Chapter 1.1.39 — Round 2, Fight

Emmett managed to push himself up on shaking arms and legs to face his enemies across the alley.

Green Mask leaned against the wall, arms crossed overtop of his dark green tracksuit. “You sure you’re up for this?” the rail-thin man asked his counterpart.

Skull Mask—Zanté—stood in front. His old denim jacket creased around his muscles. He nodded to Emmett, his platinum blond flicking with the movement. “I’m still not sure how this punk got one over on me.” Zanté rubbed the brace on his wrist for emphasis.

Emmett stared them down and grit his teeth.

Up until a minute ago, he would’ve been confident kicking the crap out of them. Emmett had won the first time, and now he had his utility belt. But now he was also recovering from being sucker punched and thrown off a roof.

Instead of shaking off his fall, Emmett stood straight, not wanting to look weak. Not sure what else to do, Emmett quipped back at them.

“Is your arm healed yet?”

Zanté chuckled and flexed the fingers of his injured arm. “Healed enough, freak.”

The word caught Emmett like a smack in the face.

“What did you say?”

“You heard me,” Zanté replied. Before Emmett could say anything, Zanté sprinted toward him, closing the length of the alley like a freight train.

A spark of anger had been lit within Emmett, and he lashed out with his whip, swinging down in a wide, violent arc. Zanté blocked it and kept running, his stride barely flinching.

Emmett pulled his whip back and braced himself, ready to dodge out of the way if the big guy tried to tackle him. Instead, Zanté skidded to a halt in front of him and unleashed a torrent of punches. Emmett’s hands were already up and ready.

Last time they’d fought, Emmett had been in precisely one fight—in elementary school—and it had showed. Zanté was stronger, faster, and experienced. He’d pummeled the shit out of Emmett that night on the roof.

But Emmett had spent the last week training against Clara and Venture’s robots. Instead of blindly hiding behind his own hands, Emmett bobbed and slipped Zanté’s punches. Emmett smirked, even as some of those punches packed enough force that even a graze was enough to send him staggering back.

He was doing it—he was standing toe-to-toe with Zanté. With a super that outclassed him.

Emmett struck back when he could. Zanté’s punches were wild, almost careless, but nothing Emmett did seemed to hurt the big super. Emmett’s smirk quickly turned to frustration.

What was he doing wrong? Even Emmett’s punches with his mechanical hand didn’t seem to affect Zanté.

It wasn’t until Zanté got the upper hand and punched Emmett hard enough to send him reeling, that Emmett finally got mad and finally figured out what he’d been doing wrong.

Emmett snorted, trying to shake off Zanté’s last punch. When the big super lunged for him, Emmett ducked under the punch, dug his heels in, and swung his right hand as hard as he could. His punch hooked Zanté in the side with so much force it knocked him sideways.

Zanté slammed back-first into the wall and Emmett almost lost his own footing. He’d felt the impact of the punch through his shoulder and chest—through his whole body.

Fighting out here on the street wasn’t the same as fighting in the Gray Room. Emmett had been afraid of Zanté, and that fear had caused him to hold back. That time Emmett had punched like he meant it, like when he’d tried to knock out the training robots.

Pieces of brick fell around Zanté as he pulled away from the wall. He grimaced in a mix of surprise and anger, and the big super redoubled his assault.

This time, Emmett was ready.

Emmett ducked, bobbed, and weaved, trying to stay light on his feet, and when Emmett saw an opening, he struck hard with his right hand. He fought like a bullwhip, flowing and loose until he struck, and each punch echoed through the alleyway.

Emmett didn’t even bother punching with his regular arm.

An uppercut to the stomach nearly took Zanté off his feet completely, but then the big super managed to grab Emmett by the throat. He lifted Emmett up and pinned him to the wall—holding Emmett’s throat with one hand and pinning his mechanical arm to the wall with his other. If anything, it felt like Zanté was putting all his force on Emmett’s wrist.

Emmett’s felt dangled helplessly, and he kicked at Zanté’s stomach, but the super didn’t budge or release his grip.

Zanté’s eyes were wide and blood seeped from his lips where Emmett had gotten a good shot in.

He seethed, “You’ll learn, freak.”

Again with that word.

In the beginning, Emmett’s excitement at fighting and testing himself had been a smoldering flame—little more than burned out coals. Then he’d gotten angry and stopped holding back and that fire within him had kindled into a roaring fire… But Emmett didn’t know what to call this.

It was like the insult had dumped pure gasoline on him.

Even though Zanté had Emmett’s mechanical arm pinned against the wall with all of his strength, the limb pushed forward. Somehow, Zanté’s eyes went even wider. The big super groaned with effort, but Emmett’s limb pushed forward with inhuman strength.

Meanwhile, Emmett concentrated on his attacker’s shifting weight and concentration.

As soon as the pressure slackened around his throat, Emmett braced himself and pushed off the wall. Caught off guard, Zanté stumbled backward and released Emmett.

Emmett fell toward him and punched him in the face. A crack echoed through the alley and both fighters fell to their hands and knees on the ground.

Emmett had hoped that would be enough—he’d been sure that would be enough. His whole damn body hurt—everything except his mechanical arm, anyway.

But Zanté raised his head and glared at Emmett. Blood dripped from his mouth. There was no longer rage or anger in his eyes. There was something else, something that worried Emmett even more:

Desperation.

Without thinking, Emmett asked, “Is that all you got?”

Zanté roared and charged at Emmett, his hands and feet slipping on the concrete at first before he barreled forward.

Emmett dodged to the left, anchoring his whip into the opposite wall. When Zanté missed his tackle, he tripped over the whip and hurtled end over end down the alley.

Emmett glanced back at Green Mask while his partner crunched into the opposite wall. The thin man waved—he was still leaning nonchalantly against the wall, as if he was content to wait.

Fine. Emmett wasn’t going to give Green Mask time to change his mind.

Emmett turned and ran toward Zanté, who was already rising to his feet. The hulking super growled and scrambled toward him. Emmett reached into his upper arm compartment and grabbed a handful of smoke pellets, then hurled them down the alley. Black smoke erupted, instantly filling the alley.

There was a single breath where Zanté skidded to a halt and groaned in confusion.

Emmett didn’t stop running.

At the last second, he just made out the silhouette of Zanté in the darkness. Emmett launched himself fist-first. His mechanical knuckles hit Zanté’s chest like a rocket and the big man crumpled to his knees.

Before Zanté could get up, Emmett hauled his right hand back and punched him in the face. The thump of impact shook Emmett’s whole body. Zanté recoiled and spat blood, but wasn’t done yet.

Emmett punched again and again with his right hand, not bothering with his left—not letting Zanté get up. After who knows how many hits, Zanté finally collapsed onto the ground.

Emmett leaned against the wall of the alley as the smoke cleared, staring down at the big man. He heaved a sigh of relief that Zanté stayed down and another that the super was still breathing.

The last thing Emmett needed was to accidentally kill someone.

Emmett was exhausted. His joints ached from the impact of his punches. His lungs burned. And he wasn’t done yet.

Slow clapping echoed through the alleyway. “You are a stubborn one,” Green Mask said.

Emmett grit his teeth and turned, only to find darkness billowing through the alley like flood water. In moments, it had swallowed everything in blackness and Emmett had to reach a hand out to make sure the brick wall of the alley was still there.

“People think strength is everything,” Green Mask said from somewhere at the end of the alley. “Strength and technology, whatever you got going on with that arm of yours. But do you know what one of the oldest fears of mankind is? Do you know what everyone’s afraid of, from the highest super to the regular people? Darkness.”

Last time they fought, Emmett had been able to see a little—enough to see Zanté as he pummeled the crap out of him. But that had been a different power.

This time, there weren’t any hands of darkness reaching for Emmett. It was like Green Mask had instead channeled all of his power into making the alley as dark as possible. Emmett tried his flashlight, but even its light was swallowed up.

For a few moments, Emmett couldn’t see anything at all. It was like his eyes were stapled shut or he’d plunged into black water. Even though Emmett knew it was only because of Green Mask’s power, a part of him was deathly afraid that he’d been blinded and Emmett had to struggle to keep from panicking.

Until his eyes adjusted.

Emmett’s eyes weren’t magic. He still needed light to see. Luckily, even on the darkest night in Belport, there’s still more than enough ambient light. Green Mask’s power must’ve blotted out even more light than that—maybe even 99% of all light—but it didn’t block everything. And there was still the trickle of UV and infrared that he could see.

The fraction of light remaining was enough that Emmett could see the faintest outline of the alley walls and the featureless silhouette of his enemy at the end.

Once again, Emmett struggled to keep his composure, only this time it was to keep from smirking or staring directly at his enemy.

“You feel it, don’t you?” Green Mask continued. “That fear. The same fear the first humans felt when they came down from the trees and scurried back up before night fell.”

The silhouette walked steadily closer. Emmett feigned being blind—kept one hand on the wall and his eyes darting around the alley. Kept up the act.

“It’s too bad—”

This time, the voice came from behind Emmett. He started and spun around, but saw nothing but the outline of an empty alley behind him.

“—You’ve got spirit, boy.”

Emmett glanced around again and found Green Mask’s silhouette hadn’t moved at all. He was still walking steadily toward Emmett from the same end of the alley, even though his voice was coming from elsewhere.

Emmett pretended to follow the voice while also hiding that he was impressed with Green Mask’s trick.

“You just came to the wrong side of—ugh!”

Emmett had turned and punched Green Mask in the stomach, catching him mid-monologue. The thin super dropped hard. He lay in the fetal position, wheezing.

Immediately, the darkness vanished. Even though the alley was only dimly lit, Emmett winced and shielded his eyes until they adjusted.

Again, Emmett found himself leaning against the bricks for support and looking down at his fallen opponent. He’d punched with his right hand… Emmett wasn’t sure what other powers Green Mask might have, but super strength clearly wasn’t one of them.

Thankfully, Green Mask wheezed, “Fuck you, man,” and Emmett took that as a sign that his enemy would live.

Emmett leaned over. “You too. Look, I’ll try to stay away, and you guys… Just leave me alone.”

That would have to be good enough. Emmett didn’t know what else to say and he certainly wasn’t going to monologue about his victory. He felt like shit.

So Emmett turned, ready to climb back up to the roofs and run home, but he immediately froze where he was standing. It’d already been a long day and Emmett had already been through way more emotions than he’d planned on.

But now he was looking up at the sky, mouth wide—equal parts in awe and apprehension.

A man hovered above the alley, cloak billowing in the sky. His skin was albino white and his suit was a gleaming silver. His long white hair hung still and lifeless, as if the wind itself didn’t affect him. He glared down at Emmett, eyes narrowed and glowing red.

The most powerful super in the world.

Paragon.

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