THE CATALYST
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Hughie Campbell was a simple man.
Not in terms of intelligence, of course. Even though he didn't draw attention to it, he had a good head on his shoulders. He came to the solutions of difficult problems logically, and his quiet, subdued nature often made people gloss over that.
No, he was a simple man in that he had most of what he wanted. He liked his job, taking apart circuitry in his spare time, and the customers weren't so bad. He didn't mind living with his father, as he was just glad to be able to spend time with him. He owned a car, a little old, a little used, but it was his.
And, of course, Robin.
Big, brown eyes that followed his own through the glass window, to the side of the counter where he stood.
She let out a little smile, and playfully pushed open the store's door, producing a little ring that sounded throughout the medium-sized building. It wasn't in a rich area, neither was his house, but crime was low enough to be missed. Definitely a blessing in New York.
Robin purposefully avoided walking directly to the counter. Instead, the woman began walking down the aisles. Where Hughie could see her, she pretended to pick up some item, frame her face with two fingers to make a thinking pose, and turn it over, letting out an audible hmm.
She continued this for two whole minutes. If anything, Hughie knew that when she made a joke, she committed to the very end.
She sauntered up to the counter now, walking seductively. His eyes continued to follow hers, as she laid her forearms across the counter, opened towards Hughie's smiling face. He had a toothy grin, with slightly crooked teeth, misty blue eyes, and curly brown hair that was a shade lighter than hers.
Her freshly-done nails glinted in the morning sun, shining through the window. Hughie was entranced by the milky-brown, smooth skin, that curled and tightly held his own hand. He had always liked a good pair of hands, but he never mentioned this out loud. It sounded a bit too serial killer-y. He mused on this for a little before Robin snapped him out of it.
"Excuse me sir? Hi. I'd like to make an appointment." A light, high-pitched voice that was sweet to Hughie's ears filled the air. "I'd like you to come over and…lay some cable." The consonants were erotically emphasized, as she raised the man's chin with a nail, putting them to eye level once again.
"Oh Robin. Oh dear, dear Robin. Um, that doesn't mean what you think it means." A light grin found itself across Hughie's face.
The woman retaliated. "Laying cable means sex." The last word quietened, like if a naughty child said it out loud in a classroom.
"No, lay-laying pipe means sex. Laying cable means you want me to come over to your house and take a big, old-"
The TV at the opposite end of the counter suddenly burst into fanfare, with the infographic of a national news channel showing BREAKING NEWS, in large titlecase.
The interruption silenced the duo for a moment, which was filled by the makeup-caked, slick-haired anchorman practically jumping into his seat. A caption flitted by for a few seconds, marking his name.
"Good morning. We apologize for the interruption, and to begin with foreign news so early in the day. There have been new developments regarding the devastation in Iran, which we reported on less than a week ago. I know many of our viewers have been following this story closely."
"The deaths of nearly two million innocents has been a worldwide tragedy, recognized as the worst nuclear catastrophe in history. It occurred in one night, as a suspected string of nuclear explosions, as of yet not confirmed to be an accident or purposeful activity."
"Swathes of refugees fled east and west, putting new strain on surrounding countries. The UN has set up several relief encampments, in response to growing radiation concerns and situational violence between groups. But this is already known."
"What we are reporting on is a leaked clip of what appears to be cellphone footage, taken during the catastrophe. It is likely that all people featured in the footage are deceased, and the content may be distressing to some. Viewer discretion is advised." The man pauses for a second, running a hand through his hair, as the television cuts away.
The recording is grainy, taken on an older cell phone model in portrait mode. It does a quick pan, showing what appears to be a man holding a phone out from his balcony, with several tall buildings dotting the city skyline. In the background are several indeterminate foreign voices, clearly panicked and worried. The cameraman is silent.
The camera focuses on a distant building, with fires littering the streets around it. They appear to be empty, with long lines of abandoned traffic adding to the flames.
Around the corner of a shorter building, a huge, nearly fifty foot bipedal outline of a humanoid walks through the street. The camera slowly zooms in on it. The figure crushes cars beneath itself, and is tall enough to be easily distinguishable. Metal seems to melt and warp around its form, which is made of a solid, black rock. Its head has a single glowing orange eye, currently fixated in front of it, almost towards the camera. It seems menacing and destructive, with the sound of various sirens and explosions in the distant morning air adding to that.
As it walks, power lines discharge into the air, causing poles to fall. Nearby buildings crumble under the tremors that are now very clearly experienced by the people in the footage, not just the result of poor camera handling. Flames from its body cause asphalt to run, flowing under the popping tires of the cars left behind in the street.
Some dialogue is audible from the cameraman, clearly astounded and worried, as the path of the monster seems to take it towards them. He takes some time to capture the fires and devastation behind the monster, as well as one final frame of its glowing orange eye, before turning away.
The video ends and zooms out as a bearded man, a short young woman, and a small child filter out of their apartment, along with a huge line of people huddling into the building's staircase. The monster is not recorded again.
It seemed a short clip, taken in desperation and awe in the wake of a natural, or unnatural disaster.
"This footage had allegedly been released from an unnamed Syrian official, who is being investigated further to find out its source. However, it appears to be authentic at this moment."
"What appears to be a colossal-sized monster, known as Hadhayosh to interviewees, or to others as Behemoth, appears to be responsible for the country's devastation. We would like to repeat that this recording has not been doctored in any way, even though this situation may seem surreal."
"In the recording, the monster is suggested to be directly involved in several explosions that engulfed the capital of Tehran. The names of the recorders were not publicly disclosed, and it is assumed that all communication networks failed shortly before the monster's appearance."
"There are rumors circulating relief camps that information about the situation is being deliberately withheld. If so, this piece may only be the beginning of a torrent of future whistleblowers. I, for one, wait with baited breath." The man swallows and fixes his tie.
"With the release of this recording, tensions have once again reignited in the war-torn Middle East, and countries affected by swathes of refugees have been pleading with the UN for help. A combined effort to create a statement from affected countries has been, quote 'lost in bureaucracy' since the disaster, leading to speculation from representatives that-"
The volume of the flatscreen decreased to almost nothing as Hughie pressed a button on a remote that had been hidden underneath the counter.
"Holy shit," Robin said, with clear shock in her voice. "Those poor people. Two million? That's a quarter of New York. I didn't even know monsters like that existed."
"Yeah, uh, I know. Really makes you glad we have heroes here to protect us, right?"
She pulled back from Hughie, looking at him across the counter. "Heroes? Would make a lot more sense to have them all over the world, just to stop stuff like this happening."
"And I dunno," she continued. "I dunno anything that could stop that. Walking nuclear bombs aren't something a lot of people would mess with. Even heroes."
The two settled into a small silence. Less awkward, as Hughie was never awkward with her, but uncomfortable all the same.
"Wanna go get something to eat?" He asked her.
"Sure. That brought me down a little."
Hughie looked down at her worried, empathetic expression, and felt a twinge in his heart. He was extremely grateful to have what he had right now. Even in a bad world, where terrible things happened, he had a little slice of goodness to enjoy in his corner.
His gaze lingered on the anchorman's soundless mouth moving as he walked around the counter, his thin brown coat put on. His arm hooked around Robin in a tight embrace.
They walked outside, to a small chill in the air.
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They were only fifteen minutes away, walking towards the best shawarma place this side of the city, before Robin brought up what he had been dreading.
"So, did you ask him?"
"Who? Ask who?" Hughie feigned ignorance, to keep off this topic a little longer.
"Gary. Did you ask Gary for the raise?" She turned towards him, flicking her dark, shoulder length hair over her ear, an inquisitive look in her eyes.
Hughie stared back, a little apprehensive with this topic, but continued. "Yeah, yeah, totally." He paused for half a second, gathering some spit in his suddenly dry mouth. "Look, i-it was a crazy day, and he was super busy, but tomorrow, for sure, yes."
Robin made a sound of acceptance, before pursing her lips and walking a little in front of him, dragging the heels of her sneakers. She carefully didn't look him in the eye, waiting for Hughie to pursue after her.
He let out a nervous smile. "What was I supposed to do, kick his door down? Like Homelander?"
Robin moved her hands up to placate him. "I said okay!"
"Yeah, but you didn't mean it. Hey, I see the look. I see it, c'mon." His smile dropped a little, and he reached for her hands, pulling her closer, to face him.
She took out another slender finger, and poked the middle of his chest, undoing a button on his jean jacket: "This is like when we started dating."
"I don't-I don't think that's true."
"Dude, I had to ask you out!" Robin sounded a little exasperated, and Hughie fondly reminisced on the memory, even though it had been a little embarrassing.
"Well, excuse me for waiting. You ever hear of chivalry?" A grin filled his face again, and she began to turn away from him, walking again. Hughie followed.
She began to respond, first with her hands, with little gestures to signal her frustration. "Listen, this is about getting what you deserve. I'm killing myself at school because I think it'll be worth it for both of us. You know, especially if we move in together." Her voice petered off at the end of the sentence, and she began to walk away a little faster as Hughie stopped in the middle of the sidewalk.
"Wait, what? Hey, hey," he stopped her from walking away, grasping her arm and giving it a tight squeeze. As she stepped down from the curb, she pulled him down a little, before giving him a quick kiss on the now-deserted street. "What'd you just say?"
"Well, I mean, I've been thinking. So much stuff has been happening in the world, like the apocalypse, and everyone around us seems so calm, so content to do what they've always been doing. I want some change, I want a life for us." She lifted her eyes up from the street. "You know, all that lovey-dovey stuff about commitment."
Hughie nodded his affirmation, transfixed in her gaze. He remained silent. Robin squirmed a little in his embrace, now a little nervous about the topic.
"And we can't keep laying pipe at your dad's place, you know?" She smiled again, pressing her head against his breast, enjoying the height difference between them. "Trying to be all quiet, staring up at the dumb Billy Joel-"
Hughie quieted her Billy Joel blasphemy with a deep, drawn out kiss. He savored the taste of her on his tongue, for what always seemed like too little of a time. Pulling away, he looked into her eyes once again. A split-second pause.
"Hey." He smiled once again. "Don't you ever besmirch Billy-"
A gust of wind. The pressure pushing the skin of his face to one side. It blinded him.
A drop of wetness on his right cheek, on his forehead. It was not raining.
A gaze to the right. Some gaudy-dressed, familiar man was yelling something. He was covered in red. Hughie carefully did not look at the ground.
A gaze to the front. There was no one there.
His throat would not produce a sound. He wanted to call out to her, but he still felt her touch at his hands. It calmed him.
A trick of the light? Yes, it must be. Some hallucination or other.
He looked down. He looked down at her hands, her beautiful hands. They were, as always, perfectly manicured and cleaned. Limp, absent of contraction.
A droplet fell atop them. Then another. Another. It was not raining. The clear liquid traced lines across the smooth, supple flesh.
Ears rang. Heart rate skyrocketed. His toes curled in their cheap sneakers. He breathed in through his mouth, which still made no sound. His hands still curled gently around their matches.
He could barely stand. He could taste iron in his throat, smell it in his nose. The shakes were getting bad. The gaudily dressed man still talked, but could not be focused on. Still his hands were gently curled around her own. There was no comfort to be found.
His voice struggled. It died in his throat. He struggled. He struggled to produce such a visceral amount of emotion and anguish. To place everything he knew, all of his hopes and dreams that were now unattainable, into one question whose answer he knew from the very beginning:
"Robin?"
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DESTINATION
AGREEMENT
TRAJECTORY
AGREEMENT
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Hughie Campbell hit the pavement.
His head pulsed in pain. Not just from the bruise that was quickly forming at his forehead, but as a deep, lancing pain behind his eyes.
Fuck. It seemed like they were burning out of his sockets by how much they hurt. He tried to close them, but that did nothing.
He lay there for a few thoughtless moments, completely incapacitated. He couldn't hear much but the pulsing of blood in his ears.
With monumental effort, Hughie propped up his torso along the pavement with a single forearm, locking himself in place. Still in excruciating pain, he pulled up his other arm, coming to his knees. His eyes were still closed.
The man came to unsteady feet, swaying back and forth, almost slipping on the pavement.
He opened his eyes.
Oh, my god.
He fell back, his jacket and face covered in blood as the throbbing pain in his head died down.
Tears continued to fall from his eyes, and his throat choked up as he called out: "Robin! Robin! Robin!"
It didn't make any sense to him, he kept reliving the moment. One second, Robin was there, alive, he was holding her. The next, she wasn't.
He was breathing hard, a panic attack coming on. Tears ran down his face, and the shaking started again.
He lay there, in a fetal position, curling up on the pavement.
The throbbing pain in his head continued on for a while longer.
His mind went in circles, over and over, on the events of the day, disbelieving this tragedy. He was being broken down, brought to reality, and broken down again. Over and over, again and again.
Stop.
Then, the pain stopped. And everything clicked into place.
The shaking stopped. The crying stopped. His breathing slowed within seconds. A warmth grew inside him, to unsuccessfully fill the aching void left behind by loss.
He stood there, confused, stunned, suddenly silent.
What was wrong with him? Why had he stopped crying? What the hell was going on?
Hughie could suddenly think clearly, calmly. He stood up and walked forward. The blood on the floor should have upset him, but it just left a cold feeling that was swiftly engulfed by the unidentifiable, radiating warmth. He left the two hunks of flesh sitting on the sidewalk, suddenly detached from their significance. Something was very wrong with him.
He walked forward by instinct, past where he had been standing, straight into the street.
Towards the man in a blue suit. A-Train. The name meant something to him, in the back of his head. But that part of him, the part that wanted to cry, and scream, and die, was being actively suppressed. By what, Hughie didn't know.
The superhero was just getting up from the ground, same as Hughie. He blinked his eyes, clearly disoriented, with a red duffle bag scattered on the ground beside him. Before the man looked up at Hughie, he frantically checked the condition of the bag. He then took off his goggles, face thoroughly covered in gore.
Kill it.
As Hughie looked upon the supe's dirty face, he felt the warmth in his core grow, and a new strength came to his limbs. His eyes focused, seeming sharper, his sinuses cleared, and he could taste the city's pollution in the air. He walked with a strong stride, not waiting to be acknowledged by A-Train, currently rubbing his eyes. The supe began to speak.
"Your eyes. Something's wrong with-"
Hughie threw a punch for the first time in his life, aiming squarely for A-Train's forehead. A loud CRACK sounded throughout the street, as every bone in his knuckle was shattered, akin to punching a concrete wall. It only stopped the supe's train of thought, not even disturbing the skin on A-Train's face.
The pain caused Hughie to double over, gripping his destroyed appendage. It hurt, sure, but after a second, the pain similar to what had turned him into a weeping mess before just had him stunned. He stared as the warmth from his abdomen spread along his arm. A flood of endorphins took the edge off the pain, as Hughie watched, mesmerized at the bones poking through the flesh being pulled back in. Skin and muscle knit in between and over, surprisingly bloodlessly.
Then, the bone chips grew into long points, fusing with the nails and basal flesh. Pointier and pointier, the bone exposed itself to open air, forming long, curved claws out of his mangled fingers. The tips began to darken in color, accumulating a decent amount of melanin.
"What the fuck?" The black supe said while watching the scene. Hughie's gaze darted over at him, causing the seasoned hero to flinch for a second, before he schooled his expression.
Unbeknownst to the widower, his eyes had changed as well as his hand. The pupils still retained their blue, misty color, but the sclera had darkened to a deep, blood red. It framed his eyes in a stark contrast, which drew fear from the most primitive parts of the human brain.
Kill it. Kill it now.
Hughie lunged towards the speedster, bringing the newly-formed claw to A-Train's heart, forgetting his superhuman abilities in a burst of rage.
The murderer easily moved behind the claw's range. Confused and slightly afraid before, he now turned placating, holding his palms outward, the duffle bag still over his shoulder.
"You were a hero all along? You should've been in costume, man. Let's not do this now. J-just tell me who you are, and we'll take it up with Vought. Okay? We good?" He seemed anxious. Jittery. He couldn't stay in place, and bounced his leg as he talked. Hughie could sense his nervousness, even through his deep, faux-relaxed speech. The barest hint of sweat could be seen reflected on his temples.
Hughie answered with another lunge forward, unthinking, aiming for his throat.
A-Train responded by turning out of the way, before grabbing Hughie's forearm with his gloved hand. Responding reflexively, Hughie directed the heat towards the area.
The supe pulled away then, the subpar glove material burning quickly, the skin exposed beneath. He shook his hand to cool it for a second before exclaiming: "That's what I get for trying to be nice? Fuck you."
A-Train pushed Hughie back with his palm, easily throwing him back a few feet, straight to the ground. He hit it without any pain, simply knocking the air out of him, which blew out as visible steam.
Hughie's clothes began to smoke and catch fire around his body. Looking up at his forearms, small, cornered hives began to form under the flesh, growing slowly. He touched his face with the non-clawed hand, feeling more of them running down his neck, and under his hair.
His jean jacket and shirt was discarded to the ground, burnt and damaged, as he examined the changes along his torso. He was oddly calm about the grotesque deformations that covered his body. The man was aware of that, but every time he tried to focus on it, his attention shifted elsewhere.
"Hey, we're not done here. This isn't a game, you don't get a time out." A-Train's voice became calmer, more grounded as the confusion of the past minute cleared itself out.
Unbeknownst to both men, the memories that resulted in their blackout would do the same.
A-Train moved forward instantaneously, raising his leg. He then pressed his boot into Hughie's chest, as it broke out into cascades of irregular hives. "Tell me who you are," he said as he dug his limb further into Hughie's sternum. Hughie could hear the supe's breathing rate increase.
You cannot be caged.
It felt like hot rage flooded through his veins. He felt full of power, full of righteous might. The heat in his core was boiling hot, and his skin bubbled and cracked like a ham in an oven.
The pressure on his chest increased from above, so he grabbed at the limb with his left hand, surprised to see that it now matched the right, with dark-tipped, curved claws.
With a significant effort, he pushed against the supe's foot, clawed hands fought against an oppressive boot. Muscles coiled strangely under his bulbous, transforming flesh. They strengthened and grew in a few seconds of strain, resulting in inhuman strength.
But then, it appeared to Hughie that he wasn't so human any more.
A-Train's face changed in surprise, before pulling the limb away at high speeds, accidentally flinging Hughie across the street.
It didn't even knock the wind out of him this time. He managed to drag a claw along the pavement, leaving indentations in the road, but allowing Hughie to stop on his feet. He could feel the keratin of the claws wearing away, replacing with something that glinted in the daylight, more metallic, in real-time.
A-Train appeared in front of Hughie, faster than he could think, and gave a lazy uppercut straight to his naked abdomen. This caused the man to fall to the ground once more, reflexively vomiting some partially-digested food onto the pavement. It caused a burning sensation in his nostrils and throat, which began to line themselves with extra epithelial tissue.
"Fuckhead, just tell me who you are, and this'll stop. I have more important things to do than to waste my time with you."
A few more heaves, and a plume of smoke left Hughie's mouth and nose. Surprised, and attempting to talk, he stumbled to his feet. Each time he tried to enunciate a word, flames spewed out of his throat. His lips folded inwards into his mouth, as his teeth lengthened, and tongue receded.
Along the rest of his body and head, the hives broke out into open air, quite painfully, as coal-black, spade-shaped scales. Each burst along with sacs of cooling fluid that prevented his changing body from catching fire at this stage of transformation.
A-Train smashed him on the side of his head, causing Hughie to stagger a few feet to the side. A quick kick to the side of his leg brought him to a crouching position. Preparing to knee Hughie in the face, the black supe was met with surprise, as a clawed hand wrapped around his leg.
Hughie pulled his opponent off balance, onto the ground, looming over him.
The man had already been quite tall, standing a head above most. He was now easily seven feet tall, with crooked, reforming vertebrae. His flesh was now completely covered in scales. They grew in a shingle-like pattern, and were less numerous at joints to allow for extra flexibility. His deformed bones began to thicken, expand, and cover more vital organs and blood vessels. More nutrients were shunted towards his muscles and nervous system, with his digestive and urinary system slowly atrophying, receding into the wall of muscle that grew with every second.
He recognized that this murderer had a massive advantage in speed, but had quickly been equalized in terms of strength. A-Train had been under the impression that Hughie was just a weakling who could be easily cowed. His ego had prevented him from running away. Hughie was looking to make that permanent.
Do not allow escape.
A-Train vibrated against the pavement, drawing countless punches against Hughie's scaled chest, burning the fronts of his knuckles. Breaking the sound barrier, bones fractured in less than a second under his tender care, only to be thickened, repaired, and replaced. Not nearly as fast as they were destroyed, but the pain didn't bother Hughie anymore, and all his vital organs had shifted further downwards as he had grown. The little supe's legs futilely kicked at his own, now thick as tree trunks and just as sturdy.
Hughie's mindset was consumed with rage, even as his face could no longer express emotion under the thick covering of scales. His mouth was extended in a permanent grin, with rows of needle-sharp teeth, and a maw promising fire and fury. Narrow, slit-like eyes were covered with several extra protective layers, and still the same striking color.
He could smell the little supe void his bladder as he drove his claws under his right kneecap. It was by no means a clean wound, stabbing into the lower cartilage, destroying blood vessels and severing nerves. A-Train screamed in pain and fear, before finally being able to smash a desperate limb into Hughie's open, salivating mouth, breaking several teeth.
"You FUCKING BASTARD! Do you know who I am?" The supe winced as he fell onto his side, holding his bleeding leg. "SHIT! This leg is worth more than your entire family."
This gave A-Train a chance to pull away, significantly slower. He left the duffle bag behind, bounding away in a half-skip, half-limp. It would've been hilarious, or perhaps uniquely horrifying, to any bystanders if the street had not remained deserted. At about the speed of a car, the world's fastest cripple fled for his life.
There was something driving Hughie, some fire that could not be quelled. It burned with righteous rage for Robin, but also something else. Some primal drive, something that was not Hughie. Something that told him to fight, to kill. It whispered at the back of his mind. He likened it to the thinking of a predator, merging with his own human intellect.
Staring at his prey's fleeing back, that voice told him exactly what to do.
Kill.
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Hooking a claw under A-Train's duffle bag, one part of Hughie said that it would be important to find out what led to Robin's death.
The other part told him to start moving forward, and to grind his prey's limbs down to dust in his jaw while it was still alive. That part seemed very persuasive.
Hughie began to run, an awkward, stumbling thing, not any faster than a normal human would be.
Then, his legs adapted. They slowly grew in length, with his feet-claws blunting to prevent him being stuck into the concrete. His spine curved ever more forwards, and his stride got faster and faster.
As soon as Hughie dropped to all fours, the duffle bag hanging on at his shoulder, A-Train came into view. The street was flat, long, and had few people, allowing Hughie to zone in on his prey with efficiency.
A-Train was still covered in gore, and yelled for help to the scant people on the sidewalks around him. They looked around bewildered, before screaming at Hughie's appearance. Some began to run, some pulled out their phones, and some just stared at his lumbering, scaled form. Hughie couldn't bring himself to care about any of them.
A-Train moved forward, dodging and batting away the occasional car in his path. The fear of imminent death prevented him from saving face. Hughie closed the distance, yet slowed to right the position of veering or spinning cars. His rational mind did not want anyone else killed by the murderer he chased.
A-Train was only a few meters in front of Hughie, in the middle of an intersection. He gripped his leg as he shuffled, huffing and puffing with an open mouth. Not from tiredness, but from the pain that he was so inexperienced with. Then, with a final lunge forward, the supe was once again in Hughie's claws. He let out a yelp as they raked across the back of his suit, which was not made out of any protective material. Bloody tracks formed across A-Train's body, bleeding profusely.
Hughie, reacting on instinct, turned the man to face him, gripping his shoulders with the strength of a vice. He opened his jaw to close around the supe's head.
Then, he stopped.
It wasn't A-Train's pathetic begging for his life. It wasn't the crowds of people recording the exchange, from the sidewalks and cars.
It was the simple realization that Hughie didn't want to eat a human being. Even a piece of shit that killed Robin. He wasn't even sure if he even wanted to kill him.
That voice in the back of his head almost physically pulled him forward, almost shut his jaws for him. It would have scared him, the decrease in agency of his actions, if Hughie was currently capable of feeling fear.
Conflicting emotions stopped him. Hughie the person would never consider this. He would trust that murderers would get what they deserved. He believed in a just world.
The other side of his mind argued otherwise. That his idea of a fair world had been shattered by Robin's death. It would be correct to just give in to the nagging drive. The one that told him to rend and tear A-Train's flesh. To feel his blood running down his throat.
It was difficult to justify either course of action. Should he follow his principles? Or should he give in to his baser instincts?
"Oh God, please don't kill me. Please, please, I'm sorry. I did a bad thing. It was an accident. I'll go, I'll leave, far away. Please don't kill me." The supe begged for his life, droplets of sweat running down from his hairline. His face contorted into a visage of manufactured sadness, and very real fear.
Hughie's internal battle raged on, balancing the man's life on a set of metaphorical scales. This went unnoticed by A-Train. However, not because of inobservance.
See, Hughie's transformation had resulted in multiple heat vents at each part of his body, for temperature regulation alongside pyrokinesis. Underarms, behind the knees, on each side of the neck, and such. So while saliva dripped from his open maw onto his prey's face, each of these vents was pressed directly on top of A-Train's unprotected body.
Thus, screaming replaced begging. As Hughie fought his alien urge to kill and consume A-Train's flesh, he was ignorant to the cooking supe just below him.
Flesh whitened, blackened, and burned away, as if the man was pressed against a red hot slab of metal. The side of his cheek charred similarly, as his screams and yells grew more guttural. He cursed, begged to be spared, as more and more of his body was burned away.
Soon enough, the supe was quieted, gurgling on blood. At that point, the majority of the skin exposed to Hughie's body was covered in third degree burns, exposing subdermal muscle and bubbling fat.
He struggled constantly, vibrating and batting against the immobile Hughie above him. However, this only damaged his body more, as he scratched away his unaffected flesh against the pavement, to the bone in some places, attempting to get away.
Several bystanders heaved and vomited as the horrid smell filled the intersection. Not one person talked, no cars honked. Not one person dared draw the attention, or the ire of the scaled monster currently cooking A-Train to death. Those with the inclination to run had already done so several minutes ago.
Hughie drew himself out of battle with that inner voice, again focusing on the world around him.
He looked down. A-Train was making incoherent sounds, drowning in his own blood. His entire face had been burned away, leaving a mass of charred flesh. His limbs underwent the same process, with visible bone and muscle in some areas.
This was too much for Hughie. Too much suffering at one time, too much confusion. He didn't want any of this. This blood, this guts, this destruction. He made an executive, humanitarian decision
He took a single clawed digit, and sunk it into A-Train's skull with little resistance.
The man's movements and sounds stopped.
Hughie looked at the intersection around him. The crowd had thinned considerably. Police sirens could be heard in the distance. Every person that still remained had a horrified and shocked look on their face. Yet none dared to take an action against him, in fear of suffering a similar fate.
This isn't fair. I'm not a monster, I never set out to do this. I didn't want any of this. His thoughts ran for the first time since Robin's death. A wave of sadness coincided with this, causing Hughie to stand up over A-Train's charred corpse. The fire in his belly abandoned him, his foe now defeated.
Then his enhanced senses picked up something peculiar, apart from the honking of cars, and the screeching of wheels. Several tough, metallic sounding clangs that approached from the eastern street. Almost akin to footsteps.
The sun shone directly down, as it was noon. This caused Hughie difficulty in determining what exactly soared down to meet him, audibly beating its wings as if it was a particularly large pigeon. His ears had long since folded inwards, but the holes that replaced them were exceptionally more sensitive, aiding in his perception.
From the end of the street, a large, towering supe, taller than Hughie in his current form, approached. He ran, the sun shining off of his steel-encased form. His suit was less clothing and more of a thong that matched his skin color. He was bald, with large, almond-shaped eyes that rose to meet Hughie's. That caused him to slow down, and stop a few meters away from the intersection.
The winged form from above settled onto a traffic light. Large wings, easily the length of two to three people, from head to toe. The person had a green costume, with cheap-looking frills, and a masquerade ball mask.
Both seemed apprehensive at the scene that Hughie stood over. But that didn't draw their eyes for very long.
That honor went to the duffle bag at Hughie's side. He could tell they wanted it. He knew what was inside was important.
At the realization that a fight was now coming, Hughie's demeanor changed once again. Gone was the sadness, gone was the mixed emotions. That little voice took over once again. The fire returned.
Kill.
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Lung!Hughie is something, huh?
Side note, I will be toning down the gore, body horror, and edge. Even though it is true to the source material (all three), I don't find it particularly appealing.
