Nightwing & Angel - The Legend Untold

Mark Fletcher and Chris Hilton moved stealthily through the lower level, their footsteps muffled by the chaos around them. The tension was palpable as they reached a large steel door at the end of the corridor. Mark's eyes narrowed as he spotted several of Alphonse's men clustered near it, weapons ready.

Mark's sharp gaze locked onto the scene, and he whispered to Chris. "Vivian and Gustav are in there. They have to be."

Chris nodded, his grip tightening on the knife in his hand. "Yeah, those goons aren't here for fun."

Mark clenched his fists, his resolve sharpening. Without wasting another second, he bolted forward in a blur of motion. The sudden burst of speed left Alphonse's men stunned.

"What the hell?!" one of them shouted, his gun barely raised before Mark was upon him.

Mark delivered a precise one-inch punch to the man's stomach, the sheer force knocking him off his feet. Before the others could react, Mark spun around and landed a back kick squarely on another man's chest, sending him flying into the wall with a grunt.

Chris moved in with calculated precision, his knife flashing as he disarmed a guard with a swift slash to the wrist. The guard howled in pain as the weapon clattered to the ground, but Chris didn't stop there. He followed up with a well-placed elbow to the man's jaw, rendering him unconscious.

"These guys just keep coming," Chris muttered as two more charged toward him.

"Let them," Mark said with a smirk, ducking under a wild swing and countering with a powerful uppercut that sent his attacker sprawling.

Chris dodged a lunging guard, his knife flicking in a clean arc to slash across the man's thigh. The guard stumbled, and Chris finished him off with a punch to the temple.

Another guard tried to flank Mark, but Mark twisted mid-air, his baton extending to knock the weapon from the man's hand. With a quick strike to the ribs, the guard crumpled to the floor, clutching his side in pain.

Chris, still in sync with Mark's rhythm, dealt with the last attacker. The guard lunged at Chris with a knife of his own, but Chris sidestepped and, with a calculated motion, used his knife to deflect the strike before delivering a punishing knee to the man's stomach.

As the final guard collapsed, the corridor fell silent.

Chris looked at Mark with a wry grin. "Not bad, Nightwing."

Mark wiped the sweat from his brow, his eyes fixed on the steel door ahead. "Let's finish this. Vivian and Gustav need us."

With a shared nod, the two moved toward the door, the tension building as they prepared for whatever lay beyond.

...........

Meanwhile

Loe Halloway and Mindy Williams were sprinting through the dim streets of Chicago, the shadow of urgency driving them toward the Chicago Outfit headquarters.

Loe clenched his fists, his voice steady but lined with tension. "Just wait for me, Mark, Chris, Vivian, Gustav… I'll be there soon."

Mindy, running beside him, glanced at him and smiled softly, trying to lighten the mood. "Don't worry. They're still fine. I can sense them with my telepathy."

Loe immediately stopped, turning to glare at her. "You're using your telepathy again? Idiot, what if you can't handle it like last time? Do you want to collapse again? Or worse, end up with another nosebleed?" His words were sharp, but his concern was undeniable.

Mindy puffed her cheeks slightly, feigning annoyance but unable to hide the warmth in her voice. "Don't worry! I've… I've managed to control my powers better since that day. I can handle it now."

Loe clicked his tongue, looking away with frustration. "Tsk, you…." He paused, taking a deep breath to suppress his anger. His voice softened as he continued. "Fine. Suit yourself, idiot."

Mindy's cheeks turned slightly pink as she tried to hide her growing smile. Her thoughts, however, betrayed her amusement.

(Is he worried about me? How cute.)

As they resumed their pace toward the headquarters, the tension between them lingered in the air, but it was no longer the kind that felt heavy. It was a dynamic that gave Mindy strength and kept Loe grounded, their unspoken bond a quiet reassurance amidst the chaos.

..........

Meanwhile

Vivian and Gustav hurried down the narrow passageway, their steps quick and desperate. Suddenly, a voice boomed behind them.

"Stop, you fuckers!!" one of Alphonse Capone's men shouted, his gun raised and aimed.

Gustav turned his head sharply, his eyes catching the glint of the weapon. Acting on instinct, he grabbed Vivian and pulled her aside just as a shot rang out.

"Vivian!!" Gustav shouted, his voice a mix of panic and determination as he shielded his wife.

The bullet grazed his arm, drawing a thin line of blood. Gustav grimaced but quickly assessed the wound.

"Luckily, it's only a graze," he muttered, gritting his teeth as he tightened his grip on Vivian.

Despite the close call, Gustav's enhanced reflexes, courtesy of his ant-like abilities, had allowed him to dodge most of the shot. His heightened senses worked overtime as he glanced back, noticing the group of Alphonse's men closing in.

"Tsk… what should we do?" Gustav murmured, scanning the dim passage for an escape route.

Vivian, who had taken a hard fall during the scramble, winced as she tried to stand. A shallow graze marked her leg from the impact of hitting the ground.

Before Gustav could come up with a plan, a voice echoed from further down the passageway.

(I told you, Logan, there's a secret door here. Alphonse has been hiding something big. Now's our chance to infiltrate the headquarters.)

Gustav's attention snapped toward the source of the voice. Emerging from the shadows were two middle-aged men. One was tall and imposing, with dark blue hair and wearing soldier-like pants, his movements disciplined and calculated. The other was slightly shorter, wearing a rugged brown leather jacket that gave him a rough, seasoned appearance.

Gustav squinted at them warily, his body tensing. "Who are you guys?"

The taller man, Bill, pointed his gun directly at Gustav, his expression stern and unyielding.

"I should be asking you that. Who are you? Are you with Alphonse?" Bill's voice carried the grit of a former U.S. Army captain, his tone sharp and demanding. His past battles had left him scarred with PTSD, but he had learned to suppress it—at least for moments like this.

Gustav instinctively raised his hands, trying to defuse the tension. Before he could respond, Bill's companion, Logan, stepped forward, his hands flexing as sharp claws extended from his knuckles with a metallic snikt.

Gustav's eyes widened, and he swallowed hard. His instincts screamed that this man was dangerous.

"We're not with Alphonse!" Gustav said firmly, casting a quick glance at Vivian, who nodded in agreement.

Vivian pointed toward the approaching group behind them. "They are."

Bill's eyes shifted toward the oncoming men, his grip on the gun tightening.

"Logan," Bill said calmly, his voice carrying the weight of authority, his eyes locked on the approaching men.

Logan turned slightly, his claws catching the dim light with a menacing glint. His smirk deepened, exuding a mix of confidence and annoyance.

"Don't order me around, bub," Logan growled, his tone dripping with defiance.

Bill sighed, unfazed by Logan's attitude. "Just don't get yourself killed."

"Me? Killed? You're hilarious, Bill," Logan shot back, stepping forward as if welcoming the oncoming fight. His posture was casual, almost lazy, but his predatory movements betrayed the beast within.

Gustav and Vivian exchanged wary glances, both uncertain whether these two were truly on their side.

Logan glanced back briefly, his feral grin widening. "Stay outta my way, and you won't get hurt."

Before anyone could react, Logan surged forward with a speed that belied his rugged appearance, ready to meet Alphonse's men head-on. His claws slashed through the air with deadly precision as Bill raised his weapon, providing calm, calculated backup.

Gustav tightened his hold on Vivian's arm. "Are you okay?"

Vivian, still recovering from her injury, nodded, her eyes locked on Logan as chaos unfolded in the dim passageway.

.........

Meanwhile...

Mark and Chris stood in the grim, suffocating room where Alphonse Capone's experiments had unfolded. The sight before them was beyond comprehension—rows of containers filled with severed human heads, dismembered limbs, and grotesque hybrid monstrosities of human and animal parts. The room reeked of decay and the cold sterility of mad science. The flickering fluorescent lights cast eerie shadows over the grotesque display, making it all feel like a waking nightmare.

Mark clenched his fists, his breathing heavy, a storm of emotions raging within him—anger, sorrow, disgust, and a dark, vengeful fury. He stared at the horrors before him, his vision blurring as memories of the past surged back—visions of the 1940s when he had watched helplessly as innocent lives, including his Teacher Dan, were snuffed out.

"This... this is inhuman," Mark muttered, his voice low but laced with seething rage.

Chris, standing beside him, felt his stomach churn at the sights, but his focus was on Mark. He recognized the look in his friend's eyes—a dangerous descent into blind wrath.

Suddenly, shouts echoed through the room. Alphonse's men, equipped with advanced helmets designed to counter invisibility, spotted the two vigilantes. The room's anti-invisibility systems had nullified their stealth.

"There they are! Open fire!" one of the men yelled, raising his weapon.

Mark instinctively stepped forward, his muscles coiling, ready to unleash his rage on the men. The sheer intensity of his anger made Chris reach out, grabbing his arm.

"Calm down, Nightwing!" Chris urged, his voice sharp yet steady.

Mark turned to Chris, his expression torn between fury and pain.

"Do you see what they've done, Chris?" Mark snarled. "This is pure evil. These monsters deserve no mercy!"

Chris tightened his grip on Mark's arm, pulling him back slightly. "I see it, Mark. I do. But if you lose control, you're no better than them. We need to stop this madness smartly, not recklessly."

Mark exhaled heavily, his chest heaving as he tried to rein in his emotions. He knew Chris was right. Letting his anger take over would only jeopardize their mission.

The men closed in, weapons drawn. Mark and Chris exchanged a glance—a silent understanding passing between them.

"Fine," Mark said, his voice low and dangerous, his focus sharpening. "But I'm not holding back."

Chris smirked, drawing his knife. "Neither am I."

With that, the two vigilantes launched into action. Mark moved with precise, calculated aggression, disarming and incapacitating Alphonse's men with swift, brutal efficiency. Chris followed closely, his blade a blur as he expertly neutralized their enemies.

The room erupted into chaos, but amidst the violence, the two vigilantes fought with a purpose—to end the horrors that Alphonse Capone had wrought.

Mark and Chris moved through the chaotic laboratory like a storm, their skills complementing each other perfectly.

Mark, in his serious mode, was a force of nature. His punches landed with bone-shaking power, but he expertly pulled his punches to avoid fatal blows. One swing of his fist shattered the helmet of an advancing thug, the sheer impact rendering the man unconscious before he crumpled to the ground.

"Goodnight," Mark muttered, stepping over the body without breaking stride.

From behind, the sharp crack of a gunshot rang out. Mark felt the impact against his back but remained unshaken—the suit designed by Michael Wilson absorbed the bullet effortlessly. He spun around, his piercing gaze locking on the shooter.

Without hesitation, Mark performed a graceful backflip, his body twisting mid-air before his foot slammed into the gunman's face with unrelenting precision. The force sent the man sprawling to the ground, his weapon skittering across the floor.

Chris, meanwhile, navigated the chaos with surgical precision. His movements were fluid, calculated, and mercilessly effective. Targeting three approaching men, Chris stepped to the side, exploiting their blind spots.

With swift, deliberate strikes, he attacked the first man's abdomen, forcing the air from his lungs. The second received a sharp jab to his chest, disrupting his breathing and balance. The third barely had time to react before Chris struck his left shoulder, sending a wave of pain through his body and rendering his arm useless.

"Know your anatomy, and you know your enemy," Chris murmured to himself, a faint smirk on his face as the three men collapsed in groaning heaps.

Mark and Chris regrouped in the center of the room, their backs to each other as more of Alphonse's men rushed in.

"Still holding back?" Chris asked, his voice tinged with amusement as he wiped blood from his knife.

Mark cracked his knuckles, a faint smirk breaking his stoic demeanor. "I could ask you the same thing, acupuncturist."

Chris chuckled. "Touché." sidestepping an oncoming thug. With fluid movements, he struck the attacker's neck, temporarily paralyzing him, then swept his legs out from under him, finishing with a calculated knife strike to a nerve cluster on the man's shoulder.

Meanwhile, Mark faced off against two more opponents, their helmets gleaming under the dim light. The first swung a crowbar at him, but Mark caught it mid-swing with one hand, his superhuman strength bending the metal. With a swift uppercut, he sent the thug flying into a row of containers.

The second attacker lunged at him with a knife, but Mark sidestepped and delivered a punishing roundhouse kick that sent the man crashing into a console. Sparks flew as the machinery shorted out, adding to the chaos in the room.

Chris joined Mark, standing back-to-back as the remaining thugs hesitated, clearly rethinking their life choices.

"What's the matter?" Mark taunted, cracking his knuckles. "You were all so eager a minute ago."

Chris tilted his head, his knife glinting under the fluorescent lights. "If I were you, I'd run. But hey, your choice."

As the two vigilantes prepared themselves on another wave of enemies approached, ready to unleash their distinct yet complementary fighting styles once more suddenly a furious voice shouted, its rage cutting through the chaotic noise.

"You vigilantes!!!"

The air grew tense as the heavy sound of boots echoed through the laboratory. Mark and Chris, already poised for battle, turned toward the source of the booming voice.

Mark's sharp eyes immediately locked onto the figure emerging from the shadows. A tall, broad-shouldered man with a powerful build stormed into view. His piercing gaze burned with fury, and despite his age—his hair streaked with gray—he moved with an unnatural vigor, a testament to the dark sorcery that coursed through his veins.

Mark's expression darkened, his hands clenching into fists. "Alphonse Capone." His voice carried equal parts anger and disgust.

To be continue