Fallen Giant

In a dark house, in the middle of Chicago, a man stirred. Large, far larger than should be normal, his rippling muscles moved him out of the arms of his lover and into the windowsill, framed in the moonlight spilling out of the open window. His bare chest still glistened with the exertion of sex, his hair tousled from the frantic activities just prior. His lover was already asleep - the blond meta had a habit of falling asleep after sex, which was fucking adorable - but today not even the arms of his love could soothe him. He was trouble, a dark ache inside his chest, burning him, urging him to do anything at all. He couldn’t bear to be here, couldn’t bear to sit still while he was out there, hurting, killing-

No. No. Kubi couldn’t think like that. Masaki wouldn’t like that. A tiny vein of guilt trickled from a region he had long thought disused and he smirked at the irony. Today, of all days, he’d feel guilt. Guilt over doing exactly what Masaki would want him to do, move on, love again. And he did, he really did. His thoughts turned to Ryan, as they were doing significantly more these days, of the days they’ve shared under the covers, on the beach, fighting evil together, kissing under the light of a thousand stars- the love of a good man could tame even the most wild beast, and Kubi, for once in his life, enjoyed being tamed. He enjoyed settling down, feeling a tiny fraction of the normalcy that he had lost in the ashes of his former life. And Ryan gave that to him.

But not even the icy boy wonder could help him down. He felt dirty, the memories resurfacing after all these years, like the ashes of his dead wife still clung to his skin. He had tried to scrub it out, forget about it, get himself clean, but even after three goddamned years, no amount of good deeds would cleanse him of the nagging feeling that it was his fault. If he was faster, stronger, if he had seen it coming, if he was there, god damnit! He could have stopped it! He could have put out the fire and saved her, his life would be different! He would never have come to America, he’d have a daughter! He’d be picking her up every day, putting her to bed, arguing about what to watch with Masaki on TV, living a life well worth it! His daughter would have been three soon. What would she have been like? Would she be a shy little thing, like he was at that age? A little spitfire? Maybe she would have loved books and demanded he read her a new story every night.

But he’d never know. That opportunity was ripped from his arms at the same moment any chance at a future was. He knew as sure as he knew Masaki’s death was his fault that he could never live happily. No matter how much he love Ryan, he was not Masaki. And until her killer was brought to justice, there was no life he could live. There was no happiness for him, no happily ever after, no going peacefully into the sunset. He existed to kill her murderer. He had these almighty powers, and he was going to use them, he was going to rip that fucker’s guts from his body and strangle him with him. Light him on fire, burn him in front of his kids, in front of his mother, destroy them like he was destroyed. Do to him what had been done to him.

And like every night, Kubi got dressed.

Chicago was cold at night, and lonely, the only lights in this part of town the flickering flames of the oil barrels keeping death at bay for the cities homeless. He didn’t like fire. It was destructive, impossible to control and the sole reason for his current predicament. But he would begrudge these shells of what were once humans their comfort. Everyone should have something. But as he tossed the third wrecked, hollow shell to the side, he had to content that they knew nothing. There was no talk on the grapevine about a pyromancer, no rumours or myths about a meta like that in town. If there was, these guys would know. And if they know, they would tell him. He was very … convincing. He walked away then, pausing only long enough to snatch a bottle of booze in a paper bag from a nearby table.

”Drinkin’ll kill ya. Try t’ behave, ya?”

His voice was gruff, like he gargled with gravel, and devoid of the typical charm and mischief that set him apart from most bruisers of his size. To tell the truth, it was mostly an act. A mask he could hide behind so he didn’t have to feel the clawing rage hidden in his gut. It was a damn good mask, too. Not even Ryan knew his reasons for fighting crime. It was purification, or an attempt at it, a futile attempt to wash clean his stains from the past. But it was too little, too late. His hands were stained with ash and bloodand he could never be free of it. It clung to him like a disease, a shadow upon his soul that no light could reach.

And recently he had begun to have doubts; or if he was honest, they had been there from the start. He was a mostly reformed criminal, a man whom had steeped himself among the darkness for so long he was nearly indistinguishable from those he hunted. It had worked for him, a life of violence, and this new one, of trying to be good and of law and justice, it didn’t work. Too many times he’s seen criminals free from crimes they knowingly committed, walking to streets to terrorize the innocent again. Justice didn’t work. The alcohol left a bitter taste on his tongue, washing away the taste of futility. It was cheap, but it did it’s job.

And then he stopped. Something probed him, something tore at him to stop and stare. For the most part, it was nothing to look at; an old, dilapidated building, missing huge chunks from it’s walls, exposing the insides of what must have once been a fine hotel. He could see the history of it. It must have thrived on the tourism of the city, and when that dried up they had to foreclose. Their families starved, their patriarch eating through the last of his savings with his depravity. Just another example of the failed system. But there was something else, not part of the memory. A flashing blue light, like a broken candle, or- the world came crashing down on him.

He was younger now, the happiness building in his chest. Married, his wife beautiful, their house in Otaru pristine. Rich, happy. And he got the news, sitting on the porch, the paper in front of him and the world before him. They were pregnant. They were going to be parents. Such joy he never felt then, when the world was kind and innocent. He remembered leaving over something stupid, a small fight. Masaki was irrational, of course, claiming something, he couldn’t even remember anymore. He had left to take a walk. Stupid, so stupid. He shouldn’t have gone. The scream had alerted him down the street. It was strange, what happened when your loved ones were in danger. He dropped the milk, his excuse for leaving, and like slow motion it broke on the floor. Like he was moving through water, he ran, down the street. And the last thing he saw was a flash of blue and the world turned white.

His memory broke with a savage roar and the Bear came out, the imprint of the beast mimicking his movements as he ripped what remained of the wall off. There was a shriek, a small shriek, too small, too quiet, but he was blinded by rage, blinded by ash and blood and fire. The fist lashed out, splattering something against the wall and the scream escalated. He roared again, for Masaki, for his unborn child, for the life he lived again and he blindly lashed out and the screaming suddenly, unexpectedly stopped. Blood dripped from his paws- his hands- his fur- skin- matted with the flesh of the monster who destroyed him. There was crackling roar and fire surrounded him, the blue flames crackling ineffectively against his armor. There was no smile, no growl of rage, only his fist, closing around the throat of the young man.

Gods, he was young. There was panic in his eyes, he had obviously never faced death before, never faced a drunk angry giant. He couldn’t be older than nineteen and if that was true- gods, just a kid. Just a child … who destroyed his life, killed his wife, destroyed any chance at a future for his child. His fist tightened and the mans feet left the floor. He beat, futilely, against his chest, his face, his arm, but he could be flailing against the oceans for all it mattered. There was nothing left in Kubi, no more mercy in him. For too long he had been giving mercy. And now, he was starting to realize, they didn’t deserve. The villainous of the world didn’t care, why should he? The only way to prevent them from killing is to take them out of the world. With that thought in his head, he sent the young man flying through the wall, flying out into the street, bouncing on the asphalt with only a strangled, pained scream.

And now that he was out of the way, he noticed the blood, the splattering on the wall. Not enough for a grown man, not enough for anyone but- gods, they were twins. Kids. Two little girls, bodies blown open, dead, from massive force- he was going to be sick. He did this. He did this! How could- he had lost it- they were so young, god, so young. It was Masaki again. His fault, his fault. It was all his fault. His hands clasped his head, stifling the screaming, trying to quiet the screaming in his head, except … it wasn’t. He had screamed, was still screaming at the horrible sight, burning into his retinas the evil he had committed, the darkness twisting inside him at what rage had done.

There was a pattering of feet and Kubi surged into action; Rage, poisonous or not, forced him into action. Like a runaway train, he ran towards the sound, surprised when he encountered the young man not running away, but towards Kubi. He tried to dodge, to get away, but Kubi wasn’t having that. He grabbed him by his throat again, his fingers digging into his flesh. Armor like claws ripped at him, trickles of blood beating down his throat, pooling down his stomach in a continuous stream of gore. But Kubi was done caring; he had crossed a line, the Beast had replaced the Man, and soon he would feast upon flesh.

”... why?”

There was only that single, choked word, only that before he tossed the man again like a ragdoll, his limp body slamming with enough force to break a limb. He screamed at the leg twisted, the snapping audible over subtle din of the city. The scent of gore reached his nostrils and tears leapt anew to his eyes; gods, he had killed them. The little girls, such innocent things. Because of rage. His knees almost collapsed and he grabbed onto the building to contain himself, his armor weakening for only a moment. And then he was back, screaming, yelling at Kubi on his lame leg. He was red in the face, tears and spit mingling in a spray of anger and despair. It would have been funny if it weren’t so god damn pathetic. He slapped the young man, sending him head over heels.

He was down now; no amount of rage or willpower could come back from that. And yet he tried to struggle up, tried to fight until Kubi dug his massive heel into his hands. The bones broke easy and if he survived this, he wouldn’t be using them ever again. But he wasn’t going to survive. He was going to burn him, to kill everything he loved … yes. A sort of vicious satisfaction warred with the despair and horror at the thoughtless murder of children. They were children, yes, they were just little girls; but they his girls. The sins of the father came to haunt them. He clung to this realization like a starving man to a buffet. He needed it, craved it, it was the only thing keeping his sanity together. And as he grabbed the mans hair and pulled up to stare at Kubi, a muffled scream escaping him as his feet left the ground, Kubi let just a small smirk escape.

”You better hope a hero comes to save you, bastard. There is nothing but a Beast here. And you will pay.”

From nowhere, you hear a voice, responding to the last statement Kubi had said."You called?"

Only moments prior, Tarche had been flying through the sky, thrusters propelling the powerful armor through the air. He didn't really need much other than the suit itself. The temperature control within allowed for quite comfy travel. The special operations groups would certainly like this stuff. Tarche redirected security feeds directly into his HUD, giving him a view of every corner of the city. He ran a script, doing rundowns of the faces seen in the feeds.

"Let's see. Unpaid parking tickets, graffiti, dude punching some dude through a wall, littering... Wait, what? 10T, redirect all power to thrusters. Lead me into battle!"

The R-10T goes from cruising over Chicago to a dive powered by several thrusters mounted on his armor. Now that we're all caught up, let's go back to current time. He hovers about a dozen feet above Kubi. He activates Sonic cannons, unleashing a torrent of powerful Sonic waves onto the big man, attempting to disrupt his thoughts or at least make him let go of the wanted man.

"Bud, I need you to stop beating that dude out of existence, but just put him down. Everything will be sorted out."

His gaze shifts to the two dead girls laying broken in a pool of their own blood. He assumes since the big guy seems strong enough to do that much damage, he's the culprit.

"Wh- What. Why would you just kill two children. That's uncalled for. What has this dude even done? Super vigilante or super villain, you're going away for a long time."

Noise. Words reached through the numb exterior that had become Kubi. Noise. Noise was pointless. His fingers only gripped tighter, the face of the monster, the creature in front of him turning blue. He scrambled at the iron hard arm, like a support beam was holding his throat. He couldn’t breathe, pain lanced through his throat, his arm, his broken ribs- and Kubi revelled in it. There was a vicious joy in it, a thrill that could only come with pure domination. He enjoyed this, he realized. Enjoyed putting all restrictions on hold, destroying any obstacles in his path. So much pain, and his fingers tightened again. The man choked, spitting blood and flesh from the ruined remains of his throat. This was it. This was the-

And then a blast, powerful enough to dislodge his grip, and he grunted, the almost-mist of his armor rippling with the force. He was pushed back, the invisible waves hitting him, ground gouging a path behind him. But then, the armor changed from brown to black, and the look of anger on his face could drive the most heroic into whimpers of fear. He stopped then, the sonic cannons breaking on his body. They rippled like white waves around him and he saw the man in armor that sparked with electricity. And he frowned, curled his fist, and with what seemed to be very little effort, thrust his hand forwards.

But despite the lack of effort on his part, the effect was quite powerful and instantly. What felt like a wall of wind hit him, his own sonic energy, light flashing past him, as if the very universe had been sent flying. And it was this way for thirty feet! A deep gouge in the world, like a cannon had been shot, the chunks of earth, flashes of light, and his own sonic energy colliding against the buildings around them. This was just a small example of Kubi’s Dynamic Strength, an ability of his to use Kuma Seiri to create shockwaves of energy. And Kubi was barely even trying! He wasn’t the goal, the goal was-

And he was gone.

For only a second, Kubi stared after his depearting feet. He couldn’t catch him now, he disappeared among the winding streets of Chicago. Rage built in him, like a thousand suns. It was filled him, his Armor rippling, threatening to explode outwards. Ages old, this is a rage that could topple nations, destroy icons. And it was focused, at the moment, on the mysterious man. Instantly the brown armor flared, and the world around him was blasted away by the power of it. Claws, teeth, the thick hide, all of it. The Beast was here, and he was not happy.

”Do you know what you’ve done?”

The voice was quiet, yet clearly audible over the quiet cacophony of the city. His hands were curled into fists and heart twisted into agony. He had escaped, after all this, after all this time, and the death of- it hit him anew and tears singed by agony fell from his face. He had committed the worst sin one could, he deserved death. And he would die. But not yet. No longer would he throw into protecting the good and the innocent. In his rage, he swore to find the murderer of his wife no matter what. And that included giving up what was left of his honor to avenge her. Too much time had passed to wait now, he had to act.

And his first act would be the death of his meddler.

Riot's armor, sensing the waves bouncing back his way would activate his light projector, creating a hardlight sphere around his body. He gets knocked backwards into a spin a few dozen feet by the energy of the waves, but overall isn't damaged. His armor shows no signs of damage, but he is a bit dizzy from spinning out.

"Yeah, I do know what I just did. I just saved a dude from a super criminal. But since you're probably gonna keep going after him, I'm going to go move him as far away as possible from you. And you should probably cut the tears. Won't look good on CNN."

Riot would fly up even higher, doing a scan of the city using the same cameras. He sees some dudes parachuting off of buildings and some drug deals going on around town, but saving the man in danger is his main priority. The R-10T reports that he's locked onto the target. Riot flies in, putting his hands out to slow himself down. He looks down to the arsonist.

"Hey, dude, why is the meta trying to reduce you to a pile of Gore? And also, who is that guy?"

This thread is as dead as disco. It didn't get the memo and wanted to keep Kubi from his retirement/401K funds.

The court rules that the thread is dead, anx that Riot gets his words.