Nightwing & Angel - The Legend Untold

Vivian's hands trembled as she leaned against the cold, steel table in the eerie laboratory, her gaze fixed on the grotesque experiments around her. The air was heavy with despair and anger, but what churned most violently inside her wasn't just revulsion at the sights—it was the memory of the man responsible.

She turned toward Gustav, her eyes aflame with a mix of grief and determination. "We need to make him pay... Father—no," she paused, her voice cracking, "that monster."

Gustav's heart clenched at her words. He stepped closer, gently placing a hand on her shoulder. He knew this wasn't just about the atrocities they had uncovered here. For Vivian, this was personal. She still struggled to reconcile the man she had once called stepfather with the depraved tyrant that Alphonse Capone had become.

Gustav held her close, his resolve matching hers. "We'll make him pay, Vivian. I promise."

As the two prepared to leave the nightmarish laboratory, their determination was unshakable. The man Vivian had once called "Father" would soon face the reckoning he so richly deserved.

.......

Alphonse Capone marched with a purposeful stride, his heavy boots echoing through the dimly lit hallways of the compound. His face was a mask of fury, his jaw tight, and his eyes sharp as daggers. As he walked, he murmured under his breath, his voice low and venomous.

"These motherf*ers will pay for this!"he growled, his mind seething with thoughts of destruction.

Ahead of him, his men spread out like a swarm, scouring every corridor and room in search of Vivian and Gustav. Their flashlights cut through the shadows as they moved with urgency, knowing the consequences of failure under Capone's command.

Alphonse stopped abruptly, turning to the group of men nearest to him. His voice boomed through the air, sharp and commanding.

"What are you waiting for? Go!" he barked, his hand slicing through the air in an impatient gesture. The men jumped at his tone, scattering further into the building with renewed haste.

As they disappeared into the darkness, Alphonse clenched his fists, his thoughts spiraling.

"Gil Felcoms shouldn't know about this," he thought, his gaze narrowing. He glanced toward the upper levels of the building, where Lenore was giving Gil a carefully curated tour of the Chicago Outfit's so-called legitimate operations. The last thing Alphonse needed was for Gil—a potential investor and high-society connection—to catch wind of the chaos unraveling below.

"Lenore better keep him busy," Alphonse muttered to himself. His mind churned with the precarious balance he was trying to maintain—appeasing the Felcoms family while dealing with the vigilantes threatening to expose his dark secrets.

He quickened his pace, his resolve hardening. "I need to finish this before Gil notices. This operation can't fall apart because of a couple of meddling fools."

Capone's thoughts turned cold and calculated. This wasn't just about protecting his business anymore—it was about maintaining control. And no one, not Vigilantes, or even the Felcoms family, would stand in his way.

...............

Meanwhile

Mark and Chris moved swiftly through the dimly lit corridors of the lower level, their senses sharp as the chaos around them unfolded. The clatter of boots and the shouts of Alphonse's men echoed in the distance, growing louder with every step.

Mark's voice cut through the noise as he shouted, "There are too many of them!"

Chris, his face tight with concentration, ducked under a stray swing from one of the men and replied, "I agree with that! These fckers are too damn many!" He deflected another attacker with a quick counterstrike, his movements precise and efficient.

Mark's sharp eyes caught a glint of metal—a gun aimed directly at Chris. His heart lurched as he yelled, "Chris, avoid!"

Without hesitation, Mark launched himself toward his companion, shoving Chris out of the bullet's trajectory just in time. The shot rang out, hitting the wall behind them with a deafening crack. Both men hit the ground, rolling into cover.

Chris looked at Mark, his expression a mix of relief and gratitude. "Thanks, Mark. If it weren't for you, I'd be screwed."

Mark gave him a quick, determined nod. "Stay sharp. We can't afford any mistakes. Vivian and Gustav are counting on us."

Chris smirked faintly, brushing the dust off his jacket. "I owe you one, Nightwing."

Mark's lips curled into a brief smile before he turned serious again. "Let's move. We need to reach them before Alphonse does. Stick close and watch your back."

Chris nodded, gripping his weapon tightly. The two resumed their mission, moving with renewed focus through the maze of hallways, all the while hearing the relentless footsteps and shouts of Alphonse's men closing in. Time was running out, but their resolve burned stronger.

..............

The room was silent except for the ragged breathing of Loe and Litzo, their bodies battered and teetering on the edge of collapse. The dim lighting flickered, casting ominous shadows across the walls, as the air hung heavy with the stench of sweat and blood. This wasn't a fight for glory—it was survival, pure and simple. One would walk away; the other wouldn't.

Loe's chest rose and fell in sharp, labored breaths. Blood trickled from his mouth, but his focus was unwavering.(This bastard… he's too strong. I'm slipping. But I can't fall, not here. Not now.)

Litzo stood a few paces away, his stance uneven but his glare burning with rage and disdain. His bruised jaw tightened, and he spat blood to the ground, his voice a low growl. "To think a mere vigilante could push me this far. Tsk… Even with the power Lord Atlas granted me." He flexed his fists, his knuckles cracking ominously. "Time to end this."

Loe steadied himself, forcing a smirk onto his bloodied face. "If you can, that is."

With a guttural roar, Litzo lunged forward, his speed still terrifying despite his exhaustion. His fists flew like hammers, each strike aimed to obliterate Loe completely. Loe dodged and blocked as best he could, but the relentless onslaught drove him backward, every impact jarring his body and sapping his strength.

As he stumbled, Loe's fingers brushed the smoke bomb in his pocket. His mind raced. (This is my only chance. He's too strong head-on, but if I disrupt his senses... It's risky, but it's now or never.)

Loe chose to use the smoke bomb at this moment because he had carefully observed Litzo's state. Litzo, though powerful, was now visibly tired. His senses, usually sharp and unyielding, were dulled from exhaustion and the confusion gnawing at his mind.

Litzo's earlier confidence had started to waver. He couldn't understand how Loe, a mere vigilante, had managed to hold his ground against him—a man granted power by Lord Atlas. What troubled him even more was the prophecy he had relied on, one that seemingly ensured his dominance.

Now, with Loe's unexpected strength, Litzo began to question whether the prophecy had somehow shifted, leaving him vulnerable.

The uncertainty weighed heavily on Litzo, complicating his thoughts and making him desperate. For the first time, he doubted himself, and his mind was no longer fully focused on the fight. Loe saw this vulnerability in Litzo's troubled expression, realizing that his opponent was distracted and his sharp senses were faltering.

This was the opening Loe had been waiting for. Earlier in the fight, using a smoke bomb would have been futile—Litzo's heightened senses would have detected Loe through the smoke with ease. But now, with Litzo's mind clouded and his instincts dulled, the timing was perfect. The smoke would disorient Litzo even further, giving Loe the upper hand.

Seizing the moment, Loe gritted his teeth and pulled the small device from his pocket. In one swift motion, he slammed it to the ground.

BOOM!

A thick, choking cloud of smoke exploded into the room, swallowing everything in an instant. Litzo froze mid-swing, coughing as the dense fog obscured his vision.

"Coward!" Litzo bellowed, his voice reverberating in the confined space. His fists swung wildly into the haze, hitting nothing but air. His senses were dulled, his instincts disrupted by exhaustion and fury.

Loe moved like a shadow through the smoke, silent and precise. He knew Litzo's enhanced abilities were compromised now, the timing perfect. "I've pushed him this far. He's angry, he's exhausted… he's mine."

Litzo stumbled, coughing and growling. "Show yourself, you spineless fool!" he roared, his voice shaking with frustration.

Loe's fist shot out from the fog, connecting squarely with Litzo's ribs—the same spot he had targeted earlier. The impact sent a sharp crack echoing through the room as Litzo doubled over in pain, gasping for air.

Before Litzo could recover, Loe delivered a brutal knee to his jaw, snapping his head back and sending him sprawling to the floor.

Litzo groaned, trying to rise, but his body betrayed him. His muscles refused to respond, his vision blurring.

Loe loomed over him, his expression grim. Grabbing Litzo by the collar, he lifted him slightly, bringing their faces inches apart. His voice was low, dripping with cold resolve. "You underestimated me, Litzo. That was your mistake."

Litzo's head lolled, his strength finally giving out. "You… damn bastard…" he muttered weakly before collapsing, unconscious.

Loe released his grip, letting Litzo's limp body fall to the ground. He staggered backward, his own body trembling with exhaustion and pain. The smoke began to clear, revealing the aftermath of their brutal fight.

"I survived," Loe muttered, wiping blood from his lip as he limped away. "For now."

The silence in the room was deafening, broken only by Loe's uneven steps as he disappeared into the shadows, leaving his defeated opponent behind.

Loe's battered body sagged under the weight of his exhaustion, his vision swimming as adrenaline finally began to fade. Each breath felt like fire in his lungs, his muscles trembling uncontrollably. The room, once a battlefield, now seemed oppressively silent, except for the faint echoes of his ragged breathing.

Suddenly, he felt a gentle but firm grip around his shoulders. His battered instincts flared, but the soft, familiar voice that followed melted his tension instantly.

"You can rest now."

Loe blinked slowly, his head heavy, as the warmth of the embrace surrounded him. He knew that voice—it was hers.

"Mindy…" he murmured, barely above a whisper, his voice hoarse from the fight.

Mindy Williams held him tightly, her arms steady despite his weight. She pressed her cheek to his bloodied hair, her voice trembling slightly with relief. "You've done enough, Loe. It's over. You don't have to fight anymore."

Loe wanted to say something, anything, but his strength was gone. His knees buckled, and he slumped fully into her embrace. She supported him with surprising strength, her small frame unwavering as she held him close.

"I've got you," Mindy whispered. "Just rest."

Loe's head fell onto her shoulder, his bloodied hands brushing against hers before falling limply at his sides. His eyes fluttered shut, his body finally giving in to the overwhelming fatigue and pain. For the first time since the fight began, he felt safe.

Mindy tightened her hold on him, her own tears threatening to fall as she felt his weight fully lean against her. She stroked his back gently, whispering softly, "I'm here, Loe. I'll always be here."

As the smoke cleared entirely, revealing the battered room and the unconscious form of Litzo sprawled across the floor, Mindy stood tall, holding Loe securely. Her determined gaze cut through the dim light.

"You're not alone in this fight anymore," she said firmly, more to herself than anyone else.

Loe's breathing slowed, his body relaxing in her arms. The battle was over—for now. And as she carried him toward safety, Mindy vowed silently that she would never let him face such darkness alone again.

To be continue