Bullets zoomed towards my location, but before they could reach my awaitingflesh , they found themselves intercepted by a young woman's freakish display of agility. Before I could thank the bo-staff wielding beauty, she was gone, attacking the many enemies that were now crawling like cockroaches out of the bowels of the broken city. Although her actions were truly impressive, the moment of respite that her heroism afforded my party was short-lived, the Force already alerting me of the army that was moving into to position in an effort to box us in.
In a sudden flash, I found myself teleported out of the area by Stark, making sure to hold on to Haven's arm so as to not lose her amidst the chaos. Now in a whole new arena, I moved quickly to erect a telekinetic force field-field around Haven and I, shielding us from the sudden onslaught that greeted us, courtesy of Satar's Martyrs.
"Stay behind me!"I yelled at the commissioner's daughter, hoping to God that she was wise enough to understand the severity of the situation we'd unexpectedly found ourselves in.
After the welcoming attack, my eyes fell on the metallic facade of Anthony Stark. Even through his emotionless exterior, I could feel him measuring my worth with his trademark contempt.
"I've located Satar via satellite, if you die fighting him, I'll pay for your funeral. Give me one moment."
"Just make sure they play 'The Final Countdown' at mine. If you don't, I swear I'll haunt the shit out of your great-grandchildren,"I responded grimly, watching the Iron Warrior's cocky display of technological prowess.
"I know both of you have reasons for hating Satar. I'll give you the means of delivering that hate."
"Hatred leads to the Dark Side," I muse internally, denying that I could ever feel that way for someone I didn't even know, despite the atrocities that he may be responsible for. "Hatred leads to this," I ponder, my eyes scanning the area as I take note of the irreparably cracked pavement, the sea of dead bodies, and a city torn asunder under the weight of villanous hatred.
After another quick teleportational jump, I found myself staring directly into the eyes of a man born from this very hate; Satar, the Eater of Worlds. In my many travels through faraway lands, I had experienced a great many horrors; eldritch abominations that fed on entire populaces without a second thought, bloodthirsty conquerors that sacrificed their own people in their pursuit of ultimate power. But Satar...he was of a different breed.
From everything I'd read on him, it seemed like the King of the 3rd World's rampages had no rhyme, no reason. He was the worst kind of evil, evil for evil's sake. But before I could reach for my lightsaber and begin my righteous pursuit to end the Baabda's Beast's reign of terror, I felt an immense pain invade my being.
The tachyon-infused bullet tore through my body with unimaginable fury. Within seconds, I found myself on the ground, beset with uncontrollable convulsions as blood flooded my every extremity, having been evacuated from my broken liver.
Throughout my long career, I had prided myself on my foresight, aided by my unrivaled Force senses. Yet in the end, the old saying rang true. Even to me, the most dangerous shot had been the one I hadn't seen coming.
With my last moments of life, I felt myself being dragged away from the bloody scene by the muscular arms of Joe Locke, the voice of Haven O'Shea, shrieking a fevered plea.
"Please tell me he's not dead. Please. If he's not dead...."
Tears streaming down my face at the sheer amount of blood springing forth from the Last Guardian's open maw, I held my hands to his torso, working them around his ruptured ribcage to the obscene gash through which the unforgiving tachyon-infused bullet had so violently entered his body.
"Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit." I moaned repeatedly, choking back the bile collecting at the back of my throat. Since discovering my gift, I'd healed a lot of people, some even from life-threatening injuries, but this...this was the worst I'd ever seen.
Plunging my delicate fingers into the open wound, I dug around the inside of the dying hero's torso, braving the sickening sounds and mushy sensations until I had collected all the metallic fragments within. One, two, three, four, five, I let each fall to the floor beside me with a clatter.
His body now devoid of foreign matter, I got to work, my tears subsiding as adrenaline boosted my every function. It was clear by the amount of blood spewing out of his wound and mouth that the liver had taken the brunt of the gunshot's force. Holding approximately 15% of the body's blood supply at any given moment, the liver was designed, either by evolution or by God's guiding hand, to be supremely resilient. Taking advantage of the liver's own healing factor (25% of a liver can regenerate into a whole new liver) I begin to restore the vital organ while also healing the broken tissue around it and closing the wound.
Unfortunately, mending the broken matter was only the first hurdle in the race for the Star-Spangled Hero's unlikely survival. Jacob had lost so much blood not only as a result of the liver itself being damaged, but because of the rupturing of the two arteries that ran through it. Closing my eyes and focusing on the hero's dying body, I set about stimulating the bone marrow to radically increase its production of red blood cells. Thankfully, the spleen which holds within it a backup supply of blood, had gone undamaged, allowing me to help mitigate the significant loss of blood he had suffered.
One final step remained in Jacob's recovery, which was to restart his heart so that it could begin pumping blood once more. With my vision beginning to fade, and blood trickling from my nose down across my lips, I focus the remainder of my waning energy into one concentrated jolt that would zap the Lightforce Warrior's heart back into action. It was only after I felt him gasp for air, that I, satisfied smile etched on my face, finally allowed myself to give into the unconsciousness that awaited me.
Shooting up from the concrete slab I had been placed on, I immediately noticed the girl beside me. The extreme pain that came with even the slightest of moves reminded me of what had happened to me right before I lost consciousness. To put it simply, I had died, even if for a moment, and now I was back, reborn by the grace of a higher power.
Kneeling down, still dazed and numb as my body slowly regained its functions, I bent down to cradle Haven's head in my arms. She was unconscious but still in okay shape. Somehow, some way, she was responsible for bringin me back, a debt I knew I could never repay. Shaking, I slowly slipped the WAL Ring off of my finger and uttered"Authorization, guest: Haven O'Shea," before sliding it onto her dainty finger.
"Los Angeles."I vocalized before a flash of light took her away.
Stepping over a puddle of thick blood that had moments ago been gushing out of my corpse, I made my way back towards the familiar sounds of war. Nowhere to be seen was my familiar cocky smirk, replaced with a scowl that told the tale of a man who was done cracking jokes and playing games.
A screeching sizzle announced the introduction of my trademark weapon; the lightsaber, new and improved via the designs of the technomage Deadelus. With this in hand, no man could stand in my way.
With unbridled ferocity, I picked at Satar's forces, locking them in inescepable vice-grip like telekinetic holds before flinging them wildly about. Some would slam against upturned buildings at a velocity at which even their super-durable armor couldn't overcome extreme damage, others would barrell into their comrades. The lucky ones would land miles away, crashing into what was left of the Gothic City streets, leaving person-sized craters wherever they may fall.
In the sea of orange-clad Martyrs, one man stood out. No cloak of honor or duty shrouded what he truly was. One look was all it took to determine that the rugged mutant warrior before me was a creature fueled by bloodlust and rage. Under usual circumstances, I might've been afraid. But here I stood, Jacob Grayson, dead and risen again. Stronger than ever, I would no longer be holding back.
Spinning away from his initial lunge, I attempted to telekintically grab him, squeezing him with enough pressure on all sides to grind any normal man's bones to fine powder. If I managed to subdue the berserker in my Force grip, I would then attempt to fling the resultant bag of loose flesh at incredible speeds towards the North, the very direction that my earlier killshot had emanated from. In doing so, I hoped to kill two birds with one stone.