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Friday Night Fights


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"Heh, clean up in aisle 12?" Hellbound joked before casting his gaze over the subterranean . "Well, more like aisle negative twelve. Keep an eye on McStabby here for us, we'll call in the pros from topside. Stay cool, V'ger."

He then allowed Moira to lead him out, though there were some objections to her comment about him needing new clothes.

"Nuthin' wrong with what I'm wearing. Just a little singed... well, and bloody. But that's just the singed part. Gives the look some character, you dig?"

That was one good part about a person's blood bursting into flame on contact with the air. It never had a chance to stain anything. Though he always wondered why it did. Being a bullet-proof badass was something he could understand, but that whole burning thing was a bit of a mind bender.

Lots of superheroes could do most of what he was already capable of, but he'd never really read about anyone else who's bodily fluids could be used in chemical warfare.

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When the others were gone, and seen to be gone, Avenger pulled up his mask and bit down on the monster's neck, worrying at the vein as he rent it wide open. He made sure it was unconscious first, slamming head back into the floor until it was unconscious for sure. The beast had some trouble recuperating from the beating and the biting, especially once Jack began using his teeth to rend and tear. It was fairly disgusting work, all things considered, but he was sorely hungry after the exertion of the fight and owed some pain to this thing. When he'd drunk his fill and licked his chops clean, Avenger took the liberty of binding the thing with the torn pieces of his cape, watching it closely while he waited for the others. His mask was easy enough to clean up.

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