𝙸𝚜𝚗'𝚝 𝙸𝚝 𝙼𝚊𝚛𝚟𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚞𝚜, 𝚁𝚞𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝙴𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐?

|𝟙| 𝕊𝕥𝕣𝕖𝕖𝕥 𝕃𝕒𝕞𝕡𝕤

Trigger warnings: Blood, injuries, some violence. 

Character warning: mentions of A6d. I apologize, at the time this was written I was not aware of what he has done, but I also can't delete him from this chapter due to plot reasons. 

    It had been a boring day for Darryl— running errands, working, catching the news in his lunch break, and walking home. The cold mid-fall air bit at the exposed skin of his face, making him inwardly prickle over the lousy weather. A wind passed by, blowing his hair everywhere, fluffy brown locks blocking his view of the barely lit street ahead. He sighed, pushing it back and groaning in complaint when it just defiantly returned in front of his eyes. Slow music floated by, low and long notes played on violin filling the quiet late afternoon. The tune was beautiful, but broken somehow, as if the piece was only complete paired with another instrument... It was bittersweet to hear the song for Darryl, it reminded him too much of himself. Incomplete. A puzzle missing the final piece, he just didn't know what it was. Nevertheless, it had a nice melody, and he was slightly pleased he had heard it— even if only for a passing moment, walking past the house with a couple slow dancing to it inside.

      He had been enjoying the cool walk in the dark, when something—rather, someone, came to disrupt the calm of the peacefully empty streets, lamps setting a soft glow over the road he was walking upon. Darryl had noticed the sound of someone flying through the air before they crash landed onto the road, his abnormally strong senses picking up the difference in air movement and the soft swishing sound. He leapt out of the way, whirling around to face whatever fell from the sky. Darryl was met with an unusual sight—a man, twenty at least, painfully bruised and bloodied, knocked out on the ground. His outfit, a black shirt with the slogan 'ppl suck' in small grey letters, a black bandanna covering part of his face and one eye with an metal square patched on, oddly casual black pants, and checkered converse, was ripped and muddy with a dark red substance that looked suspiciously like blood. He recognized him in a couple of seconds, bad lighting and dirty appearance making him harder to identify, but the man who crashed down where Darryl had been standing mere moments ago was a hero for PIP, a hero agency centralized in Florida with many powerful people working for it. A6d, famous for his debut in France (saving the the Eiffel Tower from a particularly strong shape-shifter) and his trademark people suck, has the ability to change the state of matter of any non-sentient object, max 2.37 tons in weight at the same time.

     It's quite a strong power, though air pressure, altitude, and weather patterns tend to limit or enhance it, while overusing it can put a hold on his mobility and rationality. He was accepted into PIP two weeks later, moved over from Europe shortly after. His French accent never faded, much to the joy of his fans. 

    A6d was unconscious on the broken pavement. Darryl was silently freaking out. What was he supposed to do? Get help? Run? Call another hero? He looked up at the navy sky, stars just barely peeking out through clouds rolling by, to see a figure standing on nothing. The space beneath their feet was disoriented, as if they were up top solid air, brown hair swaying to the wind. They— Darryl assumed male— had white round glasses on, collared shirt underneath a blue supreme sweater, short jeans, and combat boots. His eyes, a strikingly bright red, were surveying the damage done on the street, to A6d, finally landing on Darryl.

       Or, more accurately, where Darryl was. He had slunk into the shadows behind a nearby fence when he noticed the suspicious man. He was frozen stiff, scared out of logic, and power not functioning properly. His dark bat wings were flickering in and out of reality, tiny horns appearing and disappearing, fangs sharpening then becoming normal again. He was picking up every little noise, scent, detail, hyper aware of everything around him. The villain shrugged, turning to make his escape.