Chapter Summary:
The bird and the beast descend upon a predatory swarm's hive. The beast grows a stinger, courtesy of the insects they've hunted down.
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Nightwing began walking to where he had parked his motorcycle, with the Manticore just behind him. The two of them agreed to leave Batman to handle the rest at the raided chopshop, which was mostly cleanup.
"So... I assume you like bikes?"
"Hells yeah." The Manticore even made a fist for emphasis, his gauntlets' claws clicking loudly. "I want to build one myself, but... y'know how life is. I'm broke as all hell right now."
"You have some sort of day job, right? Then you moonlight as a prizefighter."
"Delivering food, yeah. Pays a lot for what it is and where we are. Gotta give up prizefighting for a bit, though. There's this guy who's after me, be a bit dangerous to keep up the gigs while I'm still in his crosshairs."
"Then, you're gonna start fighting again after?"
The Manticore shrugged. "Man's gotta make bread somehow."
"What if we could help you find better employment?" Nightwing suggested as he rounded a corner.
"You know my real identity, right? Batman does." Nightwing nodded, and the Manticore continued. "Forget employment, then. If you can sponsor me and a friend of mine through university, I'll quit fighting in the pits until one of us graduates."
Nightwing chuckled and half-turned while walking. "You make it sound like that's a hard bargain."
"Whether you could do it or not, I still win in the end."
"You know what?" The two of them had made it to the Wingcycle now. "You're alright. I'll see what I can do for you about that university thing."
"Don't forget the other person."
"Don't worry," Nightwing assured. He slotted his key into the ignition and turned it, making the silenced engine hum to life. "I keep my promises. Now, get on. We've got a joint mission I need to take you to."
◎ ◉ ◎
It was another one of those slow nights on the job. Roger heard James yawning on the opposite side of the front entrance, and had to stifle copying the action. The lucky pricks inside the factory must have been real cozy with easy access to coffee and heating.
Still, he was pretty lucky himself. Everyone who worked for the Donovans' brat was considered lucky. The job was quiet most of the time, just like it was that night. Just the standard Gotham darkness, and the cold, slightly rancid air. Everyone who lived in the city was used to it.
Roger thought back to his earlier days under the Donovans' employment. Commotions broke out whenever new 'merchandise' was brought in, but he was taught that a threat here and there usually kept them quiet. He wasn't much a fan of the conduct himself, but what could he do?
Outside of that, everything was routine. His boss' boss sounded like an extremely meticulous planner — literally nothing had ever sniffed them out yet. Not even the demon bat, if anybody believed that urban legend.
In Roger's mind, it had to be secret government operatives that just wore a creepy uniform to scare people... He wouldn't be surprised if he learned that there were 'batmen' in every single US state, and everyone outside of Gotham was just too complacent to have noticed. Or maybe it was just too safe outside of this hellhole.
It didn't matter to him in the end, as long as his pockets were full.
He shifted his arm, tilting his rifle. He briefly averted his eyes from the area he was watching to get a good look at his wrist. His digital watch read 22:12, and he turned his gaze back up to the darkness as a breeze picked up.
'Damn,' thought Roger. 'It's only been two hours... fuck, this night's gonna be long.'
He took a deep breath. His exhalation condensed into a translucent white puff in the air, which he thought resembled a cat for a moment. He then slightly leaned to his right to ask James, "Hey, do you think they'd mind if we asked for a table and cards or something?"
He continued without looking, keeping his eyes ahead. "I'm getting pretty bored of just standing around every night..."
No answer.
"Man... James, come on." Roger finally started turning his head. "It was one time. Are you really still pissed about—"
The words died in his throat as darkness consumed his vision. It wasn't even the usual Gotham darkness — he had been put in the absolute absence of light. The breeze was still present for his body from the neck down, but his entire head had been restricted.
Something was wrapped around it.
He would've screamed if he could, but he couldn't even breathe out. His hand flew instinctively to the radio strapped to his chest, but the device had been crushed somehow.
'What the fuck is going on?!'
Roger tried firing his automatic rifle, but it clicked emptily. He was sure that it was loaded, and he even clicked the safety off!
Then came the feeling of being lifted into the air. It was like his shoulders had been grasped by some giant animal's claws, and he was yanked upwards faster than he could process. He would've hurled his guts out if not for the strange solid darkness that kept his head in an airtight space.
To make things worse, the claws on his shoulder disappeared, only to be replaced with some kind of rope that wrapped around his entire torso. This allowed the very claws that grabbed him just a moment ago to wrap around his neck. That wasn't good.
He attempted to reach for the knife strapped to his belt, but it was gone.
The clawed hands began tightening around his throat, and he started seeing stars despite the blindness—
"Oh, fuck..."
The last thing he remembered seeing — being allowed to see, rather — were two pinpricks of purple light staring him down. The dark matter that wrapped around his head had disappeared at some point, allowing him to take one last breath before the light of his consciousness was put out.
Those purple lights that he saw sat in one dark socket each, and the thing that owned those freakish eyes had coarse, leathery skin that seemed to have turned purple from decay. There was no hair, no trace of it on the creature's head, and it looked like it had animal ears. Some kind of bat, maybe — the thick fur around its neck supported that idea. It was even grinning down at him as the claws tightened around his throat, baring rows of wide, metal teeth.
Then, nothing.
◎ ◉ ◎
"... a bit violent, don't you think?"
Nightwing felt a bit put off as he watched the Manticore silently stash away the second security guard's unconscious body, gingerly laying him down upon the entrance's overhang.
"Asphyxiation's better for me," the Manticore replied. "Slow build-up, start from nothing. When you're like me, punch a little too hard and their heads explode. Can't risk it."
True enough, was the sentiment that rang in Nightwing's mind. He had been in a similar situation before, though only for a short while. He supposed he shouldn't reproach his temporary partner for that, especially since he was still a rookie.
While the Manticore scanned the area outside of the factory with his eyes, Nightwing continued messing with the surveillance system using the same little doohickey that he had used on the entrance cameras. A minute or two later and they were virtually invisible to the electronic security network as the cameras looped their footage convincingly.
The Manticore had just finished looking around and turned to Nightwing. "Alright. Next, what do?"
He was given the rest of Nightwing's plan. They had discussed getting rid of the entrance guards earlier, though only after setting the security cameras there on a loop. It was mostly a test to see how the Manticore would conduct himself. It was known that he rarely — if ever — used lethal force, but it was better to play things safe.
Now that he had proven his power and restraint at a basic level, it was time to sneak in to find and destroy this factory's armory...
The two vigilantes entered through a window on the ground floor, on the west side of the building facing inwards. They had to knock out a pair of stationary guards, but got in without any real issue.
The outside of the factory looked just like any part of Gotham. Dark, grimy, disheveled, and colorless. The interior wasn't much different, but there was a distinct polish to it that made it stand out to a trained eye like Nightwing's. There were less cracks. The corners were tighter, the walls straighter. Even the lights were brighter than the cheap, flickery lamps that seemed so popular among Gotham's citizens.
"This is definitely a big operation," he whispered.
The Manticore only nodded, treading forward at an equal pace. He had to take out a handful more pairs of guards with his senior until they found what they were looking for.
The armory was locked behind thick metal doors that had no windows. They were held secure by barrel bolts with thick padlocks, but...
"One for All," the Manticore said under his breath. This caught Nightwing's attention, but he just filed it away for later.
Clawed metal digits worked their way around the first padlock. With it grasped firmly in one hand, the other made to palm the door around the locking mechanism to muffle any noise.
One slow, solid tug later, the padlock groaned and broke, and a part of the first barrel bolt came off the metal door as well. The Manticore celebrated with small, noiseless applause.
"One down."
Nightwing, meanwhile, was impressed. Most people with super strength tended to brute-force their way through things. Sure, this was also a brute-force method, but there was a mindful quality to it.
Lucian could seriously become something else with good training.
Another metallic groan and soft clanking noise — softer than the last — brought Nightwing back to reality. The Manticore was looking at him, both clawed hands resting flat on the armory doors. One nod later and they were swinging open.
The interior was loaded to hell and back with so many weapons that it was almost funny. Automatic firearms. Heavy ammunition. Technologically-enhanced swords, whips, spears, axes, hammers. There were even various types of grenades either loaded into boxes and crates, or dangling off of rope and cord like grotesque fruits of violence.
Nightwing got to handling the more delicate weaponry, while he got the Manticore to simply wreck the ones that weren't risky to use 'percussive disablement' on. This meant the empty firearms and melee weapons, and then after that, the two of them scattered the firearm ammunition everywhere, and then crushed the empty clips and magazines.
Sure, they were still usable, but the factory's forces couldn't use them in a real fight anymore.
Their next stop was the security/surveillance room and command center. Luckily for them, those two things were in the same exact room from what Nightwing learned in the chopshop.
They exited out a nearby window and ascended — the place they sought was among the top floors — and Nightwing witnessed something extraordinary.
In the grand scheme of extraordinary things he had seen, it wasn't too much of a standout. Just his old teams — the Teen Titans and Young Justice — were chock full of such wonders, but the Manticore climbing up a flat vertical surface entirely unassisted was still a sight to behold.
He didn't even use his claws to dig into the solid surface like Nightwing assumed — it was like he was just crawling along the ground as they climbed.
Soon, they were finally at the command center's floor. The presence of guards was significantly reduced that high up. Their focus must have been on their stashes and production lines. They had to navigate a handful of turns and take down several more guards, but the command center was easy to find.
Nightwing took to one side of the metal double doors, gesturing for the Manticore to take the other. When in position, he spoke in whispers.
"That super strength of yours — how strong is it?"
A brief flash of panic crept up Nightwing's spine when the Manticore put a hand on the doors, but realizing that he was only assessing them allowed him to relax.
"More than enough for an explosive entry."
Nightwing nodded. "And your cape thing?"
"I could probably take out most of them in a few seconds, if you don't mind them catching concussions and a few broken bones." The Manticore retracted his claws as he spoke, tightening his hands into fists. His gauntlets could be heard straining audibly.
"That's what we'll do, then," said Nightwing. "I'll back you up. Go in there, take out as many as you can, and I'll handle any stragglers."
Almost immediately after Nightwing finished speaking, the Manticore's body came aglow with purple fire and lightning. The electric arcs flickered across his entire body, but the translucent flames seemed to erupt mostly from his exposed hair, and the gaps between his clothes and armor.
The lights illuminating the dark grey hallway flickered, and the ambience dimmed steadily. Golden light briefly streaked across the surface of his right sleeve and gauntlet as his fist blurred, and the metal doors flew clean off their hinges, accompanied by a small shockwave.
Beyond the threshold, screams rang out alongside other forms of clamoring. People were removing the safety on their guns and drawing other types of weapons. The beginnings of orders were being barked rang out, but darkness suddenly overwhelmed the space.
The Manticore had extended his cape into a dozen jagged tendrils, and he lashed out with them to destroy the fluorescent lights that illuminated the room.
He didn't even need Nightwing's help as he shot into the center of the room. He got down on all fours and twisted like a blender in a single motion. His tendrils, lashing out violently as he spun, slammed everyone else in the room against walls, furniture, and electronics. Some of them were still conscious, but even if they were, the pain inflicted upon them must have made it preferable to stay still.
Witnessing such effective violence, Nightwing was reminded of Batman's contingencies.
'We'd better make sure nothing happens to the people close to him,' he thought.
The Manticore didn't strike him as the type to get vindictive over directly personal things... but that also left him as the kind of person to be especially protective of the people he loved.
Just under five seconds later, with tendrils still holding down anyone conscious and capable of struggling, the Manticore was standing still in the middle of the command center/surveillance room. He was holding a sheathed saber-type sword in his hands, something that he had pulled off the belt of the biggest man present.
Nightwing came into the room, whistling his amusement. One sweep across the room with his eyes told him that everyone was still alive, with mostly minimal injuries. A few of the people that had been laid out were probably concussed, but the Manticore wasn't joking; they were all left only with those, and a handful of minor fractures. Divided among a dozen individuals...
"Not bad," he said. "You were pretty fast, too... this would've taken me a minute, maybe a little less."
"I'm starting with the privilege of having superpowers," the Manticore replied. "And get a load of this," he added, tossing the odd sword over.
Nightwing caught the weapon without effort. "Looks like some type of electronic weapon..."
"Mind if I keep it?" asked the Manticore.
"Give me a sec. Gotta check if there's any bugs on this thing — we don't want you getting traced to your home or something." Nightwing pulled out two things from his utility belt: a tool that looked like a tape measure, and the same device that he used earlier to hack the surveillance cameras. "While I work on this thing, you go tie everyone up. I'm sure you don't want to be stuck on babysitting duty."
The Manticore accepted what turned out to be a binding tool, which dispensed ultra-durable cord that was paper-thin.
...
A couple of minutes later, both vigilantes finished up their respective tasks. Nightwing handed the energy sword to the Manticore, though not without warning.
"Before I let go of this thing," Nightwing started, "you have to promise me that you'll use it responsibly. With accountability. If you start losing control after you start using it—"
The Manticore interrupted him. "You'll feel responsible and you'll need to hunt me down." His voice was deeper than before, and more distorted. "Don't worry. If it were that easy for me to resort to killing, I would never have wanted a sword in the first place."
Nightwing felt something scraping against the sword's sheath — black metal claws that glinted with the computer screens' light.
"Alright," he said, finally letting go of the sword. "Man's honor?"
The Manticore nodded — once, resolute. "Man's honor."
—=—=—=—=—=—=—=—
[A/N]:
Hiiiii
A bit late, almost by two hours... writer's block hit hard this week, but I made it
Hope this chapter's up to par with my usual quality
Also, pls point out any typos or other types of mistakes so I can fix them; I'm definitely still affected by writer's fatigue here
Final version of Lucian's art is coming soon, too!