The shock hit first.
The sound of Armsmaster crashing through steel echoed across the docks, a hollow metal scream that left the air vibrating. Miss Militia froze for a heartbeat, dust rolling across her boots, her chest tight from the concussion that followed. She hadn't seen the hit coming; none of them had.
She forced a breath, sharp through her teeth. The smell of burning oil filled her lungs. Her hands tightened on the rifle. 'Focus.'
A second roar cut through the haze. D-2.
The monster's shape moved through the smoke, towering, angry, alive. But now another shape met it. White and red. D-1.
They collided, the ground breaking under their feet.
Glory Girl's voice cracked through the ringing. "He—he just punched Armsmaster! He's one of us and he—"
"Enough," Miss Militia snapped, sharper than she meant.
Glory Girl turned, eyes wide. "You saw it! He—"
"I said enough." Her voice cut the chaos clean in half. It wasn't calm; there was heat in it, the tremor of adrenaline under discipline, but it worked. Glory Girl's mouth shut, jaw tight, her glow dimming slightly in the haze.
Miss Militia steadied her rifle and checked her surroundings, quick and automatic. Her shoulder ached. Her pulse was too fast. She could hear her own heartbeat in her ears, but she didn't have time to feel it.
Two monsters were tearing each other apart thirty meters ahead, and they were quickly losing control.
She toggled her comm. "Control, this is Miss Militia. D-1 and D-2 are now engaged. Armsmaster down. Re-establishing formation."
Piggot's voice came through the static, brittle and clipped. "Copy. Maintain distance. Avoid direct engagement with D-1."
"Understood."
She lowered the comm and exhaled, the sound catching slightly in her throat. "Alright," she said, glancing toward Glory Girl. "Same pattern. You keep to the air, hit and run. Don't get drawn in."
Glory Girl hovered uncertainly. "And what about him?" She pointed toward the white-and-red blur hammering against Blockbuster's chest. "He's not on our side."
"He's not on anyone's side," Miss Militia said. "We work around him, not with him."
"That's insane, he'll kill someone!"
"Then stay fast enough he can't hit you."
Glory Girl scowled but didn't argue further, and she shot upward.
Miss Militia ducked behind a burned-out truck, set her rifle against the hood, and fired three quick bursts. The rounds struck Blockbuster's back, staggering him mid-swing. He turned toward her with a snarl.
'Good. Focus on me.'
He came forward again, each step shaking the ground. She switched to concussive rounds and fired. The shockwaves burst against his torso, staggering him further. It wasn't pain, it was pressure. Enough to keep him angry and predictable.
Another explosion rang out across the yard. A blur cut through the haze, white slamming into grey. D-1 and D-2 hit each other again, vanishing into a cloud of shattered concrete and twisted rebar.
Miss Militia rose from her cover, ready to move, then caught movement out of the corner of her eye.
Armsmaster.
He limped through the smoke, armour dented and torn, the blue glow of his systems sputtering in bursts. The right side of his chestplate was caved in from where D-1's fist had struck. His breathing came harshly through the comm channel, audible even without amplification.
"Armsmaster," she called, lowering her weapon.
He didn't look at her. His visor was trained forward, scanning the movement where D-1 and D-2 fought. "Where is he?" His voice was low, raw. "Where's the boy?"
"Focus on D-2," she said.
"He blindsided me," he muttered. "Did you see that hit? No warning, no communication—just—" He broke off, jaw tightening. The servos in his armour whined as his grip on the halberd shifted.
"Armsmaster."
He didn't answer.
She stepped in front of him, raising a hand slightly. "You're angry. Fine. You've earned it. But if you go after him now, he'll put you through another wall, and D-2 will still be standing."
His head tilted toward her, the visor flickering with faint blue light.
"Get your head back in the fight," she said, quieter now. "We can't afford your pride. We need your aim."
He was still breathing hard, shoulders rising and falling with a metallic rasp. She could almost feel the rage under the armour, the humiliation, the need to prove something. She held his gaze until she saw his fingers relax on the halberd.
"D-2 first," he said finally. The words came out like a growl.
"Good man."
A crash split the air behind them. Glory Girl hit the ground, rolling across the pavement before catching herself mid-slide. She coughed, dust trailing from her costume. "A little help would be nice!" She gasped, pointing toward the melee.
Through the dust, D-2's outline was barely visible, muscles swelling with each roar. The pavement cracked under his feet. D-1 hit him again, sending him reeling, but the creature recovered too fast. Every strike seemed to fuel him.
She turned to Armsmaster. "You flank left. Keep him pinned. I'll draw fire."
He didn't hesitate this time. "Understood."
He sprinted forward, halberd humming to life. Blue arcs flashed across its blade, cutting through the dust as he moved. Miss Militia followed on foot, her rifle reconfiguring as she ran, barrel elongating into a precision launcher.
"Glory Girl!" She called. "Back in the air!"
"I'm trying!" Came the shout from behind her.
Miss Militia skidded to a stop behind a pile of concrete debris, raised her launcher, and fired. The grenade struck D-2 square in the chest, detonating with a flash that threw him backwards into a stack of containers. Armsmaster hit him an instant later, halberd driving forward in a pulse of light. The combined blast tore through the metal wall behind the brute.
The noise rolled over them like thunder.
Glory Girl shot upward again, circling wide before diving low to hammer Blockbuster's jaw. The blow connected, sending shockwaves through the air.
"Now!" Miss Militia shouted.
Armsmaster's halberd flared, cutting another burst of energy across Blockbuster's torso. The monster roared, throwing out a wild backhand that missed by inches.
Miss Militia switched back to pulse fire, her shots snapping through the air in a steady rhythm. The rifle grew hot in her hands, but she didn't stop.
For a moment, a real moment, they had him off balance.
Then another tremor hit, stronger this time. The ground itself seemed to pulse.
D-1 and D-2 collided again, shockwaves rippling through the yard. Glory Girl spun mid-air, caught off guard by the pressure wave.
Miss Militia crouched low, bracing as the wind tore across the field. She could barely see through the smoke, only the flares of blue, white, and grey clashing in rapid bursts.
Piggot's voice cut faintly through the static in her ear. "Status."
Miss Militia toggled her comm, voice rough. "Engagement ongoing. D-2 is still active. D-1 in proximity, uncooperative. Situation volatile."
Piggot's reply came delayed, broken by interference. "Maintain position. Keep the civilians clear."
The message dissolved into static.
Miss Militia clicked the channel off. She looked across the ruined dock. Glory Girl hovered overhead, jaw set in determination. Armsmaster stood in the glow of his halberd, armour cracked but upright, his attention fixed forward. And beyond them, two silhouettes blurred together in the smoke, one small and white, one massive and grey, locked in a fight that shook the city around them.
Miss Militia lifted her rifle again, hands steady even as her heart hammered in her chest. "We hold this line," she murmured.
She caught Armsmaster's gaze for a second, rage still there, but leashed now, and then they moved together again, the ground breaking under their boots as the fight roared back to life.
The docks were a storm of movement and noise.
Steel screamed under the weight of collapsing cranes, smoke crawled across the shattered ground, and the air pulsed with the rhythm of combat, heavy, relentless, unbroken.
Through it all, the trio of heroes moved like fragments of order struggling against chaos. Miss Militia kept to the low ground, her rifle flashing with bursts of green light as she ducked and rolled between cover. Armsmaster wove through the debris with machine precision, each swing of his halberd cutting arcs of blue that traced through the smoke. And Glory Girl, white streak against the burning skyline, darted in and out, her every strike lighting up the night.
Their movements were sharp but desperate. They weren't fighting with D-1, but around him. The boy in white and red was a blur of fists and fury, slamming into D-2 again and again, every impact echoing like thunder. Neither gave ground for long. Neither showed restraint.
Armsmaster barked orders into the comms, his tone clipped, focused. "Miss Militia, hold his flank! Glory Girl, don't engage from below!"
"I'm not stupid!" Glory Girl shouted back, swooping low as Blockbuster hurled a truck at her. She twisted mid-air, the wreck spinning beneath her as it shattered against the dockside.
"Then keep him turning," Armsmaster snapped.
Miss Militia adjusted her aim, tracking D-2 as he swung at D-1. The hit connected, a heavy, meaty sound that carried even through the roar of the fires, and D-1 staggered back a few steps before planting his foot and charging again. His movements were raw, driven by instinct and anger more than skill. Every punch could shatter concrete. Every step left craters in the ground.
Miss Militia fired a trio of concussive rounds at D-2's legs. The explosions threw dust and sparks, staggering him just long enough for D-1's next blow to land cleanly across his jaw. The brute's head snapped sideways, spittle flying as his body reeled.
Armsmaster moved in that instant, sliding between twisted girders and firing his halberd's pulse emitter. The blue burst hit D-2 square in the chest, the energy discharge forcing the creature backwards another step.
For the first time all night, D-2 was losing ground.
"Keep him moving!" Miss Militia shouted over the comms. "Don't give him time to recover!"
"On it!" Glory Girl's voice rang sharp, defiant. She looped overhead and dove, fist-first. The hit caught D-2 on the shoulder, driving him to one knee. He roared, backhanding through the air, but Glory Girl was already gone, a streak of light through smoke.
Armsmaster pressed forward, precise as clockwork. Every swing of his halberd came measured, strike, retreat, reposition. His armour systems tracked D-2's movements in real-time, feeding predictions into his visor. For a moment, it almost looked like a real fight — heroes coordinated, pressing their advantage against a single enemy.
Almost.
D-1 didn't follow a plan. He just moved.When D-2 lunged, he met him head-on, catching the brute's arm with both hands. The sound that followed was the groan of metal and bone straining against impossible force. Then, in a sudden twist of movement, D-1 slammed his forehead into D-2's face.
The impact sounded like a gunshot.
D-2 stumbled back, clutching his nose, blood running down his upper lip. The brute's breathing turned rougher, louder. He bellowed, the sound raw and furious. D-1 didn't let him recover. He stepped in and swung a left hook that tore through the air, followed by a right cross that sent D-2 spinning. His blows weren't graceful, weren't technical, but they were powerful.Pure and unrestrained.
Miss Militia ducked as debris rained around her, the shockwaves of their blows throwing gravel and glass in all directions. She adjusted her footing, muttered a curse, and switched magazines. "He's pushing him back!"
"Don't assume it'll last," Armsmaster replied, scanning through the haze. His armour readouts flickered red from overheating systems. He ignored them. "Glory Girl, keep him pinned from the rear. Miss Militia, provide cover fire. He's closing for another grapple."
"Copy," she said, raising her rifle again.
The sequence was instinct now. D-2 charged, shaking the ground with every step. D-1 met him halfway. They collided with a crack that tore through the silence like thunder, the impact throwing a ring of dust and force outward. The nearest containers buckled from the pressure wave.
Miss Militia fired again, targeting D-2's side as Armsmaster darted behind cover to recharge his halberd. The pulses hit their mark, staggering the brute for seconds at a time. It wasn't much, but it gave D-1 space and space was all he needed. He lunged, grabbed D-2 by the chest, and heaved him upward before slamming him down through a half-collapsed storage platform. The metal shattered under their weight.
The docks trembled.
Glory Girl looped above the chaos, circling with her jaw tight. Her expression flickered, somewhere between awe and irritation. She'd seen plenty of fights, plenty of capes. But nothing like this. Every time that kid hit something, it broke.
Below, Miss Militia adjusted her position, shouting into the comms. "We've got him contained for now!"
"Maintain pressure," Armsmaster said, stepping from cover. "Keep the rotation tight. We're not done until he's down."
He dashed forward, the halberd flaring bright blue again. Each strike came down with machine precision, shoulder, knee, ribs, bursts of electric energy exploding across D-2's body. The monster reeled, trying to swing, but D-1 hit him from the other side, driving a fist into his gut. The impact lifted D-2 off his feet.
He crashed through a pile of concrete.
"Hit confirmed," Miss Militia said, steady but winded.
D-2 roared again, staggering upright. The brute was slower now, his breathing laboured, the huge muscles in his arms trembling with each motion. The fight was draining him, every second turning him less into a monster and more into something desperate.
"Push him!" Armsmaster barked. "Now!"
D-1 didn't need telling. He surged forward again, cutting through the haze. D-2 swung a wide, furious punch, but D-1 ducked under it, ramming both fists into the brute's stomach and forcing him backwards.
The sound of the hit cracked across the yard, echoing through the empty air.
Miss Militia fired another round into D-2's shoulder. Glory Girl swooped in and slammed a cross into his side. The combined pressure drove him further back, step by step, until his feet scraped along broken pavement.
D-1 clenched his fists, breathing heavy. His eyes burned with focus, not thought, not strategy, just intent.
Then he crouched low, knees bending.
The ground split beneath his feet as he launched upward.
The shockwave from his takeoff tore through the dockyard like an invisible bomb, blasting debris into the air. Containers toppled. Windows shattered blocks away. Miss Militia turned her head just as he vanished into the sky, a blur of red and white streaking upward until even the fires couldn't reach him.
For half a second, there was silence.
Then he came down.
The descent was fast, faster than any human eye could properly track. He dropped like a meteor, his fist drawn back, muscles tightening, every ounce of his weight and power channelled into one motion.
The hit landed.
D-2 didn't even have time to raise his arms. The blow connected square with his head, and the world broke.
The ground caved in under the impact. A shockwave burst outward, hurling rubble, containers, and broken steel in every direction. The echo rolled through the docks like a clap of thunder. The pavement buckled outward, forming a crater nearly three meters deep and twice as wide, its centre a jagged bowl of fractured concrete.
D-2's body lay at the bottom, embedded in the wreckage, the ground spiderwebbed with cracks radiating outward like veins.
D-1 remained above him for a breath, one knee bent, his fist still pressed into D-2's head that was buried into the ground, dust rolling off his shoulders like steam. His chest rose and fell heavily. He wasn't breathing hard from exhaustion; he was angry,still vibrating from the adrenaline of the strike.
The air hummed with silence. The fires burned quietly in the distance.
Miss Militia lowered her rifle slowly, her hands still trembling from the aftershock. She exhaled, eyes wide behind her mask. Armsmaster stood to her left, visor reflecting the crater, his armour registering the shockwave's residual energy.
Glory Girl hovered above, mouth open slightly as she took in the sight below.
For the first time since the fight began, none of them moved.
The smoke drifted lazily across the crater, curling up toward the pale light of the moon. The battle was done. The fires still burned, faint and sputtering, reflecting off the jagged metal of the ruined docks. The scent of salt, oil, and scorched steel filled the night air.