The rumble of collapsing structures echoes through the industrial wasteland as Hank and Ruman stand facing each other in the shadow of an old, abandoned factory. The wind howls between the broken windows, carrying the scent of rust and decay. It's eerily quiet, save for the faint groan of settling metal.
Ruman, tall and broad-shouldered, steps forward, his dark eyes locked on Hank. His face, marred by scars and years of battle, betrays a hint of fatigue—though not from the fight itself, but from the weight of his burdens. His fists clench and unclench, the muscles in his arms tightening as he prepares for the coming clash.
Hank straightens his tie, a nonchalant smirk playing across his face. "I hope you brought more than just brute strength," he says, his voice calm. "It's gonna take more than that to lay a hand on me."
Ruman's jaw tightens, but he doesn't respond. Instead, his fists begin to shimmer, taking on a metallic sheen. His body is built like a fortress, each muscle honed through years of combat training. For six seconds at a time, he can turn that fortress into steel.
"You should've stayed out of this," Hank says with a sigh, rolling his shoulders. "But since you didn't—let's get this over with."
The two men circle each other, the air between them thick with tension.
The First Clash
Without warning, Ruman charges forward like a freight train, his massive frame barreling toward Hank. His fist, now a glimmering block of metal, swings toward Hank's head with the force of a sledgehammer.
Hank sidesteps at the last second, a gust of wind swirling around him, amplifying his movements. The punch misses by mere inches, crashing into a nearby steel beam. The impact sends tremors through the ground, the metal bending under the force.
"You're quick," Ruman grunts, his voice low and gravelly.
Hank grins, the wind whipping around him, forming a barrier that shifts and twists with his movements. "Yeah, and you're predictable."
The wind around Hank intensifies, swirling faster. He lifts a hand and the air compresses around his fist, making it dense and powerful. With a sudden burst of speed, Hank launches himself at Ruman, landing a solid punch to his chest.
Ruman staggers back, the wind-enhanced blow pushing him off balance, but he doesn't fall. He activates his ability again, his skin turning to metal just before Hank's next punch connects.
Hank's fist meets solid steel.
"That's gonna be a problem," Hank mutters as he shakes his hand out, the impact reverberating through his bones.
Ruman's lips curl into a faint smile, his metal form gleaming in the moonlight. "For you, maybe."
The Weight of the Fight
They continue exchanging blows—Hank's speed and agility against Ruman's raw power and durability. As they fight, Hank notices something different about his opponent. Ruman isn't just fighting with brute force; there's a determination in his eyes, a kind of desperation that goes beyond just following Ronen's orders.
Between the flurry of strikes, Hank's curiosity gets the better of him. "Why are you doing this?" he asks, dodging another metallic punch. "You don't look like the kind of guy who fights for someone like Ronen."
Ruman hesitates, just for a moment, before throwing another punch. "I'm not doing it for him."
Hank blocks the blow, the wind around his arm absorbing the impact. "Then who? You've got the look of a man with something to lose."
Ruman steps back, breathing heavily. His metal form flickers as he deactivates the ability, the strain of using it in quick succession starting to show. "I have a daughter," he finally admits, his voice quieter now. "She's sick... needs treatment. Ronen promised me the money if I worked for him."
Hank pauses, lowering his guard slightly. "You're doing this... for her?"
Ruman nods, his gaze hardening. "I don't care about power or control. I just need the money to save her. That's all."
For a moment, Hank's usual smirk fades. There's a brief silence between them as the wind dies down.
"You think Ronen's gonna keep that promise?" Hank asks, his tone serious. "Men like him don't care about anything but their own agenda. You're just a pawn to him."
Ruman clenches his fists, his metal form activating again, the sheen covering his arms as he prepares to charge. "It's the only chance I've got. I don't have a choice."
Hank sighs, the wind picking up around him once more. "There's always a choice."
The Turning Point
Ruman charges again, his entire body turning to steel this time, a living weapon of iron and muscle. He swings at Hank with all his might, each punch causing shockwaves as it collides with the wind shield surrounding Hank.
Hank dodges and parries, using the wind to redirect the force of Ruman's blows. But Ruman's strength is relentless, and each attack comes closer and closer to breaking through Hank's defenses.
"Just give up!" Ruman growls, sweat pouring down his face as the strain of maintaining his metal form begins to show. "I won't stop until you're down!"
Hank dodges another heavy strike, his movements fluid and controlled. "Sorry," he says with a sharp grin. "But I'm not the type to go down easy."
With a swift motion, Hank gathers the air around his body, compressing it into a powerful vortex that swirls around him. The force of the wind builds rapidly, whipping up dust and debris as it grows stronger.
"You've got six seconds of metal," Hank says, narrowing his eyes. "I've got all the time in the world."
In one explosive burst of speed, Hank rushes forward, the wind propelling him with terrifying force. He lands a series of rapid, precise punches to Ruman's chest, each blow amplified by the swirling air around him.
Ruman staggers back, his metal form flickering as the strain becomes too much. He tries to activate it again, but Hank doesn't give him the chance. With a final surge of power, Hank delivers a devastating blow to Ruman's midsection, sending him crashing into a pile of debris.
Ruman groans, the metal fading from his body as he lies on the ground, panting heavily.
Aftermath
Hank stands over him, breathing heavily but victorious. The wind around him slows, then fades altogether.
"You're out of your league, Ruman," Hank says, his voice softer now. "This fight isn't yours to win."
Ruman coughs, spitting blood as he looks up at Hank. "I... I don't have a choice," he repeats, his voice breaking. "My daughter—"
Hank kneels down beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "I get it. You're doing what any father would. But there are better ways to fight for her. Ronen's not gonna save her."
For the first time, Ruman's hardened expression falters. "Then what am I supposed to do?"
Hank stands up, looking down at the broken man before him. "Live. Walk away from this, and fight the right way. I'll make sure your daughter gets the treatment she needs."
Ruman's eyes widen in disbelief. "You... you'd do that?"
Hank nods. "I'm not heartless. But this—working for Ronen—it's a dead end."
Ruman stays silent for a long moment, then slowly nods, the fight drained from his body. "I don't want to be a monster," he whispers.
"You're not," Hank says, offering him a hand. "You're just a father."
Ruman hesitates, then takes Hank's hand.
The battle is over.