The waterfront smelled of rust and brine, the night air heavy with diesel and salt. Floodlights buzzed above the docks, casting long shadows across stacked shipping containers and steel cranes that loomed like skeletal giants.
Ricochet skidded to a halt at the edge of the yard, Delilah close at his side. Both were breathing hard from the sprint, but neither looked ready to quit. Behind them, the roar of Roughhouse and the eerie silence of Bloodscream crept closer, accompanied by the clatter of sixteen men armed with rifles.
Ricochet leaned toward Delilah, voice low beneath his mask. "We can't outrun them forever. Time to turn the tabels."
Delilah's lips curved in a grin, eyes bright with fury. "About time. I was wondering when we'd stop running."
Ricochet scanned the terrain—rows of stacked containers forming narrow corridors, a crane suspended overhead with a twenty-ton shipping crate dangling precariously. Perfect. "We split them up. Separate the freaks, take out the little one, and even the odds."
Delilah cracked her knuckles. "Want me to play bait?"
"Nah, you'll play the hammer," Ricochet corrected. "While I keep Bloodscream busy. You do everything in your power to take down Roughhouse. With him down, Bloodscream will be too distracted to notice the sky falling on him."
She smirked, satisfied. "Now that sounds like my kind of plan."
They moved quickly. Ricochet vaulted up a container stack, perching high in the shadows. Delilah strode into the open, rolling her shoulders, daring Roughhouse to charge her head-on.
The hunters emerged seconds later. Roughhouse's bulk filled the dock road, each stride like a drumbeat. Bloodscream glided silently to his side, his red eyes glowing faintly in the dark. The gunmen fanned out behind them, rifles aimed, eager to cut Ricochet and Delilah down.
Delilah spat on the pavement. "You want me? Come take me."
With a roar, Roughhouse obliged, thundering forward.
That was Ricochet's cue. From above, he flicked a weighted disc at the crane's release pin. The metal screeched. The massive container lurched, then plummeted.
The crash was deafening. Half a dozen henchmen were buried under the falling steel, the shockwave of the impact knocking several more off their feet. The container slammed down between Roughhouse and Bloodscream, splitting them apart and sending the battlefield into chaos.
Delilah seized her chance. She barreled straight into Roughhouse, her fist driving into his ribs like a battering ram. He grunted, stumbling back, before retaliating with a swing that could have taken her head off. She ducked under it, countering with a vicious uppercut that rattled his jaw.
"Still laughing?" she snarled.
Roughhouse just grinned wider, blood dripping from his lip. "It'll take more than that."
Meanwhile, Ricochet dropped from his perch, landing lightly amid the scattering henchmen. He moved like lightning, weaving between them, each disc strike precise—knocking rifles from hands, tripping men into one another, throwing their gun as far away from the area. But Bloodscream closed on him fast, gliding across the dock with claws outstretched.
Ricochet's spider-sense screamed: avoid the touch. He spun away, flicking a disc that splashed adhesive across Bloodscream's hand. The pale figure hissed, ripping the sticky mess apart with unnatural strength.
"Your blood smells delicious," Bloodscream whispered, voice like a blade on glass. "I will drink it all."
Ricochet ignored the taunt, springing back, using a steel pole to vault himself clear as two gunmen opened fire. Their bullets sparked harmlessly against the pole as he swung it around, knocking both men flat.
The dock shook with every impact between Delilah and Roughhouse. She was fast, darting in with brutal precision, targeting his joints, his ribs, his throat. He was slower but far stronger, each blow like a sledgehammer. When his fist grazed her side, the force sent her sprawling across the pavement, skin tearing on the concrete.
She rolled back to her feet, grinning through bloodied teeth. "That the best you got, big man? I've fought drunks who hit harder."
Roughhouse charged, but she sidestepped, hooking her arm around his neck and driving the back of his head into a steel container with a resounding clang. The wall dented, paint flaking, Delilah proceeded to give Roughhouse a few more punches. Roughhouse roared, shoving her off, but his nose gushed crimson now.
Delilah laughed, savage and exhilarated. She wasn't just surviving—she was enjoying herself.
On the other side of the split, Ricochet kept his distance. Bloodscream lunged, claws slicing air where Peter's throat had been a second earlier. Ricochet rolled across the pavement, spring-loaded wrist flicking a coin-sized adhesive shot at Bloodscream's wrist.
The vampire hissed, his hand momentarily bound to a metal railing. Ricochet seized the chance, yanking a steel pole from a dockside rack and slamming it across Bloodscream's chest. The creature staggered but did not fall, his body unnaturally resilient.
"Clever little rat," Bloodscream rasped, ripping free with inhuman strength. His claws lashed out again, missing Ricochet by inches.
Ricochet's heart pounded, but his focus stayed razor-sharp. No skin contact. No mistakes. He feinted left, vaulted right, using the pole as an extension of himself, striking again and again to keep the monster at bay.
The last two henchmen rushed him. Ricochet spun, discs snapping out, striking both between the eyes. They crumpled instantly.
But Bloodscream was relentless, stalking closer with each step, unfazed by the blows.
The battlefield had become a storm. The remaining henchmen scattered through the yard, some firing wildly, others crushed beneath falling steel. Sparks showered from broken lights, throwing shadows across the fight.
Delilah and Roughhouse traded titanic blows, the ground trembled and cracked beneath them. Ricochet and Bloodscream danced in lethal circles, one avoiding touch, the other desperate for it.
Felicia Hardy crouched unseen atop a crane, watching everything unfold. Her comm was open, feeding Ethan every detail.
"They split them," she whispered. "Spider's holding off the corpse. Female assassin's taking on the brute. And about a dozen henchmen still in the mix."
On the other end of the line, Ethan's voice was calm but tight. "Okay. Stay hidden. Watch and be ready to grab her."
Felicia smirked, eyes never leaving Ricochet as he vaulted over Bloodscream's claws. "Spider's really improvising here. If he could use his webs, he could easily end this fight."
Ricochet slammed his pole against Bloodscream's arm, adhesive discs snapping to seal his claws shut. For a moment, it worked—the vampire staggered, pinned, furious.
Delilah drove her fist into Roughhouse's chest, actually forcing the giant back several steps.
Bloodscream roared, ripping free of the adhesive with monstrous strength, his glowing eyes burning with fury. Roughhouse spat blood and surged forward again, fists raised like wrecking balls.
And the henchmen were regrouping, rifles clicking as they fanned out to box Ricochet and Delilah in once more.
The docks trembled under the weight of violence, the air thick with the promise of blood.