Politically Correct and Captain Pedantic sparred at each in mirror opposite mode. Fists and feet collided painfully, then as they wound up for an almighty headbutt, a tattooed crash helmet appeared in Jordan’s head. Politically Correct fell with a groan as Jordan’s helmet dissipated.
“Thank you, Tat,” he said.
Grappler bounded from the statue, knocking Jordan from his feet. Jordan rolled upright and caught the villain in mid somersault with a turning kick. With a grunt, Grappler landed heavily on his back. He rolled aside from Jordan’s foot stomping down. As Jordan rushed the man, Grappler kicked up into Jordan’s torso with both feet, catapulting him into a tree. Jordan fell face forward without a sound.
“That’s one for one,” said Shotgun.
His sleeve chattered, raking the the statue just above Mick’s head.
“So that makes it a draw, so far,” said Mick.
He pulled a knife from his coat and flung it into Shotgun. It disappeared within the folds of his long coat.
“Don’t you know what kinetic energy means?” taunted Shotgun. “That means I can absorb anything that flies at me.”
Something large spat from his sleeve. It clanged on contact with the statue, tearing a chunk of stone away. Mick turned his head to see his severely nicked and warped knife, laying on the grass.
“I can also launch objects with more force,” said Shotgun.
Mick stepped from the statue’s base, holding his remaining knife.
“Then I’ve only got to attack, hand to hand.”
“I wouldn’t,” said Shotgun, opening his coat.
A swarm of projectiles swiftly revolved within the core of his being.
“As you can see, the military has kept me well stocked with ammunition.”
Shotgun swiftly raised his sleeve, firing a blast by Mick’s feet.
“I’d run, Mr Magnificent. Look around you.”
Mick looked. Ryan fought with Grappler, as did Glen with Odin, and Pat against Multibeast.
“I’ll give you a generous head start,” Shotgun offered.
Mick tore away, in the direction of his only sanctuary, the building he last saw Nick headed for. If he defeated Javelin, then maybe together they could stop Shotgun.
Ryan sang a mellow song, hoping to pacify and slow Grappler. He attempted to punch at the acrobatical wonder, missing with each move. Grappler leapt above Ryan, catching hold of an overhanging branch. Clutching Ryan in his feet, he flung him against the trunk of the tree. Ryan sank, badly winded to his knees as Grappler dropped from the branch and swaggered towards the hero.
As Grappler raised his fist, Ryan likewise raised his head and sang a single shrill note.
Grappler, screamed, clamping his hands over his ears. He tore one of his hands free in a backhanded fist, cutting short the single note song. He went to incapacitate his foe with a sharp knee to the head, when Ryan began to sing a fast ditty, getting faster with each successive verse.
Grappler frowned. “What are you doing?” he asked snidely.
On receiving no answer, he sent out his knee. Ryan slipped sideways, watching the knee harmlessly rise beside him. He placed his hands on his hips and added choreography, making rapid steps and twists, effortlessly avoiding every blow from Grappler.
After a few minutes, Ryan still sang as Grappler circled warily.
“You can’t keep this up forever,” said Grappler.
“And bend, and stretch, and lift those legs and lift those legs.”
His dancing now resembled more of an exercise routine.
“What are you doing now?”
“There’s more than one type of dance. I am also a master of aerobics fitness.”
Grappler fumed, charging.
“And lift those legs, and lift those legs,” sang Ryan.
His second kick collected Grappler under the jaw, twisting him away with a groan, and coming to rest unconscious face down. Ryan dropped panting to his knees, utterly exhausted. He cast a weary eye aside at Glen fighting it out with Odin, too tired to lend assistance.