The Man With A Dream pt 11

A/n: Sorry it took so long to write. I got sick so blame that, or me. Or the fact that I realized I'm kinda shit at writing actual fight scenes and rewrote this like ten times.

Whatever you prefer.

Also, please comment as much as you can. It helps keep me encouraged so yeah.

But anyway, enjoy!

.....

As he was once again sent reeling from a particularly strong attack from Striker, Wesley realized he may be out of his league.

Jumping back to both gain some distance and evade a harpoon shot from Trinket, Wesley assessed his adversaries.

' Striker, a low-tier speedster with the ability to break or tear through anything he touches when moving.'  Thought Wesley as an ebony blur crashed into his left arm.

In a demonstration of vicious brutality, the blur tore Wesley's left limb off. The stump that persisted bled profusely, generating a puddle of blood beneath the veteran.

An anguished groan crawled its way past Wesley's lips as the pain hit him with all the subtlety of a dump truck.

With gritted teeth, his eyes observed his assailant as it momentarily waned in velocity. 

When the blur stalled it uncovered the ever-pretentious Striker clenching Wesley's mutilated arm. 

The men locked gazes and Striker conveyed Wesley a arrogant smirk.

Not caring for the man's arrogance, Wesley grunted as his contract activated.

The limb that Striker was haphazardly handling vanished and reappeared in its proper position not a moment later.

Suddenly, his ears picked up the sound of something stabbing through the air and hastily rolled out of the way, dodging a tungsten steel arrow.

'Then there's Trinket, his ability seems to be generating steampunk items and weapons. Annoying, but reasonable. However, it's the user that's the issue. He's a weapon master that has access to an endless assortment of weaponry.'

Quickly pulling up one of the myriads of carcasses littering the floor around them, Wesley utilized it as a safeguard against a bombardment of arrows flung from the bow Trinket had just assembled.

Just because he could recover from it doesn't mean he wanted to take any form of substantial injury. He could still feel pain and wasn't a masochist.   

Once the storm halted, Wesley shoved the corpse to the side and picked up a discarded mp40. 

Taking a quarter of a second to aim, Wesley discharged the gun in Tinker's direction.  Dozens of bullets zoomed out of the barrel at speeds just barely perceivable to Wesley's eyes.  

Every shot was directed at a crucial point in the human body. If even a single slug met its mark it would signify lethal trauma or immediate extinction.

However, unlike many would in such a circumstance, Tinker didn't bother moving.

In a flash of copper-stained particles a blade instantly formed in Trinket's hand.

The sword, like all of Tinker's creations, was steampunk-themed. 

Then with mastery, unbefitting someone of his looks and aura, he ably cut and obstructed each bullet in a single stroke of his blade. 

Witnessing that, Wesley grimaced. 

"Figured that wouldn't wo-argh!"

Wesley didn't even receive a moment to complete his sentence as a sneak attack from Striker launched him into a wall with adequate force to crack it.

Momentarily he was brought back to the ebony ocean and its solacing embrace. He could feel himself at peace.

Only for reality to come roaring back.

Gasping out a breath as he came back to the world, Wesley yanked himself from the wall and fell to his knees.

For an instant, his sanity ebbed away. His psyche raced in terror as he was subjected to the sights, smells, and noises of the natural world. Something nonexistent in the black sea.

Quick breaths steering into a panic echoed through the area.

Then it abruptly subsided and his mind was at peace. The remainder of his body shortly followed, and he was once again wholly restored.

 'That's the fourth time I've "died" in the last three minutes.' Angrily mulled over Wesley.

He wasn't exceedingly disturbed by the act of dying anymore. After the second time, he grew used to it.

Rather, it was what arrived after his demise he'd preferably not experience. 

Death was welcoming. Too welcoming.

Shaking his head, Wesley refocused himself.

Glaring at the two superpowered guards idly waiting for his counter-assault, Wesley went through hundreds of scenarios in his psyche.

A disgruntled snarl departed his lips as all his simulated results arrived at the same verdict.

He'd fail.

Despite retaining one of the most potent modes of renewal he had heard of, and a physical disposition entering superhuman status, if it continued on like this he'd turn out the loser.

Blood trickled to the floor as he dug his finger into his palm from the storm of emotions he felt surge through him.

The worthlessness he felt for being manhandled, the anxiety he felt for not living up to his boss's expectations, the resentment he felt towards the bat-family, and finally the frustration he felt for being so weak.

' If I had a day-no a few hours to accommodate my new abilities, this fight would be going much differently.' Thought the ex-soldier angrily.

He had only amassed all this new power moments ago. It simply wasn't feasible for him to go against two competent supers.

Perhaps if it was one he'd succeed, but two? 

Not happening.

'That's not even counting the leader of these two.' Wesley reflected depressingly as he peered at their leader.

The man oozes professionalism and a breed of expertise he'd only discerned in the most battle-hardened veterans.

Tank, as they dubbed him, was someone Wesley could confess would crush him like a bug, continuously if need be. 

'Even with half the knowledge, talent, and strength of 12 dozen trained men and women, I'm still nothing but Cannon fodder to any half-decent super.' 

…..

A/n: This was part one of a four(five?) Chapter fight.

Hope you enjoyed, and see you next time.

Alt title: Rebirth pt 1