:
If you're enjoying the story and want to read ahead or support my work, you can check out my P@treon at [email protected]/LordCampione. But don't worry—all chapters will eventually be public. Just being here and reading means the world to me. Thank you for your time and support.