Chapter 21 Predator & Prey

  The six SRC troopers and three capes stood in front of the cargo I was guarding. Even from my concealed position, I could feel the weight of their presence. Outnumbered was an understatement. The odds were stacked high, and while I had no illusions about being a hero, even villains preferred to pick their fights wisely.

  Greyhound was sniffing the air, his nose twitching as his enhanced senses worked overtime. I smirked in silence. Good luck with that. I wasn’t sweating, wasn’t leaving a trail for him to pick up. Phasing through the ship had left my scent fragmented and dispersed. It was a perfect counter to his abilities. The inability to perspire just proved how terrible I was a counter against shifters.

  Wormhole, the apparent leader, spoke with an edge of authority. “Split into two groups. Nightgard will work on the cargo’s security lock, while the capes stay here.”

  The troopers exchanged annoyed glances, their body language betraying their irritation. They were clearly unhappy about being ordered around by capes, but they followed the command nonetheless. Half of the troopers moved off to do a sweep, leaving the three capes and three troopers behind to guard the cargo.

  Nightgard was the real problem. A technopath like him could make quick work of the cargo’s lock. That would make everything I was doing here pointless. My job wasn’t just to defend the cargo, but it was to ensure it stayed secure.

  Three against one.

  Correction. Three capes and three SRC troopers against one.

  I had no intention of fighting them head-on. That would be suicide.

  Instead, I took a moment to assess. Wormhole stood at the center of the group, his hands hovering near the small device clipped to his belt. He was their escape plan, capable of creating instantaneous portals to retreat or reposition. A direct threat, but also an opportunity if I played it right.

  Greyhound was circling, his movements predatory and deliberate. His keen senses would make him a challenge in close combat, but without a scent trail or visible movement, he was currently just grasping at shadows.

  And then there was Nightgard. He was calm and focused, his fingers twitching as he began to manipulate the security system on the cargo. The lock blinked red under his influence, the neutralizer-infused container already succumbing to his control.

  Surrounding Nightgard were the SRC troopers, creating a secure perimeter and acting as sacrificial meatshields if it came to it.

  I couldn’t wait any longer.

  Staying in this disadvantaged position was a death sentence. I needed to thin their numbers, disrupt their rhythm, and buy myself enough time to deal with Nightgard.

  The plan crystallized in my mind. I phased downward, my body slipping noiselessly through the metal flooring. I moved with calculated precision, aiming to flank the troopers who had split off for the sweep. They were isolated now, and that made them vulnerable.

  One step at a time.

  I merged into the cold steel floor, the metallic chill creeping through me as I phased downward. Thankfully, the floor was thick enough that I didn’t slip straight into the water below. Darkness enveloped me, but I wasn’t blind. I’d already memorized the layout of the area: giant crates scattered haphazardly, forming a labyrinth of steel, with the main cargo I was tasked to protect sitting squarely in the middle.

  I reappeared at the far end of a row of crates, undoing my intangibility as I crouched low to remain unseen. From here, I could just make out the faint sounds of the other team of SRC troopers as they methodically swept through the area.

  Time to make my move.

  I pulled a deck of playing cards from my utility belt, their edges gleaming faintly under the dim light. Carefully, I selected a handful, activating my power to render them intangible. One by one, I launched them in quick succession toward the other side of the crates, each card set to turn tangible at random intervals.

  The silence was shattered.

  Cries of pain erupted from the other side of the crates, followed by the startled shouts of troopers trying to make sense of the invisible threat. The sound of cards snapping back into solidity and embedding themselves in flesh or steel echoed through the space. A panicked gasp here, a muffled groan there... it was chaos.

  I grinned despite myself. How many did I hit? I couldn’t be sure, but it was enough to cause confusion and fear.

  Before they had a chance to retaliate or regroup, I went fully intangible again, sinking back into the steel floor. The sensation of merging with the cold, hard surface was familiar now, almost comforting. I phased downward and moved toward a different position, away from the noise and chaos I’d just created.

  Always keep them guessing. Always stay ahead.

  I couldn’t afford to celebrate yet, though. This was only the opening move. There were still plenty of SRC troopers and capes in play, and I had no idea how long I could keep this up before they caught on. I reappeared where my cards had landed, the scene unfolding before me like a macabre painting. Two SRC troopers lay crumpled on the cold steel floor, lifeless. One had a card embedded neatly in his heart; the other had one buried deep in his skull. It was luck, pure and simple. I threw enough cards, and I somehow got lucky. I wasn’t about to give myself too much credit for precision when the odds had been random.

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  The third trooper wasn’t so fortunate... or perhaps he was even less so. He was still alive, barely. His body spasmed violently, his gloved hands clawing at his throat where one of my cards had lodged itself. Blood seeped around the edges of the wound, but it hadn’t fully breached yet. He was suffocating, his panicked eyes staring blankly into the void.

  I knelt beside him, pulling the card free in one swift motion. The effect was immediate. Blood sprayed from the gaping wound in a pulsating rhythm, painting the corner of the crate behind him. His gasping turned into choking, and then... nothing. He stilled, his body collapsing like a puppet with its strings cut.

  “Sorry, pal,” I muttered under my breath. It wasn’t like he could hear me anymore, but the words hung in the air, hollow and insincere.

  I turned my attention to the rifle slung across one of the dead troopers. Picking it up, I examined it briefly. Standard SRC-issued gear. Nothing fancy, but it would do the job. I checked the magazine... fully loaded.

  Perfect.

  Without hesitation, I raised the rifle and fired a barrage of bullets into the air. The deafening noise reverberated through the enclosed space, drowning out the subtle sounds of footsteps and movement. The echoes were chaotic, bouncing off the steel walls and masking my next steps.

  Once the magazine was empty, I phased into intangibility, dropping onto the floor again. The rifle clattered to the ground as I descended, leaving behind only confusion and noise.

  From within the steel, I waited.

  The SRC troopers and capes would be drawn to the sound, scrambling to figure out what had happened. The chaos worked to my advantage, giving me the perfect setup for an ambush. My heart pounded in my chest, a mix of adrenaline and anticipation coursing through me.

  Patience was key now.

  One of the mysterious aspect of my powers was my perception. While still intangible, I would be incapable of breathing and touching… But for some reason, I could still see, hear, and smell.

  I stayed just beneath the surface of the steel floor, my senses tuned to the faint vibrations above me. While I couldn’t see underground, I’d trained myself to pick up on subtle shifts: footsteps, shuffling gear, and the almost imperceptible thuds. I felt it now: a presence directly overhead.

  Timing was everything. I sprang upwards, phasing through the steel and landing in the midst of a group of SRC troopers.

  With practiced ease, I grabbed the steel orb attached to the fishing line on my utility belt. A small, seemingly innocuous tool, but in the right hands, or mine, it was deadly. Flicking the orb into the air, I remained intangible, watching as bullets were fired in panicked retaliation. The bullets passed harmlessly through me, tearing through the air where I had stood moments before.

  The steel orb soared, carrying the fishing line like a snake through the chaos. It danced and weaved around the troopers, threading through their ranks. The line phased harmlessly through their bodies at first, intangible like the rest of me.

  Then, with a sharp yank, I made it tangible.

  The effect was immediate and brutal. The fishing line sliced through flesh, cutting into throats, torsos, and arms with surgical precision. Blood sprayed in arcs, painting the metallic floor and walls in crimson streaks. A few of the troopers dropped instantly, their lives snuffed out in a flash. Others staggered, choking or clutching at deep wounds that left them paralyzed.

  For a moment, I marveled at the effectiveness of the attack. But it wasn’t perfect. I’d underestimated the line’s durability. It was too thin to hold up against extended use, and the cleanup left my position exposed.

  Switching tactics, I pulled out a playing card from my utility belt. I turned it intangible, carefully sticking it into the skull of a struggling trooper. As I phased the card back into solidity, the trooper’s body went rigid before crumpling lifelessly to the ground.

  The card projectiles were proving to be a far better weapon: precise, quiet, and less reliant on theatrics.

  I glanced at the fishing line still dangling in my hand, coated in blood and barely holding together. The idea was solid, but the execution needed work. I couldn’t afford to rely on it too much in a drawn-out fight. The cards, though… those had potential.

  Greyhound lunged at me from my blind spot, claws outstretched and his maw wide open. The air rippled with the force of his pounce, but I phased into full intangibility just in time, letting him pass harmlessly through me.

  I became tangible again, gasping for air. The cold aloofness, while intangible, vanished. Maintaining intangibility for long stretches was exhausting, like holding my breath underwater while running a marathon. My chest heaved, and I felt the burn creeping into my muscles.

  Admittedly, I’ve been pushing myself as much as I could, since everything started…

  Greyhound landed a few feet away, his massive frame crouched and ready for another strike. In his full werewolf form, he was an imposing figure: hulking muscles rippled under dark fur, and his claws glinted like daggers under the dim lighting. His amber eyes glowed with a predator’s hunger, locked onto me.

  I spun the fishing line in my hand, letting the steel orb at the end whip around me in a tight circle.

  I measured the distance between us, mentally calculating his range and speed. What did I know about Greyhound? A lot, actually. Superhero cape data was officially classified, but the internet was a goldmine of amateur analysis and crowdsourced information. I wasn’t above skimming cape wikis; those “wiki warriors” often knew their stuff rather well.

  Greyhound was a Shifter-5, capable of transforming into both a wolf and a werewolf. Even in human form, he was an Enhanced-2 with heightened senses. In his current werewolf form, however, he was a nightmare. Enhanced-4, Regenerator-4, and Speedster-1. In short, he was strong, durable, and fast.

  Not invincible, though.

  He lunged again, a blur of fur and claws. I phased just in time, his massive body passing harmlessly through me. As he landed, I returned to full tangibility and yanked hard on the fishing line I’d spun around him during his leap.

  Several meshes of the line were still tangled in his fur, biting into his flesh. It wasn’t enough to cause serious damage, but it was enough to disrupt his balance. He stumbled mid-roll, his claws raking the floor as he fought to regain footing.

  The line snapped.

  I cursed under my breath as Greyhound cut through the fishing line with a flick of his claws, the threads falling uselessly to the floor. His regenerative abilities were already kicking in, sealing the minor cuts left by the line.

  This wasn’t working.

  I backed away, keeping my movements calculated and deliberate. My mind raced for a new plan as Greyhound shook himself, the faint remnants of my fishing line dropping from his fur. He growled low, a guttural sound that made the air vibrate.

  “You’re persistent,” I muttered, more to myself than to him.

  His glowing eyes narrowed, and he bared his teeth in a feral grin. “And you’re out of tricks.”

  Was I? Not quite.

  The next move would have to count.