X-Men: Catalyst

As he approached the door, the taller figure moved with a predatory grace that belied his size. His hands, encased in black tactical gloves, wrapped around the edge of one of the towering oak bookshelves. With a casual display of strength that made Clark's stomach tighten, the man lifted the massive shelf as if it weighed nothing, the wood groaning as he wedged it against the door.

"This whole heroic stand? It's unnecessary." The shorter man's voice carried a cultured edge that made him more unsettling than his partner. He stepped forward, movements precise and measured, head canting to one side as he studied Clark. "This doesn't have to become... unpleasant. Give us the girl, and you can return to your quiet life among your books."

Clark's mind raced with the weight of the situation pressing down on him as heavily as the thousands of books surrounding them. These weren't ordinary thugs—the casual display of superhuman strength and the strange black tendril that had destroyed the phone made that clear enough. As he glanced down at the girl again, he caught a flash of something in his mind—a woman's face, kind eyes, the smell of birthday cake—but it slipped away like water through his fingers, leaving only the ghost of an emotion he couldn't quite name. What he knew, what he felt in his bones, was that he couldn't let them take her.

"Did you hear me?" The shorter man's tone hardened slightly, patience wearing thin beneath the veneer of civility. "It's rude to ignore someone who's trying to be reasonable."

Clark pulled himself back to the present, squaring his shoulders as he planted his feet more firmly behind the desk. A lifetime of trying to stay unnoticed, of keeping his head down, screamed at him to step aside. But that wasn't who he was—even if he wasn't entirely sure who that was anymore. "Yeah, I heard you just fine," he said, surprised by the steadiness in his voice. "And I meant what I said. The kid stays here."

A low, rumbling laugh rolled from the larger man, the sound distorted by his mask into something that belonged in a nightmare. He flexed his hands, cracking his knuckles. "Big words coming from some minimum wage book-stacker. What're you gonna do? Throw a thesaurus at us?"

Clark felt a smile tug at the corner of his mouth, even as his heart hammered against his ribs. It wasn't a cheerful expression—more like the smile you wear when you're about to do something incredibly stupid but can't help yourself. "Hey, don't underestimate librarians," he said, hands curling into fists at his sides. "We're full of surprising information. Like how to catalog a beat-down under Things You Didn't See Coming."

The girl behind him made a small sound—maybe a laugh, maybe a whimper—and Clark felt something shift inside him. Whatever was about to happen, whatever these men were capable of, he had made his choice. Now, he just had to live with it. Or possibly die with it, a less helpful part of his mind supplied.

The attack came like lightning—no telegraph, no warning. One moment the masked giant was still, the next his fist cut through the air where Clark's head had been a fraction of a second earlier. Pure instinct saved him, his body moving before his mind could catch up. Clark drove his own punch into the man's midsection, putting everything he had behind it. It was like hitting a brick wall. The giant didn't even flinch, just looked down at Clark with what felt like amusement radiating from that featureless mask.

"My turn," the giant rumbled, and his kick sent Clark flying. He crashed into one of the heavy wooden shelves, the impact driving the air from his lungs in an explosive gasp. Old hardcovers rained down around him as he slumped to the floor, each breath a sharp knife in his ribs. Somewhere in the back of his mind, a voice that sounded suspiciously like Jake complained about the reshelving they'd have to do.

The giant advanced with unhurried steps. Behind him, Clark could see the shorter man methodically searching the library, the otherworldly black tendrils extending like living shadows. "Come on, library boy," the giant taunted, spreading his arms. "Show me what else you've got. Unless you're ready to call it a night?"

Clark spat blood onto the floor, forcing himself to stand despite his protesting muscles. "Funny thing about librarians," he managed, his voice rougher than before. "We're pretty good at improvising." He grabbed books from the shelves, launching them in quick succession—heavy reference volumes, old encyclopedias, anything with weight. It wasn't much of a plan, but it brought him precious seconds to scramble down another aisle.

His fingers closed around the forgotten hammer from his earlier inventory work, and a desperate plan formed. He pressed himself against the shelves, trying to control his breathing as heavy footsteps approached. The giant rounded the corner, and Clark struck—putting every ounce of strength and momentum he could muster into swinging the hammer directly into the man's jaw. The impact sent shockwaves up Clark's arm, and for a moment, he thought it had worked.

Then the giant slowly turned his head back, rolling his neck with an audible crack. "That," he said, voice dropping to a dangerous growl, "was rude."

One massive hand shot out faster than Clark could track, catching him across the chest and sending him hurtling through the air again. He crashed hard, sliding across a reading table and tumbling to the floor. Blood trickled into his eyes from a gash on his forehead, the world swimming in and out of focus.

Near the entrance, the shorter man's patience finally snapped. With a whip-like motion, the black tendrils flipped the heavy oak desk as if it were cardboard. Finding nothing beneath it, he snarled in frustration. "Where are you, little girl?" he called out, his voice taking on an edge of menace as he began systematically destroying the library's carefully maintained order.

The giant loomed over Clark, one boot raised to deliver what would likely be a crushing blow. "I'd say this has been fun, but honestly?" He shrugged those massive shoulders. "It's just been sad."

Before he could bring his foot down, the air suddenly crackled. A brilliant flash of blue-white light illuminated the library accompanied by a thunderous crack that set every window rattling in its frame. The force catapulted the giant backward, sending him crashing through three rows of shelves before he landed in a heap of splintered wood and scattered books.

In the aftermath, Clark managed to lift his head, blinking through the blood and spots in his vision. The girl stood at the end of the aisle, her hood falling back to reveal wild eyes that crackled with the same blue electricity that danced between her outstretched fingers. Her chest heaved with exertion, her face pale but set with determination. "Leave him alone!" she said, her childish voice trembling but fierce.

The victory was short-lived. Before Clark could even push himself to his feet, those writhing black tendrils shot across the room, wrapping around the girl's limbs. She let out a startled cry as the shorter man lifted her off the ground, her small form suspended in the air like a puppet in his grasp. The man's mask tilted as he studied her, and despite its featureless surface, there was something terrifyingly cold in his stance.

"Fascinating," he said, his voice clinical yet threaded with disappointment. "The conditioning was supposed to be absolute, yet here you are, acting against it." The tendrils constricted, drawing a pained gasp from the girl. "No matter. Failed subjects must be terminated."

Clark's body screamed in protest as he forced himself up, but the sound of the girl's pain drove him forward. He charged across the debris-strewn floor, knowing it was probably suicide but unable to stand by. One tendril released its grip on the girl, whipping toward him like a striking cobra. Instead of dodging, Clark caught it—the surface was oddly cold and smooth beneath his fingers—and pulled with everything he had left. The shorter man stumbled forward, clearly not expecting such a direct counter.

Clark's fist sailed through the space where the man's head had been a moment before, the masked figure ducking at inhuman speed. Another tendril released the girl, leaving her gasping but with one arm free. The shorter man pivoted, the remaining tendrils squirming as he prepared to strike.

"You know," Clark said, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth as he grinned, "for professionals, you guys are pretty sloppy. Rule one of any fight?" He glanced meaningfully at the girl, whose free hand was already crackling. "Never let your opponent's backup get a clear shot."

A fraction of a second too late, the shorter man realized his mistake. The girl's hand thrust forward, unleashing a brilliant arc of electricity. The masked man threw up a barrier of black tendrils, the electricity dancing across them in a spectacular display of light and shadow. For a crucial moment, his defense was total—and that's when Clark struck. His fist connected with the man's jaw in a perfectly timed uppercut, channeling every ounce of strength he had left into the blow.

The impact sent the shorter man reeling backward, his perfect composure finally broken as he slammed into the overturned bookshelf by the door. One gloved hand came up to touch his jaw, and though the mask hid his expression, his posture radiated shock and growing fury.

"Titan," the shorter man called out, his controlled voice carrying an edge of irritation. "Time to conclude this." The fallen shelves shifted, books cascading to the floor as his massive partner began rising. But before the tendrils could unfurl again, the night exploded into chaos.

The library's front wall erupted inward with a booming crash of glass and brick, a sleek black sedan plowing through like something out of an action movie. The shorter man had just enough time to turn before the vehicle pinned him against the far wall, the impact finally silencing his measured voice. Through the settling dust and debris, the driver's door swung open with theatrical slowness.

The man who emerged moved like he owned the room, his long black coat sweeping behind him as he stepped over the rubble. Short black hair, features that seemed designed for smirking, and an air of casual danger. The stranger surveyed the scene—the wrecked library, the unconscious masked man, the girl still crackling with residual electricity, and Clark's battered form—before his face split into a grin.

"Well," Clark muttered, tasting copper as he spoke. "Didn't exactly have 'car through wall' on my bingo card for tonight."

The stranger focused his attention on the girl, something flickering behind his eyes—recognition, maybe, or calculation. "Well, kids," he drawled, spreading his arms like a showman taking the stage, "Daddy's home. And it looks like you've been having quite the party without me."

A roar of rage cut through the moment. Titan emerged from the wreckage, his mask torn away to reveal features that seemed carved from granite—square jaw, red hair matted with dust and blood, and eyes that glowed like hot coals in his fury-flushed face. "I'm going to tear you apart," he snarled.

"Promises, promises, big guy." The stranger's hand disappeared into his coat and emerged with a matte-black pistol in one fluid motion. "Let's dance."

The gun barked, muzzle flash lighting up the darkness. Once, twice, three times—center mass shots that would have dropped anyone else. But Titan just grinned as the bullets flattened against his chest and tinkled to the floor like spent brass raindrops.

"Well, that's new," the stranger said, eyebrows rising as he ejected the empty magazine. "What's your secret, friend? Lots of milk growing up? Excellent skincare routine?"

Titan charged like a freight train, but the stranger moved like liquid smoke, ducking under the massive fist and delivering a combination of strikes that actually seemed to rock the giant back on his heels. Each impact cracked like a thunderclap in the confined space, and Clark could see genuine surprise register on Titan's face—clearly, he wasn't used to anyone hitting hard enough to hurt.

The giant recovered quickly, his massive hand shooting out to snatch the stranger's wrist mid-punch. "Got you," he growled triumphantly.

"Do you though?" The stranger's other hand produced a second pistol, pressing it directly against Titan's temple and pulling the trigger. The bullet ricocheted off with a metallic ping, but the giant's grip didn't loosen. "Okay, yeah, maybe you do." The last word became a grunt as Titan hurled him across the room like a rag doll.

Titan wheeled around with terrifying speed, his massive form bearing down on Clark and the girl like an oncoming storm. Clark's fingers closed around the forgotten hammer, his bruised knuckles white against the handle. "Hey, Sparky," he called to the girl, trying to keep his voice steady despite the fear clawing at his throat. "Think you've got one more lightning bolt in you?"

The girl's hands trembled as she thrust them forward, but only weak sparks flickered between her fingers, the previous display having drained her completely. "I can't," she gasped, panic edging into her voice. "It's like a battery—I need time to recharge..."

Clark spun toward her, the words "Run" forming on his lips, but they never made it out. Titan's blow caught him mid-turn, sending him caroming into the wall with bone-crushing force. The impact left spiderweb cracks in the plaster, books raining down around his crumpled form as dark spots danced at the edges of his vision.

Titan's laughter echoed through the destroyed library as he advanced on the girl, each step deliberate and menacing. His massive hand shot out, closing around her throat and lifting her off the ground as easily as picking up a book. He turned toward Clark, making sure he could see, making sure he understood his failure. "Remember what you said about rule one of fighting?" Titan's voice dripped with mockery as the girl struggled in his grip. "About never letting your opponent get a clear shot? Well, look who's got one now." His fingers tightened, drawing a choked whimper from the girl. "Finally caught you, you little runt. All that running, all that resistance, and here we are."

Clark tried to move, tried to stand, but his body refused to cooperate. His vision swam in and out of focus, but he could still see the girl's desperate struggles growing weaker. Something deep inside him screamed to get up, to save her. It wasn't logical, wasn't rational—he didn't even know her name. But the need to protect her felt carved into his bones.

Then, cutting through the fog of pain and desperation, a woman's clear voice echoed in his mind: "It's time to fly."

The world seemed to slow down as something inside Clark shifted, like a key turning in a lock he never knew existed. Energy surged through his battered body, raw power, unlike anything he'd ever felt. His eyes, normally a warm brown, blazed with brilliant blue light. He didn't understand what was happening and couldn't explain it, but at that moment, he didn't need to. All that mattered was that he could finally fight back.

Clark raised his hand, acting on pure instinct, and blue energy erupted from his palm. The blast caught Titan square in the chest, the impact powerful enough to send the giant staggering backward. His grip on the girl finally broke. She dropped to the floor, gasping for air, as Clark pushed himself to his feet.

"You know something?" Clark said, his voice steady despite the impossible energy coursing through him. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth—not the nervous one from before, but something fiercer, something that belonged to a different version of himself. "I think I'm remembering rule two of fighting." The blue light around his hands intensified as he settled into a fighting stance. "Sometimes you've got to hit back harder than they hit you."

Titan's roar shook dust from the remaining shelves as he charged, his massive frame somehow even more imposing in his rage. His fist cut through the air like a wrecking ball, but this time, something was different. Clark wasn't just reacting anymore—he could see the attack coming with crystal clarity, like watching a film in slow motion. He slipped past the blow, pivoting on his heel as Titan's momentum carried him forward. Clark's uppercut connected with a thunderous crack, blue energy trailing from his fist like a comet's tail. The giant's head snapped back, and Clark followed through with a front kick that sent him crashing into what remained of the reference section.

"What's wrong, big guy?" Clark called out, the blue light in his eyes pulsing. "Not so fun when the other person can hit back, is it?"

Titan's response was to tear an entire shelf from its moorings, hurling it at Clark like an oversized javelin. Clark caught it, the wood splintering under his fingers—but it was a feint. The giant burst through the shelf itself, his massive fist connecting with Clark's chest in a move that would have pulverized a normal person. "Don't get cocky, boy," Titan snarled.

Before either could press their advantage, the stranger reappeared like a ghost, his boot connecting with the back of Titan's knee in a precise strike that forced the giant down. "You know," he drawled, casually reloading his pistol as if they were all just having a pleasant chat, "I'm feeling left out here. Got the kid throwing lightning, got library boy here going all super-saiyan... A guy could develop a complex."

Titan opened his mouth, probably to deliver another threat, but the stranger jammed his pistol between the giant's teeth and emptied the magazine. The shots echoed through the library, but Titan just glared, bullets falling from his mouth like metallic rain. "Well, that's just excessive," the stranger sighed, dancing away from a retaliatory swipe. "Note to self: even the soft parts aren't soft."

Clark seized the opening, channeling the strange new power coursing through him into a barrage of energy blasts. Each shot forced Titan back step by step. The giant crossed his arms in front of his face, his boots leaving furrows on the floor as he endured the assault. When the barrage finally ceased, Titan lowered his guard—right into the stranger's waiting fist.

"Tag, you're it," the stranger quipped, his punch snapping Titan's head to the side. Before the giant could recover, Clark moved in with a cross, each blow enhanced by crackling blue energy. Both men dove clear as a familiar electric charge filled the air.

The girl stood amid the destruction, her hands raised and crackling with renewed power. Her earlier exhaustion was gone, replaced by a fierce grin that matched the electric blue glow in her eyes. "Hey, asshole," she called out, her voice steady and clear. "Remember what you said about clear shots?"

The blast that followed lit up the library like daylight, catching Titan square in the chest and launching him backward. He crashed into the sedan with enough force to fold the surrounding metal, finally going still.

"And that," Clark said, brushing debris from his shoulder, then his eyes gradually faded back to brown, "is what we call rule three: the bad guys really should learn to quit while they're ahead."