Ven: Part 2

Ch. 24 Beautiful Losers

"You won't do it," he taunts, "even with a billion dead and a billion more lives on the line you won't do it!"

I grit my teeth and make an uncoordinated jab with my left hand. Still not used to being so off balance with my right arm gone. He dodges easily to the right. The momentum is carrying me forward towards his own fist rapidly rising to meet me in the gut.

I shift my weight, the cobblestones beneath me crack and move apart, I lash out with my right foot, it traces a dead straight line to his temple.

I falter.

He grins and quick steps backwards, my foot barely grazing the tip of his nose.

"She was right about you," he dances around, his left hand dipping into a pocket in his coat, "You don't have what it takes to kill!"

He throws a right hook, I dodge to my right.

His left is there to meet me, his fist smashes through the protective layer of ice, something course stabs into the mostly healed wound where my arm used to be.

I scream as it starts to burn and tear at the wound.

I stumble back, my eyes have teared up from the pain and my vision blurs.

I see the vague outline of a raised fist.

I blink to get the tears out.

His fist collides with my nose and I white out for a second.

He hefts me up by the collar.

"You're weak." His words slither into my brain, echoing.

It coils around something in my mind. It's a solid bar, dirty white in colour, hairline cracks run up and down it's length.

Two ethereal hands wrap around it.

They're mine, one of flesh, one of lightning.

I grip and start to bend.

It feels like death.

I strain against it, bending with all my might to break it.

He's realised now, his purple eyes widening.

"What are you doing?" He demands, his fist slamming into my face, blood fills my mouth.

A grim smile spreads across my face, blood spilling down my chin.

"You don't have it in you, you are weak!" He growls, the words constricting the hands in my mind, pulling my strength away. "That won't work!"

He's right.

I take a steadying breath.

Reach forward in my mind.

And snap it cleanly in two.

A new kind of strength courses through me as my own limitation bleeds away to be replaced.

My feet find themselves planted firmly on the ground.

My legs straighten and I stand to my full height, eye to eye with the founder of the World Government.

In a flash I reach up, grip the wrist of his hand holding me up and squeeze.

The bones of his forearm turn to dust beneath his skin.

He hisses and pulls back as his arm ripples and begins to heal.

My palm slams into his sternum, right over his heart.

1

He flies backwards through the walls of a nearby house and stops short, two bent copper pipes sticking out of his chest pouring water onto the floor.