They Told Me I was Fast

Bishop pushed himself up slowly, his movements stiff and shaky. The punch had sent him flying across the battlefield like a rag doll, yet it wasn't the pain that consumed him—it was disbelief. He wiped a trickle of blood from his nose, staring at the red-suited figure standing calmly in the distance. His thoughts were swirling with confusion and frustration.

How did that happen? Was I… ambushed?

His mind struggled to piece it together. He hadn't even seen the punch coming, let alone prepared for it. For someone who prided himself on being untouchable because of his speed, the situation felt absurd. It was as if everything he believed about himself had been flipped upside down.

Bishop's specialty, after all, was speed. His abilities were a unique blend of natural talent and advanced technology. The high-speed battle armor he wore was crafted by the top scientists of the Science and Technology Truth Cult, designed specifically to enhance his already impressive abilities. Together, his natural speed and the armor's enhancements allowed him to move faster than most people could even comprehend. His entire career had been built around this strength, and until now, no one had come close to matching him.

The question the girl had asked earlier gnawed at him. "Is there anyone faster than you?" At the time, he had dismissed it without a second thought. Of course, no one was faster. Speed was his domain, his pride, and his unshakable advantage.

But now? Now he wasn't so sure.

He clenched his fists, shaking his head to clear the doubt. No. This wasn't about someone being faster. He had been arrogant, distracted, and careless. That was all. He wouldn't make the same mistake again.

As anger burned through him, Bishop's armor hummed with energy. A faint, translucent ripple spread across his body as the suit shifted into full combat mode. Gray-black plates slid into place, covering him from head to toe. His visor sealed over his face, giving him the appearance of a sleek, metallic predator. The crowd, which had been watching from a distance, gasped and retreated further, though a few curious onlookers remained, holding up their phones to capture the fight.

Bishop smirked, his voice cold and sharp. "You think you're fast?" he called out to the man in red. "Then you'd better keep your eyes open."

Without waiting for a response, Bishop launched himself forward. There was a loud crack as he broke the sound barrier, his figure disappearing into a blur of motion. He reappeared in an instant, right in front of the Flash, his hand reaching out to grab him.

This time, Bishop wasn't taking any chances. He didn't expect his grab to land—it was a setup. He had already activated a concealed weapon within his armor, a special device designed to unleash a devastating attack the moment his opponent tried to dodge.

But the Flash didn't dodge.

Instead, there was another red blur, and before Bishop could comprehend what was happening, something slammed into the side of his helmet. The impact was so sudden and so powerful that it shattered his visor and sent him spinning through the air. He crashed into the ground with a heavy thud, skidding several feet before coming to a stop.

Bishop groaned, his head pounding as he pushed himself up. His mind raced. What just happened? He replayed the moment in his head, but it didn't make sense. He hadn't seen the punch coming. He hadn't even seen the man move.

For the first time in his life, Bishop felt doubt creeping in. If the first punch could be blamed on arrogance or distraction, this one couldn't. He had been fully alert, his armor running at maximum capacity. Yet he had been hit again—faster than he could react.

He gritted his teeth, forcing himself to stand. His sensors lit up, detecting movement behind him. Without hesitation, he spun around and threw a punch. But just as his arm began to move, there was another crack. A red streak appeared in front of him, and he felt a fist slam into his helmet again, right in the center of his faceplate.

This time, the punch sent him tumbling even further. He landed in a heap, his armor dented and scratched. Blood trickled from his nose as he staggered to his feet, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

The Flash stood calmly a few feet away, watching him with a relaxed yet focused expression. To the crowd, Bishop's movements looked impossibly fast. His punches and kicks created afterimages that filled the air, making it seem as though he were fighting an army. But to the Flash, it was like watching someone move in slow motion. Every swing, every step, was predictable and easy to avoid.

Bishop growled in frustration, launching into a flurry of attacks. His fists blurred as he threw punch after punch, his kicks slicing through the air with deadly precision. From the perspective of the bystanders, it was a chaotic storm of motion, an overwhelming assault that no human could hope to survive.

But the Flash wasn't human.

He dodged every strike with ease, weaving through the barrage as if it were a game. When he countered, his punches and kicks landed with pinpoint accuracy, each one hitting Bishop's armor with enough force to dent the high-tech plating. A punch to the ribs, a jab to the shoulder, a kick to the back of the legs—each hit sent Bishop stumbling, his frustration growing with every passing second.

Finally, after landing a particularly sharp kick to the back, the Flash sent Bishop tumbling across the pavement again. The speedster straightened, crossing his arms as he watched his opponent struggle to get up.

Bishop roared in frustration, his anger boiling over. "Enough!" he shouted, his voice echoing through the street. He charged forward again, his armor glowing with energy as he pushed his speed to the absolute limit.

This time, the Flash didn't dodge. He raised one arm, spinning it in rapid circles. The motion generated a powerful whirlwind, a spiraling column of air charged with golden lightning. The tornado grew in size and strength, pulling debris and dust into its vortex. Bishop tried to stop, but it was too late. The storm caught him, lifting him off the ground and hurling him into the air.

With a flick of his wrist, the Flash redirected the tornado, sending it crashing into a nearby building. Bishop was thrown free, slamming into the side of the structure with enough force to leave a crater. He slid to the ground, his armor sparking and battered.

As he lay there, gasping for breath, his mind reeled. They told me I was the fastest. They told me no one could match me.