Hell's Redeemer

Chapter 23

As Spawn sat on the roof of the hotel, trying to collect his thoughts, the city below buzzed with the usual noise of Hell. But his mind wasn't on the chaos; it was on the flashbacks, the anger, and the confusion that had been haunting him since his encounter with Charlie.

Then, his senses sharpened. He felt it before he saw it-something was off. His eyes scanned the distant rooftops, and that's when he saw it-a glint of light. It was something he hadn't seen since his days as a soldier, the unmistakable reflection of a rifle scope.

Before he could fully react, a shot rang out.

His chains sprang to life instinctively, wrapping around him in a protective barrier, but this time they weren't enough. The bullet tore right through them. Though the chains managed to deflect the shot slightly, it still grazed his arm. The pain that shot through him wasn't normal-it was searing, more than anything a standard bullet could cause.

Divine weaponry. It had to be.

Spawn gritted his teeth, the burning sensation in his arm confirming his suspicion. His healing factor kicked in, but the wound throbbed, and that kind of pain only came from one source.

Across the way, Striker, perched on a distant rooftop, lowered the rifle briefly and cursed under his breath. He hadn't accounted for those chains. Readying another shot, he adjusted his aim, intent on making the next bullet count.

Spawn's eyes narrowed, locking onto the distant rooftop where his adversary crouched. Without wasting a second, his cape flared out, lifting him into the sky with a surge of dark energy. He soared toward the building, each beat of his cape propelling him faster through the hellish air.

As he landed on the roof, his chains lashed out, circling around him defensively. His glowing green eyes bore into the figure standing before him.

"Who are you?" Spawn demanded, his voice a low, menacing growl.

Striker stood tall, rifle resting casually on his shoulder, a cocky grin spreading across his face. "The name's Striker, partner. Best damn assassin in Hell, and I've been hired to take you down."

His voice dripped with arrogance as he tipped his hat. "Gotta say, you're making this fun. Ain't too often I get to use divine rounds on my targets. Don't take it personal-just business."

Spawn's chains tightened around him, his rage simmering beneath the surface. "You picked the wrong target, Striker."

Striker barely flinched at Spawn's threat, his cocky grin widening as he looked the hellspawn up and down. "Oh, you're a feisty one. That's good. I was hopin' this wouldn't be over too quick," Striker sneered. He casually twirled his rifle, still glowing with divine energy, before leveling it at Spawn once more.

Without hesitation, he fired, but this time, Spawn was ready. His reflexes honed from years of combat, he sidestepped the bullet with ease, moving like a shadow across the rooftop.

Before Striker could react, Spawn's chains shot out, wrapping tightly around the rifle and wrenching it from Striker's hands. With a flick, the weapon was tossed aside, clattering across the roof and out of reach.

Striker let out a deep laugh, his eyes gleaming with amusement rather than concern. "Now that's what I'm talkin' about!" He cracked his neck, rolling his shoulders, clearly unfazed by the loss of his weapon. "But you ain't the only one with a few tricks."

With a dramatic flourish, Striker pulled out a glowing lasso, the rope shimmering with divine power. "Ain't never seen chains like yours before. But let's see how they hold up against this!" He spun the lasso over his head, eyes locked on Spawn, daring him to make the next move.