LIGHTNOVELONLINE Grief 7.6
– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –
The call had come at the perfect time. Greg needed a distraction, and this? This was a golden opportunity served up on a silver platter.
His body was a crimson blur as he raced across rooftops, leaping from building to building like a hyperactive kid skipping stairs; two, three, four at a time. The wind whipped against his helmet, tugging at his costume as he moved with inhuman speed and agility.
Seo's intel had been tantalizing — a boat sneaking into the Docks South under the cover of darkness, silent as a ghost despite reports of it moving at a breakneck pace. Suspicious as fuck, Greg mused, a smirk tugging at his lips beneath the red helmet. Gotta be a weapons drop. Why else go through all that trouble to keep quiet?
One lookout claimed he'd seen the water churning violently in front of the vessel as it maneuvered into port. That little detail set off alarm bells in Greg's head, pieces clicking into place like a puzzle. Oh hell yes. Please let me be right about this.
In full Hardkour regalia, Greg launched himself through the air with a whoop of exhilaration, landing on the side of a towering smokestack in a perfect crouch as he leaned forward. Blue eyes narrowed behind white lenses as he surveyed the Docks from his vantage point, the gloom of night no obstacle for his enhanced vision.
It didn't take long for him to spot the target
It was a scrappy, small fishing boat, probably a couple decades old. It had a weathered look to it with faded paint and some rust showing where maintenance has been slipping, compact enough to not draw too much attention too. It was the kind of boat that looked more at home among local fishermen than in a smuggler's fleet, which was exactly the point; the perfect kind of vessel that would go ignored in Brockton Bay. Can't say these guys didn't do their homework, Greg thought with a smirk.
The men offloading crates from the boat worked with brisk efficiency, even as they visibly strained under the weight of their cargo. Greg watched them with a critical eye, head cocked to the side. Something's off here. No way a cape-led gang is gonna let a weapons shipment into new territory without some serious muscle on deck...
His gaze flicked from figure to figure, brow furrowing as he tried to pinpoint the source of his unease. C'mon, Veder, think! Boat with no engine noise, big mystery boxes... Where's the catch?
Realization hit him like a bolt of lightning. Fucking duh! They wouldn't leave the goods unguarded. His head swiveled, searching the docks with renewed intensity. If I were a smuggler, where would I... Bingo!
There, perched atop a towering stack of crates, was a woman. Even from a distance, she was striking. Leathery blue-gray skin and bluish-white hair stood out in stark contrast to the dingy surroundings and Greg caught a glimpse of gills on her neck and shark-like fins protruding from her forearms and calves. She was dressed for action in a navy sports bra and bike shorts, every inch of exposed flesh screaming "dangerous".
Analyze.
Mako Lvl 39
Shark and Awe
HP: 745/745
Trait: Selachian Morphogenesis
Dive into the terror that is Mako, the Sky Triad's deep-sea demon turned street shark. Morphing into a formidable shark-humanoid, When the fight club floods didn't drown her, they awakened a predator tough enough to shrug off bullets and throw cars. In water or on land, you're in her world now, and it's filled with teeth.
Quest Gained!
Shark in the Water
The Sky Triad thinks they're slick, sneaking weapons into Brockton Bay by sea under the watchful eye of their shark-inspired enforcer. Let's make waves and give them a lesson they won't forget.
Objective(s):
Defeat Mako
Disrupt the Sky Triad's weapons transfer.
Success: 10000 XP, $25000, + 2 Perk Points, + 4 Stat Points, Perk: Hydrophile
Yeah, let's teach the Triad a lesson. Hardkour's lips curled into a savage grin, adrenaline already coursing through his veins at the prospect of a fight. He leapt off the smokestack, mouth wide open as he screamed at the top of his lungs. "MAKOOOOOOO!"
– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –
She sat perched on a weather-worn crate stacked atop three others, her muscular figure outlined against the rapidly dimming sky. The usual stench of the harbor mingled with a sharper, tangier scent of salt and rust — a smell that reminded her of home, of the docks she used to prowl back in Southie.
Fuckin' easy job, this one, she thought, her lip curling. Boss 'Zuma had been pretty damn clear on what she had to do. Take the stupid boat with the dumb guns and swim it over to Brockton Bay, makin' sure no one saw or heard the shipment come in. Simple as shit.
And yeah, it was simple. But it was also boring as all fuck.
Mari Ortiz — Mako to anyone who wanted to keep breathin' — wasn't built for sittin' still or playin' supervisor. It just wasn't in her nature to be idle for too long, not with the itch under her skin, the restless energy that came from bein' what she was.
Her sharp, shark-like teeth clenched tight, the only outward sign of her growin' impatience. The boat she'd dragged, a nondescript piece of shit loaded down with crates of firearms, was nearly empty now. She'd swum it all the way from Newburyport, her fins slicing through the Atlantic like a hot knife through butter. A stealth op, 'Zuma called it — no lights, no noise, nothin' to give 'em away.
And it fuckin' worked, didn't it? Mako thought, her scowl deepening. Dull as my great-aunt's tits, but successful.
The docks bustled with the low hum of men at work, their grunts and curses punctuating the night as they unloaded crate after crate. Rifles, ammo, whatever the fuck else Inazuma had ordered. Mako's role was simple: a glorified babysitter for cargo that couldn't shoot back.
A job that 'Zuma swore was critical, but had all the excitement of watchin' paint dry.
Her eyes, a striking shade of blue-gray in the dim light, scanned the operation with a listless gaze. The men handlin' the crates were struggling, their efforts pathetic to her enhanced senses. She could hear every strained breath, every muttered "fuck" as they hauled the heavy boxes.
They kept their distance, though. Knew better than to ask for help, didn't they? Mako snorted at the thought, her pointed teeth glinting under the weak dock lights. As if I'm here to play mover for these pissants. Nah, she was here to ensure no one interfered. Cop, cape, or any other dumb cunt…
Didn't stop the side-eye, though. She could feel their wary glances, the unease radiating off 'em like cheap cologne. Scared of the shark girl, ain't ya? Fuckin' smart.
"Fuck this," Mako muttered, her voice a low rumble in her throat. Her clawed fingers drummed an impatient rhythm against her muscular thighs, faint scars crisscrossing her arms and legs. She wasn't made for this shit. She was made for the thrill of the hunt, the rush of the fight.
For blood in the water and bones snappin' under her hands.
She scoffed as she watched one of the men nearly drop a crate, the wood creaking in his clumsy grip. Useless fuck. If it were up to me, I'd throw you in the harbor. Chum the waters a bit, yeah?
But 'Zuma had been clear: no waves, unless shit went sideways. Leaning back against a stack of empty crates, Mako crossed her arms, her clawed fingernails tapping against corded muscle. Could toss one of these boxes clear across the bay, I bet. Snap these assholes like twigs. She flexed, her lips curling into a vicious grin at the thought.
"MAKOOOOOOO!"
Mako barely had a moment to blink at the sound before the world turned upside down. One second she was sitting, the next - airborne. What the fu-
KRNCH!
The impact rattled her bones as she found herself embedded in the hood of a van. Metal crumpled around her like tinfoil, the shock of the hit momentarily stunning even her tough hide. Mako blinked hard, trying to clear the stars from her vision. Did I just get bitchslapped by a freight train?
Around her, chaos erupted. Men dropped crates and scattered like schools of startled fish, some fumbling for weapons only to be swatted aside by a red blur. The sound of bodies hitting concrete mixed with panicked shouts and the crack of gunfire.
Mako jerked herself free of the twisted metal, rolling her shoulders as a familiar rush of adrenaline surged through her system. The side of her face throbbed, a dull ache pulsing through her jaw. She worked it experimentally, feeling a tooth wobble. Gonna have to yank that out later, she thought, a raw thrill running through her at the idea for some reason.
The blue of her skin deepened, hardening past her already leather-like toughness. Fins elongated, claws sharpened to razor points. Mako felt her blood singing, every nerve crackling with electricity.
This - this was what she lived for.
A savage grin split her face, rows of serrated teeth gleaming in the dim light. Mako rolled her shoulders again, feeling bones pop and muscles coil with barely contained power. A roar ripped from her throat, primal and hungry, at odds with the manic joy etched across her features.
"NOW THAT'S A FUCKING PUNCH!" She shook her head, laughing through closed teeth.
"Kick, actually."
In front of her stood a blond fuck in all red motorcycle leather, down to some weird-looking helmet that looked like a mask too. Mako's eyes narrowed, sizing him up like a shark eyeing its next meal. This little shit thinks he can take me?
"Mako, right?" The blond asked, voice sounding definitely young.
"The fuck?" Mako spat, her Boston accent thick with disbelief. "How fuckin' old are you? What, ya mom let you out past curfew or somethin'?"
A half-second later, she spat a mouthful of red to the ground and shook her head, grinning with bloodstained teeth. "Fuck it, don't care. Age ain't nothin' but a number when I'm about to turn you into chum, kid."
In another half-second, Mako covered several yards with explosive speed, throwing a hard right that could crumple steel. The air whistled as her fist cut through it, aimed straight for the kid's face.
But the little bastard was fast, ducking under her swing with a fluidity that made Mako's blood boil with excitement. Oh, we got a live one here.
"Missed me, shark bait," the kid taunted, his voice carrying a hint of cockiness that made Mako want to rip his throat out.
"Oh, I'm just gettin' warmed up, guppy," Mako growled, her body tensing like a coiled spring.
The fight exploded into a frenzy of motion, a blur of red and blue-gray. Mako's fists flew like pistons, each strike carrying enough force to shatter concrete. But the kid in the red costume was a goddamn acrobat, flipping and twisting out of the way, his movements almost too quick for Mako's eyes to track. Slippery little fuck.
They crashed through the docks, a whirlwind of destruction, wood splintering under their feet as they traded blows. Mako's clawed hands dug into metal as she grabbed hold of a shipping container, muscles bulging as she hefted the massive thing overhead, veins popping with the strain. "Catch this, you little shit!" she roared, hurling it at her opponent with all her might, a primal scream tearing from her throat.
The container sailed through the air, a makeshift missile, but the kid vaulted over it like it was nothing more than a fucking hurdle, a blur of red and black. "Thanks for the assist!" he called out, using the back of the container as a springboard to launch himself at Mako, leg extended in a flying kick that would've made Bruce Lee proud.
Her eyes widened, a split second before a bright red boot connected with her face, the impact like a fucking sledgehammer. Mako stumbled back, the taste of blood flooding her mouth, metallic and familiar. Motherfucker!
"Got me a second fuckin' time!" she spat, the loose tooth finally coming free as a savage grin spread across her features, feral and hungry. "Now that's what I'm talkin' about!"
They clashed again, hard and fast, trading blows at a blistering pace. Mako's raw power met the kid's insane agility, fists and feet colliding in a brutal dance, a symphony of violence. Each impact sent shockwaves through the air, the sound of their fight drowning out the panicked screams of the men fleeing the scene like the cowards they were.
Mako swung hard, a haymaker aimed right for the kid's head, but he ducked under her arm like a fucking champ, retaliating with a rapid series of jabs to her ribs, each one precise, practiced, punishing. Fuck, he's fast! She grunted, absorbing the hits, then lashed out with a knee, catching him in the gut and sending him skidding back, boots scraping against concrete.
She pressed the advantage, charging forward with a roar that would've made a lion piss itself. The kid backflipped out of the way, a flashy move straight out of a kung fu flick, but Mako was ready this time. She lunged, hand snapping out to grab his ankle in mid-air, fingers digging in like steel traps. With a vicious twist, she slammed him into the ground, the impact enough to crush bone.
The kid hit the concrete hard, the breath audibly knocked out of him, but he recovered fast, rolling out of the way as Mako's fist came down like a fucking wrecking ball, pulverizing the spot where his head had been a heartbeat before. Slippery little fucker.
Mako caught a glimpse of her reflection in a broken window as they fought—her blue-gray skin was flushed with excitement, fins fully extended, eyes wild with bloodlust. She looked like a monster straight out of the depths, and she fucking loved it.
The kid in red wasn't looking so pristine anymore, though. His fancy leather was torn in places, revealing glimpses of body armor underneath, slick with sweat and blood. Tough little fucker, Mako thought, a mix of admiration and frustration rising in her chest, a growl building in her throat. What's it gonna take to put you down?
She surged forward again, a tidal wave of fury, but the kid was ready. He sidestepped her charge, hands flashing out in a move she recognized from her MMA days. Jeet Kune Do? You've gotta be fucking kidding— Her thoughts cut off as his palm slammed into her chin, snapping her head back, stars exploding behind her eyes.
Oh, it is fucking ON!
Mako retaliated with a flurry of her own, fists flying in a brutal barrage, each punch backed by the force of a jackhammer. The kid weaved between them, fluid as water, retaliating with quick, sharp strikes to her pressure points, each one sending a jolt of pain through her body.
Suddenly, there was a flash of blue light, and the kid was holding a fucking sword. "What the—" Mako's words were cut short as the blade sliced through the air, a whisper of steel and ozone, almost too fast to see.
Pain exploded in her gut as the sword plunged in, the sensation shockingly cold, like ice in her veins. For a moment, time seemed to freeze. Mako looked down, seeing the blade protruding from her stomach, blood seeping around it, dark against her skin, almost black in the dim light.
But pain was an old friend, and rage was a hell of an anesthetic. Mako looked up, meeting the kid's eyes through his mask, her lips curling into a bloody snarl. "That all you got?"
Mako roared, grabbing the sword with one hand and swinging with the other. Her backfist connected with a satisfying crunch, sending the surprised kid flying towards the water, sword still buried in her gut.
Ignoring the blade, Mako dove after him, hitting the water like a shark breaching for a kill. The second she was submerged, she felt alive in a whole new way.
This was her domain now.
She circled him like the apex predator she was, powerful legs and fins propelling her through the water at incredible speeds. The kid struggled to orient himself, clearly out of his element and surprised by the hit Amateur hour, bitch. Let me show you how it's done.
Mako struck like a torpedo, hitting him at fifty-five miles an hour—her full underwater speed. She tackled him with bone-crushing force, the impact resonating through the water. Again and again, she slammed into him, using the water to amplify her already insane strength, pummeling him from every angle.
She got behind him, jaws clamping down on his neck. Her razor-sharp teeth sank into his suit, puncturing kevlar and tasting blood. Gotcha now, you slippery little—
Suddenly, Mako's world exploded into agony. Every nerve in her body was on fire, muscles seizing as electricity coursed through her. She screamed underwater, bubbles erupting from her mouth. What the fuck, what the fuck, WHAT THE FUCK?!
Through the haze of pain, she felt herself being dragged back to shore, body twitching and convulsing uncontrollably. Mako hit the docks hard, gasping and sputtering, the sword still embedded in her gut.
How... how the fuck did he... Her brain worked frantically, trying to process what just happened. Adrenaline and pain warred with higher functions as she struggled to remember why this fucking kid was so familiar.
It hit her then, the realization slamming into her like the electricity that just fried her nerves. A rough, disbelieving laugh tore from her throat, the sound more like a beast's snarl. 'Zuma had warned them about this one, back when they were planning this whole shit-show op.
The red costume, the crazy powers, the fucking attitude...
"H-Hardkour, right?" Mako managed to rasp out, voice raw and shaky. "You're the one... 'Zuma said to watch out for..."
The teenage cape loomed over her, a red and black shadow against the city lights as he pulled his sword free from her gut, Mako letting out a groaning wheeze as it came loose. In another flash of blue, it vanished to nowhere, leaving his hands free. Cool trick.
He raised his foot, the sole of his boot hovering above her blood-streaked face. She could hear the smile in his voice as he spoke, the words dripping with cocky triumph.
"That's my name," Hardkour confirmed smugly. "Remember it."
His boot came down, and Mako knew only darkness. "..."
– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –
+ 1 VIT
+ 1 VIT
Resistance: Blunt Lv Up!
+ 2 VIT
+ 1 STR
+ 1 STR
Resistance: Pierce Lv Up!
Resistance: Shock Lv Up!
Electro Lvl Up!
Beginner Combat Lvl Up x 6 (30)
+ 1 VIT
+ 25000
Quest Success!
Shark in the Water
The Sky Triad thinks they're slick, sneaking weapons into Brockton Bay by sea under the watchful eye of their shark-inspired enforcer. Let's make waves and give them a lesson they won't forget.
Objective(s):
Defeat Mako
Disrupt the Sky Triad's weapons transfer.
Success: 10000 XP, $25000, + 2 Perk Points, + 4 Stat Points, Perk: Hydrophile
+ 10000 XP
+ $25000
+ 2 Perk Points
+ 4 Stat Points
Perk Gained: Hydrophile
Hydrophile
Swim or sink.
- 50% water resistance
Level Up! (35)
+ 5 Stat Points
+ 1 Perk Point
Greg shook his head, spitting out a mouthful of blood onto Mako's unconscious body. "...Damn, that was a good fight," he muttered, a slight laugh spilling from his lips as he glanced down at the shark-woman, her gray-blue skin already starting to recede slightly. "She was fucking crazy. But I guess I can't really talk, huh?"
He snickered to himself, the sound a touch manic. Definitely can't talk. Greg let out a pained groan as he rolled his shoulders, feeling his battered body already starting to knit itself back together. Gotta love that healing factor.
His gaze drifted to the scattered crates littering the docks, a good chunk of them broken and shattered, several already lost to the dark waters below. What a waste. He glanced back at the trawler, most of the illicit cargo still stacked haphazardly on the deck of the medium-sized fishing vessel. Time to get to work.
Fire sparked to life in Greg's gloved palms, the flames crackling with power and ready to be set free. With a wind up a pitcher would be proud of, he hurled them forward, one after the other, twin fireballs streaking through the air like comets.
The roiling spheres of flame hit the ship's deck with a crackling whoosh, igniting instantly on impact. Fire erupted like a ravenous beast let off its leash, devouring the wooden fixtures and metal surfaces with equal fervor. The flames spread unnaturally fast—too fast—their searing heat warping the air above and causing the metal parts of the trawler to groan and shriek in protest.
Tongues of fire licked hungrily across the rusted deck, seeking out the crates of ammunition and rifles so carelessly stacked. As the heat intensified, gunpowder and oil-soaked rags began to catch, flaring up with bright, violent flashes as smaller explosions rippled through the vessel. Thick, choking smoke billowed upwards, rising into the night sky in a swirling, dark cloud that blotted out the horizon.
Ammunition belts, already heated to critical temperatures, started to pop like over-enthusiastic popcorn kernels. At first, it was just sporadic cracks, like someone popping bubble wrap. Then, bam! The larger caliber rounds began to cook off in unpredictable bursts, sending stray bullets ricocheting wildly across the deck and into the churning water. The whiz of bullets splitting the air was quickly drowned out by the escalating roar of the inferno consuming the ship.
Below deck, the situation was even more dire. The fire had found its way into the storage room—a tight space packed to the brim with crates of firearms and a stockpile of explosives meant for sale or sabotage. As the heat reached the munitions, the trawler vibrated for a split second before a deafening boom rocked the entire vessel. The explosion punched through the hull like a fist through wet tissue paper, sending jagged splinters of metal and wood flying into the ocean, creating geysers of water around the now-crippled ship.
Parts of the boat collapsed inward as the flames clawed at every surface, the remaining fuel tanks bursting into violent sprays of fire that only served to feed the blaze. The air stank of burnt oil, charred metal, and spent gunpowder, a gross mix that made Greg's eyes water even from a distance. The ship's engine room was the next to go, fire consuming the last of the oxygen in the lower decks and cooking the diesel tanks until they, too, detonated with a savage explosion that nearly split the ship in half.
The trawler began to list heavily to one side, its frame creaking and groaning in protest as the flames consumed it from the inside out, reducing the hull to little more than a molten skeleton. The water, now thick with oil and ash, caught some of the fire as well, creating eerie pools of flame that danced on the surface of the waves like will-o'-the-wisps.
Amidst the chaos, the guns—both those unscathed by the immediate flames and those caught in the explosions—were flung into the sea as the vessel finally capsized. Some still fired off rounds as they hit the water, popping futilely beneath the surface before sinking into the dark depths.
Greg watched it all with bright eyes, a manic grin stretched across his face. "...Sick," he breathed, the word equal parts awed and satisfied. Nothing quite like a good explosion.
He turned around, the grin fading into a more serious expression. Now to get out of here before the cops and PRT show up to crash the party. But before that...
Almost on autopilot, Greg summoned his phone from his inventory, something he did every few minutes when in costume and not actively engaged in a fight. Can't afford another Sparky situation, he thought grimly, the memory of his friend's close call still fresh in his mind. Gotta stay connected, just in case.
If anyone needed to contact him, they wouldn't have to wait long for a response. He glanced down at the device, unlocking it with a bloody finger and scowling slightly at the smear it left on the screen.
Eh, whatever. Not like it's the first time. He was about to dismiss the phone back into his inventory when a notification caught his eye, making him pause.
PHO app? Greg tilted his head to the side, curiosity piqued. Who the hell is messaging me?