Beastbourne

Kieran moved through the alleys with silent precision, his wings folded tightly against his back. The city pulsed with life, but he remained a phantom among the streets, slipping through the darkness unseen. His mind was set on one thing—the thugs from the alley.

If the Wild Dominion had agents embedded in the city, someone had to know something. And if those creatures were anything more than mindless criminals, they would have leads.

He found them easily enough. The same alley, the same filth-strewn corners, but this time, they weren't preying on the innocent. Instead, they were licking their wounds, tending to bruises and fractured egos from their last encounter with him.

Kieran stepped forward, his presence immediate and suffocating. The leader, the one with the elongated arms, stiffened first. "Y-you again…"

Kieran's voice was calm, yet razor-sharp. "Tell me about the Wild Dominion."

Confusion flickered across their faces. "The what?"

Kieran's expression darkened. "Don't lie to me. The way you fought—your mutations—they weren't natural. Someone changed you. Someone gave you power. Who?"

The brute with fangs snarled, showing his jagged teeth. "We ain't got a clue what you're talkin' about."

Kieran's patience snapped. In an instant, he moved. His hand clamped around the thug's throat, lifting him off the ground with terrifying ease. The others scrambled back, fear flashing in their eyes as their leader struggled, gasping for air.

"Try again," Kieran said, his voice dangerously low.

The thug kicked wildly, trying to pry Kieran's grip loose. "I swear—we just got this way! Nobody gave us nothing! It just—happened!"

Kieran narrowed his eyes. The truth was all over their faces—they truly didn't know.

That only raised more questions. If the Wild Dominion wasn't responsible, then who was experimenting with beastborne mutations?

Still, that didn't mean they were getting off easy.

Kieran dropped the thug, letting him collapse into a coughing heap. Then, methodically, he turned to the others. One by one, he ensured they understood exactly who they had been preying upon. He didn't break bones. He didn't cripple. But he made them remember—painfully so.

When he was done, the once-arrogant gang of mutants lay groaning, beaten but alive. He wasn't a monster. But he wasn't merciful, either.

"If I catch you hurting people again," Kieran said, his wings unfurling, casting a shadow over them. "I won't hold back next time."

Then, just as he turned to leave, a voice called out.

"That's far enough."

Kieran barely had time to register the words before a blur of motion streaked toward him. He spun, barely dodging as razor-sharp talons sliced through the air where his chest had been just moments before.

He leaped back, landing lightly on the alley's fire escape. Perched above him, wings spread against the neon glow of the city, was Hawkwing.

The hero-in-training's golden eyes burned with righteous fury. "Attacking helpless people in an alley? Yeah, that's not gonna fly with me."

Kieran exhaled, already exhausted with this conversation before it had even begun. "You saw what they were. What they did."

"I see a guy with wings beating the hell out of people who can't fight back," Hawkwing countered, flexing his claws. "Sounds like a villain to me."

Kieran's fists clenched. "I don't have time for this."

"Make time." And with that, Hawkwing attacked.

The air cracked as the two warriors collided, their wings slicing through the alley's narrow space. Hawkwing was fast—trained, precise, and relentless. His strikes came in rapid succession, each blow calculated, each movement honed.

But Kieran was something else entirely.

He dodged effortlessly, countering only when necessary, never striking with full force. His instincts begged him to fight, to overwhelm, but he held back. He didn't want to hurt this hero.

Hawkwing didn't have the same hesitation.

"Why won't you fight back?" Hawkwing snarled, launching a devastating aerial kick that sent Kieran crashing through an old billboard.

Kieran groaned, rolling back onto his feet. "Because you'd lose."

That only enraged the young hero further. With a cry, Hawkwing dove, claws extended.

Kieran dodged—but not fast enough.

Pain tore through his side as talons raked against his ribs. A shallow wound, but a wound nonetheless. He grimaced. Enough was enough.

Before Hawkwing could strike again, Kieran caught him mid-air, twisting around and pinning him against the rooftop edge.

"You're strong," Kieran admitted, his grip like iron. "But you're reckless. You fight like someone who's never been truly tested."

Hawkwing struggled, breathing heavily. "You think—"

And then, he collapsed.

Kieran caught him before he could fall. The fight had taken too much out of him. Hawkwing had been pushing himself past his limits, and now his body was paying the price.

Kieran sighed. "Idiot."

Lifting the unconscious hero, he extended his wings and soared across the city, heading toward the nearest hospital. As much as he wanted to disappear, to keep running, he couldn't leave Hawkwing like this.

Landing on the hospital rooftop, Kieran set him down near the emergency entrance. He watched as doctors rushed out, alerted by security. Kieran remained standing near the emergency entrance, watching as the doctors rushed out, alerted by security. He didn't move, didn't disappear into the night just yet. Something kept him there, as if waiting for confirmation that Hawkwing would be alright.

Inside the hospital waiting area, Kieran leaned against the cold wall, arms crossed, his gaze distant. Nearby, a television mounted on the wall played the late-night news. The anchor's voice filled the quiet space:

"Breaking news—Lady Evelyn Fairmont, eldest daughter of the prestigious Fairmont family, who was reported missing after fleeing her home yesterday, has been found and safely returned. Sources say she was rescued by an unknown hero. Authorities and the Fairmont family are now seeking information about this mysterious savior."

The camera cut to a blurred image, caught by a security feed—a fleeting silhouette with wings against the city lights.

The doctors tending to Hawkwing barely paid attention, but as the image lingered on the screen, the unconscious hero stirred ever so slightly, as if sensing something just beyond his reach.