New week and I suppose some apologies are in order. I've stiffed you guys...again. And this time, it's a chapter short. Honestly, I wish I had a better excuse, but the creative juices aren't flowing as quickly as I want them to.
Getting through a chapter used to be a breeze, now I find myself second-guessing lines and conversations. The one coming up with Batman, especially took a bit of patience from me. And too much time to be honest. Again, the story trajectory shifted, and I started wondering if including sorcerers was a mistake before ultimately deciding it wasn't.
It was a honest crisis of faith, but I'm back now I'd like to think, and I already have a few chapters written. Can't wait for you to read them.
Since I'm kind of slowing things down before we ramp them up so that I don't disappoint you. I want to to attempt a single extra chapter this week.
If you want to support my work, check out my Patreon @ Patreon.com/artandcreativewriting, and my other story.
400 stones for one extra chapter. We can work our way up once I reach full speed again. Again, I'm sorry for stiffing you guys.
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Icicle Junior blinked, visibly shaken.
"You're still standing?" he muttered. "That should've put down a rhino."
I didn't answer. I just walked forward—slow, deliberate—my boots crunching cracked frost.
He flinched. That told me everything I needed to know.
He'd been overconfident. But then again, so had I.
Icicle Jr. raised his arms and sent a barrage of jagged icicles, screaming my way.
I tilted my head, flared cursed energy, and sidestepped just as I vanished behind a Curtain—reshaping it into a narrow corridor with no small effort.
It walled off the arena, forming a straight shot to the little shit.
I reappeared beside him, my hand already in motion.
He threw up a wall of ice on instinct.
It wasn't enough.
Overdrive flared, boosting my output by fifty percent.
The wall shattered, and my knuckles dug into his ribs with a resounding crack, sending him flying.
He rolled, coughing up spittle, clutching his side.
The thin layer of ice guarding his flank splintered visibly.
"You hit like a truck," he gasped, scrambling to his feet.
But I didn't give him time to recover.
I closed the distance, weaving through desperate attacks—dodging spears and shards, vaulting over rising ice walls.
He tried to snipe me mid-air, but I blasted through half of the spears with my guns and tanked the rest.
He was mid-transformation when I reached him—frost crawling over his skin, thickening into something meaner, deadlier.
But he was still too slow.
I struck low—a feint to the legs.
He raised a spike to block, but I spun, stepped inside his guard, and swept his legs out from under him.
My titanium fist followed, shattering his icy mask.
Blood burst from his broken nose.
My other hand pressed a gun against his throat.
"Don't move," I growled, my breath fogging in the freezing air.
His hands twitched, but he nodded, breathing ragged, eyes wide with fear and reluctant anger.
Above, I caught a flicker of motion in the shadows—Shade was watching.
That probably meant the vault was empty.
I was tempted to break the kid's hand for good measure.
Instead, I gave him a warning.
"Come at me again, and you'll walk away with worse than a broken nose, Junior. It won't matter who your father is."
I stood up slowly, still aiming the gun.
"Tell Black Mask he should really hire better security."
Then I vanished behind a Curtain.
I rejoined Shade in the alley behind the theater. His expression was unreadable.
"You didn't kill him."
"You said not to," I replied, giving him a pointed look.
"You wanted to."
Of course I wanted to.
The bloodlust had been thick enough to cut through.
And it wasn't because he'd hurt me. No.
Icicle had barely touched me.
This was something more fragile.
More dangerous.
Pride.
I needed to watch myself. The extreme training I'd been putting myself through wasn't helping.
If anything, it was making things worse.
"We've got one more location to hit tonight," I said to Shade.
And then, a very uncomfortable conversation.
Shade remained silent as the darkness enveloped us and deposited us across from a swanky apartment building.
The top floor held the vault, and the inhabitants were a mix of gangsters and civilians sucking off the teat of Black Mask.
The building was isolated—too far from any rooftop to repel into or approach unnoticed.
Any other duo might've seen it as a challenge.
Not us.
Shade simply transported us inside using his shadows.
Suffice it to say, the guards were surprised.
They went down easily. The rest didn't.
I must've put down fifteen of them—including a Venom-enhanced thug—before vanishing with Shade.
He handed me several hefty duffle bags filled with cash, much to my surprise.
I'd expected Penguin to skim more off the top.
"Hold on to it," I said. "I need to stay light in case the deal with him goes south."
"I still think it's premature to approach the Dark Knight," Shade warned. "He'll try to topple us and drag us all down in the arrests."
"Almost certainly," I said. "But that was always going to happen. I'd rather negotiate from a position of strength than rely on his mercy when things go south."
"He won't perceive your isolation as strength. Quite the opposite. Securing hostages first would've guaranteed his cooperation for the time we require it."
"It would also split his focus, draw more attention, and attract the FBI. Maybe even leaguers."
"Fair. But are you sure this isn't about your fear of murder?" He asked, and I raised a brow.
"Whatever gave you that idea?"
"The wooden bullets speak volumes."
"They also minimize casualties," I said. "I don't take life lightly."
"Your past missions suggest otherwise," Shade countered. "A few were unintentional. But some were not. Most criminals start out like you—compassionate, desperate to cling to some scrap of morality in hopes it will save them. But it never does. You were always going to end up like this, with how you came up—the scams, the cons. You have power and skill that few ever will. Don't waste it on pointless morality."
His words drilled into me, echoing sentiments I wasn't ready to admit out loud. He was right. I had been inconsistent with the death-dealing.
Either it was okay to kill people who came after me and mine…Or it wasn't.
And what about henchmen?
Cops?
Teenagers who didn't know better?
"I'm still taking the meeting," I said finally. "It's my ass on the line, and your boss agrees with me. If Batman's ever going to make a deal with a criminal, it's going to be a teenage one."
Shade looked at me with thinly veiled disapproval but didn't press further.
"Where to?"
The meeting place was a park—one that held deep significance for Batman and Dick Grayson.
It was where the Flying Graysons met their end.
I waited there for nearly thirty minutes before he showed. He didn't make a sound—no crunch of grass, no shifting air.
One moment, he wasn't there. The next, he was.
Batman stood well over six feet tall, built like an amateur bodybuilder, draped in a sleek, high-tech suit with clean lines and layered armor.
"That's some trick," I said. "Thought you'd never show."
"You weren't exactly subtle."
After the kind of damage I did tonight, I knew he'd come for me. He was less hostile than I expected.
He studied me a moment before settling onto the bench beside me.
"I have a feeling you're not here to surrender."
"No."
I slowly reached into my coat, pulling out a folder and a flash drive.
Inside was a clipped conversation between Shade and me—details on the vaults, some names, and several references to Penguin.
"Names. Places. A general overview of Black Mask's rising organization. I can't bring the maniac down alone."
"You can't expect me to help you," Batman said.
"Why not? He's a dangerous psychopath who's killed thousands and ruined twice as many lives."
"And you're well on your way to becoming his spiritual successor."