(A/N: I've been playing a lot of Dark Souls. It's putting me in the mood to write a DxD fic, lmao.)
(A/N: Pov switching is something I've been practising excessively when writing this fanfic. I have, however, realised the use of such has become expecially excessive. After this chapter pov switching will be toned down significantly.)
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Okay.
She could do this!
She had to do this.
Or... At least try?
Kara floated forward, an out of character glare marring her features.
And then she gagged. Her angry facade broke. The horrid thick stench of her sewer sarroundings blared umbearingly down on her as a hand quickly went up to pinch her nose.
Alright, maybe 'try' was an understatement.
Beast boy zipped around beside her in the form of a small green humming bird as Nightwing led the way in front- knee deep in the slurry of waste water while he looked down at his armgaurd, shockingly nonchalant about sifting through a literal bath of faeces.
Kara could only stiffle another gag as she pinched her nose shut. She was still trying to get used to it, but the city streets above were honestly little different than this hell hole below. Everything around her screamed unhygienic. Primitive. She understood that there was a couple millennium of a difference between Krypton and earth but her honeworld was basically a planet sized hospital when you compared it to this place.
Call her entitled, but Kara was expecting to make her debut as a real superhero in a less... depressive place than Gotham. Metropolis fit more along with her fantasies, at least. Flying around with her cousin, doing charity work, laughing along with civilians and taking photos for the daily planet.
Shamefully, she had to admit, Kara may have been a bit of a snob. Maybe she was looking forward to the more glamorous side of hero work than the grittier- objectively more important part of the trade.
"We're nearing the entrance," Nightwing relayed, "Supergirl, I'm going to need you to bust through the hatch for us."
"Sure thing..." Reduced to simple muscle, how bleak.
Okay, she was being dramatic, but this totally blowed! Having an enhanced sense of smell meant she could pick up the varying levels of decaying shit around her. It absolutely sucked!
The water dipped shallower as they entered a wider tunnel. Equal parts sludge and algae coated the brick walls while trickling pipes lined the lower floor, oozing mysterious gooey substances that 'piled' like cement rather than disperse like any other regular liquid. Again, It was a nightmare down here, a disgusting nightmare that made the Kryptonian want to barf just like she did when she had first learnt to use an earthling toothbrush.
Kara floated down to just above the surface of the water. Not daring to even touch it as she moved down the tunnel faster. Just then, Nightwing came to a gradual standstill, his eyes through an advanced night vision mask- locked onto something in the far end of the tunnel that made him furrow his brows. Confused, Kara followed his gaze.
A slight glimmer of light painted the wall on the far end of the tunnel. Just a turn away from where the hatch should be, Kara guessed. Turning to her captain, Nightwing looked on it pensively.
"Someone broke through the hatch before us," Nightwing stated after a beat, "it might have possibly been the intruder. Possibly more..."
Beast-Boy morphed back into a human, landing in the water with a splash, "you think there's a group?"
"It's likely. Supergirl, see if you can pick anything up."
"On it." Looking towards the light, Kara mentally flicked on x-ray vision.
She was still getting used to her powers under a yellow sun. 4 months wasn't necessarily a long time to go over every single ability a Kryptonian had access to indepth. Luckily, x-ray vision was one of the simpler powers to control.
Passed the brick walls, her eyes focused on one heat signature gaurding what looked like a ladder. Focusing harder, she pinched out the finer details.
Instantly, she knew they were dealing with heavy hitters.
"It's Killer Croc" she echoed her thoughts aloud, suddenly much quieter, "and by the looks of it, he's playing lookout."
"So it really was the mutants?" Beast-Boy said, "is this another terrorist takeover?"
"I'm going to have to relay this information to the rest of the team," Nightwing quickly got to typing down something on his armgaurd. "Do you see anything else, Supergirl?"
"No," Kara shook her head. The wide scaly form of Killer croc sat hunched in the water without a jitter of movement. Tunnelling on Killer Croc's face, her eyes traced along the villain's lipless maw and glinting dagger like teeth. "Killer Croc is by himself."
"Then it'll be all the more easier to take him down," Nightwing nodded resolutely, "we take a stealthy approach. Rush him when I say."
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"BLOODY HELL!!!"
The hairs on his neck stood with a shiver. Time seemed to stretch. His vision blurred and warped, elongating, as if a plastic magnifying film had been pulled over his bloodshot eyes.
An almost supernatural sort of instinct, long ingrained in his system and cultivated through years of life and death situations beckoned him to lean to the left.
A bright white hot beam of pure plasma tore through the air, just where his head was. It lasted a few gut twisting moments in the ar before dissipating like a flickering LED. Leaving a singed black hole in the wall in front of him from where it struck.
Y/n growled. With a quick spin, he tore through the creeping stark drone behind him. His hunting knife dug and carved through the thin metal plating of it's lower abdomen, tearing through the internal wiring and exiting with a shower of sparks as the machine then crumpled like a sack of bricks.
One incompacitated. Fourteen left to go.
Power pulsed through his thighs and calves as Y/n sprinted through another hallway. A tail of stark security drones banging and clanging along the walls and each other in an effort to keep up a few metres away behind him.
Y/n was being chased. Chased by a pack of robots. At what point, Y/n debated, did the shame he was feeling turn into suicidal thoughts? The teen had quickly grown to outright hating his current state.
Hooking a sharp left, Y/n unceremoniously tripped. On the floor, Y/n looked back to find a discarded designer bag at his feet.
"The fuck!?" He jumped back onto his feet, finding more bags and items littered around the hallway in front of him.
A large pair of wooden doors lay at the end of the aisle. Probably locked. It would appear that Y/n had accidentally stumbled across a dead end.
Clashes of metal on metal in the distance pulled him back into the current moment.
Could he take them all head on in a fight? Y/n brought up his hunting knife. It would be more fitting to call the blade a hunk of matted steel at this point. The specialised alloy, although plenty strong (which made the knife cost a pretty penny because of), wouldn't hold up through another slash or stab against stark drone metal.
His eyes flicked back up, the doors ahead stood impossingly.
He grit his teeth.
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Harry hid behind a bookshelf, his heart hammering, sweat beading, clammy hands slipping across furnished wood as the banging on the doors intensified.
The library shook with each consecutive thud. Around him, people huddled close, crying out in fear. As if there was a battering ram on the other side, the thick oak wood doors that reached the high-ceiling flayed apart briefly with each heavy blow.
The hapazardly stacked barricade tumbled to pieces. Chairs and tables fell to the floor painfully as the door juttered further.
Harry leaned in close, peering and waiting for the last push. Knowing fully well that whatever it was that wanted to get into the room- would.
He was absolutely terrified.
"I think you should stay back, young man," a hand placed itself on Harry's shoulder, and he jumped on the spot, momentarily spooked before quickly realising who it was. "Please get behind me."
"I appreciate the sentiment, sir, but no," Harry shook his head as his eyes darted once more towards the doors. "A stark security drone will overun both of us with a single repulser blast, Dr. Connors," the teen said gravely.
"Aye," Dr. Connors grunted sympathetically, "I'd ask you to be more optimistic, but given the current situation, I do not blame you for feeling otherwise."
More people shouted. The banging was getting stronger, louder. Harry's eyes darted back to the sporadically rattling doors, watching grimly as the remaining barricade fell away, and only the singular broom skewered between the handles kept the doors in place. Silently, inwardly to himself, he prayed for safety.
*SNAP!*
The doors flew wide open. Screams. A man suddenly came barrelling into the room. Dr. Connors grip on Harry's shoulder tightened in freaked reassurance as the tall stranger instantly turned back around and swung the library doors closed.
Harry held his breath. Peeking through a gap between stacked books, his eyes locked on to the new person in the room. He was intimidatingly burly, wearing a militant get-up with a thick and knarly looking hunting knife pinned to his hip.
And as a masked face turned into view, Harry gulped.
'Who the fuck is that!?'
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'That was close...' Too close, Y/n had to admit.
Luckily, the doors gave in just in time. Y/n took a moment to listen out for the crank of machinery, and when he ultimately heard nothing, he sagged a little in relief.
Screams greeted him as he then turned to scan the room.
Y/n was surprised to find frightened men and women packed together tightly behind shelves of books like sheilding- which Y/n understood was probably the case. Their clothes varied between expensive looking suits and lavish bed-wear. Something he expected to see people in this building to be strutting out in no less.
'I was wondering where everyone was,' it would appear that he had found the residents of foor 61. Possibly the whole of the 61st floor with how many people he was counting alltogether. What they were doing here instead of their rooms was anybodies guess.
Y/n then looked off to the side and spotted a distinctive minorority. His eyes narrowed. Decked out in long white coats, a team of scientists stood out to Y/n like gems amongst pebbles.
Now that was strange.
Despite how unplanned and off-the-top-of-his-head most of Y/n's decisions were today, there were 3 things in particular Y/n wanted to come out of Oscorp Tower with.
The first, of course, were workable amounts of either processed or unrefined Orracaclum ore. Enough to experiment with and use in later projects later down the line- until Y/n came across a secure enough source of the rare metal. Y/n had ideas of some already, but he would first need to be both significantly more wealthy and powerful to even have a chance at vying for such prospects.
The second was equipment. While Y/n had the basic necessities to operate a lab, they were just that: Basic. Y/n hadn't done all the math truly but crunching some numbers right now in his head he estimated an average 17% loss of potential product simply because of equipment inefficiency. And while a number like that wasn't frightening, with the little materials he had every bit count.
Above all, however, what Y/n really wanted the most were probably the most difficult to come away with. Mainly because Y/n himself didn't exactly know what he'd be potentially grabbing.
A LOT of interesting things rested under the floor below him. Innovations in multiple branches of science that bordered on a thin line between expectionally advanced technology and blatant magic. And while Oscrop did their very best to maintain a sparkling image of a geocentric and humanitarian-esque company, Y/n still remembered the numerous articles he had scrolled through weeks ago: detailing a suspicious line of traded goods between 'alleged' Oscorp shell companies and the US military.
'Weapons, obviously...' Perhaps viral weaponry gevin the nature of Oscrop labs. But seeing as what was essentially a gold egg laying goose had seemingly fallen into his lap...
Y/n would only know for sure if he asked.
He took a heavy step forward. The collective fear he drew with it was palpable. He was an enigma to these people, a wholly blatant threat but an unknown nonetheless. He used that to his advantage, aiming to build enough tension- to contort it to his liking.
Terror was one hell of a motivator.
Y/n kept silent until he was only a short stride away from the scientists- Ignoring the rest of the residents who chose to take that as their cue to migrate towards the other half of the room entirely.
Y/n grabbed at a large wooden shelf, packed tight with thick hard-cover books. It stood a little taller than him, with a simplistic mahogany wood frame that carried a noticeable amount of weight. Y/n guessed around 200, maybe 300 kilos? There were no wheels on its bottom. For all that it seemed, it was probably bolted into place.
Y/n flung it across the room.
There was a loud crash followed by more screams. 'That should do it,' just in case anyone was getting any ideas that they could take him. Best to take the precaution of making yourself look like an unfuckworthy motherfucker.
"I'll just start off with saying the basics just to clear the air," Y/n drawled lazily, bringing a hand to rest on the knife at his hip. "I am a dangerous man with dubiously legal plans. And cooperation would be most helpful with what I have planned for you lot. If you can all assure me that none of you will cause any problems, then I can promise you all that none of you will suffer harm."
He let his words rest in the air. Letting the full weight of their new situation dawn on the group. Slowly, hopeless faces turned just that little more resolute. A SMALL sort of understanding had formed quickly between them both.
From behind a shelf, audible steps drew Y/n's attention away from the scientists to two individuals.
'What the?' Harry Osborn visibly gulped as he walked out into the open. Dressed in a pair of sweats and a grey T. He followed behind an older scientists that Y/n had seemingly missed.
Grey eyes stared at Y/n through wire rimmed specs, gauntly aged skin crinkling in a permanent frown. One rolled up lab coat sleeve denoted to the man's apparent missing arm. An amputee. With furrowed brows, Y/n's mind flashed with sudden recognition.
"What is it that you want exactly?" THE Dr. Curtis Connors bluntly asked in all his once-in-a-lifetime-genius glory. Not looking anymore different than he did in the Oscorp commercials on T.V. "I suppose being simple hostages doesn't cover the full extent of you machinations, does it?"
The sheer indifference the old man was exerting through Y/n into a bit of a loop. 'I forgot this guy was ex-military,' Y/n thought, appraising the man's missing arm. Becoming a scientist afterwards must have been the best stroke of luck the guy could have experienced seeing as he was damn fucking good at it.
Y/n had followed along Dr. Connor's advancements ever since he heard of the miracle man. He was a pioneer. An actual prodigy in the cutthroat field of genetic engineering. Y/n really wanted to know what the man had been cooking up downstairs.
"Unfortunately, not," Y/n smirked, "Im looking for a guide."
Dr Connors nodded, "to the lab, I presume?"
"Around the lab," Y/n corrected before giving the room and Harry a quick glance, "but I would also like you to answer some questions. Just so I can wrap my head around a few things."
Finally, the man showed a hint of mild concern, "I'll see what I can do."
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The streets rumbled.
Around the base of Oscorp tower, witnesses gasped as the shielded windows began to vibrate with a hum in periodic waves.
Seconds later, the sheilded windows of floor 15 exploded out in a rain of shattering glass glitter.
Norman Osborn fainted then and there on the spot. Next to him, commissioner Gordon squinted with furrowed brows, lights flashing around him as news anchors fired off into rapid conversation. He took another drag of his cigarette as he flicked his fingers, and his men ran into action.
On floor 15, a barely functioning stark security drone primed a blazing blue palm. Although incapable of thought and emotion, the tremble of it's damaged joints and strung limbs painted an on the nose description of distress.
A giant red fist ploughed through its entire being before it could fire.
So sudden was the blow and so powerful was the strike that the drone simply burst. Fragments flying through the air and across the spider web cracked floor to join other destroyed members of its make.
A heavy red booted food crunched across the sea of scrap. Towering too high to be a normal human, the 'man' the foot was attached to surveyed the landscape he had created.
"Floor 15, clear," his voice made the metal at his feet ring like tuning forks. With a grunt, he snorted into the earpiece held most delicately between his giant point and thumb, "no sign of the package or the mysterious intruder. I will continue to the next floor."