I don’t hesitate. I launch myself at Deathgirl with a wordless roar of fury, my vision narrowing to a single point of laser focus. The world falls away until there is nothing left but her, me, and the white-hot rage burning in my core.
Deathgirl meets my charge with a savage grin, her small fist sprouting a bristling cluster of jagged tooth-spikes as she swings a vicious haymaker at my head. I throw my left arm up just in time, feeling the spikes scrape across my armor with a screech of metal on bone.
Gritting my teeth, I snap my right leg out in a low kick, aiming for the nerve cluster on the outer side of her thigh. The strike connects with a meaty thud, and Deathgirl’s leg buckles slightly, throwing her off balance.
She snarls like a rabid animal, retaliating with a wild backhand. The tooth-spikes extending from her knuckles glint in the sunlight, a macabre imitation of a cestus. I duck under the swing, feeling the rush of displaced air against my scalp.
Surging back up, I drive my right fist forward in a straight punch, every ounce of my considerable strength behind it. Knuckle meets jaw with a sickening crack, and Deathgirl’s head snaps back, the force of the blow sending her staggering backward.
She teeters at the top of the courthouse steps, arms windmilling for balance. For a single, breathless moment, I think she might go tumbling down the unforgiving concrete. But she catches herself at the last second, fingers scrabbling for purchase against the handrail.
“Not bad, Bloodhound,” she spits, wiping a trickle of blood from the corner of her mouth. “Looks like someone’s been practicing since our last dance.”
I bare my teeth in a humorless grin, my breath coming in harsh pants. “I’m full of surprises.”
Deathgirl laughs, a jagged sound like shattering glass. “So am I, sweetheart. So am I.”
And then she’s coming at me again, a whirlwind of gnashing teeth and slashing claws. I meet her head-on, my own fists sprouting fresh rows of fangs. We collide in a furious tangle of flailing limbs and snapping jaws, all semblance of technique or strategy abandoned in favor of raw, animalistic savagery.
I land a solid elbow to her temple, feeling the crunch of cartilage. She rakes her spiked knuckles across my shoulder, leaving burning lines of agony in their wake. We exchange a flurry of punishing body blows, neither of us willing to yield an inch.
My lungs are screaming for air, my muscles burning with fatigue, not just from the day’s events but the dozen injuries that have been there already. I push through it, drawing on reserves of strength I didn’t know I possessed. Kate’s face flashes through my mind, twisted with bitter resentment. Jamila, eyes shining with unshed tears as she walks away from me.
No.
Not now.
I shake my head violently, banishing the unwanted memories. I can’t afford distractions, not with Deathgirl coming at me like a pint-sized berserker. I need to focus, find an opening, end this fight before we’re both too exhausted to defend ourselves against the aftermath of her heinous attack.
Easier said than done.
Deathgirl is relentless, a miniature engine of destruction that just won’t quit. Every time I think I’ve got her on the ropes, she comes surging back with redoubled ferocity. It’s like trying to fight a hurricane, all howling fury and implacable momentum.
I take a step back, trying to create some space to catch my breath. But my foot finds only empty air behind me, and I realize with a sudden lurch of my stomach that I’ve reached the top of the courthouse steps.
Deathgirl sees it too, her eyes lighting up with vicious glee. She lunges forward, sensing weakness, her spiked hands outstretched like claws ready to tear me limb from limb.
I brace myself, preparing to meet her head-on… but at the last second, I pivot to the side, grabbing onto the handrail to swing under it like a chimpanzee, letting her momentum carry her past me. She stumbles, thrown off balance by the unexpected move.
I don’t hesitate.
Planting my forearm against the small of her back, I clothesline with all my remaining strength, sending her tumbling down the steps in an ungainly sprawl of flailing limbs. She bounces and skids, fetching up against the concrete wall at the bottom with a bone-jarring thud.
Slowly, agonizingly, she pushes herself upright, swaying drunkenly on her feet. Her face is a mess of blood and bruises, her clothing torn and stained. Her eyes are alight with a terrible, feverish madness, lips drawn back in a skull-like rictus grin. She stares up at me, something dark and hungry in her gaze, and shimmies her way up, one step followed by another, toothy spikes ripping through her hoodie like it’s made of tissue paper.
“Is that all you’ve got, Bloodhound?” she rasps, her voice a sandpaper rasp. “I’m just getting started.”
Darkness begins to creep in at the edges of my vision, my body trembling with exhaustion. Every breath is a knife in my lungs, every heartbeat a sledgehammer against my ribs. My body isn’t ready for a fight of this caliber, not after the rumble with Pumice and the man at LOVE Park.
I’m not sure how much longer I can keep this up. But I have to try.
For Playback.
For the protestors.
For everyone counting on me.
I steady myself with a shaking hand against the cracked concrete, forcing my battered body into a fighting stance once more. Fresh fangs push through my torn knuckles, agony and determination mingled.
“Come on then,” I whisper, more to myself than to her. “One more round.”
And then I’m launching myself down the steps with a wordless battle cry, ready to meet my fate head-on, come what may.
The world narrows to a claustrophobic tunnel of concrete and pain as Deathgirl and I tumble down the stairs in a tangle of flailing limbs. She slips off the middle step, her feet sliding out from under her, and we go crashing down together, a snarling, clawing mass of fury.
She catches herself on the handrail after three bone-jarring impacts, jagged fingers ripping into the concrete like it’s made of flesh. I try to press my advantage, diving at her with hands outstretched, ready to grab her by the collar and slam her into submission.
But she’s too quick, wrenching herself free with a twist of her shoulders. Her hands are a blur of motion, spiked fingertips slashing at my face in wild, frenzied arcs. I reel back, retreating up a step to avoid the flurry of blows.
Gritting my teeth, I lash out with a kick, aiming for her right knee. But she’s already moving, twisting to the side like a snake, and my foot glances off her shin instead.
She lunges forward with a wordless snarl, driving her shoulder into my midsection. The impact slams me back against the concrete wall beside the stairs, driving the air from my lungs in a whoosh. Spots dance in my vision, but I force myself to focus, grappling for position. My left hand finds a fistful of her hair, and I yank her head down, smashing my right elbow into the back of her neck with all my strength.
She yelps in pain, but it doesn’t slow her down. Her jaws snap shut on my right bicep, the spike-like teeth puncturing through my armor and into the flesh beneath.
Agony lances up my arm, hot and bright.
A scream builds in my throat, but I choke it back, slamming my left palm into her chin instead. Her teeth tear free with a sickening squelch, and I grab her by the front of her hoodie, swinging her hard into the concrete wall, ripping her crown loose with a splatter of blood and teeth.
She hits with a crunch, her eyes going glassy for a moment. I use the brief respite to stagger onto the landing area at the top of the stairs, my chest heaving as I suck in desperate gulps of air.
But Deathgirl is already recovering, shaking her head like a dog shedding water. She stalks onto the landing to face me, her face bloodied and swelling. Blood drips steadily from the ragged bite wound on my arm, splattering the concrete at my feet. I feel my body already straining to put itself back together, feel the head-rush of adrenaline.
We circle each other warily, two predators sizing up their prey. Then, as if by some unspoken signal, we clash again in a whirlwind of violence.
I land a solid left jab to her nose, feeling the crunch of cartilage. Follow it up with a right cross to her cheek, snapping her head to the side. But she just absorbs the blows, her eyes burning with murder.
She fires back with a vicious right uppercut, her spiked knuckles raking across my jaw. Pain explodes in my face, hot blood coursing down my chin. But I push through it, grabbing her extended right arm.
Planting my feet, I pivot hard to the side, using her own momentum against her. An aikido shoulder throw, one of the first moves I ever learned. Deathgirl goes flying, slamming into one of the metal bollards lining the edge of the sidewalk.
The post dents under the impact, and she crumples to the ground, gasping for breath. But even as I move in to press my advantage, she’s lashing out with her left hand, tooth-spikes extending in a blur of hellish growth and imitation.
They puncture deep into my right thigh, a white-hot lance of agony that brings me to my knees. I scream through clenched teeth, feeling the spikes scrape against bone as Deathgirl wrenches her hand free.
The world swims before my eyes, going grey at the edges. I can feel my consciousness threatening to slip away, the siren song of oblivion whispering seductively in my ear.
Somehow, I force myself back to my feet, swaying drunkenly as I face Deathgirl once more. She’s grinning at me, a monkey-like grimace stretching her blood-smeared features.
“Just give up, Bloodhound,” she rasps, her voice a guttural snarl. “Lie down and die like a good little girl.”
No.
No.
NO!
I bare my teeth in a defiant grimace, fresh spikes pushing through the skin of my knuckles. “Not today, bitch.”
The rips and tears in my thigh send waves of searing agony coursing through my body with every movement, but I grit my teeth and push through the pain. I can’t let it consume me, can’t let it be the end of me. Not here, not now. Not with so much at stake.
Seizing the moment of contact, I drop my weight and lunge forward, wrapping my arms around Deathgirl’s waist in a desperate double-leg takedown. We hit the ground hard, the impact driving the air from our lungs in twin grunts of pain. I use the momentum to force her onto her back, the unyielding concrete offering no respite beneath us.
“Got you now, you little psycho,” I snarl, trying to ignore the way my voice wavers with exhaustion and pain.
Deathgirl just laughs, a manic giggle that borders on hysteria. “You think so, Bloodhound? You really think you’ve won?” She bucks and writhes beneath me, her small body twisting like a snake. “I’m just getting started!”
I slide my right arm under her neck, trying to secure a rear-naked choke. My left hand pushes down on her face, attempting to turn her head and cut off the blood flow to her brain. If I can just render her unconscious, put an end to this…
But Deathgirl is relentless, thrashing with a strength born of desperation and insanity. The tooth-spikes protruding from her hands and arms rake across my sides and back, while her chest digs into mine, bearing teeth of its own, shredding through my armor like paper and leaving bloody furrows in their wake. The pain is excruciating. It’s like nothing I’ve felt before except that one time my eyes nearly got set on fire. But this is way more.
“Hurts, doesn’t it?” Deathgirl hisses, her voice a manic rasp. “I’m going to carve you up, Bloodhound. Peel the skin from your bones and make you watch as I do the same to everyone else in this shithole city!”
A surge of rage and disgust rises up in me, momentarily eclipsing the pain. “Shut your mouth,” I growl, tightening my grip on her neck. “You’re not going to hurt anyone else, you hear me? This ends now!”
But even as I say it, I can feel my hold beginning to slip, my muscles screaming in protest as Deathgirl’s struggles grow more frenzied. The choke hold loosens, my strength failing me, and I’m forced to release her and roll away to avoid a vicious swipe at my eyes, one that catches me by the helmet and rips my lower jawpiece out, sending it careening off to the side.
We scramble to our feet, facing each other once more across a distance of mere feet. Both of us are panting, our chests heaving with exertion. Blood drips steadily from my countless wounds, pattering onto the concrete like a macabre rain. Deathgirl is no better off, her skin a patchwork of gashes and punctures, the tooth-spikes that once bristled from her flesh now receding, leaving ragged, bloody holes behind.
For a long moment, we simply stare at each other, our eyes locked in a silent battle of wills. I can see the madness swirling in Deathgirl’s gaze, a fathomless abyss of rage and pain and hate. But beneath it, buried so deep I almost miss it, there’s something else. Something small and frightened and achingly human.
“Daisy,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. “Daisy, listen to me. It doesn’t have to be like this. We can end this, right here, right now. Just… just give up. Please.”
“My name,” she snarls, “is Deathgirl!”
And then she’s charging at me again, her spiked hands extended like claws, a howl of rage tearing itself from her throat. I meet her halfway, lashing out with a low kick to her right shin. The impact sends shockwaves up my own leg, but I grit my teeth and push through it, following up with a quick left elbow strike to the side of her head.
She staggers, her eyes going unfocused for a moment, but it’s not enough. It’s never enough. We trade blows back and forth, a brutal exchange of punches and kicks and slashes that leaves us both reeling. My regeneration is working overtime, trying to knit together the countless wounds that crisscross my body, but it’s a losing battle. I can feel myself slowing, my reactions dulling as exhaustion and blood loss take their toll. There’s only so much injury it can compensate for.
Deathgirl looks little better, her movements growing sluggish and uncoordinated. The manic grin that once seemed permanently etched onto her face is gone, replaced by a grimace of pain and fury. She lashes out at me again and again, but her strikes lack the power and precision they once held. Even with her souped-up imitation of my own regeneration, it’s nothing like Patches.
We’re both running on fumes now, our bodies pushed far beyond their limits. Every breath is agony, every movement a herculean effort. But still we fight on, neither of us willing to yield.
In a last, desperate gambit, I launch myself at Deathgirl, aiming to tackle her to the ground once more. She tries to dodge, but her reactions are too slow, her body too battered to respond. We collide with a meaty thud, our limbs tangling together as we go down in a heap.
The impact sends us careening into the courthouse doors, the reinforced glass shattering beneath our combined weight. Deathgirl’s back slams against the cracked panes, a spiderweb of fissures spreading outward from the point of impact. We slide to the ground, our bodies intertwined, a tangle of blood and sweat and pain.
I try to wrap my arms around her in a controlling embrace, seeking to immobilize her thrashing form. But she pushes at me weakly, bloodied fingers clawing at my face in a last, desperate attempt to break free.
“I hate you,” she sobs, hot tears mixing with the blood and grime on her face. “I hate you so much!”
I say nothing, my jaw clenched so tight I fear my teeth might shatter. There’s nothing left to say, no words that can bridge the gulf between us. There is only the fight, the desperate struggle to survive.
We lay there in the shattered remnants of the courthouse doors, our blood mingling on the cracked concrete. The world narrows to the sound of our labored breathing, the thud of our faltering heartbeats. Seconds stretch into eternity as we grapple weakly, neither of us possessing the strength to gain the upper hand.
But even now, with both of us teetering on the brink of oblivion, I can feel Deathgirl’s struggles growing more frantic, more uncoordinated. She pounds her small fists against my chest and shoulders, but the impacts are feeble, lacking the power and fury of before.
It’s almost over now. One way or another, this fight is drawing to a close. And as I hold onto Deathgirl with the last of my fading strength, I can only pray that when the dust settles, I’ll still be the one left standing.
We’re a tangled mess of blood and pain, our bodies so intertwined it’s hard to tell where one of us ends and the other begins. Deathgirl’s struggles grow more frantic with each passing second, but they’re also becoming increasingly uncoordinated, her small fists pounding against my chest and shoulders with all the force of a kitten’s swipes. Just as painful, too, with the many spikes emerging from her body trying to rip into me, but I’ve got armor and she’s got a hoodie.
“Why won’t you just die?” she screams, her voice cracking with equal parts frustration and despair. Tears stream down her face, cutting through the caked blood and grime, but they do nothing to quench the mad fire burning in her eyes. “Why won’t you let me win?”
I don’t answer, gritting my teeth as I tighten my grip on her flailing form. With a burst of effort, I manage to wrap my legs around her waist, pinning her lower body in place. My hands find her wrists, slamming them down against the cracked glass of the courthouse doors and holding them there with every ounce of my fading strength.
“It’s over, Daisy,” I pant, my voice rough with exhaustion and pain. “You can’t win this. Not anymore.”
But Deathgirl just sobs, shaking her head frantically from side to side. “No, no, no! I have to win! I have to!” She tries to headbutt me, but the attack is weak and misses, her forehead glancing off my chin. “Just let me win!”
For a moment, I think she’s going to keep fighting, keep struggling until one or both of us slips into unconsciousness. But then something shifts in her eyes, the manic light dimming as pain and blood loss take their toll. Her movements become erratic, uncoordinated, her limbs twitching and jerking like an undervolted baby’s toy.
“Where’s my Mama?” she whimpers, her voice small and lost. “Papa. Where are you? I’m so tired. I’m tired. Please. Just let me WIN!“
My heart clenches at the words, a sudden swell of pity rising up in my chest. In that moment, she doesn’t look like a monster or a villain. She just looks like a child, small and frightened and alone.
But I push the feeling down, locking it away in the same place I keep all the other painful things I can’t afford to dwell on. There will be time for sympathy later, time to unpack the tangled knot of emotions this fight has stirred up in me. But not now. Not yet. Right now, she’s still a little psychopath who needs to be prevented from hurting other people. Right now, she needs to be stopped.
Because right now, I have a job to do.
With a final, herculean effort, I pin Deathgirl’s thrashing form to the ground, using my greater size and weight to keep her immobilized. She bucks and writhes beneath me, but her strength is all but gone, sapped away by pain and exhaustion. Even if she’s healing faster than me, it doesn’t mean anything if she can’t muster the willpower.
It’s only then, as the adrenaline begins to fade and the world starts to come back into focus, that I realize just how much blood there is. It’s everywhere, coating our skin, soaking into our clothes, pooling on the cracked concrete around us. The coppery scent of it fills my nostrils, so thick I can almost taste it on my tongue.
I’m drenched in it from head to toe, my costume a gory ruin of ripped fabric and torn kevlar. The only part of me that’s even remotely clean is my face, protected by the now badly dented and scratched helmet, although my wig is torn into tatters and the lower half of my face is coated in blood.
Deathgirl is in even worse shape, her small body practically dyed crimson. It mats her hair, stains her teeth, seeps from a hundred different wounds. For a moment I’m amazed she’s even still conscious, still drawing breath. Especially with those slams she’s taken.
But even that is fading now, her struggles growing weaker and weaker with each passing second. Her eyes flutter closed, then open again, unfocused and glazed with pain.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers, her voice so faint I can barely hear it over the hammering of my own heartbeat. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
I don’t know who she’s apologizing to. Her parents, maybe. Or the people she’s hurt, the lives she’s ruined. Maybe even to me.
In the end, it doesn’t matter.
Because as I kneel there amidst the wreckage of our battle, both of us broken and bleeding and utterly spent, I know one thing with absolute certainty – this fight is over.
And somehow, against all odds, I’m the one left standing.
I hold onto Deathgirl with the last of my fading strength, my arms wrapped around her small, battered form in an unbreakable embrace. She struggles limply against me, her movements weak and uncoordinated, little more than feeble twitches and jerks. But still, she fights on, even now, even with the both of us so far beyond our limits that every breath is agony.
“Shh,” I murmur, my voice a ragged whisper. “It’s over, Daisy. It’s over. You can rest now.”
But she just whimpers in response, a small, broken sound that tears at my heart. “No, no, no,” she mumbles, her words slurred and barely coherent. “I can’t… I can’t lose. Not again. Not again.”
I hold her tighter, ignoring the way my muscles scream in protest, the way her spikes, duller and lesser in number with each second, keep trying to pry into me. Like a hedgehog being hugged. “You fought well,” I tell her, and I mean it. “You fought so hard. But it’s time to stop now. It’s time to let go.”
I don’t put my forearm on her neck, although the desire is there. There’s simply nothing left for her to use. Regeneration can only take you so far – I know that by heart.
Slowly, so slowly, I feel the tension begin to drain from her body. Her struggles grow weaker and weaker, until finally, they cease altogether. She goes limp in my arms, her head lolling against the floor, her eyes fluttering closed.
For a moment, I just kneel there, holding her, listening to the ragged sound of our breathing. The pain is a distant thing now, a dull, throbbing ache that seems to come from everywhere and nowhere all at once. I know I should move, should secure Deathgirl and go help the others. But I can’t seem to make my body obey, can’t seem to summon the strength to do anything but sit there and bleed.
It’s only when I hear the crackle of a radio, the tinny sound of voices calling my name somewhere in my belt, that I finally force myself into action. With hands that shake from fatigue and blood loss, I reach into a pouch on my belt and pull out a set of heavy-duty zip ties.
I triple-tie Deathgirl’s wrists and ankles, making sure the restraints are tight enough to hold even if she wakes up and starts struggling again. It’s a difficult task, my fingers slick and clumsy with gore, but I grit my teeth and push through it, focusing on the simple, repetitive motions.
When it’s done, I allow myself a moment to slump back against the shattered remains of the courthouse doors, my breath coming in harsh, ragged gasps. Every part of me hurts, from the top of my head to the soles of my feet. But as I look down at Deathgirl’s restrained form, I feel a flicker of something like triumph beneath the pain.
I did it. I won. Against all odds, against an opponent who was faster and stronger and more ruthless than me in every way, I came out on top.
But even as I think it, I know it’s not the whole truth. Because if I’m being honest with myself, I know that it wasn’t just my skills or my training that made the difference in this fight.
It was my armor, my helmet, my steadfast refusal to give in, even when every instinct was screaming at me to lay down and die. It was the simple, stubborn fact of my size, the weight and strength of my body, which could take blows that would have shattered Deathgirl’s smaller form.
And in the end, perhaps most importantly, it was the fact that I had something to fight for beyond myself. I had people counting on me, people I loved, people I’d sworn to protect. Deathgirl… she had none of that. She was alone, lost in a maelstrom of pain and rage and bitter, desperate loneliness.
In a strange way, I almost pity her.
With a groan of effort, I force myself to my feet, swaying drunkenly as the world tilts and spins around me. My head is pounding, my vision blurry and doubled, but I grit my teeth and push through it, focusing on the task at hand.
I key my radio, my voice a ragged croak. “This is Bloodhound. Deathgirl is down and secured at the courthouse steps. I need a containment team here ASAP. I have to move on to support rescue efforts.”
There’s a crackle of static, then a voice I don’t recognize responds. “Copy that, Bloodhound. Containment team is en route. ETA three minutes.”
I let my hand fall from my ear, too tired to even acknowledge the response. Three minutes. That’s how long I have to rest, to gather what little strength I have left.
It’s not enough. It’s not nearly enough. But it’ll have to do.
Because as much as I want to collapse, to let the blessed darkness take me away from the pain and the exhaustion, I know I can’t. Not yet. Not while there are still people out there who need my help.
So I take one last look at Deathgirl’s unconscious form, making sure the restraints are secure. And then, with a supreme effort of will, I turn and limp across the blood-spattered steps of the courthouse, keeping myself hoisted by the handrail, moving deeper into the disaster.
Swing around front, let me inside
Playin’ my song into my sides
It hurts, I can’t lie
Remember those times I fought to get out?
I want to get out
Those pictures so clear, will fade in my mind
You’re leavin’ me here with ashes and fire
These people don’t heal, these people don’t feel
These people aren’t real, so make me this deal
Won’t you?
Look into your heart and let me know
Do things turn black and gray as they go?
When I’m far too gone, can you show me love?
Give me love
Caught in a river of records and dreams
Oh, will you keep up with me?
Everyone’s looking for someone to hold
But I can’t let you
go
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