Nightwing & Angel - The Legend Untold

Alphonse's voice thundered through the room as he loomed over Vivian, his face twisted with anger. "What's there name!!!" he bellowed, his words laced with a venomous demand for control.

Vivian, bound and defiant, stared up at him with burning eyes. She refused to be broken by his intimidation. Her voice, though strained, remained firm. "You won't have anything from me." she spat, her breath ragged but her will unshaken.

Alphonse paced, his frustration growing with each passing second. "Let it out. Let me hear it." he murmured darkly, smirking as if savoring the moment of tension. His cold eyes scanned the room, watching his guards circle her like vultures. He wanted her to break, to scream—to confess something, anything.

Vivian's voice rang out, stronger this time, filled with defiance and fire. "I won't tell you anything!" she shouted, her voice cutting through the heavy atmosphere. Her eyes flickered with fierce determination as she glared at Alphonse.

Alphonse's smirk faded into a scowl. He turned sharply to his men. "Men!" he barked.

His loyal guards snapped to attention, their eyes gleaming with cruel anticipation. "Alright, boss!" they replied in unison, a chorus of loyalty and menace. One of them flicked open a lighter, igniting a flame.

The guards, without hesitation, began torching nearby piles of fabric, causing flames to rise rapidly, casting flickering shadows across the room. The fire grew, and the heat intensified, but still, Vivian remained strong, her gaze never leaving Alphonse's.

As the flames crackled, Alphonse leaned in closer to Vivian, his voice low and sinister. "This is your last chance. You will tell me what I need to know, or you'll watch everything around you burn."

But Vivian didn't waver. She clenched her fists, her eyes gleaming with determination. "I'll never give you what you want." she hissed.

Alphonse's patience snapped, and his face contorted with rage. The fire around them grew hotter, the flames licking the air as the temperature soared. But even as the room filled with the roaring sound of destruction, Vivian stood her ground, unbroken and unafraid.

Then Alphonse's eyes flicked toward the door as it creaked open, revealing one of his men, his face pale with urgency.

"Sir," the man stammered, his voice tense, "they're coming here."

Alphonse's lips curled into a twisted smile. "Finally," he growled, almost relishing the moment. "Let them come. We'll make them pay!!"

Across the room, Vivian, panting and weak, felt the intense heat of the fire creeping toward her. Her breath quickened as the flames drew closer, licking the air around her, making the room feel smaller and hotter by the second.

In her mind, the thought of Gustav echoed louder. "No... no..." she murmured to herself, fear mixing with her desperate hope that her husband was close, that he would find her before it was too late. She closed her eyes, trying to steady her racing heart, praying for the sound of his voice, for any sign that he was near.

Alphonse, however, was far from concerned about her torment. His gaze stayed locked on the fire, an almost manic gleam in his eyes as he turned to his men once more.

"Men!" he barked, his voice filled with authority. One of the guards immediately grabbed a fire extinguisher from the corner and rushed forward, blasting foam over the flames. The fire hissed and sputtered under the thick white mist, slowly dying down but leaving a thick cloud of smoke hanging in the air.

As the fire faded, the room fell into an eerie quiet, with only the faint crackling of dying embers breaking the silence. Vivian, still bound and trembling, coughed as the smoke filled her lungs, but her mind was elsewhere, her thoughts firmly with Gustav. She couldn't shake the dread that something terrible was still coming.

Meanwhile, Mark Fletcher, Loe Halloway, and Gustav Van Doren moved swiftly through the dimly lit corridors of the Chicago Outfit's building, following the mental directions Mindy was feeding them through telepathy. Tension gripped the air, and the faint sound of footsteps echoed behind them.

Outside the building, Mindy, keeping her mind focused on their movements, muttered to herself, "I hope things will be okay." She could sense the looming confrontation, knowing the stakes were higher than just a simple rescue.

Loe was marching towards Alphonse Capone, the father of his late boss, Albert Capone. Mindy knew that for Loe, this wasn't just about the mission anymore; it had become personal. Loe had long wanted answers about Albert's history, and if Alphonse turned out to be the old man they suspected, Loe's emotions would likely spill over.

"If Loe finds out Alphonse is behind this, there's no telling what he'll do," Mindy thought, biting her lip. She understood how reckless Loe could become when personal matters collided with their missions. His focus would shift from the task at hand to confronting Alphonse directly.

Through the telepathic link, she gently reminded him, "Loe, stay focused. Rescue Gustav's wife first. We can't afford to lose sight of the mission."

But in the back of her mind, Mindy feared that when it came to Albert's death, Loe wouldn't be able to resist seeking the truth—even if it plunged them into chaos.

...........

The cold wind swept through the alley, carrying the scent of damp concrete and decay. Bill Gregory, his shoes scraping against the ground, wandered through the shadows with a determination in his step. He was searching—hunting for the man responsible for the brutal killings of innocent civilians in the nearby streets. His eyes, darkened by sleepless nights and memories of the battlefield, scanned the dimly lit surroundings with sharp precision.

Suddenly, he stumbled upon a bearded man slumped against a brick wall, asleep or maybe just resting. The man's rugged appearance—unkempt hair, torn jacket, and knuckles still bruised from a recent fight—suggested he was no stranger to violence. Bill's hand instinctively hovered near his waist, ready to draw his concealed pistol, a reflex born from his years in the army.

"Who are you?" Bill demanded, his voice low but firm.

The bearded man stirred, rubbing his face as he slowly opened his eyes, the haze of sleep still clinging to him. "Seems like I dozed off after beating the hell out of some piece of shit" he muttered, his voice gravelly. His words were casual, but the weight behind them made it clear he had just walked away from a fight—one that might have ended in death. His muscles tensed as if ready to go back into battle at any moment.

Bill narrowed his eyes, the tension in the air thickening. "What's your name?" he pressed, stepping closer, his fingers twitching with the urge to reach for his gun. His heart pounded in his chest as flashes of the blood-soaked alley came to mind. The screams, the bodies—it all played out in his head like an endless nightmare.

The man groaned, pushing himself up, his gaze locking onto Bill with a mix of exhaustion and irritation. "Get out of here, bub," he growled, shaking off the last remnants of sleep. "I don't have time for this. My mind's still spinning after that fight." He stood tall, his presence formidable, as though violence clung to him like a second skin.

But Bill wasn't backing down. "I said, what's your name? Are you…" His voice trailed off, but the accusation hung in the air, thick with suspicion. "Are you the one responsible for killing those people in the alley?"

The bearded man's expression shifted, a flicker of confusion crossing his face before hardening into something colder, more dangerous. "What?" he asked, his voice a growl now, like a predator sizing up its prey.

Bill's grip tightened, the memories of his army days, the bloodshed, and his PTSD making him hyper-focused, his hands shaking slightly. "Those civilians!" Bill barked, his voice cracking with emotion. "The ones slaughtered in the alley. Did you do it?"

For a moment, silence settled between them, broken only by the distant sounds of the city. Then the bearded man—James, he would later say—shook his head slowly, his voice heavy with disdain. "Bub, no matter what kind of piece of shit I might be, I don't kill innocent civilians. Never have, never will."

Bill's eyes searched the man's face, looking for a lie, but found none. Something about the man's tone, the way he stood, told Bill that while this stranger had seen and caused his share of pain, he had a line he wouldn't cross. Bill let out a slow breath, the tension in his body easing just slightly, but his hand didn't leave the grip of his gun.

"Then tell me your name." Bill insisted, his voice softer but still demanding.

The bearded man, his face set in a grim, almost haunted expression, looked at Bill for a long moment. Something in Bill's demeanor—maybe the haunted look in his eyes, maybe the way he stood as if carrying the weight of the world—softened the man's stance.

"You look like trouble, bub," the man muttered. He shook his head, his gaze narrowing on Bill as if assessing whether to trust him with an answer. "But fine. My name's James... but you can call me Logan."

Bill stood there for a moment, processing the name. Logan. It felt like a name that carried stories—dark, violent stories that Bill might not want to dig too deep into. But for now, it was enough.

............

Mark, Loe, and Gustav moved swiftly through the dimly lit hallways, their senses heightened as they searched desperately for Vivian. Each step felt like a race against time. Gustav, still shrunk to ant size, clung tightly to Loe's pocket, the world around him a blur of movement and chaos.

They had already taken down several guards, leaving a trail of unconscious bodies in their wake. Mark and Loe moved like a well-oiled machine, instinct guiding their every move. Despite the overwhelming odds, they fought with determination, driven by the thought of rescuing Gustav's wife.

Another group of armed men rushed in from the opposite end of the hallway, guns raised. One of the guards shouted, "Intruder! Shoot them!"

Without hesitation, Mark shouted, "Hide!" He immediately ducked behind a nearby pillar, his heart racing as he reached for his batons. Loe followed suit, his back pressed against the cold concrete wall, his mind racing for a strategy.

The sound of gunfire erupted, bullets pinging off the walls and ricocheting in every direction.

Mark's eyes darted toward Loe, who was already smirking. "Ready for this?" Loe asked, the confidence in his voice cutting through the tension.

"Always." Mark replied, gripping his batons tightly. With a quick nod, they both sprang into action.

Mark moved first, flipping over the pillar in an acrobatic display of speed and agility. He landed in the midst of the guards, spinning his batons like a whirlwind. With a swift strike to the knee of one guard, followed by a crack to the head, he took the man down before the others could react.

Two more guards rushed him, but Mark was too quick, dodging between their blows and landing precise strikes to their pressure points. The batons were an extension of his body, moving in a blur of motion as he disarmed one guard and knocked out the other.

Meanwhile, Loe was using his streetfighting style to its fullest. He ducked under the spray of bullets, closing the gap between him and the nearest guard. With a swift, brutal punch to the gut, followed by a knee to the face, the guard went down hard. Loe grabbed the man's rifle, using it as a makeshift staff, and swung it with enough force to send another guard sprawling.

"They just keep coming!" Mark shouted as more guards appeared from down the hall.

Loe smirked, tossing the rifle aside. "Good. I needed the exercise." He rolled his shoulders and dashed forward, throwing a series of punches and kicks that knocked the remaining guards off balance. His movements were raw and powerful, each strike landing with precision. A guard lunged at him, but Loe grabbed the man's arm, twisting it painfully before slamming him into the ground.

Mark flipped over another guard, landing behind him and striking him across the back with his batons. The guard crumpled to the floor.

Just as the last of the guards fell, Mindy's voice echoed in their minds, "Keep moving. You're getting closer to Vivian, but there are more coming. Be ready."

Mark wiped the sweat from his brow, breathing heavily. "We don't have much time."

Loe nodded, glancing at Gustav who was still tucked safely in his pocket. "Let's finish this."

With that, they rushed forward, their determination growing with each step, knowing the fight wasn't over yet.

To be continue