"..."
Wade stared, then threw up his hands in exasperation.
"You're right—this isn't fair!"
He barked out the words, but Rorschach didn't even look at him.
Instead, Rorschach wrapped both arms around the base of the poplar tree like it was nothing more than a baseball bat.
Then he swung it at Wade like he was trying to swat a fly.
Never mind how massive the tree was—visually, it was absurd. But for Rorschach, wielding it was effortless.
Whoosh!
The entire tree spun through the air like a weapon of war in Rorschach's hands.
"Sh*t!"
Wade's pupils dilated as the massive canopy filled his vision. He swore under his breath and scrambled to the side like a man whose life depended on it—which it absolutely did.
There was no other option. That huge fan of branches was too wide, too tangled, too overwhelming to parry or cut through.
He might be able to slice bullets out of midair, but no one was blocking a tree.
Boom!
The massive canopy slammed into the ground, tearing up the earth with a thunderous crash.
"You're pretty quick."
Rorschach raised the poplar again, grinned, and shrugged.
"But how many times can you dodge?"
He admitted—this was his first time swinging around something this ridiculous.
It felt awkward.
But after the first swing, he was already adapting.
Next time, Wade wouldn't be so lucky.
Because honestly, that tree?
It was basically a giant fly swatter.
And Wade?
Just a particularly noisy, annoying fly.
What good was fancy footwork or top-tier swordplay when your enemy was swatting the air you stood in?
It was pure brute-force dominance. A textbook case of dimensionality reduction in combat.
No tricks. No finesse. Just raw power.
Of course, it wasn't without flaws. If Wade could close the distance, the tree would become a liability.
Rorschach knew it.
Wade knew it too.
That's why, the second he dodged the first swing, he was already sprinting low to the ground, a blur of motion heading straight for Rorschach like a feral monkey.
But reality? It was cruel.
No matter how slick your moves, you couldn't bridge that kind of power gap with technique alone.
Fwoosh!
Rorschach fired a beam of heat at him.
Wade swerved hard, barely dodging it—only to find the "fly swatter" already waiting for him.
Boom!
The canopy slammed down like judgment day, flattening him into the dirt.
Rorschach casually jammed the tree's base into the ground like a pole and stepped on it with both feet.
Wade was pinned beneath the massive branches, writhing helplessly.
Like Sun Wukong crushed under Five Elements Mountain—there was no escape.
"This is just... bullying. Totally unfair, TOTALLY UNFAIR!"
Wade's muffled voice groaned up from beneath the crushed foliage.
He was in bad shape.
Scraped, stabbed, and slashed by the tangled branches, bleeding all over.
But worse was the blunt force trauma—he'd taken a tree to the chest. At least a few ribs were definitely broken.
Rorschach glanced down at him.
His eyes burned bright red.
This time, Wade wasn't getting away.
"Open fire!"
"Light him up!"
Stryker's agents, who had been stunned into stillness, snapped into action.
Their best man—down in a flash?
No way they could just watch this happen.
Ratatatatat!
Ratatatatat!
A hail of bullets tore through the air, aimed straight at Rorschach.
Even with his superhuman durability, this level of concentrated gunfire wasn't something he could just shrug off.
So, Rorschach gave up on Wade—for now.
He poured strength into his legs and stomped.
Crack!
The earth split beneath him, and Rorschach launched sideways like a cannonball.
Bullets tore through the space he'd just occupied.
He landed behind a car parked nearby, using it for cover.
Then—
He reached out with both hands and lifted the car like it was a duffel bag.
Clang-clang-clang!
Bullets tore through the vehicle like paper, but Rorschach held it steady, moving forward with it as his shield.
Meanwhile, Wade had used the chaos to crawl out from under the canopy.
But just as he pushed himself upright—
Zzzap!
A heat ray punched through his chest, right through the heart.
"Sh*t... am I really gonna die here?" Wade muttered, staring down at the smoking hole in his chest.
"Guess that guy was right. I didn't die unjustly."
He hit the ground.
Deadpan to the end.
Rorschach couldn't help but raise an eyebrow.
"Even your dying lines are weird."
Still, something wasn't right.
That last blast had pushed his limits.
He'd used heat vision three times in a short span—just quick bursts, but enough to strain his power.
His eyes now burned, faintly stinging from overuse.
He couldn't afford another blast, not right now.
But honestly?
He didn't need it anymore.
Against regular agents, he didn't need heat vision.
Not even close.
With a roar, Rorschach held the bullet-ridden car in front of him like a battering ram and charged.
If he got close—if he broke their line—it was over.
They wouldn't dare fire recklessly. Not at point-blank. Not with their own men in the line of fire.
"Stop him! Don't let him get close!" the squad captain shouted.
Ratatatatatat!
The gunfire grew frantic, wild.
But it didn't matter.
Rorschach was a freight train with no brakes.
The car was full of holes—but it held.
Bang!
With a brutal kick, he sent it flying like a missile.
The one-ton hunk of metal spun through the air like a wrecking ball.
The agents' eyes went wide with horror.
They dove for cover—but not all of them were fast enough.
CRASH!
The car landed with a crunch, crushing several agents like bugs under a boot.
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