The warehouse pulsed like a living thing, its metal skeleton creaking and groaning under the weight of anticipation. Dust swirled in muted shafts of light that pierced the broken skylights, mingling with the violet flare that began to crawl over Zane's body.
One heartbeat, two, and his human outline fractured, replaced by the jagged, predatory frame of his Echo Form. His claws extended, black and glinting, his breath hissed between teeth clenched tight as every sense sharpened to a razor edge.
Sportsmaster tilted his head, assessing the change with a casual glance.
'Now!!' Sportsmaster exclaimed internally as he quickly tossed a Javelin he had hidden nearby straight at Zane!
FWIP!
The javelin sang through the air, a flash of cold steel aimed squarely at Zane's midsection. Zane's instincts screamed, his body mid-transformation, muscles still coiling into unnatural patterns.
"Argg...fuck!!"
The javelin hit before his form fully locked. Pain lanced through him as the metal tip bit shallowly into his gut. It didn't penetrate deeply, thanks to the partially completed transformation, but it left a line of heat and blood across his torso.
Zane staggered, eyes narrowing at the sudden pain. His claws flexed around the javelin shaft. With a guttural growl, he pressed, muscles rippling under the light of his Echo form. Inch by inch, the weapon slid backward, tearing flesh as it came free and clattering across the concrete. He spat, wiping blood from his lips, and lifted his head to face his opponent.
"Ok, so you were early planning this attack for a while huh?" Although it was phrased as a question, Zane already knew the answer.
'Sportsmaster must've planted this place full of his little gadgest....that complicates things.' Zane thought grimly.
Sportsmaster rolled his neck until it popped, a smile creeping across the masked face. "Transformation metas," he said, almost lazily. "Always that blink of weakness. That brief window when tou transform. I wasnt actually sure wether you would be the same, but I guess I was right..."
Zane's hands clenched, purple light flaring around his forearms.
'I cant give him another chance to do anything. Gotta end this...fast!'
He lunged, ground cracked bneath him as he pushed off. Claws struck, aimed for Sportsmaster's ribs, but his motion was slightly delayed.
'What?'
Not giving Zane the chance to reorganize his thoughts, sportsmaster pivoted, letting Zane's claws scrape harmlessly off the reinforced chestplate. Then, with a dancer's precision, the mercenary rammed his hockey stick into Zane's side.
THWACK!
Shock radiated through Zane's body, and he rolled it down through his hips and legs, letting the floor take most of the impact. Cracks spider-webbed outward across the concrete beneath his feet.
*Cough!!*
Zane coughed up some bile onto the floor as he struggled to stand. He looked suprised at the situation.
'That should not have been enough to even injure me, what the hell did he do?...that Javelin...was it..'
"Venom, yes." Seemingly able to read Zanes mind, Sportsmaster interuppted his thoughts.
Sportsmaster's voice was calm, mocking. "That javelin wasn't just steel. That's venom, brewed to ride the blood. Enough to fell a whale. You think I fight monsters and Kryptonians without insurance?"
Zane's eyes narrowed. He tried again, clawing forward with a strike meant to force the fight into hand-to-hand. Sportsmaster sidestepped with a grin, letting the poison-tuned hesitation dictate Zane's rhythm. "Close," he said. "But close doesn't win. Not in this universe."
The mercenary let the hockey stick drop and drew another weapon from his arsenal. Chain uncoiled with a hiss, ending in a massive iron sphere, swinging in lazy arcs like a serpent. An Olympic hammer. War-forged, calibrated to crush, smash, and dominate.
WHOOSH-WHOOSH-WHOOSH!
The air itself seemed to bend around the hammer as it whistled through space, every swing faster than the last. Zane's danger sense hekped him dodged three swings right after the other, ducking and weaving through the barrage.
"Argg."
Unfortunately his body delayed him on tge fourth strike!
Knowing he couldn't dodge, he dug his feet into the cracked concrete and braced.
The iron sphere lashed out with a blur of motion, and Zane twisted his body at the last instant. The hammer collided with his claws instead of his chest, sparks exploding as steel shrieked against sharpened bone. The impact rattled his arms down to the elbow, but he didn't break. He let the force roll through him, shifting his weight and redirecting the momentum into the ground.
CRUNCH!
The warehouse floor cratered, spiderweb cracks racing outward from the blow.
The mercenary snarled and swung again, faster.
Zane stepped in this time, his claws screeching across the chain, redirecting the arc just enough that the hammer slammed into a stack of wooden crates.
BOOM!
Splinters erupted in a storm, jagged shards peppering the room like shrapnel.
Another swing, this one coming low. Zane hopped back, boots skidding over broken concrete, and the hammer tore a gouge across the floor where his legs had been a heartbeat earlier. Dust and powdered cement clouded the air, choking and gritty.
Sportsmaster laughed, rotating his shoulders, feeding the chain more speed. Each revolution blurred the iron ball until it was little more than a streak of dark steel. The air pressure alone pressed at Zane's chest, his danger sense pulsing like a drumbeat in his veins.
Zane bared his teeth. He couldn't outpace this weapon. He couldn't overpower it head-on. But he could endure.
He let the next swing connect with his claws again, knees buckling, the shockwave booming through the rafters. The strike's energy bled into the floor, sending another shiver through the warehouse support beams.
Metal groaned. Crates toppled. The building itself seemed to flinch at every impact.
"Not bad," Sportsmaster said, spinning the hammer faster, faster. "You're tough. I give you that. But being tough won't win you the war. Humans like me? We make the battlefield work for us. That's what training teaches you—where to put the chaos so it kills instead of controls."
Zane groaned, staggering back as the hammer's mass swept close enough to clip him.
BOOM!
He rolled the blow through his body, purple energy flaring, letting the concrete absorb the energy rather than letting his organs crumble. Every blow was meant to overwhelm, to end him—but he survived, filtering each attack like water through a sieve.
....
Above, somewhere in the rafters, a shadow moved across the monitors. The Light's observer sat silent, recording every flick of muscle, every calculated step, every misstep. They were measuring him, analyzing him, taking note of what made him a threat, what could be manipulated.
.....
Meanwhile, across the warehouse, Artemis and Cheshire clashed. The masked assassin's movements were fluid, blade dancing in precise arcs. Artemis fired arrow after arrow, each deflected with a flick of steel that tested her reflexes, forced her to adapt constantly. Sweat streamed down her temples, mixing with the grime of broken crates and dust.
"Why are you targeting us?" Artemis demanded, firing again.
Cheshire's head tilted, eyes glinting behind her mask. "Why ask questions you already know the answer to?"
They collided again, bow against blade. Sparks flew. Artemis faltered briefly, pushed back by the ferocity of the attack. Memories of Zane flashed through her mind: the hours of sparring, the lessons in timing, anticipation, reading an opponent.
She felt herself settle, recalling every trick, every adjustment she had learned from fighting Zane in training. Her body remembered before her mind did, and she adjusted her stance, her aim, her rhythm.
With a swift motion, she hooked her bowstring around the edge of Cheshire's mask and yanked. The porcelain shattered on the floor, revealing jade-green eyes that glittered with cruel amusement.
"Hello, little sister," Cheshire said, voice low and mocking.
Artemis froze. "…Jade," she whispered.
Cheshire circled, blade spinning, confidence radiating. "Still playing hero, still clinging to your little monster friend across the room? You can't escape blood, Artemis. You'll always be Dad's daughter. And always, always my sister."
Artemis clenched her teeth, heart hammering. Her arms shook, but the memories of sparring with Zane steadied her.
'Flow, don't panic. Adapt. Predict.'
She sidestepped, unleashed a precise arrow that grazed Jade's arm. Blood welled, but Artemis's rhythm held. Her strikes became sharper, controlled, relentless—echoing every lesson Zane had drilled into her.
Cheshire's smirk faltered for the first time. "Better," she hissed, "but not enough."
---
Back with Zane, Sportsmaster's tempo intensified. The hammer whistled in arcs calculated to keep him off balance. Then came the sonic pucks.
PING! PING!
They erupted with shrill, focused frequencies designed to shred concentration. Zane staggered, ears ringing, vision doubling, balance tipping. He clawed lines in the floor, purple energy pulsing to stabilize his form. Each breath hissed through clenched teeth.
Sportsmaster grinned, letting the chaos of noise and weight press against Zane's defenses. "Can't fight if you can't stand. These things even work agains Captain Marvel, you should be honoured, kid."
Zane forced himself upright, every nerve screaming, every muscle burning!!
He realized with a bitter flash of humility how full of himself he had become. This was no small-time thug or street fighter.
Sportsmaster had planned this battle down to every twitch, exploiting vulnerabilities in a form that had been his pride.
'I've been getting cocky. I forgot how much preparation matters. I'm in a Universe with Batman for fucks sake!! When did I think I was untouchable!"
Purple energy flared, claws digging into the floor. For the first time, he acknowledged it openly: I got full of myself.
.....
Patreaon
/Williamstewart