Litzo's fist cut through the air, aiming for Loe with deadly precision. Loe, feeling the surge of danger, instinctively dodged the punch just in time. He narrowly avoided the blow, his body moving before his mind could even process it.
"Hoh, you dodged my strong punch," Litzo remarked, his smirk widening, impressed by Loe's reflexes.
Loe's mind raced. (More like I instinctively dodged it. You monster.) he thought, knowing his instincts—honed from years of surviving the worst—had saved him. Litzo's power was overwhelming, and every sense screamed at him to move, to evade, but the danger still loomed.
Gritting his teeth, Loe retaliated. He twisted his body and aimed a powerful back kick towards Litzo, thrusting his heel towards his enemy with all his strength. The strike was quick, fluid, and precise—aimed to catch Litzo off guard.
But Litzo barely flinched. His hand snapped out, effortlessly catching Loe's leg mid-strike, his grip like a vice. Loe's eyes widened, realizing too late that Litzo was stronger than he could handle. Before Loe could react, Litzo lifted him off the ground and slammed him down with bone-shaking force. The impact rattled through Loe's body, knocking the wind out of him as he grunted in pain.
Litzo stood over him, calm and collected, a faint grin playing on his lips. "I told you," Litzo said coldly, his eyes gleaming with the certainty of victory. "This is your predetermined fate. You will die here, Angel."
Loe gasped for air, his body aching from the slam. He could feel the strength in Litzo's grip, the ease with which he had manhandled him. His instincts were screaming again, but this time it wasn't just about dodging—it was about survival. He had to think fast, but the odds felt insurmountable.
Litzo crouched down, bringing his face closer to Loe's, his voice low and menacing. "This is what Lord showed me. You can struggle all you want, but the outcome won't change. You're going to die here... by my hand."
Loe's vision blurred for a moment as he tried to push through the pain. He couldn't just give up. He had fought his way through worse, and even though Litzo's power was overwhelming, he couldn't let this be the end.
With a surge of will, Loe gritted his teeth, planting his hands on the ground for leverage. He kicked upwards, using the momentum of his body to roll out of Litzo's reach. He scrambled to his feet, panting, his body screaming in protest.
"I don't care what fate you think you've seen," Loe spat, wiping the blood from his lip. "I decide my fate, not some vision or your lord!"
Litzo stood tall, brushing off Loe's defiance with a chuckle. "Brave words, Angel. But bravery won't save you."
Loe steadied himself, his mind racing. He knew he couldn't take Litzo on in pure strength. He needed to outsmart him, to use his instincts and speed to stay ahead. But Litzo wasn't just powerful—he was relentless, and every second that passed felt like a countdown to his doom.
According to Atlas's foresight, Loe—Angel, the vigilante—would fall by the hands of Litzo, the superhuman sent to carry out his demise. But what neither Atlas nor Litzo knew was that a new variable had entered the equation—Michael Wilson, also known as Spider-Man, and his intervention would change everything.
Litzo loomed over Loe, his eyes gleaming with cold certainty. The battle seemed all but decided in his favor, as he had seen it happen in Lord Atlas's vision—Loe would fall by his hand, as fate decreed.
But then, something unexpected happened.
As Litzo towered over him, his fists clenched and muscles coiled, Loe's hand slipped into his pocket, his fingers brushing against the two small vials Michael had given him. The first, a health potion, was designed to heal even the gravest of wounds, and the second, an overall boost potion, would increase all his abilities—strength, speed, reflexes—for three hours.
Loe's breath came in shallow gasps as he felt the pain from Litzo's earlier attacks, his body screaming for rest. But there was no time for that now. He could feel the darkness of fate pressing down on him, the weight of inevitability, but he wasn't ready to die. Not yet.
Loe looked up at Litzo, determination burning in his eyes. "I won't die like you said I will," he declared, a new strength creeping into his voice. Without hesitation, he uncorked both vials and downed them in quick succession.
Litzo cocked his head, a mocking grin tugging at his lips. "What is that? Some kind of drug?" he sneered, his voice dripping with arrogance. "I told you, no matter what you do, you can't beat me. Your fate is already sealed."
But even as he spoke, Litzo hesitated. There was something off about this moment—something that wasn't in the vision Lord Atlas had shown him. The exact sequence of events was playing out differently, and a flicker of doubt crept into his mind.
(Wait,) Litzo thought to himself, his brow furrowing. (This scene… this isn't in Lord Atlas's vision. This… this is new.)
As the potions coursed through Loe's veins, an immediate change took place. His wounds began to heal rapidly, the bruises fading, and the sharp pains in his body subsiding. His muscles surged with newfound strength, his mind sharpened, and his senses heightened to an almost inhuman degree. The boost had kicked in, and for the next three hours, Loe was more powerful than ever before.
Loe stood up straight, his posture now strong and unyielding, the fatigue from earlier all but gone. He rolled his shoulders, testing his newfound power. He could feel it—the incredible strength coursing through him, the increased speed, the clarity of thought. It was as if every one of his senses had been supercharged.
Litzo's eyes narrowed as he watched Loe's transformation. "What is this?" he muttered to himself, feeling the shift in the air. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. His fists clenched at his sides, unease beginning to creep into his normally calm demeanor.
Loe smirked, a newfound confidence radiating from him. "You think fate is set in stone? You think I'm just going to lie down and accept it?" His voice was stronger now, filled with defiance. "You didn't see this coming, did you? That's because you don't know everything."
Without warning, Loe launched himself at Litzo with a speed that shocked even him. His movements were faster, more precise, and his strength—amplified by the potion—gave him an edge he didn't have before.
Litzo barely had time to react as Loe closed the distance between them in a blur, driving a powerful fist toward Litzo's chest. Litzo brought up his arms to block the blow, but even then, he staggered backward from the force, his eyes widening in surprise.
"What…?" Litzo growled, his voice filled with disbelief. "How did you—"
But Loe didn't give him time to recover. He was already on the move again, his instincts sharper than ever. He ducked low, swept his leg around in a wide arc, and aimed a devastating kick at Litzo's side. Litzo tried to brace himself, but the kick connected hard, sending him skidding across the ground.
"This wasn't supposed to happen!" Litzo shouted, his mind racing. He had seen it—seen Loe's death at his hands. And yet, here was Loe, stronger and faster than ever, defying the very fate that had been shown to him.
Loe stood tall, his chest heaving but his confidence unshaken. "You didn't account for one thing, Litzo," he said, his voice cold and determined. "There's always a variable, something that can change fate." He glanced briefly at the potions in his hand before throwing them to the ground. "He gave me the power to change my destiny."
Litzo snarled, pushing himself back to his feet. His pride was wounded, but more than that, the realization that the future he had relied on wasn't absolute sent a shock of fear through him. "It doesn't matter what you do," he spat. "I'm still stronger than you, and I'll fulfill my lord's will. You'll die here, Angel, just like I saw."
Loe wiped the sweat from his brow, his eyes locking onto Litzo's. "Then let's see if fate is stronger than my will."
The battle was far from over, but now, for the first time, it was a fight with the outcome still uncertain.
....
Logan and Bill quickly made their way through the dark alleys of Chicago, where Alphonse Capone's control spread like a disease. They could hear gunshots, fists hitting bodies, and people crying out for help. Litzo had vanished, but Logan and Bill's mission was still clear: they needed to stop Capone's thugs and protect anyone in danger.
Bill, the retired U.S. Army captain, was no stranger to combat, but the years had taken their toll. His PTSD haunted him, the memories of war replaying over and over in his mind. He had tried to walk away, to live a quiet life, but fate had pulled him back into the fight. And now, standing beside Logan—another man with scars that ran deep—Bill felt a flicker of the soldier he used to be. Logan had never run from his demons, and that inspired Bill.
They found themselves in a grim alley, a gang of Capone's men holding an elderly man at knifepoint. Logan acted without hesitation. His claws extended with a familiar "snikt," and he charged forward, taking down one thug with a swift slice. The others scattered, but Logan caught one by the throat, pinning him against the brick wall.
Logan's growl was low and menacing as he raised his claws to the man's face. "What did Alphonse order you to do?" he demanded, his voice cold and filled with authority.
The man trembled, his eyes wide with fear. "Don't kill me, don't kill me! Please!" he begged.
Logan's claws were just inches from the thug's throat. "It depends on your answer. Now tell me—what did Capone order?"
Bill stood frozen for a moment, his heart pounding as the scene around him became all too familiar. Bodies littered the ground—innocent people caught in the violence, their lifeless forms lying in the cold streets. He spotted a young girl, no older than 20, her clothes torn, her face stained with blood. The horror of what had happened to her was clear. Bill's breath hitched in his throat. She had been violated and left to die, just another casualty of Capone's ruthless empire.
His mind flashed back to his days in the military, to the images of villages burned and lives lost, memories he had tried so hard to bury. The panic clawed at him, threatening to pull him under, but he forced himself to breathe. He couldn't break down now—not when people still needed him.
Logan glanced back at Bill, sensing his struggle. "Keep it together," Logan growled, his voice steady but harsh. "We can't save everyone, but we'll make damn sure no one else dies today."
Bill nodded, swallowing hard, forcing his legs to move. He couldn't let the ghosts of his past control him anymore. Not here. Not now. If Logan could keep going despite the pain, then so could he.
Logan then look at the man with glare eyes "Now tell me what did Capone order?"
The man stammered, his words stumbling out. "He... he ordered us to find the vigilantes! The ones who infiltrated the Chicago Outfit company!"
Logan narrowed his eyes. "And why are those vigilantes after Capone?" He pressed the claws just a bit closer to the man's neck, enough to draw a thin line of blood.
"I don't know! I swear! I don't know!" the man cried. "We were just told to stop them! Capone doesn't tell us anything!"
Logan growled in frustration, then yanked the man forward before slamming him back against the wall, knocking him out cold. "Tsk. Useless," Logan muttered, retracting his claws with a flick of his wrist.
Bill stepped up beside him, his breathing heavy, but his resolve firm. "You okay?" Bill asked, knowing that Logan's temper could flare when dealing with Capone's goons.
Logan nodded, his eyes scanning the alley for more enemies. "I'm fine. Just more scum on the streets.
Bill tightened his grip on the gun he'd been using to fend off attackers. Despite the tremors in his hands, the result of years of PTSD, he knew he had to fight. The weight of the weapon grounded him, reminding him of the battles he'd survived and the people who still needed protection.
"Let's go," Bill muttered through clenched teeth. "We've got to stop this madness before more innocent people get hurt."
Logan glanced over, noticing the slight tremble in Bill's hands. "Says the man whose hands are shaking," Logan remarked, his tone a mix of sarcasm and concern.
Bill just sighed, the weight of his past pressing heavily on him. "Yeah, well, I'm still here, ain't I?" He gave Logan a look that said it all—despite his fears, despite the memories that haunted him, he was still standing and ready to fight. "As long as I can still pull the trigger. Let's finish this."
Logan nodded. "Damn right." Without another word, they continued down the alley, ready to face whatever danger came next.
As the two men exchanged a brief look of understanding—both warriors carrying scars that went deeper than the physical. Then, with renewed focus, they pushed forward, ready to take on whatever Capone's thugs threw at them next.
To be continue