Nightwing & Angel - The Legend Untold

Alphonse, though empowered by the mysterious Atlas magic, was struggling to keep up against the combined efforts of Mark, Chris, and Gustav. Sweat dripped down his face as he gritted his teeth in frustration.

But then, he smirked. His expression twisted into something darker. "You pests... you're making me angry!" he growled, his voice filled with menace.

Reaching into his coat, Alphonse pulled out a small vial filled with a strange, glowing liquid.

Mark's eyes widened as he realized what was happening. "Stop him! Don't let him inject that!" he shouted, rushing forward with his batons.

Alphonse sneered. "Too late!" he said as he plunged the syringe into his arm, injecting himself with the experimental serum.

Immediately, his body began to change. His muscles bulged unnaturally, his veins pulsing and glowing faintly. He grew larger, his very presence more menacing.

Mark didn't hesitate. He swung his batons at Alphonse with all his strength, aiming for his head. "What did you do to yourself?!"

Alphonse barely moved, catching one baton mid-swing and swatting Mark away with a powerful punch to the stomach. The blow landed with a sickening crunch, and Mark staggered backward, clutching his stomach as he coughed violently.

Chris saw his chance and darted forward, knife in hand. He aimed for what appeared to be a weak spot on Alphonse's side. "Take this, you bastard!"

But Alphonse was ready. He deliberately left the weak spot exposed, and as Chris lunged, Alphonse caught his wrist with a vice-like grip. "Fool." he said with a grin, twisting Chris's arm and forcing him to drop the knife.

Before Chris could react, Alphonse kicked him in the chest with brutal force. Chris flew backward, crashing into a pile of rubble and falling unconscious.

"Chris!" Mark shouted in horror as he watched his friend collapse.

Meanwhile, Gustav charged at Alphonse with all his might. His enhanced strength, a gift from Alphonse himself, gave him incredible power. "You monster!" Gustav roared, swinging his fists at Alphonse.

But Alphonse was too fast. He caught Gustav's punch easily, twisting his arm and forcing him to his knees. With one hand, he grabbed Gustav's head and slammed it into the ground, cracking the concrete beneath them.

"Be glad," Alphonse growled, his voice low and sinister. "That freakish power of yours? That's thanks to me!"

Gustav struggled to break free, but Alphonse's grip was too strong. "You... bastard..." he muttered, blood dripping from his mouth as he was pinned to the ground.

Vivian, watching from the sidelines, screamed in desperation. "Stop! Please, stop!" Her voice trembled, tears streaming down her face as she saw her husband, Gustav, being overpowered.

Alphonse turned his monstrous, glowing eyes toward her but said nothing, his focus locked on the fight.

Mark, struggling to his feet despite the pain, glared at Alphonse with determination. "This isn't over," he muttered, gripping his batons tightly.

Suddenly, a faint hum filled the air, and the tension in the room shifted.

From the shadows, a voice echoed, calm yet resolute. "Alphonse, your time is up."

Everyone turned toward the sound. Mindy and Loe stepped into the room, their expressions unyielding.

Mindy's voice carried authority as she addressed the monstrous Alphonse. "Alphonse Capone...."

Loe's eyes were cold as he stared at Alphonse. "You're not walking out of here. Not this time."

Vivian, still trembling, felt a surge of hope as she whispered, "They're here..."

The battle wasn't over yet, but the reinforcements had arrived.

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

Bill's eyes fluttered open, his head pounding and his vision blurry. The taste of blood lingered in his mouth, and his body ached all over. Slowly, he pushed himself off the cold, debris-strewn ground, groaning from the effort.

His surroundings were in chaos. The area was a wreck—cracked pavement, shattered debris, and scorch marks stretched as far as he could see. A faint wind howled through the desolate scene, carrying with it the faint smell of smoke and blood.

Bill rubbed his head, trying to piece together what had happened. Then it hit him. Beta. He remembered the massive creature hit him in the chest causing him to flew in debris, the sheer force knocking him unconscious.

Panic surged through him as he spun around, scanning the area. "Logan," he murmured, his voice hoarse and shaky. "Where is Logan? And that monster?"

He took a shaky step forward, his legs trembling beneath him but refusing to give out. His hand pressed against his ribs, which ached sharply with every breath. Still, he pushed onward, limping through the destruction, calling out as loudly as he could manage.

"Logan! Can you hear me?!" His voice echoed into the emptiness, but there was no response.

Bill's mind raced with worst-case scenarios. He clenched his fists, forcing himself to stay calm. "I can't lose him. Not now, not like this," he thought, his determination overriding the pain.

As he stumbled forward, his foot caught on a piece of rubble, nearly sending him to the ground. He caught himself just in time, breathing heavily as he steadied his balance.

"Damn it..." he muttered, frustrated at his own weakness. But he gritted his teeth and kept going.

The more he walked, the clearer it became that both Logan and Beta were gone. The devastation left behind was a grim reminder of the fight that had taken place.

Bill clenched his jaw, his hands balling into fists. He stared into the distance, where faint signs of a battle seemed to continue far off.

"Wait for me, Logan," he said through gritted teeth, his voice filled with resolve. He straightened himself as much as his injuries allowed, his pace quickening despite the pain.

Bill had no idea what awaited him ahead, but one thing was certain—he wouldn't stop until he found Logan.

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

Meanwhile, on the upper floor of the Chicago Outfit building, Lenore Van Ryn continued her tour with Gil Felcoms, showcasing the business's pride—its luxurious fashion lines.

The room they stood in was immaculate, lined with displays of elegant garments hanging on polished racks. Soft lighting highlighted the texture and sheen of the fabrics, emphasizing the craftsmanship and quality of each piece.

Gil's eyes roamed the surroundings, taking in the lavish designs and premium fabrics. The air itself seemed to hum with the weight of exclusivity. Finally, his gaze settled on one particular garment.

"May I touch these?" Gil asked, his tone curious but measured.

Lenore, ever the professional, nodded gracefully. "Of course, Sir Gil. Please, feel free."

Gil stepped closer, reaching out to the garment. As his fingers brushed against it, his expression shifted to one of surprise. The fabric was impossibly smooth, soft, and luxurious—something he had rarely encountered.

"Is this...?" he began, his voice trailing off as he turned to Lenore with a mix of awe and curiosity.

Lenore gave a small, knowing smile. "Yes, Sir Gil. It's Mulberry silk—one of the most expensive and sought-after silks in the world." She ran her own fingers lightly along the fabric. "This particular silk not only elevates the quality of the clothes but also enhances their durability and elegance."

Gil nodded slowly, his admiration for the Chicago Outfit's fashion line growing. He glanced back at the garment, his thoughts briefly wandering to the prestige and wealth required to produce such masterpieces.

"Now I can see why this company has been the subject of so many rumors," he remarked, his tone carrying a newfound respect.

Lenore's smile widened, her confidence unwavering. "Our reputation precedes us, Sir Gil, and we intend to maintain it. Every piece you see here is a testament to our dedication to excellence."

As the tour continued, Lenore's calm demeanor belied her awareness of the chaos unfolding beneath their feet. But as far as she was concerned, it was a separate matter, and one that wouldn't tarnish the polished image she presented to Gil. For now, the tour—and the impression she left—were her only priorities.

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

Meanwhile, in Queens, New York, Edward Wilson, the Executive Captain of the police force, sat at his desk, his sharp eyes scanning the room filled with the remnants of a long night's work. The faint hum of police chatter and the distant sounds of city life filtered in through the slightly ajar windows, but the room itself was quiet.

One of his officers approached, standing stiffly at attention. "Sir... it seems like the vampires are all cleaned up now."

Edward leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking softly. He gave a small nod, his expression stern but calm. "Good. You may leave now."

The officer saluted and replied, "Sir, yes sir," before turning to his colleagues. The team exchanged knowing glances, nodded to one another, and filed out of the room. The door clicked shut behind them, leaving Edward alone in the silence of his office.

Edward let out a deep sigh, his strong shoulders relaxing slightly. He reached for the reports and documents piled on his desk. As he sifted through them, his mind wandered to thoughts of his son, Michael Wilson—known to the world as Spider-Man, but to Edward, he was simply Michael.

"I wonder if he's there now..." Edward murmured to himself, his thoughts drifting to the younger Wilson. Despite his position and years of service, Edward often found himself worrying about his son, knowing the immense responsibility Michael carried.

As he scanned the reports, his eyes paused on one particular document. It was a detailed case file about the recent vampire infestation that had plagued the city—a case that had seemed impossible to crack. But Michael had stepped in, and with his unwavering determination, he had solved it.

Edward smiled faintly, pride filling his chest. "Seriously, this son of mine is really something..." he muttered, shaking his head in a mix of amusement and admiration.

The smile lingered as he thought about how far Michael had come—not just as Spider-Man, but as a person. Edward had always known his son had a good heart, but seeing his bravery and selflessness on full display made him prouder than he could ever express.

As he set the document down, he murmured to himself, "I owe you one, son."

Edward's gaze shifted to the window, the city lights twinkling against the dark sky. He leaned back in his chair, his hands clasped behind his head, a rare moment of peace washing over him. No matter the challenges that lay ahead, Edward knew one thing for certain: Michael would always rise to the occasion.

..........

As Michael Wilson—better known as Spiderman—surveyed the cityscape of Chicago from the rooftop, the cool night air ruffled the fabric of his suit. The sprawling metropolis stretched below him, its busy streets filled with people oblivious to the danger lurking in the shadows. But Michael was keenly aware of the storm brewing below.

"So, this is Chicago..." he muttered, his eyes narrowing as he surveyed the streets below. "It seems decent... or maybe not." His mind quickly shifted to the task at hand, thinking about Mark, Chris, and Loe. They were already in the heart of the chaos, facing off against Alphonse Capone's forces.

"Wait for me, guys," he whispered, the familiar weight of responsibility settling on his shoulders. "Your friendly neighborhood Spiderman is here."

With a flick of his wrist, Michael activated his Spiderman System—a unique set of abilities he had honed through years of training and adaptation. Unlike the traditional web-slinging heroes, Michael's webbing was organic, coursing through his body and ready to be used at will. His suit, designed by his own ingenuity, enhanced his natural abilities. Using the data collected by his system, he was able to maximize his agility, strength, and reflexes to a level that few could match.

He flexed his fingers, feeling the webbing pulse under his skin, then shot a web from his wrist, the strands connecting to a nearby building. Without hesitation, he launched himself into the air, the familiar rush of adrenaline kicking in as he swung through the night.

"No time to waste," Michael thought, navigating the web-filled skies as he closed the distance to his friends. His system's advanced sensors had already pinpointed their location, and he was already mentally calculating the best route to reach them.

The city was alive with danger, but Michael had no doubt in his mind that, with his skills and his system, he would be able to keep up. Alphonse Capone's plans were already in motion, but Michael Wilson wasn't about to let them succeed.

"I'm coming for you, guys," he muttered with determination. "Spiderman's on the job."

As he swung across the city, the neon lights flickering below him, he knew that whatever awaited them in Chicago, they would face it together—and with him by their side, they just might stand a chance against whatever Alphonse threw their way.

To be continue