The Predator Strikes

The van sped through the shadowed streets of New York, its passengers a mix of seasoned killers and something... more. The six enforcers sat rigid, their weapons loaded, their minds racing with the same thought: *The Black Wolf.*

They'd all heard the stories. A shadowy figure in all black, brutal and efficient, leaving behind a trail of broken bones and shattered operations. But this wasn't just a rumor anymore—this was a problem.

Scarface, the leader of the group, cracked his knuckles, breaking the tense silence. "He's just one guy," he said, his voice rough with irritation. "A punk in a mask. We find him, corner him, and put him down."

"Easy for you to say," one of the men muttered. "You didn't see what he did to Richie's crew. Took out six guys by himself. Barely broke a sweat."

Scarface sneered. "Richie's crew are amateurs. This is different."

"Damn right it's different," another enforcer said, glancing at the two figures seated in the back of the van.

The mutants.

The pale-skinned man with glowing green veins sat unnervingly still, his gaze fixed on the floor as if lost in thought. Beside him, the woman with slitted pupils and claw-like fingernails was sharpening one of her claws against the edge of her seat. The faint scraping sound sent chills through the van.

"I don't like working with freaks," Scarface muttered under his breath.

The woman's eyes flicked toward him, her voice sharp and venomous. "Careful what you say, or you'll be the first one I rip apart."

"Enough," the pale man said, his voice calm but cold. "Focus on the mission. The Black Wolf is clever, but he's mortal. That makes him vulnerable."

The van fell silent again as they approached their destination—a narrow alley where their informant claimed the Black Wolf would be patrolling.

---

The Black Wolf stood in the shadows at the far end of the alley, his black costume blending seamlessly into the darkness. Only the faint glint of his mask and the slight rise and fall of his chest gave away his presence.

The van screeched to a halt, and the enforcers poured out, weapons raised.

Scarface stepped forward, his shotgun aimed directly at Tyr. "End of the line, Wolf. You're done."

The Wolf didn't move, his silence more unnerving than any response.

"Nothing to say?" Scarface taunted. "Fine. Let's see how tough you are when you're outnumbered."

Without warning, Tyr lunged forward, closing the distance between them in a heartbeat.

The alley exploded into chaos.

Scarface fired his shotgun, but Tyr ducked, the pellets tearing into the wall behind him. Tyr's fist shot out, catching Scarface in the jaw with a sickening crack that sent the man sprawling.

Another enforcer swung a crowbar at Tyr's head, but he sidestepped the blow and grabbed the weapon, wrenching it free and slamming it into the attacker's ribs. The man doubled over, coughing blood, before the boy kicked him into a pile of trash bags.

A third enforcer charged with a knife, slashing wildly. Tyr parried the strikes with his forearms, his training kicking in as he twisted the man's wrist and sent the blade clattering to the ground. A quick elbow to the face left the attacker unconscious.

Bullets ricocheted off the walls as the remaining enforcers opened fire. Tyr dove behind a dumpster, pulling a smoke bomb from his utility belt and tossing it into their midst.

The alley filled with thick, choking smoke, obscuring their vision. Tyr moved like a ghost, taking down the remaining enforcers one by one. A kick to the back of the knee sent one man sprawling, followed by a brutal punch that left him out cold. Another tried to run but was stopped by a flying piece of debris hurled with telekinesis, slamming into his legs and sending him crashing to the ground.

Within minutes, the six enforcers lay crumpled and broken, their moans of pain echoing in the smoke-filled alley.

Tyr straightened, his breathing heavy but controlled.

And then, he felt it.

A shift in the air, an oppressive presence that sent a chill down his spine.

The smoke began to dissipate, revealing the two mutants standing at the far end of the alley.

"You've been busy," the pale man said, his voice eerily calm.

The woman grinned, her slitted eyes gleaming in the dim light. "Now it's our turn."

---

The woman moved first, her inhuman speed catching Tyr off guard. She darted toward him, her claws slashing through the air. Tyr barely managed to dodge, the razor-sharp tips grazing his costume and slicing into his arm.

He gritted his teeth, countering with a roundhouse kick that connected with her side. She staggered but recovered quickly, her feral grin widening.

"Not bad," she purred, circling him. "But not good enough."

Before Tyr could respond, the pale man raised a hand. A wave of energy surged through the alley, slamming into Tyr like a freight train. He was thrown against the wall, the impact knocking the wind out of him.

"You feel it, don't you?" the pale man said, stepping closer. "That heaviness? That's me. My gift. I make you weaker with every second you're near me."

Tyr pushed himself to his feet, his breaths coming in short, ragged gasps. His limbs felt heavier, his movements slower.

'Stay calm,' he thought, his mind racing. 'You've got this.'

He lashed out with his telekinesis, hurling a chunk of debris at the pale man. But the mutant raised a hand, and the object disintegrated into ash before it could reach him.

The woman took advantage of the distraction, darting forward and landing a slash across Tyr's chest. Blood seeped through the tears in his costume as he stumbled back, his vision blurring.

"You're outmatched," the pale man said coldly. "Give up, and we'll make it quick."

Tyr's hand clenched into a fist. "Not a chance," he growled.

Summoning every ounce of strength, he launched himself at the woman, his fists flying in a flurry of strikes. She blocked some, but not all. A punch to her jaw sent her reeling, and a follow-up kick to her knee brought her to the ground.

The pale man retaliated, sending another wave of energy crashing into Tyr. This time, Tyr held his ground, using his telekinesis to anchor himself in place. The strain was immense, but he refused to back down.

"Enough!" Tyr shouted, his voice echoing through the alley.

With a surge of effort, he extended his telekinesis outward in a powerful burst, sending both mutants flying. The pale man slammed into a dumpster, and the woman crashed into a wall, her claws scraping against the brick as she fell.

Tyr didn't hesitate. He grabbed a piece of rebar from the ground and drove it into the pale man's chest. The mutant's eyes widened in shock before the life drained from them.

The woman lunged at him in a final, desperate attack, but Tyr caught her with a telekinetic grip, slamming her into the ground with enough force to shatter the concrete beneath her. She lay still, her breathing shallow but steady.

The alley fell silent, save for Tyr's ragged breaths.

He surveyed the scene, his violet eyes narrowing as he took in the broken bodies of the enforcers and the fallen mutants.

"They thought this would stop me," he muttered, his voice cold.

Tyr turned and walked away, disappearing into the shadows.

Unbeknownst to him, the news of the Black Wolf's victory would soon reach Silvermane—and the mob boss would be livid.