Marvel: Quest System

(BGM: Pray For Me by The Weekend and Kendrick Lamar)

Alex POV:

He steps out from the shadow into the moonlight. I can recognize his costume immediately. The all black mask with the white circles on the forehead. This was the crazy, deranged, infamous villain, Bullseye. 

Instead of the comic-accurate skintight spandex, he was a lot more menacing. He was wearing tactical gear, with every inch of his body covered in holsters, each one with a blade of various sizes.

On his biceps, thighs, back, and chest, there were knives everywhere. The holster on his left calf was empty, presumably the knife he threw at me.

Assess!

[Status]

[Name: Benjamin Poindexter]

[Stats]

[Strength: D+]

[Agility: C+] 

[Durability: D+]

"Hello, grizzly," he says, a wild, manic, toothy grin stretched wide, voice like a playground taunt. Mocking and unhinged. "Glad you could join us tonight for the unveiling of my newest masterpiece."

I don't move. My body tenses. Shit. He's terrifying. Even though his stats arent much, his aura and killing intent freeze up the atmosphere around him.

"Step one foot closer, and I'll wake one of them up," he says cheerfully. He reaches behind him without even looking and pulls a blade from a strap on his back. "Or maybe keep them asleep forever!"

I clench my fists.

"What do you want?" I growl through my teeth. If he's anything like his comic counterpart... A cold shiver goes down my spine.

He twirls the knife, lets it dance between his fingers like it's alive. Slithering like a snake.

"Nothing you can give me, furball. Just doing what I'm told to do."

In one fluid motion, he flicks his wrist.

Another knife sails through the air. I leap to the side to dodge it.

I feel a tug on my torso, and it turns out that the serrated blade of the dagger caught on my belt and ripped it clean off.

The leather slips, and I feel the vials tumble from my hip.

Clink, clink, crack.

Two shatter. One rolls under a crate. The last hangs uselessly, too far to reach.

"Oopsie-daisies!" Bullseye says with a giggle. "Dropped your little vitamins."

Shit. I have to finish this quickly. I rush forward.

He barely dodges, underestimating my speed. Because of this, the blade he pulled and threw ended up missing, a few inches off its mark.

Beside an asleep hostage's head.

I freeze.

Seeing my reaction, he stands up straight, arms spread in mock surrender. "Go ahead. Try and hit me again. Maybe the next knife ends up in someone's eye socket."

I growl low in my throat. "You're insane."

But deep down, I know he'll do it without remorse if he's anything like the comic counterpart. That version of him would spend his free time just throwing toothpicks, killing random people on the streets. He has no ethics, empathy, or emotions, just straight bloodlust.

"No, no, no." He spins another blade in his fingers, eyes gleaming. "I'm an artist. You're the canvas. And they're the paint." He gestures to the sleeping hostages. "I wonder how much paint you have to get covered in for you to finally turn into a masterpiece!" 

He snarls with so much untamed hate and bloodlust that it feels like the temperature of the room just dropped a few degrees.

He reaches for the knife strapped to his right thigh, this one a curved machete, and chucks it at me at full speed.

It flies in an arc towards me, trying to hit me from an angle. I think of dodging for a second, but realize that if I dodge, the knives could hit the hostages behind me.

I need to protect them.

It's not a want, it's a must. Up to now, I wanted to be a hero because I wanted others not to feel the same way I did growing up. Now, seeing the defenceless hostages behind me, and nothing other than me separating them from a whirlwind of death, I figured it out.

I don't want to protect anyone for any reason. There is no reason for wanting to protect someone. I just need to. It's a primal instinct deep within my veins.

That thought alone silences all the noise in my head. It was like an awakening. It's an instinct, clawing its way out of the back of my head like something wild awakening from hibernation.

The world slows.

I can feel it, something shifting inside me. Power rushes down my arms, into my hands. My breath deepens. My muscles coil and stretch.

Then,

Shik.

My fingers split open, not with pain, but with purpose. White claws sprout from beneath my skin, glowing faintly in the moonlight. My jaw aches. Fangs.

The machete still sails toward me, but now, it's moving slower. Slow enough to dodge. No, slow enough to block.

I step forward.

The collision of the machete with my vibranium gauntlets creates a violent spray of sparks in all directions, forcing Bullseye to turn away.

When he looks back, expecting to see me down an arm or worse, his grin falters for just a second.

The knife, stripped of all momentum, cracks in my clawed grip. Cracks web through the steel blade before it splinters, clattering as useless chunks of metal next to my feet.

Bullseye pauses, eyes disappointed but gleaming with curiosity. "Oho! Fancy! New trick, huh?"

Without leaving him another chance to recover, I charge him immediately, with my body empowered by my iron will.

Before I even get to him halfway, he pulls out a handful of small coins from one of his pouches. 

My eyes widen. Fuck. Buckshot. I can't block the whole spread from hitting any of the hostages from this distance.

I do the only thing possible. I run up as close to him as possible, and cross my arms in front of my face.

Like a pitcher, he winds back and throws.

The coins explode out in an arc like a shotgun blast, not a throw. Dozens of them cutting the air like razors, whistling as they find themselves buried in my flesh.

My gauntlets catch some, but my arms catch more. The rest tear into my sides, my shoulders, embedding deep into the muscle beneath the hide.

I grit my teeth through the pain.

Nothing's getting past me.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk. You can't win while fighting with such a blaring weakness, little bear. If you want to win some, you must lose some." His sneer widened as he started to pull out more and more daggers from his holsters.

I stand between him and the hostages, shrapnel embedded in my arms and chest, even with my increased constitution, slowly bleeding out.

"I was only tasked to support the mission." He giggled manically. "But it's not my fault if a few of the products get damaged in shipping."

He makes eye contact.

"Accidents happen, kid."

Then he releases all of the daggers at once. 

A storm of knives erupts into the air, too wide, too many to block them all. Trying their hardest to get past me and to the defenceless hostages behind me. Trying to force me into a difficult position.

Would I rather take dozens of daggers and protect the teens, or dodge the daggers, defeat the villain, but lose some of the kids. It wasn't even a choice to begin with.

I move without thinking, instincts screaming louder than logic. I throw myself between the knives and the sleeping kids, intercepting what I can with my arms, swatting others down mid-air with my claws.

But I can't get them all.

One grazes my thigh. Another slice across my side. A third buries into my shoulder, the force of it driving me half a step back.

Blood drips down my arms, coating my hands, pooling around my feet.

I'm slowing down. Even my enhanced body can't keep up with this.

I suddenly remember what I brought just in case of an emergency. I reach down, looking to grab the single remaining health potion on my belt.

Shunk. A blade impales my forearm.

I grit my teeth. I need to keep moving. I need to protect them. I need to defeat him. 

"So long, kid. I guess if you live like an animal, you die like an animal." He sneered his final farewell while pulling out his longest blade, a katana, from his back.

Everything goes foggy.

[Passive Subskill Activated: The Last Claw]