Pure instinct and sudden adrenaline are the only things that propel me forwards as I instantly take off after Rowan - no, the villain, Hot Pink. I catch a few looks of alarm from the sparsely populated club but we’re both out the door before anyone inside can really react. She moves blindingly fast, considering I’m supposed to be the speedster, but without momentum I’m painfully aware of how slow I can be and this woman literally has rocket propelled limbs.

  A feature she takes full advantage of as she scales the outside of the club in a single solid leap while I’m stuck leaping zigzag off the sides of the alleyway to achieve the same. By the time I’m on the roof, she’s three houses down, but the houses are so close together that it's pretty much flat ground, and that’s where I shine.

  I take off, adrenaline and a SAU’s adaptability pushing me far past my established limits, and I reach Rowan in twenty strides. Then I tackle her, knocking her off the roof we’re on and into another alley way, where we tumble down, bouncing off of walls as we go. I let go of her during the fall, but we’re both dazed upon hitting the bottom, and neither of us gains the upper hand. We both rise at the same time, but while I try to go for another tackle she just slugs me across the face, and I fall back down. She’s at the end of the alleyway by the time I’ve risen.

  “Stop!” I shout, and to my complete surprise Rowan actually does.

  “Why?” She questions, “So you can just catch me again?”

  “I’ll catch you anyways,” I say, but it’s a weak argument, “Heroes always win in the end.”

  “Heroes never lose, princess. There’s a difference,” Rowan replies, quietly enough that I almost think I imagine it.

  Then she starts running again, but by now I’ve recovered and I’m ready for her. I sprint after her, sticking close behind as we pull out onto the street. I follow her past a few more buildings until the most utterly unfathomable stroke of pure misfortune hits.

  A massive shape crashes out of a restaurant with a massive neon sign reading “Gioberto’s Italian Kitchen”, right between the two of us. I screech to a stop, inches away from hitting the thing, and realize to my horror that it’s a massive wolf, easily the size of a large horse. In the seconds it takes me to see this, I lose Rowan, her form swiftly disappearing down an intersection, and all of a sudden my priorities have changed.

  The wolf is easily nowhere near the worst part of this sudden turn of luck, as notably it isn’t the only thing that came out of the restaurant. In the flickering light of the neon sign, I notice with horror that the pitch black wolf not only has fiery, glowing eyes, but also rather bloodstained teeth. And somebody clearly having a bad day - a fat Italian man dressed in a cooks outfit, perhaps the Gioberto in question - clutched between said teeth.

  I may have whimpered, but in a very heroic way, I promise.

  “Welllll looky here, Luna. Seems we’ve found some more food for you after all,” A black haired, and terrifyingly red-eyed young man in a flowing black trench coat pushes open the door of the restaurant. A ding from the little bell echoes in a way that is far more terrifying than it should be. He lazily holds a sawed-short shotgun - which is super illegal, by the way - twirling it by the trigger in his left hand, in a manner where every moment he doesn’t shoot himself in the foot is a miracle. The wolf turns its hellish eyes towards me and growls low in its massive throat.

  “Good puppy…” I murmur, “You just want to play, right?”

  “No,” The boy says, “She wouldn’t be a very good Hellhound if she didn’t want to eat people, and right now she wants you. I can’t say I blame her.” He finishes his sentence with a wink that turns my stomach, and don’t think at all that I missed the power in his voice as he called that thing a hellhound. That’s his ability name or I’ll eat my foot, and not a very fun one either. The name says a lot about the ability at that one’s just a giant flashing sign that absolutely screams ‘Danger!!!!’ in all caps.

  “Well… too bad for her then, because I won’t let her eat anybody else today.” I raise my fists into a fighting stance and try my hardest not to let fear creep into my voice. At least twenty percent of heroism is confidence, you’d be surprised how often it works.

  “Ooooh!” His noise of excitement disabuses me of that fantasy, “We got ourselves a hero! That’s just perfect, Luna, you always love eating those!” That, more than anything else so far, has to be a bluff. I’ve never even heard of a hero dying to a villain, and you just know that would be all over the news. This guy implies he’s killed more than one? Bullshit, I call bullshit.

  “Now, Luna, fetch!” He cries, pointing the gun directly at me, and following the order to the letter the wolf leaps directly at me. It opens its mouth all the way, nearly unhinging its jaw to reveal dozens of bloodstained teeth as large as knives. I dive out of the way, finishing in a roll and almost coming back to my feet before my hair stands on end and all the survival instinct I have screams at me to stay down.

  A second later a shot rings out and I learn why, something whizzing just over my head. If I’d stood, I would've been struck right in the chest. Normally I might’ve survived, even this close, but if Superhuman warned me about it… well, it only ever does that for lethal blows I might not see otherwise. A quick turn of my head reveals a lamppost on the other side of the street with a sizable hole in it. If it can punch through metal from that far away, he must be using anti-SAU ammunition. That all but confirms it: this man is trying to kill me.

  Teeth flash in my vision, and a split second before they clamp down on my throat I stick my left arm in the way. The bite sinks to bone but mercifully stops there, yet even so I let out an agonized scream and pull back, a grand mistake that further savages my arm.

  I tear myself to the side as another shot rings out, instinct screaming at me once more, and my head clears enough that I realize this isn’t working. I switch tactics, making a fist with my right arm and repeatedly punching the wolf in the side of its head and neck. The angle is awkward, but I’m running on maximum survival mode, and I hit hard. I break the damned thing’s jaw with a snap, and finally manage to free myself, biting my lip to keep down bile as I get a good look at the blood oozing from my wound.

  My left arm’s basically confetti; between the initial bite and the tearing I foolishly inflicted upon myself, all is see is blood and torn flesh. But I don’t have time to stop and think, and so I backpedal rapidly, trying to put distance between me and the wolf that may be injured but is magic and also still very much has claws.

  A good instinct, as I watch as the thing starts to vigorously shake its head until it miraculously manages to snap its jaw back in place. It then shakes its whole body once like a dog getting out of a pool and turns back towards me, ready to continue the hunt.

  It leaps for me but I manage to dodge in time, then a shot rings out but I’m already ducking. The two simply refuse to let up for even a second, and a small part of me begins to see how maybe, possibly, these two might’ve actually been able to kill heroes. But of course they didn’t, someone stronger would’ve stopped them before they managed it, obviously.

  “Stop dodging!” The man whines. For a moment I deliriously wonder if that’s ever worked. I might be starting to lose too much blood. I backpedal further, but suddenly find myself backing up into a solid wall. The wolf leaps for me again and I duck, sending it crashing through the window of Gioberto’s Italian Kitchen. I look up and find myself staring down the barrel of the man’s gun, his smile growing as he realizes what I do: I’m trapped.

  “Gotcha,” He says, finger closing down on the trigger as a growl reveals the wolf preparing to leap at me from behind. Stuck between the two of them with a mostly solid wall at my back, I know even if I dodge one the other is sure to compensate for my movement and catch me a moment later. I’m bleeding and trapped and for a moment I wonder if I might actually die.

  But I move anyway, my body rebelling against reality even as my mind tells me it’s impossible. The shot comes first, close enough that even as I move the spread of the shotgun clips my right arm, a few inches below the shoulder. It tears through me, confirming as if there was still any doubt that this gun is capable of killing me.

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  Then the wolf comes from behind me, and in a last-ditch effort I do my best to fall flat, my body entirely below the height of the windows. I know in my head that a moment later I’ll be punished for this, unable to move nearly as fast on my belly and the process of standing up - especially one limb down - too long for them not to take advantage, but it’s all I can do. The hound sails over my head, lands on its feet in the middle of the street, and turns. Just like that I know it’s over. The wolf will catch me before I can stand. I’m dead.

  Except suddenly the wolf is gone. I blink and I miss it, but the damned thing disappears in a plume of smoke and fire light with a deafening roar. A moment later, I see a person running out of the haze towards me. They scoop me off of the ground and are already turning when their momentum carries them through the restaurant's broken window, their body shielding me from the impact of hitting the floor.

  I try to stand, but they grab me by my left arm, and the pain more than the force of their grip stalls me. I see a flash of pink hair, and a grim look on a familiar face before I realize what’s going on.

  “Rowan?” I ask weakly, but I’m interrupted by a brilliant light and a searing pain in my arm, more so even that before. In fact, it feels like I’m on fire.

  Then the light fades and the pain begins to as well and I feel her breath on my face as she sighs in relief. And suddenly I realize what she’s done.

  “You cauterized it,” I express with wonder. It’d be more accurate to say she just saved my life: twice, if you count the wolf. The nearest hospital is too far to walk, and I was bleeding heavily. Even if I’d been able to win the fight and find another way to cauterize my wound, it wouldn’t have worked. Rowan’s flames are possibly the only ones that can burn me for miles, and cauterization doesn’t work otherwise.

  Shots ring out several times overhead, accompanied by screams of rage, breaking me from my stupor. The villain is still out there, and evidently mad that Rowan murdered his dog. Which would be fair, if it wasn’t likely a summon and therefore entirely replaceable. Wait… shit. It’s replaceable.

  “We need to flee,” I tell Rowan, “He’ll have that thing back in a few moments and then we’re screwed. He’s too strong to face head on.”

  “Maybe alone,” She replies, "but not together. If I know anything about summoning types, it’s that their main advantage is usually numbers. If we pair up, this should be possible, and it’s not like he’ll just let us run anyways.“ Given my experience with this bastard, my immediate response is to discount her and just flee, but cooler heads prevail. I begin to consider her argument, and come to the conclusion that she’s right. The villain's main strategy was always him laying down suppressing fire while I struggled to deal with the wolf. He relies on it being a two vs. one for that to work.

  “Fine,” I relent, “but only if you take the wolf.” Even with better odds, I don’t want to risk that thing’s teeth any more than before.

  “I can work with that,” Rowan agrees.

  “Then it’s settled: a temporary alliance, at least until this is over,” I tell her, “There’s no way I’m just going to ignore the fact you’re also a villain, but the enemy of my enemy and whatnot. Temporary truce only.”

  “Fine,” And she vaults herself out of the shop.

  Immediately I hear gunshots, and stick my head over the edge of the window. Rowan’s charging down the wolf, which has already reformed, and now she’s counting on me to back her up. Deciding that charging someone with a gun that can actually hurt me is ill-advised, I opt for a different approach: lifting one of the heavy aluminum-topped tables in the restaurant with my good arm.

  “Hey dipshit!” I holler, “Hope you like ultimate frisbee!”

  Then, with all the rage, fear and general pissiness I’ve built up over this horrific day, every ounce of emotions and pure, unbridled adrenaline I can manage, I huck the table in that bastard villain's general direction.

  He dodges, the asshole. Narrowly, and unfortunately probably only because I telegraphed my attack there with that witty one-liner. There’s a downside to these things they don’t show you in the movies. He fires off another shot in my direction, but he’s clearly off his game and though I dodge, the spread misses even where I used to be, glancing off the ceiling and rather violently disabling a light fixture.

  I stumble over something I can’t see and almost faceplant the very dead corpse of another cook, which to be honest I'd completely forgotten this man had murdered people before attacking me. All the more reason to stop him.

  The body is both an unwelcome reminder and an opportunity, however, as she had clearly been attempting to defend herself, a cast-iron pan clutched in her literal death grip. I pry open the fingers and pull it out, then rise. My hair stands on end once more and on pure subconscious instinct I swing the pan backhand directly into the barrel of the gun pointed at my back, surprising both of us as I slap it from the villain’s hands.

  He dives for it immediately, grabbing it and rolling out of the way as I slam a stool down where he’d been, cracking the tiled floor. He scrambles to stand but I’m quicker, and I swing again with the frying pan, this time landing a blow to his ribs that sends him back down to the floor with a sickening crunch and his gun thrown from his hands.

  “It’s, over, villain,” I tell him as I stand over him holding the pan menacingly. He laughs, which turns into a cough, which turns into him spitting out a glob of blood onto the floor.

  “Villain? Please, I’m far more impressive than those phonies will even be. You throw that word around too easily, you incompetent bitch. Had to get a reaper to save you, huh?”

  “Reaper?” I mutter, confused, “Rowan’s a villain too, you idiot. This is just a temporary ceasefire, until we’ve dealt with you.” To my utter surprise, the look on his face becomes one of an utterly broken man, as if I’d just completely shattered his pride.

  “A villain?” He whispers, “You mean I was beaten by some punk hero and a glorified fucking charlatan? That can’t be. I’m better than that, stronger than that. I trained so goddamned hard. There’s no way two punks like you beat me!”

  “Watch out!” Rowan’s voice breaks my confusion, and I turn to see the hound making a beeline for my position. I throw myself backwards, but it ignores me, instead stopping to let its master climb on its back before grabbing up his gun in its teeth and turning around in the space at the back of the room, growling low and on edge.

  “We’ll meet again, hero,” He spits out the word like it’s a slur, leaning on the hound for support, “I know I sound fucking cliche but I mean it. Don’t you dare die because one of these days I’m going to find you and I’m going to tear you limb from fucking limb so I can prove I’m not weak anymore. Don’t forget it, because I won’t..”

  I leap for him, but the wolf ignores me, bounding straight past and out the shop. I turn and run, approaching Rowan who stands at the door.

  “Which way?!” I scream at her, “Which way did he go?!”

  “Charlie, it’s over. You’re too weak to follow him,” She calmly replies.

  “Screw that!” I yell at her, “He killed people, innocent people, and he tried to kill me. He almost succeeded! I can’t let him escape; he swore revenge. If he gets any stronger, then next time he might really kill me.” That last part seems to do it, and Rowan’s expression shows her resigning herself to the notion of continuing this fight for our lives.

  “Northbound, my left, your right,” She confesses, cringing as though it hurts her, “and before you say it, I’m going with you. Even wounded, he’s too strong for you alone.”

  I nod and turn to start running before she can respond. I’m slow this time, adrenaline dying as my body begins to think the danger’s passed. I don’t see the villain initially, but we quickly near an intersection and as we turn I catch sight of him up ahead.

  We hurry after him, Rowan easily matching my new, lesser top speed. We’re just barely faster than he is, and we close the distance at a snail’s pace. I stumble once, my strength far past what it ever was supposed to be capable of, but Rowan catches me before I fall and we hurry on. For what feels like an eternity we follow him through the winding streets, until at last we come upon an empty sector at the edge of town, a mere forty feet behind him.

  And then something trips his wolf. No, not trip, it would be more accurate to say the damned thing's legs are torn open, causing the hound to tumble, fall, and disappear into smoke, launching its rider forwards. He rolls to a stop as we slow down as well. Rowan stays five feet behind me and I don’t move, completely shocked.

  The villain gets onto his knees, raising his gun to point just above the road, at a spot not a few strides in front of him.

  “You bastard!” He screams, “I’ll kill you!”

  “I’ll give you this much,” The cool, calm voice replies, “You’ll probably try.”

  The villain screams in rage, his finger closing around the trigger, but a crack like a whip and the horrible sound of metal tearing open metal echo simultaneously and suddenly the handle of the gun skids to a halt a dozen feet closer to me. I no longer see the barrel.

  The villain whimpers, the sound audible in the cool night air and so utterly unnatural from the man who tried so hard to murder me minutes before. I don’t see his eyes, but I swear I feel his fear. Perhaps it is just mine. The hand that held his gun goes limp, and in the streetlight I catch red dripping slowly from it.

  And then a sound like a blade being sheathed in a wet, squishy sheath. Fast, too, but not so fast that I can’t see it happen. Something warm and wet and so very red pastes itself onto my legs and across the ground.

  Several brilliant golden blades extract themselves slowly, methodically from the body, shapes like elongated rhombi flashing in the dim light. The man lets out a wet gurgle, the last noise I hear from him, and slumps slowly, almost peacefully to the ground.

  Gold flashes, two brilliant wings hovering in the air, made entirely of the same blades. They sit completely disconnected from each other, but stay aloft as though gravity does not define their existence. The wings themselves are almost a mockery of a bird’s, terrible and beautiful all at once. Made far more terrible for the blood slowly dripping from them as the feathers released before return to their place.

  “It seems we’ll be needing to talk,” The angel of death says in a familiar voice; a cold, hard man wearing a simple grey suit hovers before us, surrounded by a torrent of gold.

  Jonathan frowns, eyes flashing beyond me to take in the sight of Rowan.

  “And that goes for both of you.”

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