The moment Marcus mentioned Captain America, Hawkeye's eyes hardened. Fury ignited within them.
"You're not worthy to even speak his name!" he shouted, shoving Marcus back.
Then, like a coiled spring released, Hawkeye lunged. His attacks were fierce, efficient, and utterly lethal. Every strike carried the weight of conviction—the rage of a man who'd lost too much and refused to lose again.
Within seconds, Marcus found himself on the defensive. Hawkeye's mastery of close combat overwhelmed him. Each swing of that reinforced compound bow struck with the force of a hammer; each blow came faster than the last.
"Oh? Did I make you angry?" Marcus taunted, his tone sharp and mocking.
Hawkeye didn't answer—he roared. Switching fully to close-combat mode, he turned his weapon into a blur of deadly motion. The sound of metal striking metal echoed across the rooftop. Sparks flew with every collision.
Marcus's blade began to warp slightly under the relentless pressure. Though his strength exceeded human limits, his technique couldn't match Hawkeye's precision, honed by decades of battle.
One well-placed strike slammed into Marcus's guard, knocking him backward several steps.
Hawkeye seized the opening. He pivoted, converting his weapon back to bow form, and with a sharp twist of his arms, hooked the bow's body around Marcus's neck. Using his momentum, he spun, crouched, and heaved—
A perfect over-the-shoulder throw.
Marcus flew through the air and crashed hard onto the rooftop, sliding several meters before stopping. He twisted midair to land on his feet, his enhanced body absorbing the impact.
But when he looked up—Hawkeye already had an arrow drawn.
"Damn." Marcus's pupils contracted. Too far.
Whoosh!
The arrow screamed through the night. Marcus brought his blade up just in time—steel clanged against steel, sparks bursting in a bright arc. Though he blocked it, the impact still drove him backward several more steps.
That bow wasn't ordinary—it was a S.H.I.E.L.D. prototype, reinforced with composite alloys and capable of drawing over fifty pounds of force. Its arrows struck harder than sniper rounds. Against such power, every exchange was lethal.
"Whoosh! Whoosh!"
Two more arrows followed. Marcus didn't dare underestimate them this time. He transformed his left arm into a metallic shield and deflected one shot. The curved surface dispersed the impact—but when he glanced up, the second arrow was gone.
He froze.
Where—
It came from the side.
The second arrow, having curved midair, spiraled around his shield and drove straight into his right shoulder.
Thud!
"Guh—!"
The tip punched clean through flesh and bone, pinning his upper arm against his ribs. The arrowhead split apart inside him, sprouting tiny hooked barbs that sank deep into his lung tissue.
Marcus coughed violently, blood spraying from his lips.
He grabbed the shaft and tried to wrench it free—
But another arrow was already coming.
This one hit dead center, piercing his chest and stopping just short of his heart. The arrowhead twisted, transforming into an electric shock emitter that discharged a surge of current through his body.
Bolts of blue-white energy arced over his chest.
It wasn't meant to kill—Hawkeye was holding back.
"Haah… haah…" Hawkeye's breathing grew heavy. The fight, though brief, had drained him. His muscles ached, his pulse hammered—but his will didn't waver. "End of the line, kid."
He raised his bow for another shot—
But Marcus only smiled.
Under Hawkeye's astonished gaze, Marcus reached up, gripped the embedded arrows, and ripped them free one by one. Flesh tore. Lung tissue came out with the barbed shaft. He tossed them aside, and before Hawkeye's eyes, the wounds began to close—slowly at first, then faster, until his chest and shoulder were smooth once more.
Not even scars remained.
"Impressive," Hawkeye said grimly, forcing his breathing steady. "Regeneration. So that's your trick."
He raised his bow again, eyes narrowing. "Doesn't matter. You're just a tougher target."
[Warning: Remaining Bio-Energy below 50%.]
The system message flickered in Marcus's mind. He ignored it, though his expression tightened. Healing had cost him dearly—one or two more arrows like that, and even his body would give out.
Before he could reposition, three more arrows cut through the air.
Marcus ducked behind a row of rooftop solar panels. The arrows slammed into the panels, shattering glass and sending sparks spraying.
Bzzzzt— Electrical current crackled through the frame.
Then came another arrow, whistling through the night. It arced gracefully upward, curving midair—then plunged toward him from behind. Marcus rolled away just in time. The arrow struck the floor, releasing a hiss of vapor.
A sizzling sound followed. The ground where it hit began to smoke, eaten away by acid.
Marcus grimaced at the acrid smell. "Acid arrows now? Really?"
Hawkeye said nothing. He nocked another arrow.
At this point, Marcus could only dodge and observe—but even while evading, he was analyzing. Every motion, every shot, every wind current.
Hawkeye's talent wasn't just precision. His instincts were superhuman. He didn't rely solely on sight or sound—Marcus finally understood.
It was the air.
He could sense the shifts in air pressure, the subtle displacement of movement around him.
That was why his arrows could curve in midair, why he could dodge a silent attack from behind, why he could fight blindfolded and still hit his mark.
The man didn't just see his enemies—he felt them.
Another arrow whistled overhead, embedding itself in the wall behind Marcus. For a second, nothing happened. Then the arrow split open, releasing a burst of smaller projectiles that scattered like shrapnel.
Dozens of micro-arrows filled the air.
"Damn it—"
Marcus threw his arm up to shield his face, but it was too late. The barrage ripped through his body like a swarm of needles, puncturing skin, muscle, and armor alike.
He stumbled back, bleeding from a dozen tiny wounds.
Before he could recover, he felt an intense wave of heat behind him.
He turned just in time to see his cover—the solar panel array—melting.
Hawkeye had fired a thermal arrow. The panels dissolved into molten slag, spilling across the rooftop in glowing streams.
Marcus barely leapt aside as the molten metal splashed across the floor where he had stood. The air reeked of ozone and scorched steel.
He grit his teeth.
You never know what's coming next.
Every arrow, every shot, every move—it was like fighting a man with a hundred tricks and no pattern.
Hawkeye's quiver wasn't just a weapon cache.
It was a nightmare.
____
T/N:
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