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What is the purpose of wings if you’re not able to fly?
Every second that passed, every movement that he was able to get out of this moment, sent pain surging through his body. Every step was a knife through his muscles, every breath was stinging in his lungs. His hand grasped at his chest, the dark cloth that was soaked in his blood, gasping for air. A hand would drag across the side of a building, fingers tracing the bricks that made up the structure as he supported his weight, unable to find the ability to bear the weight that made up his body and, not to mention, his wings.
His wings.
They hurt terribly. They ached and every drop of blood that spilled from them clotted up onto his feathers, grounded him more and more into the situation. He fell into a pit of pain that engulfed his very being, dragging him to the ground. His knees made contact with the hard, concrete floor, scraping his skin and tearing the already shredded fabric of his leggings.
What a pain that would be to repair.
He kept a hand pressed against the cold bricks of the only thing keeping up upright, allowing himself to sit, his back, his wings, pressing up against the surface as he groaned.
This was the life of a vigilante though.
This was the life of Cute Guy.
To be fair this isn’t what he expected when he found himself in this way of life. He knew it would be hard, and dangerous, but where he was now, he couldn’t have ever imagined that he would find himself here. In pain. Bleeding. Angry.
Sitting there, feathers slowly drifting off his wings, into the air, and off into the ends of the alleyway he sat in, he thought of what brought him to this moment. However, it was hard to think. Getting his mind in the right place to form any kind of coherent thought felt impossible. All he knew at that moment was the fire that raged in his skin, the pain that ate at his nerves. Wounds were scattered across his body, from the cuts and shots taken at his wings to the impact that had broken the skin on his skull. Blood had tangled his hair into stiff clumps, his feathers that had been touched with the liquid being shriveled and torn. He looked like he was dragged into hell and had to crawl his way back up… and that might even be an accurate depiction of the events of today.
He wasn’t summoned like he usually is, no, he was at the center of today’s event. It didn’t matter to him if it was targeted or fate, either way, he knew that it was his duty to take care of it. Two things consumed his thoughts as he stood his ground, his feet planted on the ground as he moved his hand quickly towards his gun.
One, keep the people around him safe.
He pulled the gun out of its holster, a pink paint over the metal that caused its hefty weight, pointing it towards a figure that stood in an intersection, where cars had crashed into each other because of the presence… and not only the presence of the mutant who made themselves clear to be a threat but also creatures that the city had learned to fear… through explosions and hissing, creepers became a threat that the common folk knew to be wary of.
And two, to make sure he could wrap this up before Hot Guy got here.
Such a task was next to impossible. The Capital had an insane response time, making it impossible for him to do his work. He knew well it was Hot Guy’s job, just as much as it was his, but when it came to Cute Guy, he had to fight tooth and nail to get some sort of recognition for the work and effort he put into protecting this city and its people.
A breath escaped from him as he raised the weapon, pointing at the person, the villain, who stared right back at him with a menacing grin. From the little access he had to a database of people with abilities, he didn’t recognize this one. They were a figure of great power, Cute Guy could tell easily just by looking at them, radiating the pure will of a witch. It was unnerving, but only for a moment, as the two wouldn’t budge from this standoff, waiting for the other to make the first move. After a few moments, he rolled his eyes,
“Oh come on.”
Cute Guy spoke, letting out a sigh as his wings pushed himself off the ground, flapping downwards and launching him from the earth into the sky. With the movement his concentration wouldn’t break, he moved his gun as he flew, pointing it toward the villain. It was without hesitation that he pulled the trigger, sending a bullet flying through the air without any sign of stopping.
But the bullet didn’t even get near the other as they tilted their head ever so slightly and the projectile ricocheted off of an invisible force. Cute Guy’s eyebrows furrowed into a deep knot, confused by what had happened. He watched closely and observed as the others moved their eyes, their head, each movement slight and barely recognizable. But for him, he saw each action. He hovered in the air for a few more moments, thoughts moving through his mind like trains on a track, trying to think of the right course of action. But there was no time to think, he had to move.
His wings pushed back, his body moving with the force that launched him down towards the villain. He had every intention of landing into the other, and he did just that. But it was different. He found himself colliding with the person, his body aching for a moment from the impact, but the villain didn’t move, as if the force was removed from them. Cute Guy felt the collision deeply, his bones hurting and muscles tightening for a brief second before fading. It wasn’t anything he couldn’t handle.
For the other, though, they kept their stance steady. Cute Guy had his feet on the other’s shoulders as he landed, grasping their head, tangling his fingers through their hair as he pressed the weapon up against their chest. He was going to speak but the words weren’t able to form on his lips before he was interrupted. The villain pressed their hand up against Cute Guy’s chest and an intense pressure formed. A force pushed him back a reasonable distance, his heels digging into the cement below as he came to a quick stop. Once more that knot formed between his eyes, confusion compelling him to speak, but such wasn’t a part of his job. The clock was not infinite.
He pushed his foot against the pavement, using his wings to propel himself forward at the other, grasping onto their wrist after only a moment of being airborne. He pulled the hand back, grasping it with a tight grip and digging his nails into the other’s flesh. Even if he did something so small to try to get some reaction out of the other, trying to gauge who he was up against through such simple means, they didn’t even flinch. He shoved his shoulder into the other’s and pulled them over his head. He slammed them down hard on the ground, the concrete even giving way to a small crack in response, but this did nothing to keep the villain at bay. With a simple blink, Cute Guy felt another force pushing at his chest, throwing him into the air with a tremendous force. He found himself up in the sky, and not on his own accord, his wings soon flapping to keep him hovering. Even if there was no external damage, he felt pain moving through his chest, as if someone had stepped right into his lungs. It was aching, a pain that Grian could not shake for the life of him.
However, it wasn’t the only thing he wouldn’t be able to shake, as every action he had just put effort into was worth nothing to stop this villain. No matter. He’s just going to have to try a little harder.
Landing on the ground, watching as the villains moved to their feet, Cute Guy tried to think of what ability this person could have. They were a witch, there was no doubt about it and their power seemed to correlate with force in some way, shape, or form. But he wasn’t about to go on to try and guess, especially as the other was to make their first real move.
With a tilt of their chin, up into the air, the sound of rumbling erupted under the pavement. It was sudden and caused the ground to shake. From behind the villain, out from the alleys that made up the buildings that surrounded the intersection came Creepers. Disgusting, rotten creatures that were dangerous and, quite literally, explosive. Their features drooped as they were pushed into the intersection, obviously not moving on their own. There were many of them.
Cute Guy pulled up his gun and began firing at them. His eyes narrowed onto his targets and while his shot would never be as good as Hot Guy’s, it wasn’t something to laugh at either. Many of his bullets hit, piercing their targets and pushing into the flesh of the green monsters. But with how they were clumped together, Cute Guy would soon realize that the action he had taken was a mistake. As one bullet hit a creature, it exploded within a few seconds, causing the other ones to be launched in different directions. With each collision, another explosion would be set off, and one of these creatures was coming right for him. Launching at him with a quick speed, panic set deep into him, scared for just a moment but he was quick on his feet. With his heart racing, through fear and action, he pushed off the ground, his wings beating quickly as he was narrowly missed by the Creeper-turned missile.
With his gaze shifting, looking towards what was now an explosion, his hair swayed with the force of the blast, the feathers of his wings shaking along with it. Debris and smoke littered the area as flames now sparked off buildings, creating a black smog around this makeshift arena. A warm glow was formed as the sun began to set making the atmosphere unnecessarily colorful. It didn’t fit the theme of this fight, with the pinks and the oranges that began to make up the sky, all of it was so surreal. A beautiful time, a beautiful world, but a dreadful place, and bloodthirsty means.
Cute Guy felt a slight shiver down his spine as his gaze shot back towards who he was fighting. Their back was lit by the setting sun, their face darkened but highlighted by flames that licked the side of the buildings damaged by explosions of hostile creatures. Screaming echoed in the background as people evacuated, and the sounds of sirens could be heard in the distance. His time was running out. Grian didn’t entirely know what to do. But what was the point of being a vigilante, the better hero than what the government understood to be this city’s saviors if he couldn’t think on his feet? Once again, with one large motion of his wings, he moved gracefully towards a nearby building, and even with his elegance, he was fast. It was only milliseconds before he was launching himself off the side of a concrete structure, launching himself again at his new enemy.
Clenching his hand around the villain’s face, only their smile, wicked and long, being seen behind it, he slammed them into the ground, keeping his flight as he did so. He dragged them on the ground before stopping, but this wouldn’t be the end of his action, as he grabbed the foe’s wrist once again and flipped them over his shoulder. He heard a gasp, a reaction that Cute Guy longed for ever so slightly. It was confirmation that this wouldn’t be impossible.
But even with the possibility of defeating the other, winning was yet to be in reach. He felt a hand on his back, a slight touch, and suddenly he was flying. His wings couldn’t react, subconsciously they tried to move with him, but with the speed and direction he was going, they only bent without much response. He collided with a building, already crumbling as flames crawled up the side of it, scorching its material. He looked down, groaning from the impact. Nothing had broken, but with even a twitch of his wing a slight, sharp pain would shoot through to the very core. It hurt, but he had to shake it off, there was no time to think about what hurt, what ached, even if it was every inch of his body.
He looked over, to the clearing where the villain had originally stood, only to see a hand in his face. Smooth fingers wrapped around his features and his body was forced through the building he had been thrown into. The amount of strength they would have needed to do such a feat would have been insane, but it was quick to realize that it didn’t matter how strong they were, the power they had outweighed any physical ability.
The structure broke easily under the pressure that the villain had forced upon, forced upon Cute Guy alongside it. Pain surged and pushed into Cute Guy’s skull, creating an intense strain on his head. He could hear his blood pumping in his ears, his vision, of what he could see past his obstructed view, blurred and shadowed in quick sequences. Everything spun for just a moment before the pressure had been released but before he could react, without waiting for the vigilante to recover, the villain slammed his head into the tile floor of the building they had now found themselves in. A pained gasp escaped his lips, and before the other could continue, he pushed his knee up into their stomach and grasped onto their wrist that held his face. He pulled it off, nails scraping his cheeks and forehead as he pulled the arm back and kicked them in the stomach, launching them back into the wall behind them.
Heavy breaths escaped from him as he moved onto his knees, blood now dripping down his face, clotting and staining his brown hair. A finger would touch his face, feeling the cold liquid that had formed from an injury. His head was aching, pressure and pain engulfed him like flames, and he knew that this fight shouldn’t have been his.
Expanding his wings, he allowed them to flutter and blood flicked off them onto the ground. He looked at them, only to find glass shards sticking from them. His eyebrows furrowed and he folded them towards him before beginning to pick the sharp shards from the flesh under his feathers. It hurt, but it would be better to get them out than keep them in. He knew that usually wasn’t the case, but when it came to flying, the last thing he needed was something sticking out of his wings. He would rather deal with the pain of wind blowing into open wounds. He moved over to the opening that his own body had created, clasping the edge of the hole in the building, and was ready to push himself off and into the air. He put a foot up onto the ledge and propelled himself with the force of a kick.
There was a sudden weight he wasn’t expecting.
He looked down to see the villain hanging onto his leg, and with their weight, he staggered in the air. Baring his teeth, he narrowed his eyes at the other, before spinning in the air. He had to gain momentum, some sort of advantage, he needed to be able to control the weight, not be hindered by it. He spun in circles, faster and faster, before he changed directions into doing a front flip in the air and making a kicking motion with the same leg that his enemy had grabbed onto. It flung them down into the earth, down to the ground, creating cracks from where they landed. Heavy exhales escaped from Cute Guy, as he allowed himself to float down back onto the ground, using his wings to glide steadily, standing where the villain now was lying.
Looking around, he saw ambulances and police, but he knew who he was looking for. His eyes soon landed on a certain task force and a person of black, orange, and blue. He scoffed, looking down at the villain as he heard more cars begin to drive in.
This was his win. He deserved it.
But as soon as Cute Guy went to bend down, to restrain his enemy, his wrist was grasped once again. His eyes widened as nails dug into his skin and he was flipped onto his back. The villain had him pinned, with a gross evil smile moving across their face, so wide it threatened to tear their cheeks. He struggled against the force but it was as if he couldn’t move. He allowed his gaze to find its way back to the one who had him there, keeping him there without a single way to get out. He couldn’t understand what the other was planning until they nodded, moving their chin down towards their chest in a deep, quick motion. Suddenly, stips of rebar were falling, ripped directly from the building behind them, falling towards the two. It was quick and painful, with one stabbing straight through one of his wings, causing them to twitch in response. The pain reverberated throughout the entirety of the limb, and he screamed out, shocked and hurt, as his nerves were set aflame.
But this wasn’t the end of it.
He felt blood pooling underneath him. His scream was cut short as his breath was taken from him, his head craning back. He felt cold liquid begin soaking his shirt, and his eyes were wide as he realized that a piece of rebar had not only stabbed into his abdomen but stabbed straight through the villain as well. Blood formed on his tongue and began dripping down his chin as it escaped his lips. Similar to the one who had forced this fate upon him, blood dripped from their mouth too, from their red-stained teeth of a smile that kept on his lips. It dripped down onto his face, dots of blood now flickered across his pale cheeks.
Grian felt horribly scared.
His heart pounded in his chest, staring at, maybe for the first time, a true maniac. He felt like he was going to die, scared he was going to die. He didn’t want to. Shakily his hand moved to the rebar, trying his might, even under this horrible pressure, this time not literal, to pull it out of him. It was the only way to get this guy off of him. He didn’t care if he was going to only bleed more, he just wanted to leave.
The rebar slipped out of his hand, and pain shot through his side. The metal that had been dug into his flesh was now absent from the hole it created, causing him to yelp out in pain. His knees curled up into him, towards his chest as he grasps the wound. Blood soaks his hand, slipping through his fingers and moving through each little crevis on his fingers. His hands were stained red as the blood pulsed from his body, and even though the wound wasn’t deep, blood still poured from him. With any amount of pressure he put on this injury, it sent shocks of pain through his body.
Suddenly he heard a heavy thunk from behind him and a yelp from the enemy, from where they had been originally. His gaze shifted as he looked over his shoulder. There stood Hot Guy, without his charming smile, without his goofy expression. His features were cold as stone as he held the rebar that was originally impaling the foe and stabbing into Cute Guy. Hot Guy threw the piece of metal to the ground, glancing over to the vigilante for just a moment, before facing back to the villain. Cute Guy looked around, and quickly he noticed cameras about as the news were trying to get into the arena. But with the smoke and fire, accompanied by the police and emerald soldiers, not a single one got past.
Hot Guy began approaching this villain of force as they breathed heavily, arms sprawled out on either side of them. A large pool of blood had formed under them, and finally, that smile had been wiped off their face.
It was a satisfying thing to see.
But even though it was almost over, they still had to deal with one last thing.
The sound of creaking echoed throughout the streets, the origin being the building that Cute Guy had been thrown into, the building that the enemy had ripped the rebar out of. The structure began to tip, soon toppling over towards all of them at a quick speed, and when Cute Guy had found his gaze right back over to the villain, that smile had returned. Quickly, ignoring the pain through grunts and hisses, he found himself back on his feet, staggering and dizzy from his blood loss. With a shadow now cast over them, he knew it was time to go. But as he went to flap his wings, his eyes found themselves over to Hot Guy who was running towards the villain, obviously an attempt to preserve their life.
To Cute Guy, it was obvious that this would give his chance of making it out way less… and frankly, he couldn’t stand that idea. Suddenly, as Hot Guy was running towards the now unconscious foe, he was pulled off his feet into a staggered, messy flight. Cute Guy would grasp onto Hot Guy’s arm with both of his and pull him, flying him, along, close to the ground. The structure began to get closer and closer to them but as it came down, crashing into the earth, they were able to make it out untouched by the building.
Hot Guy breathed staggering breaths as he looked around to the building then over to the fires that were being put out and the group of people shouting questions and demanding answers from afar. He was nothing but shocked, as he allowed his gaze to shift over to where Cute Guy was and saw nothing but his now blood-stained arm. He was struck with worry, and he went to begin going after the vigilante before he was called over by a member of his task force. Looking between the trail of blood that was left behind in the now evening streets and over to the member of his crew… he had to go towards his fellow soldier. He began jogging over, explaining what had happened.
So in that alleyway, he was. Swaying and falling to his knees, trying to keep himself steady. Grian was in so much pain. His nerves were lit ablaze, his body soaked in crimson, blood that wasn’t even just his own. He looked at his hand, the one that wasn’t clutching his stomach, and watched as it trembled. Fear rose within him, eating at his mind along with the flare of ache that echoed in his bones. His head pounded, blood rushing through his mind as he watched his vision pulse from exhaustion. He was so tired, so hurt and all he wanted to do in that moment… was punch Hot Guy in the face.
No matter the work he put in, no matter the injury that he sustained, it was always him that would get in the way. He risked his life, and Grian did. It wasn’t Hot Guy who got stabbed or thrown into a building. It wasn’t Hot Guy who felt fear engulf his entire being, not at all. Grian was the one to put his life on the line, the one to be bleeding and bruised. And what does he have to show for it? Just pain and blood that dripped down onto cold concrete. He would never get the recognition, he would never be the one to save the day. It would always be Hot Guy.
All he wanted to do was to show the world that mutants could do the same things that humans could. They were just as smart, just as agile, just as capable. That’s why he took on this job, this look, this identity. He had something to prove… Hot Guy was only doing this because he was told to. What reason but fame was his excuse for doing this? Fame and glory, while the rest of them get pushed away, the people who actually get hurt.
His hands clench into fists as anger mixes with the pain, running through his veins like lightning. His head spun with thoughts, but not only that, spun with the actual effect of dizziness. He was losing too much blood, his vision was blurring.
He had to get up.
He had to get help.
His hand pressed against the surface of the wall he leaned on, pushing himself up into a kneeling position until he found himself on his feet. Though, suddenly he wasn’t. His feet were no longer planted on the ground but hanging over the arms of a certain hero. Now being carried bridal style by the same person he was angry with.
Cute guy hissed, as his wound was shifting with his movement before he found it in himself to speak,
“What do you think you’re doing…?” He’d ask, anger dripping off his tongue.
“Saving your life, what does it look like I’m doing?” Hot Guy responded, not looking down like he usually would have done if this was a normal situation. If this was every day, Hot Guy would have scooped him up with a smirk and smugness smeared across his features.
“I don’t need your help.”
Hot Guys sighed. He shook his head, ignoring what Cute Guy had said to him in response, which didn’t sit well with the injured avian. Cute guy scoffed, letting out a pathetic, angered breath as he hit Hot Guy in the chest, though it wasn’t with much force.
“You have helped enough. I don’t need you ruining the rest of my day…” He was tired, but Cute Guy couldn’t help but complain about what was going on.
“I could just leave you to die then! Saves me the trip of going to the hospital.” This time around a smile found it’s way creeping up to Hot Guy’s lips, as he looked down through his goggles.
Without being able to see his eyes, Cute Guy could barely read the other. A breath escaped from him as he gave up, leaning his head against the other’s chest.
“Have it your way…” He’d say, “But do not think I owe you one… “
Hot Guy let out an amused breath, shaking his head. With how dark it was, it was practically impossible to see, but a gentle blush climbed up to his cheeks. Even if this was for Cute Guy’s own good… he couldn't help but feel satisfied to be this close to the other.
Grian only stayed at the hospital long enough to get his wounds cleaned up and bandaged. As soon as he had the opportunity, he left, not wanting his identity to be revealed. The next day he didn’t come to the University, being in so much pain, but he did spend the day trying to do research on the villain who had attacked him. It was obvious to him now that even if Cute Guy wasn’t the target exactly, he could tell that they wanted to take a life down with them. As he found himself on his computer, he got a pop-up from the news network he followed, Pearl’s network, letting out a soft grumble as he read its headline. It wasn’t exactly from Pearl’s article, but one she had shared with her limited following of the previous day’s events.
‘Hot Guy Saves the Day from Psycho Witch.’
This angered him more than he could express. He got very little mention in the article and not a single word in the actual news, and the title itself was infuriating.
It was just another thing to make Mutants look bad.
Another thing to fuel Grian’s hate of this damned government.
To fuel his anger at Hot Guy.