Vigilante Justice - A Young Justice Fanfiction

Chapter 24: A Familiar Masked Face

Later, he'd kick himself backwards for doing something so stupid.

As soon as Bollocks saw the hesitance, he seized Dick's bad ankle—which was still planted on top of him—and wrenched it to the side.

Hot, fiery pain shot up Dick's leg so fast he saw stars, like his brain couldn't even process the amount of ow it'd just received from his nerve endings.

The ground rose up to meet him and suddenly his knees were slamming into cement, the reverberations of the impact shuddering up Dick's spine and rattling his teeth.

A fist came out of nowhere, forcing Dick to attach his escrima sticks into a staff and hold them outward as a kind of faux shield.

Bollocks merely grunted when his punch met the metal rod instead of Dick's face, then he was swinging again.

The intercepted blows sent splintering pain through both his wrists, but Dick stubbornly held firm, setting his jaw against it as Bollocks pulled back yet again.

What followed was a barrage of hits, Bollock's fists flying as he sought for a way past the defense. Dick dodged best he could on one leg, ducking and rolling with minimal movement and zero grace.

He couldn't care less if it didn't look pretty. At this point, Dick just wanted to get out of this encounter with all his extremities still very much intact.

One hit, then another. The metal of his staff groaned. He dodged a particularly nasty blow, then lifted his staff to intercept the next one—

Only to have it shatter on impact.

The weighty crack shook the very bones of his arms as Bollocks went reeling, trying to avoid the flying metal splinters.

Something sliced along Dick's cheek and temple, but his suit protected his body from the brunt of it.

Dick had no time to mourn the loss of his weapon (there was also no reason to, seeing as he had several backups stashed at his apartment), before Bollock's knuckles collided with his right eye.

It felt like getting a brick thrown at him. Which Dick could say without exaggeration, considering he'd had multiple bricks thrown at him on separate occasions.

Unpleasant occasions, but that was a given.

His eyes watered at the pressure while bobbing black dots obscured his vision. Whatever'd been used to alter Bollocks' physique must be powerful stuff if one punch had left Dick like...this.

Then there were hands around his throat, a thumb pressing into his larynx and leaving him shuddering with the effort to breathe.

He was half-tempted to tell the ex-cop-ex-corpse that an elbow to the windpipe was a much more effective way to strangle someone, but figured that'd be counterproductive.

The pressure vanished and Dick's lungs heaved as air trickled down his doubly bruised throat. He didn't know if he was standing or sitting anymore; everything was too fuzzy.

Like the lack of oxygen had somehow severed his brain's connection to his legs.

"I really believed you'd be a bit more of a challenge, hero." A heavy boot planted itself on the vigilante's chest, like a mockery of how Dick had done the same to Bollocks earlier.

The man's leering face came into focus. He looked different now, altered. There was barely—if any—humanity left on his face.

Bollocks, the rookie cop that'd gotten carsick with Dick's crazy driving, was dead. This snarling shell of a man had nothing of him left.