Chapter Text
Clink
The real and fake pulse let out a ringing noise as they drop into Shrouds hand, contrasting against the background sound of the fire crackling and groaning of the injured. The two glass cylinders look identical, the only difference is the amount of power each has. One the amount of a heavy duty bomb, the other of a star, literally.
Shroud drops the heavier than average chihuahua, and Robert follows by catching said dog.
“What the fuck is this, Robert”
The robotic voice disappointed, almost surprised(well that would be a real surprise), as he inspects the two glowing blue objects in his gloved hand.
“You said you wanted the Astral Pulse. I gave it to you. One of those is it.”
The smugness drips from the hero almost like honey . His face trying to hold back how much more he has to show.
“They look fucking identical, Robert”
His voice now shifts to anger, the robotic tone no longer hiding it as he spat the words out.
“Look, you’re right, I can’t outsmart you…cause, you know what? I’m not a smart guy. So the only way to keep you from knowing what i’m doing is to not have any idea in what i’m doing. Which is how I feel all the time but, I trust my gut and take my best guess.”
Robert scoffs at the last sentence before finally looking up at the person in front of him. The man he used to know well.
“Just like you used to do. Before you plugged all those fuckin’ christmas lights into your head”
His words are rushed and pumped full of anger, borderline from pure hatred.
“Before you were afraid to make your own decisions…Elliot.”
“Maybe we wait til’ we get home?”
An unwarranted voice chimes in, weary and unsure, obviously out of place in the conversation. Armstrong, what an unfitting name for someone who would loose to an arm wrestle with a demented grandmother in a nursing home, most likely three coughs away from dying. Such deformities seemed worth cutting off.
“SHUT THE FUCK UP!”
The tension rises back to where it was, like the tide once receded then soon flooding back like a tsunami. Shrouds voice growls and spits with furry through the voice modifiers.
He hunches his shoulders, separating the two pulse into each of his hands. Mechanical eyes staring intently through the metal mask caging his face, though this time the usual red numbers that rush past his eyes don’t come. Robert stares intently trying to read the man’s body language, for his face isn’t visible.
In a sudden movement, he chucks one of the pulses behind him, making his final decision. Shroud lowers his hood with one hand as the facial protector retracts and an old man’s face is shown. Hate pouring out his eyes as he scowls at the “hero”, Robert.
“Fuck you”
He removes the replacement in his head and clicks in the glowing blue tube into a perfectly measured to size slot on the side of his head.
Everything in the man’s body glows a sinister shade of red, illuminating with an aura of hate, power, and mania. He’s unrecognizable, everything(but his eyes) have stayed the same, but the look in the man’s face seems to be the one of an ill minded man(Well no duh). Sparks of electricity and energy radiating off of Shroud feel blinding, it stings to look at emotionally for Robert. He knew this was coming, he knew this is what he wanted and that Robert didn’t want to care for the man. But something in his numbed heart pinched with pain seeing it finally come true, right in front of his eyes.
Shroud rises into the air as he lets out a shout, fueled by the ecstasy of power. As he comes a couple inches off the ground, it made him seem menacing as Robert observes the rushing power of a star jet through the man’s brain, veins, arteries, muscles, whatever the fuck else is in him, all of it is being consumed by the Astral Pulse’s path of power. His eyes roll back, a dark, terrifying shade of red, beyond bloodshot. Robert steps back and hides beef away in his arms, protectively shunning him away from the man exerting red blots of lightning. He floats back down and lands on one knee, using a hand to brace himself against the floor only to glance up at Robert, reuniting the look of smugness he had once received from the fraile man.
“That? Wow. That was…worth the wait.”
Shroud smirks, the look is narcissistic, even beyond that, psychopathic. It’s terrifying to be so close in person to observe how obsession can mutilate a person’s mind and body.
As Robert is busy with the Astral-powered man on the roof, the rest of the low-class red ring villains being to glow with the same immense energy. It reminds him of a hive-mind, and if it worked like one, that meant if he kills their extra source of power, it would stop supplying them.
Now was no time to think of alien hive-mind fantasy shit because his team was still surrounded by the subjects of Shroud and could all be taken down without a second thought. Even Armstrong would have a slight chance of holding up a fist fight.
“You feel that you fuckin’ fucks? I told you! Fuckin’ told you clowns!”
Shroud’s voice booms with vile amounts of confidence and authority.
“You feel the power? I see it now. I can see it”
The glossy look in his eyes can only be described as hysteria, his arms wide spread and his head turned up at the sky. He looks as if he’s praising a non-existent god that has finally shown him the lies truth of his own existence
“It’s all there. Every permutation. Every…”
Everything stops as the unmistakable sound of bile and stomach acid races up the once powerful man’s throat. He wrenches as it all comes bursting through his cracked lips and onto the floor. Stumbling(more like collapsing) down to his knees, Shroud try’s to cover his mouth but more fluid rushes out. Gasps and confused eyes latch onto the mess of a man Shroud is, eyes no longer hellishly red but now dripping with confusion and for once fear, his, now truly, bloodshot eyes look at Robert’s.
“Fuck. Wait…”
“Just a hunch, but i’m starting to think you guessed wrong”
Robert speaks with a tint of humor as he stares at the suffering man.
“No, no it’s iust a-“
More vomit shoots out like a water gun, a grosser and organic one. Red ring members share glances of uncertainty and hesitation. The moment doesn’t last long as a chain reaction of gags and vomit spread around the modified villains. The uncertainty transfers to the Z-Team and others as they watch the disgusting pattern that started with Shroud.
“Oh this is fucking hilarious.”
Starblazer(The blonder version of Trackstar) chuckles out, some others join in, but a majority of them are slightly grossed out.
“This can’t be…”
Shroud looks shriveled and slurs words that are almost incoherent but still manages to hold the simple sentence. He glances over his shoulder at his members from the rooftop, now falling over in their own puddles of vomit.
“You know, someone has to clean that up, right?”
Amused and relieved, Robert replies to Shroud. The tension in the air seems to have vanished over the last couple minutes of mass amounts of stomach acid spewing around the ruins of SDN. While it is true that someone is going to have to clean it up, it’s the least of everyone(even the janitors) concern right now.
“You sonuvabitch.”
The words come slurring out of Shroud’s mouth as he stumbles up like he’s sips away from being blackout drunk, except, he hasn’t been drinking(probably) and the true cause is from plugging a false star into his head. What did you expect to happen? Projectile vomiting is a sign of brain trauma.
“Don’t be mad. You lost. It happens.”
Robert sounds like he’s trying to teach a second grader not to be pouty after loosing his first soccer game. Though it wouldn’t be too far off from what he is currently doing.
“Sorry kid, we both lose.”
The tension spikes as the sickly man reaches in his coat, a shaking hand reveals his father’s gun. The revolver points straight at Robert, aiming (shockingly) perpendicularly to his heart chest. The change in atmosphere and pressure of the whole situation leaves him frozen in shock without time to react. Frozen in fear.
Time seems to slow as the clicks of the gun’s barrel turning, it’s all he can hear. He stares right through the metal path the bullet follows, the hand of the person hold it jerks back at the recoil and shear strength of power against Shrouds fragile state.
It whistles through the air, inch by inch, second by second as it makes it way closer to him. Something splats with a grunt as the bullet slow, making its way through an invisible barrier, spraying crimson red around the entry and exit of the metal fragment. The total force of the bullet isn’t completely stop as it lodges its way into Robert’s chest, right above his heart, knocking him back onto the rough, ashy concrete roof.
The bullet drops into his hand as he cupped it around the small bleeding dent in his chest. Looking up, he sees his no longer invisible savior, Invisigal. Robert crouches over her tired body, eyes closed and one arm resting atop of her stomach. Her rebreather still on her face as she looks up at him with shocked, then pitiful eyes.
“I guess I can still be surprised.”
Shroud waves the now empty gun looking down at the whole situation, surprised and still standing not for long.
Absolute wrath and fury consumes Robert as he lunges over to the manic gun-man. The tackle sends the gun flying into rubble and flames, burning nowhere near to the amount of hate he has for this vile, disgusting man.
Fist rain over Shroud as he makes a meek attempt to protect himself from the raging animal on top of him, but to no avail the hate in the man’s eyes persist into his fist as each hit makes a splat and crack against the man’s tampered head.
______________
Robert has the most control over the fight but Shroud manages to reach for the Astral Pulses impersonator implanted in his head. Shaky and bloody fingertips free it from its place lodged in his skull.
With an agonizing, yet a manic look in his eyes, they lock with the vengeful and hate-filled look in Robert’s. They only share one common factor, the indescribable hate they feel for each other, this will be the only and last thing they share.
Shroud brings the small thing in front of him, freezing the storm of fist colliding against his face. Its blue energy ribbons dance inside the tube. A dance of a star, so powerful a fraction of its power could be equivalent to the energy of thousands, even millions of atomic bombs. The only problem is that it is not the real Astral Pulse, and will never achieve the amount of power that one tube holds, it is just a replica, a mimicry of the star, a prototype. Yet it still holds power, he knows that, enough power to kill someone, maybe two, in a fiery blue explosion.
He hopes to at least kill Robert Roberson III with him.
With the remaining amount of strength left in Shrouds beaten and bruised body, he smashes the thing into the hard, cracked building.
A blinding, eye wrenching flash is released as it collides. The light is so intense the impact wasn’t even noticeable. The glass shoots out in a multitude of directions, shredding his hand before it is burned and torn apart by the prototypes explosive force. Blood vaporizes and spreads like a mist, a god awful stench floods his nose before its charred off. A shrilling scream is muffled out by the crackling explosive boom and turned into a gurgle of pain and melting muscle. He doesn’t care for what has happened to Robert yet, all he knows is that the explosion is going to kill him.
That is the last thing he predicts.