Nightwing & Angel - The Legend Untold

Loe Halloway's own blood dripped from his split knuckles, pooling at his feet, but he didn't care. His gaze was locked on Litzo, the man who had pushed him to his limit, the one adversary who had matched his strength punch for punch. Each breath felt like fire in his chest, but he forced himself to stay steady, his fists clenched and ready.

Litzo sneered as he wiped a streak of blood from his lip, his eyes narrowing with a dangerous glint. The punch Loe had delivered to his ribs had left a deep bruise, and the pain was sharp, even as he tried to shake it off. He hissed under his breath, muttering, "Damn it…" while his hand moved over his side, pressing down on the spot where the ache was the worst.

Loe's thoughts drifted for a brief moment, and a flicker of doubt crossed his mind. "I'm tired… and I feel like I'm slipping. Losing consciousness…" He gritted his teeth, fighting off the fatigue that gnawed at him. "No… I can't let myself fall. I have to win this. They're waiting for me."

Litzo straightened, his eyes hard as steel, and fixed his glare on Loe. His voice came out in a mocking drawl, taunting yet holding a strange kind of admiration. "I have to admit, you've surprised me, Angel. I didn't think you had this much fight in you." He allowed a cold smile to tug at his lips. "You've become stronger… a lot stronger than I expected."

Loe held his ground, his gaze unwavering, but Litzo saw the faint signs of weariness in his opponent's stance, the slight tremor in his arms. He took a step forward, his own resolve unwavering as he raised his fists, readying for the next round. "But… let's get one thing straight, Angel." His voice dropped to a deadly whisper, each word slicing through the air like a blade. "I'm still stronger."

As Loe lunged forward, throwing his arm around Litzo in an overhook, aiming to lock his opponent's upper body in place. But Litzo was quick; he twisted out of Loe's grip, fluid as a snake. Before Loe could regain his balance, Litzo swung his leg high, aiming a powerful kick toward Loe's chest.

Loe reacted in an instant, barely dodging the kick as he sidestepped, feeling the wind from the blow rush past him. He used the momentum to his advantage, snapping his leg up in a swift counter-kick aimed directly at Litzo's face. His foot connected with a solid crack, sending Litzo stumbling backward.

Litzo's hand flew to his jaw as he steadied himself, fury flaring in his eyes. "You tricky bastard!" he spat, rage boiling in his voice. He swiped the blood from his lip, his gaze fixed on Loe with a newfound intensity.

Loe, breathing heavily, smirked. "What's wrong, Litzo? Can't keep up?" He taunted, despite the exhaustion creeping through his body. He knew he had to keep Litzo on edge, make him lose his focus.

Litzo growled, tightening his fists, and charged forward, determined to wipe the smirk off Loe's face. The two clashed in a flurry of blows, each punch and kick fiercer than the last, a storm of fists and grit as they fought for dominance.

....

In the dimly lit corridor, Mark and Chris moved swiftly yet cautiously, shielded by the invisibility granted by the invisible flashlight. They scanned their surroundings as they made their way toward the lower floors. Mark's heartbeat thundered in his chest as Mindy's voice echoed in his mind.

"Mark, they're on the lower floor, heading to the secret room where Alphonse does his research. But you need to hurry—Alphonse's men are on to them and in pursuit."

Mark clenched his fists and replied in his mind, "Got it, Mindy." He glanced over at Chris, who was watching him closely.

"Let's go," Mark whispered in a hushed tone, his voice barely above a breath. Chris gave a firm nod, his face set in determination.

As they descended the stairs to the lower floors, Mark's mind wandered for just a moment. Amidst the urgency of the mission, he had caught sight of a familiar face in the shadows—a face he hadn't expected to see in a place like this. His mind was racing with questions, but one kept echoing louder than the rest.

"Uncle Gil... why is he here?" Mark thought, feeling a strange pang in his chest. Gil Felcoms, Emily's uncle and a man struggling to prove himself in a world of wealth and influence, seemed painfully out of place in the dark underbelly of Chicago's criminal operations. The sight of him here filled Mark with unease. What was Gil, a member of the wealthy Felcoms family, doing in a place where gangsters roamed and Alphonse Capone's dark dealings lurked?

....

Under the dim, flickering lights, Gustav and Vivian exchanged a tense glance before stepping cautiously into Alphonse's hidden room. A foul smell immediately hit them, thick and overwhelming, like a mix of blood and something even more rotten. The air felt heavy, each breath reminding them of decay and darkness.

Rows of glass jars lined the walls, each containing severed human heads, their faces frozen in expressions of terror, despair, or anger. Some were still smeared with dried blood, while others appeared strangely preserved, a morbid assortment of Alphonse's dark handiwork. Their dead eyes seemed to follow Gustav and Vivian as they moved, casting an eerie sense of life into the disembodied faces. Each jar was labeled with crude handwriting, noting dates and gruesome descriptions: "Test Subject #5: Neural Response", "Test Subject #9: Pain Threshold", and so on.

Through her telepathic link with them, Mindy could see everything they were seeing, and the horror hit her harder than she had anticipated. Waves of pain and fear from each trapped soul echoed through her mind, amplifying as if she were standing right there beside them. Screams of agony, the pleading whispers of victims, and disjointed flashes of the torture they'd endured washed over her senses, overwhelming her.

Vivian shuddered, taking a step back as her eyes fell upon a table where smaller jars held other grotesque samples: fingers, eyes, even strips of skin preserved in murky liquid. The glass was fogged with condensation, making it difficult to see, but she could just make out the distorted shapes of each grisly artifact.

"God... this is... he's insane," she whispered, her voice barely a breath.

Gustav's jaw clenched, his eyes hardened as he surveyed the room, taking in the inhumanity that lay before them. "Alphonse has gone far beyond anything I could have imagined. This isn't experimentation; it's cruelty for cruelty's sake."

On a far table, more tools lay scattered: scalpels encrusted with dried blood, pliers, and syringes filled with unknown, viscous substances. Several restraints hung loosely from the edges, revealing their use in holding down victims who had met their end under Alphonse's "care." Rust and grime covered everything, as if the tools had been reused over and over, never washed, as though the suffering embedded in them was all part of the design.

Mindy's voice echoed in Gustav and Vivian's minds, trembling with emotion. "This… I can hear them. Every one of them... their voices… they're trapped in here. All their final thoughts, the pain, the fear—it's like they're still in this room."

Vivian shut her eyes, blocking out the room's horrors. "People need to know what Alphonse is capable of, what he's done here."

.....

As Mark and Chris moved cautiously through the dimly lit lower level, they stopped short at the sight of Alphonse's men gathering just ahead. They were armed and looked on high alert, their eyes covered with sleek, tech-enhanced goggles that could detect even the slightest movement. Mark narrowed his gaze, taking in their setup.

He leaned closer to Chris. "Looks like they figured out Vivian and Gustav are here," he murmured. "Those goggles—they're not just for show. They can probably spot us, even in invisibility mode."

Chris clenched his fists, a determined look crossing his face. "Then there's no sneaking past. We're going to have to take them head-on."

Mark studied the men for a moment, counting them and quickly planning his moves. He glanced at Chris, his expression calm and focused. "I can take them down fast. It'll be quicker if I go alone."

Chris raised an eyebrow, looking slightly concerned. "Are you sure? There are at least ten of them, and they're not exactly amateurs."

Mark gave a slight smirk, his eyes glinting with confidence. "Trust me, I've got this. Don't worry… I am Nightwing."

With a swift, silent step forward, Mark activated his combat mode, his form moving through the shadows like a streak of midnight. He launched himself at the first two guards, his fists striking with precision and speed. Before they could react, both were down, their goggles cracked and broken on the ground.

Another guard turned, barely catching a glimpse of Mark before Mark dodged a punch, grabbing the man's arm and twisting it behind him. He knocked him out cold with a quick strike to the back of the neck.

Chris watched in awe, staying in the shadows, admiring Mark's flawless technique. Mark was relentless, a blur of movement, his kicks and punches perfectly timed and unerringly accurate. Even when two men tried to ambush him from either side, he ducked and rolled, sweeping one guard off his feet with a low kick while delivering an uppercut to the other.

One of the guards called for backup, shouting into his radio, but Mark was faster. He threw a small flash bomb, blinding the last few guards long enough for him to finish them off.

When the dust settled, Mark looked back at Chris, barely out of breath. "See? Quick and easy."

Chris nodded, impressed. "Alright, Nightwing. Let's get to Vivian and Gustav before more show up."

To be continue