OnAHiatus

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: STRONGER THAN BEFORE

The air in the Narrows was colder than usual, the wind cutting through the crumbling alleyways like a knife. Taylor adjusted the scarf around her masked lower face, fingers tightening around the grip of her baton as she moved through familiar streets, eyes constantly scanning for trouble.

Her patrol had been routine: checking in on fortified buildings, making sure none of the locals had gone missing, gathering information about the Penguin and the Black Mask’s movements, and seeking h...

CHAPTER THREE: THE GATHERING STORM

The stories spread like wildfire.

A monster in the heart of the continent. A nightmare of flesh and shadow that walked like a man but devoured parahumans like an animal. Villages wiped off the map. Entire generations erased in a single attack.

Survivors—what few there were—spoke in hushed, fearful tones of a towering figure, its form shifting, regenerating, adapting. Some said it was a demon, a punishment sent by their angry ancestors. Others insisted it was a rogue bio-tinker...

CONTESSA DOESN’T UNDERSTAND SEATING ARRANGEMENTS

The lunch crowd had settled in, filling the diner with the steady hum of conversation and the clatter of silverware against plates. Contessa stood near the entrance, studying the seating arrangements.

A couple occupied the corner booth, sitting side by side instead of across from each other. A man had taken a seat at the counter, despite there being multiple empty booths available. A three had taken a four-person table but left one seat conspicuously unoccupied..

It was inefficien...

CONTESSA DOESN’T UNDERSTAND JOKES

The lunch rush had died down, leaving the diner in a comfortable lull of clinking silverware and quiet conversation. Contessa wiped down the counter with efficient, mechanical movements.

Dennis, the cook, leaned on the pass-through window, smirking. “Hey, Contessa, got a joke for you.”

She glanced up. “Proceed.”

“What did the fish say when it hit the wall?”

She considered. “That depends on the species of fish. Some lack the cognitive function for speech.�...

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: WHISPERS OF THE LEAGUE

Something was wrong. 

Taylor had spent the past few nights on patrol, listening, watching. She had expected the gang war to keep escalating in the usual way—more shootouts, more turf grabs, more bodies in the alleys. But this wasn’t just street-level posturing anymore. The violence was spreading, but in a way that felt controlled. Directed.

Someone was pushing it forward, guiding it with an invisible hand.

She had overheard hints of it in recent days. Snatches of co...

CHAPTER SIXTEEN: FOUNDATIONS

The Narrows had taught Taylor a lot over the past few months—how to move unseen, how to fight without powers, how to build something out of nothing. But it had also exposed her weaknesses.

She had always prided herself on being resourceful and adaptable, but she had never realized how much she relied on the framework of her old life to fill in the gaps. When she was Skitter, she didn't need to think about things like navigation; her swarm had mapped everything for her in...

CONTESSA DOESN’T UNDERSTAND REGULARS

The man at the counter had been sitting in the same spot for exactly forty-two minutes and seventeen seconds.

In that time, he had done the following:

– Ordered a black coffee.

– Drank precisely half of it.

– Grunted in response to Maggie’s greeting.

– Stared at the same page of his newspaper without turning it.

– Said nothing else.

Contessa studied him from behind the counter. He was older, dressed in a worn flannel and jeans, with the ge...

CONTESSA DOESN’T UNDERSTAND SMALL TALK

The diner’s morning rush came and went, leaving behind the usual aftermath—crumbs on the tables, spilt coffee on the counter, the faint scent of burnt toast hanging in the air. Contessa wiped down a booth with practised ease, her movements precise and methodical.

Task complete.

“Y’know, most people chat while they do that,” Maggie remarked, passing by with a tray of clean mugs.

Contessa paused. “Why?”

Maggie set the mugs down with a sigh, like she was pr...

CHAPTER FIFTEEN: A LINE IN THE SAND

The Narrows had never been safe, but now it felt like a battlefield.

Taylor stood on the rooftop of a dilapidated apartment building, her gaze sweeping across the streets below. Shadows stretched long in the dying light, but even in the dim glow of flickering street lamps, she could see the signs of the escalating gang war. Windows hastily boarded up. Doors reinforced with whatever scraps of metal and wood people could scavenge. Families moving in tight clusters, always looking over the...

ANNOUNCEMENT

The reason why updates are slowed for The Brave And The Bat is that I have a beta reader, and I'm trying to get them caught up with me. I apologise for any inconvenience this causes; I will be back with regular updates soon.

CHAPTER TWO: FIREBRINGER

Ash hung heavy in the air.

No. 9 crouched low in the grass, his glowing eyes reflecting the distant flames licking at the night sky. This settlement was different from the others. He could feel it even from afar. Sprawled across a charred plain, its structures were a crude patchwork of scorched wood and hardened mud. Blackened fields surrounded it, their soil brittle and lifeless.

And at the heart of the settlement, a towering pillar of flames crackled endlessly, casting a hellis...

ANNOUNCEMENT

In the meantime, the following fanfiction will only be available for selected tiers—Story Enthusiast, Literary Partner, and Commissions (10k-words):

- Contessa Doesn’t Understand: Updates every day.

- Kaiju No. 9: Updates every three days.

- Greg Meets RWBY: Two chapters every week.

CONTESSA DOESN’T UNDERSTAND EMPLOYMENT

The plan was simple.

Find a town—somewhere small but not suffocating, quiet but not isolated. Get a job, something low-maintenance, preferably with little social interaction. Settle into a routine. No grand schemes, no world-ending stakes. Just… existence.

It wasn’t wasn’t a difficult path. No calculated risks, no intricate manipulations. No gunfights or negotiations or bloody choices. Just one foot in front of the other, one simple action leading to another, and then anot...

CHAPTER FOURTEEN - INTO THE LION’S DEN

Taylor crouched behind the razor wire topped chain-link fence that surrounded the abandoned factory in Gotham’s Industrial District, her breath steady despite the cold bite of night air off the Atlantic. Rusted smokestacks jutted into the sky, their surfaces streaked with grime. From her position, she could see the dim light spilling through cracks in the boarded-up windows and hear the low murmur of voices coming from within.

This was a Black Mask operation, one of several she’d be...

CHAPTER THIRTEEN: WEB OF LIES

Taylor sat cross-legged on the floor of her room, the malfunctioning device from Penguin’s warehouse laid out carefully on a tattered blanket in front of her. The cylindrical device looked innocuous enough, but the faint scorch marks on its exterior and the warped metal casing hinted at the raw power it held—and the instability that had nearly killed its owners.

Her fingers worked carefully, using a cheap set of tools she had cobbled together over the past few weeks. A scavenged scr...

CHAPTER ONE: THE HUNT BEGINS

The stars above glittered coldly as No. 9 prowled silently through the savannah, his massive frame strangely graceful for its size as his claws traced faint furrows in the dry earth, his predatory focus locked on the distant glow of torchlight. Another settlement.

His body was no longer in the ragged state it had been upon his arrival, and he didn’t move with the reckless hunger he had displayed before. The humans he had consumed had given him enough energy to rebuild, so the once slu...

PROLOGUE

No. 9 emerged from the rift with a low growl, his massive frame slamming into unfamiliar ground. Dust billowed around him as he staggered to his feet, his claws digging into the soil for support, his body trembling under the weight of his injuries.

His adaptive biology was working overtime as his body was a wreck—his energy reserves nearly depleted—patching together the damage from his battle with Kaiju No. 8 and the instability of the impromptu teleportation, yet his mind burned w...

INTERLUDE: THE UMBRELLA’S AWARENESS

In one of his dimly lit offices, Oz Cobb—better known as the Penguin—sat behind his polished mahogany desk, a thick cigar clenched between his teeth. Smoke curled lazily through the air, mingling with the amber glow of the desk lamp, which cast shadows across the room’s lavish decor—velvet drapes, antique furniture, and the faint gleam of weapons mounted on the walls. A crystal decanter sat on a side table, half-empty, the faint scent of whiskey lingering and lending the space an air ...

CHAPTER TWELVE: TESTING THE WATERS

The warehouse was an unassuming structure on the docks, one of many rusted buildings lining the Dixon Docks on the Gotham River. At a glance, it looked abandoned; its corrugated metal walls streaked with rust and graffiti, its windows dark. But as Taylor crouched behind a stack of shipping crates, she could see the faint glow of security...

CHAPTER ELEVEN: SHADOWS ON THE SURFACE

The Narrows never truly slept. Even in the dead of night, the faint hum of activity echoed through its winding alleys. Conversations murmured through cracked windows, distant arguments rose and fell, footsteps darted through shadows, and garbage fires burned in rusted barrels. For Taylor, these sounds were as much a part of the city as the cold wind that bit at her cheeks.

Over the past week, the gang war had begun to seep into the Narrows like poison. The once-isolated skirmishes betwe...

CHAPTER THREE: POWER PROBLEMS

Greg shuffled nervously through the clearing in the woods behind Winslow High, his sneakers scuffing the ground as he glanced over his shoulder for the hundredth time. The quiet rustle of leaves wasn't comforting. If anything, it made him even more paranoid. However, once he was sure no one had followed him, he exhaled shakily.

"Alright," he muttered, mostly to himself. "Let's figure out what the hell I can do."

"You mean 'let's wing it,' right?" Yang quipped.

"I'm trying...

ANNOUNCEMENT!!!

Arc one of The Brave and The Bug is done, so while I work on getting the second arc ready, I have a lot of free time on my hands. I'll try to complete Why Am I A Slime?—an underrated story I want everyone to go read—along with Greg Meets RWBY, but it will be slow-going. BUT that still leaves me with enough free time to write an original story for one or two or three of you, so if you are up for that, just comment here and I will reach out to you.

Thank you to everyone, espe...

CHAPTER TEN: ORDINARY ISN’T ENOUGH

The dojo buzzed with quiet energy as Taylor stepped onto the worn mats, her muscles still sore from the previous day’s session. She knew she shouldn’t be training every day—Ted had even mentioned it once—but the aches in her muscles healed faster than normal. Or was she imagining it? Either way, said man stood at the center of the room, his usual gruff demeanor tempered by the sharpness in his gaze. If he’d noticed her odd recovery speed, he didn’t say anything about it.

“...

CHAPTER NINE: WHISPERS IN THE SHADOWS

It started with rumors—whispers of a growing conflict between Penguin and Black Mask, two of Gotham’s most notorious crime lords. Their rivalry wasn’t new, but this time, the stakes seemed higher. Smaller gangs were being absorbed or eliminated, their territories swallowed up in the escalating war.

Something was brewing, and the fear was palpable. Taylor felt it in every glance exchanged between the locals, in the hushed conversations on street corners, and in the way even the bra...

CHAPTER TWO: THE VOICES

Greg woke up to the sound of bickering.

"Honestly, Ruby, could you not swing Crescent Rose around in someone else's mental space?"

"It's not like I meant to hit anything, Weiss! Besides, the brain's pretty empty. Lots of room!"

Greg groaned, squinting against the morning light streaming through his window. His head pounded, but the voices were still there, loud and clear as if the speakers were standing right next to him.

"Shut up," he mumbled, rolling ont...

CHAPTER EIGHT: BUILDING THE FOUNDATIONS

The rhythmic sound of fists striking a heavy bag echoed through Grant’s Gym, each impact sending a faint shudder through the worn-down equipment. Taylor worked through the repetitive motions, her fists wrapped in fraying tape, sweat dripping down her brow as she struggled to maintain her form.

“Keep your feet under you,” Ted’s voice barked from behind her. “You’re wobbling again. If you can’t stay balanced, you’re just asking to get knocked on your ass.”

Taylor b...

CHAPTER ONE: THE TRIGGER EVENT

Greg Veder was having what he could only describe as the worst day of his life, and considering his usual streak of social disasters and unrelenting mediocrity, that was saying something.

It had started normally enough. A quick stop at a corner store on his way home from school. Chips, a soda, maybe a pack of gum. Nothing that screamed "life-threatening situation." And though Brockton Bay wasn't great, most days, you could get away with pretending things were normal. Unfortunately for ...

CHAPTER SEVEN: THE DOJO

The small dojo was easy to miss, tucked between a shuttered laundromat and a pawn shop with a broken neon sign. The faded wooden sign above the entrance read Grant’s Gym, the letters barely visible against the peeling paint. The building didn’t look like much—bricks blackened by time, a single grimy window revealing little of the inside—but the faint sounds of rhythmic thuds, grunts, and the steady thwack of a speed bag being worked caught her attention. It was oddly ...

CHAPTER SIX: FRAGMENTS OF IDENTITY

The sounds of the Narrows were a constant backdrop as Taylor sat cross-legged on the cold floor of the small room Marla had let her use. It was spartan—just a threadbare mattress on the floor, a chipped nightstand, and a cracked window letting in a cold draft, lit only by the dim light of the moon filtering in to paint uneven shadows across the walls. It was quiet here, quieter than she was used to. Some quirk of the architecture or of the prevailing winds muffled the constant noise of the ...

CHAPTER FIVE: THE NARROWS

Taylor had spent the past week slowly becoming part of the community here, a mix of families, single parents, and people who had nowhere else to go, all banding together to survive in the Narrows. The people were suspicious at first, especially Marla, the stern older woman who had reluctantly taken her in after Taylor helped her foster kids. But Taylor had found ways to help, mending broken locks, patching holes in walls, and cleaning where she could. She didn’t share much about herself, an...