Starting With Batman

The man continued to laugh, but the sound was now strained, lacking the infectious energy it once had. His grin, once broad and confident, now seemed forced, and a glimmer of doubt flickered in his eyes as he stared at the figure in front of him—the man with the shield.

A moment ago, he had been so confident of his superiority, so sure that his level of evolution placed him above anyone who might challenge him. But now, confronted with this unshakable, indomitable fortress of a man, that confidence was beginning to wane.

No matter how powerful he thought he was, no matter how many weapons he conjured, they all seemed useless against this impenetrable defense.

The shield alone was a formidable tool. Its size and durability made it an excellent defense, capable of protecting the vital parts of the body. But the man quickly realized that it wasn't just the shield's physical properties that made it so effective; there was something more at play, something almost... supernatural.

For one, the shield seemed to defy all logic. No matter where or how it was thrown, it always found its way back to its wielder's hand as if it had a mind of its own. Whether it bounced off walls, struck enemies, or simply ricocheted through the environment, it followed a path that defied the laws of physics. Even when enemies managed to catch it, there was an eerie tendency for them to throw it back, as if compelled by some unseen force—much like how Luke, who once tried to wield it himself, ended up hurling it back as though it belonged to the captain alone.

But the shield's most peculiar attribute was its ability to draw the attention of every opponent it faced. It was as though the shield itself taunted them, daring them to focus all their attacks on it. It didn't matter whether the enemy was a human, a monstrous creature, an alien, or even a machine—every single one of them seemed driven to attack the shield first as if their survival depended on it. This inexplicable compulsion made the shield not just a defense but a weapon of distraction, ensuring that its wielder remained unscathed while his enemies exhausted themselves trying to breach its defenses.

This peculiar quality of the shield was what allowed Captain America, despite his otherwise average physical abilities compared to his more super-powered comrades, to charge headlong into the front lines of battle, time and time again. Whether it was a barrage of bullets from lesser foes or the devastating blows of a god-like enemy, everything seemed to gravitate toward the shield, as if under some cosmic decree, it must be shattered before victory could be claimed.

Charlie, who was operating Captain America, was well aware of these properties. He knew that the shield wasn't just a piece of equipment—it was an extension of the captain himself, a symbol of his indomitable will and his unyielding spirit. And right now, Charlie wasn't about to give his opponent a second chance.

After blocking the initial RPG shot, Charlie swiftly maneuvered the captain forward, aiming to close the distance. The man, realizing that the RPG was useless at such close quarters, frantically tried to summon another weapon, but it was too late. The shield crashed into his face with bone-shattering force, driving him backward into the wall. The impact was so intense that it seemed to reverberate through the entire building; before the man could recover, Captain America's fist connected with his lower abdomen in a devastating punch.

The force of the blow was so immense that the man's body crumpled inward, his stomach nearly expelling its contents as he was launched through the wall. The drywall and brick gave way like paper, and the man tumbled to the ground amidst a shower of debris.

"Ha...haha... impressive..." he gasped, his voice ragged, his earlier bravado all but gone. Despite the agony wracking his body, he forced out another laugh, a hollow, desperate sound that echoed in the room.

Charlie couldn't help but feel a grudging respect for the man's persistence. Even after such a beating, he was still trying to keep up appearances, still clinging to the remnants of his pride. But respect wouldn't stop Charlie from finishing the job. Without hesitation, he operated the captain to move in once more, closing the distance between them in the blink of an eye.

The man, still half-kneeling on the ground, desperately tried to defend himself. He stretched out his right hand, which began to deform and shift, rapidly expanding into the shape of a shield—a crude imitation of the captain's own.

It was a hemispherical black shield, a solid, heavy-looking object that seemed as if it could withstand a significant impact. The man's face contorted into a sneer as he held it up, clearly thinking he had found a way to counter the captain's attacks.

But Charlie could see through the man's ploy. The hastily-formed shield might look formidable, but it was nothing compared to the captain's iconic shield. The captain's shield wasn't just a physical object—it was an extension of the man's spirit, a symbol of his resilience and determination. There was no way this hastily conjured imitation could stand against it.

The captain didn't even hesitate. He didn't change his move, didn't try to evade—he simply punched the black shield with all the strength he could muster.

The impact was explosive. The captain's fist collided with the black shield, and for a moment, it seemed like the entire world had stopped. Then, with a loud crack, the black shield began to buckle. The force traveled through the shield, shattering it from within, and the man's arm, which was holding the shield, twisted and snapped with a sickening crunch.

The man's entire body was flung backward, his shield disintegrating into shards as he was thrown across the room. His pupils dilated in shock, and for the first time since the battle began, his manic grin faltered.

This punch... it was impossible. No human should possess such power, such overwhelming strength.

Before he could fully process what had just happened, the captain was already on him again. With a fluid motion, the captain took two steps forward, leaped into the air, and delivered a powerful kick to the man's chest. The force of the blow was catastrophic—his ribs crunched under the pressure, his internal organs twisted and compressed, and his entire body was propelled through the room, smashing into the large window behind him.

The glass exploded outwards with a deafening crash, shards flying in every direction. The impact sent spiderweb cracks racing across the remaining glass, the whole window teetering on the brink of collapse.

But Charlie wasn't done. He operated the captain with precision, throwing the shield with a flick of the wrist. It soared through the air, slicing through the remaining glass as it homed in on its target—the man's head.

The shield struck with a resounding thud, snapping the man's head back and shattering the glass behind him completely. The force was enough to send the man tumbling backward, out of the window, his body dragging a trail of blood as it plummeted from the sixth floor.

The man hit the ground with a sickening crunch, his body crumpling like a rag doll against the concrete.

Charlie watched through the captain's eyes as the man lay there, motionless, his once menacing laughter now replaced by ragged gasps for breath.

For a moment, the street was silent, save for the faint hum of city life in the distance. Then, slowly, impossibly, the man began to stir.

His bones cracked and groaned as they re-aligned themselves, his flesh knitting back together with an almost unnatural speed. Blood continued to ooze from his wounds, but the man forced himself to rise, his body trembling with the effort. He managed to get to his feet, his grin returning, though it was twisted with pain.

As he stood, hunched and gasping, he let out a weak, wheezing laugh, a pale echo of his previous bravado. His joints popped and creaked as they settled back into place, his arms shaking as he raised his hands to his mouth, trying to stifle the blood that poured from his lips.

But before he could fully stand, before he could even catch his breath, the shadow of the captain loomed over him once more.

From above, the shield descended with a terrible swiftness, slamming into the man's skull with a bone-shattering impact. The concrete beneath him shattered like glass, and his skull burst open like a ripe melon, splattering blood and brain matter across the pavement.

Standing by the shattered window on the sixth floor, Felix stared in disbelief at the scene below. He couldn't comprehend what he had just witnessed. Did this guy really just jump from the sixth floor? Did he really just deliver such a brutal, unrelenting assault on that man?

For a moment, all Felix could do was stand there, his mouth hanging open, his mind struggling to process the sheer brutality and power he had just witnessed.

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[editor's note - I feel like the fight started off brutal and cool but ended anti-climatic. I'm a bit disappointed.]

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