As soon as Reeves finished speaking, Inferno stretched out his arm and a beam of white-hot fire shot toward Mateo.
You're really pulling out your strongest moves at the start? Mateo thought as he dove sideways to avoid incineration. He kept running while the beam tracked his movement, marring a sector of brick floor black as Inferno forced him toward the edge.
Mateo already had a plan. Get close to Inferno, distract him, then fight on his own terms. But Inferno wasn't giving ground.
Soon the beam was forcing him off the roof. He performed a desperate backflip to barely escape the singe, landing hard on the scalding deck. Heat penetrated through his boots, and sweat evaporated instantly through his suit. He had to finish this quickly or he'd be dried to a crisp without Inferno ever touching him.
A ball of fire formed above Inferno's palm. Now that his massive opening attack failed, he switched tactics—spawning fireballs, shooting them with military precision. Mateo could only dodge and weave, the projectiles burning the edges of his suit. If he got closer, he'd meet heavy artillery. He needed proximity for his winning conditions, but Inferno wasn't giving any leeway.
Fine. Mateo thought. If I can't come to him, I'll bring him to me.
The fireballs pursued relentlessly until he was pushed to the rooftop's edge. With no other options, he fell off the building, screaming on his way down.
"Surely it can't be that easy," Inferno muttered as he walked to the edge, his opponent vanishing from view.
He jumped after him, but instead of falling, continuous streams of fire blew from his feet like rocket thrusters, keeping him aloft. He looked down at the fake ruined building below. No sign of the slime freak.
Inferno swiveled his head, searching for where Mateo would have landed. In that instant, two tendrils shot forward, attaching to the building walls and pulling taut with visible tension.
Inferno spun around. Mateo came into view—
He'd never fallen to his death. It had all been a feint. Falling down, generating slime from his feet, sticking to the wall, waiting patiently for Inferno to take the bait.
Mateo's quirk was slime. Inferno's power generated massive fires. His abilities paled in comparison, which is why he couldn't spam attacks.
He'd always thought he needed to train his body to perfection, strong enough to beat any villain while refusing to use the power he loathed. Now his perspective had changed. He was a vessel for his power, nothing more. He would squeeze potential from his "weak" ability and achieve everything through it.
Like a catapult, he shot toward Inferno like a bullet.
The plan was simple. If one of Inferno's strikes connected, it was over. So he could only win by overwhelming him—hitting quick, dodging quicker, giving no time to create attacks.
Speed, tactics, and calculated force.
His helmet-mask connected with Inferno's forehead in a brutal headbutt. Mateo's visor absorbed the impact with a satisfying crack, while pain lanced through Inferno's face. Without hesitation, a slime tendril snapped from his arm, wrapping around Inferno's shoulder. With a massive twist from his whole torso, he hurled Inferno like a flail, launching him into the mock building's wall.
He aimed true. Inferno collided with a plume of dust as gravity started pulling Mateo downward—no purchase or platform to balance on.
Not gonna happen. Several tendrils shot from different parts of his body, connecting to various wall sections, holding him suspended like a marionette.
Inferno yelled. Fireballs erupted outward.
Mateo grunted. He couldn't forget—never let Inferno recuperate. Pour everything on him before he could react.
Before Inferno could determine his position from the disorienting slam, Mateo's fist connected with his jaw, sending him flying against the building. Mateo's fist stayed pressed against his jaw as he scraped Inferno's face against brick, milking maximum damage from a single hit.
Inferno growled like a rabid dog and shot flames from his mouth directly at Mateo's face. Just when it seemed his face would burn off, he was hurled backward at incredible speed.
Correction: Mateo hurled himself backward.
He had 'leveled up' from using one or two high-tension slime tendrils as catapults. Now he was laying an intricate web—slings, stops, momentum breakers. A living pulley system that could shoot him off, halt his movement, or pull him back with forces his normal body couldn't generate.
He wasn't a person with super strength or speed, so he'd unlocked versatility with slime. Turning himself into a fighter jet that could change vectors at a moment's notice. The strings were hard to track, but Mateo managed it, jumping away when Inferno shot fireballs he couldn't avoid.
Inferno was enraged, flames licking his lips as he sent torrents of fire to melt the slime tendrils. But not before Mateo shot forward again, kicking him in the solar plexus.
Without Inferno realizing it, a slime tendril attached to his stomach. When momentum from the kick transferred into tension in the tendril, he was reeled back for another kick—a brutal game of ping pong.
Inferno blew another plume of fire, melting the tendril, but his inertia had already built up, sending him flying toward Mateo.
Let's finish this now. Mateo prepared to use the hydraulic function of the special gauntlet Anon had made him.
He forced tons of slime into the gauntlet—a heavy metal glove with cylinders fixed on wrists and knuckles. Mateo clenched his fist extremely tight, just as Anon had instructed, activating the hydrostatic mechanism. Slime accumulated in wrist cylinders was forcibly pushed to bigger cylinders at the knuckles.
Basic physics: pressure times area equals force.
Using remaining slime tendrils, he shot toward Inferno, who was using fire to rise skyward, widening distance so he could launch large-range attacks safely.
Like hell I'll let you do that. Blood rushed from Mateo's brain due to the speed he was rising against gravity. He raised his fist to initiate the hydraulic punch, hoping it would be as effective as Anon claimed.
Inferno hurled his fist back at the incoming attack. Powers collided.
The pump hissed. A deafening boom erupted from the gauntlet.
Mateo felt his ear pop and pain explode in his right forearm—the one he'd used to launch the attack. He didn't have time to examine it, but could instinctively tell it was fractured. Whether a small crack or clean snap, he couldn't check until battle's end. He switched to his other limb. As long as it didn't look twisted, he was okay by his standards.
Inferno wasn't so lucky. The punch sent shockwaves through his arm, breaking bones, leading to his femur snapping—bone shards jutting through skin. Mateo winced momentarily, almost feeling bad, but continued. It was either him or Inferno.
He sent another tendril to Inferno's broken arm, swinging him like a yo-yo onto the roof deck where battle had started. Mateo wondered if even a minute had passed as he landed with a thud, iron boot soles hitting concrete.
As if solid ground invigorated him, Inferno rolled into fighting position, inhaling wildly and shooting another dangerous beam of white fire to inccinerate Mateo. For a second, Mateo wondered if that shot would actually kill him if the medic team didn't act fast enough.
The thought never materialized. Mateo acted quicker, shooting a volleyball-sized orb of slime that wrapped around Inferno's head. Instead of the beam incinerating Mateo, it was captured by the slime. The ball glowed white for a second before imploding right in Inferno's face as he screamed in pain.
Mateo lunged forward without mercy—his opponent too pained to fight back. Left hook with his working arm, followed by a brutal roundhouse kick, sending Inferno to the floor, dazed.
In rage, Inferno threw a final, last-ditch attack. Wide-range, chaotic wildfire that burned everything in its path. Not even Mateo could survive that. He stretched out his arm, continually pouring uncontrolled fire, all tactics and strategy abandoned.
Then he stopped. Fire continued blazing, his opponent seemingly finished.
If it had hit.
A hand passed through the raging flames—not burning red, but green. Dark green smoky flames rose from the arm as fingers grasped Inferno's neck, sending searing pain where hot leather touched skin.
HOW! Inferno thought through hazy concentration as the burning demon with black horns on his visor-helmet emerged from flames.
Mateo.
He did not burn, because he'd realized another useful aspect of his slime. Not only could he grab opponents and swing them like ragdolls, not only catapult himself at incredible speeds...
It could also absorb heat.
Instead of fire burning Mateo's skin, only the surface slime layer burned while the layer beneath cooled his skin. Basic thermodynamics.
Mateo stood over him, ready to end the battle. This was the most important phase—the one-second moment that would determine if the fight continued in his favor.
Only one factor mattered: Conviction.
It didn't matter what their goals were or what it meant to 'be a hero.'
Mateo wanted to be a hero to honor his brother's dream and avenge his death.
From what he'd analyzed about Inferno, he was the son of a top three hero. Trained since birth to be ideal, trained to maximize his powers. He probably didn't even need Atlas Academy to be a hero.
Yet the deciding factor was conviction. Who had more?
The boy who'd lost everything and was doing everything in his power to destroy the villains who caused him pain? Or the boy becoming a hero primarily because his father was?
Inferno's moment of hesitation proved the case.
Mateo used that moment fully.
As his final resort, he stretched out his working hand. Tons of viscous, thick, gelatinous sludge erupted like a volcano, completely engulfing Inferno in a mound of slime weighing several tons.
Mateo didn't push to crush and suffocate as he had with Brett. In seconds, Inferno was completely enveloped. Even though he used fire to burn some slime, it was too late. In ten seconds, Inferno was buried under translucent goop.
Unconscious.
Mateo could barely stand anymore. His body felt drained—he'd used enormous amounts of slime in this fight. He felt he'd black out if he didn't keep standing to relish his victory.
He won.
And that was all that mattered.