LIBAG: Emergence 2.24b (Patreon)

“[Power Boost]!”

Raw golden light surged out of him in a faint golden aura and Zeke was on the move.One moment, he was standing still, wide-eyed like a deer in headlights, and the next he was streaking across the ballroom at speeds that’d get him pulled over on any highway. Chaos erupted everywhere—screaming diplomats, shattering glass, gunfire—but time had damn near slowed with his reaction time doubled as he was on the move with his Power Boost pushing him forward like caffeine injected right into his veins.

An upturned table was vaulted over, the legs of a panicking security gard slid through, and the thirteen-year-old found himself almost panicking as he sidestepped the spray of bullets chewing up marble where his foot had been half a second ago. Cheese and rice!

The waiter uniform wasn’t built for superhero speed, that much was for sure.

Threads gave way and seams split from the force as the well-made but poorly fitted fabric fully surrendered to physics. The bow tie around his neck finally gave up its death grip on his neck as it whipped away and without breaking stride, Zeke tore off the remaining pieces of the outfit.The modified STAR Labs jumpsuit underneath burst free, the star on his chest the first sign of his costume. In a half-second, blue and white stood out like a beacon against the formal black and white around him.

Time for the hero bullshit.

Glass from the shattered windows caught the chandeliers’ light as it rained down, as screams bounced off marble as diplomats scrambled for cover, their formal words forgotten in favor of primal fear. The minigun had stopped its roar, but Zeke’s ears still rang like someone had installed a bell tower between them.

He cut left as bullets punched fist-sized holes in the floor where he’d been standing. Over a half-dozen Shadows operatives had rappelled in through the windows, firing submachine guns in controlled bursts that seemed almost lazy. Genesis tucked into a roll beneath a banquet table, feeling the whistle of rounds shredding the tablecloth inches above his head.

Note to self: Stop bringing fists to gunfights.

From his limited vantage point, he caught flashes of Red Arrow tangling with Cheshire across the room—bow against sai, both moving like they were continuing an argument they’d started months ago.

The table above him creaked, wood protesting as something—someone—with the weight of a newborn elephant landed hard on it. Genesis peaked his head out as his eyes flashed blue instinctively with a subvocalized Observe, information flooding his brain even as his pulse spiked with fear.

Sportsmaster (Lawrence “Crusher” Crock) 

Lv 42 The Apex Thug

Predecessor and rival to Deathstroke in waaaaayyyy more ways than one, Larry Crock sure ain’t the strongest, he’s not the fastest, and he’s definitely not the smartest. But the man thinks like a killer, hits like a truck, and most definitely gets the job done.

Still fighting at peak form while pushing sixty, he’s the kind of man who ages like a bullet wound: sharp, angry, and impossible to ignore.

He bit back a groan, eyes going wide as the level difference hit him hard. Are you kidding me? That’s the highest I’ve seen for a normal person. How are you tougher than a frickin’ cyborg?

Wood chips crashed on top of him as Sportsmaster drove his fist through it like paper, massive fingers grasping for Zeke’s head. He rolled away just as the mercenary’s hand snatched at his hair, blue eyes going wide as he felt the air rush past his scalp. Give me a frickin’ second, man!

“Peekaboo, brat,” Sportsmaster growled, the man’s gray hockey mask making him look like a somehow more serious Casey Jones.

“[Mana Burst]!” Geneis shouted at the top of his lungs, energy from his hands blasting upward through the table with a surge of blue energy. Wood that was probably more expensive than some used cars exploded apart into just-as-expensive splinters, wood chips raining down as the thirteen-year-old sidekick launched into a backflip.A half second later, Genesis landed ten feet away in a crouch, one palm already glowing with a barely-repressed Mana Burst.

Red Arrow’s voice rang out loud, somehow audible above gunfire and screams. “You take Sportsmaster! Cheshire’s mine!”

“Real Scooby Doo split here, Red, and you know it. Taking the pretty girl for yourself,” Zeke grumbled under his breath, the thirteen-year-old turning back to  face the walking mountain of muscle that went by the name Sportsmaster. “And I’m here like Shaggy with the guy built like a refrigerator with arms.”

Said refrigerator rolled his shoulders, metal shoulder pads catching the light as he stepped up to the teenager a good foot below him, staring down at Genesis from behind his mask. “Proton Genesis, huh? Heard about you recently. Captain Atom’s little tag-along. Superheroes and their sidekicks, so funny that way..” His voice was casual, conversational even, like they’d bumped into each other at a backyard barbecue instead of a diplomatic summit turned warzone. He even sounded like someone’s dad—maybe a gruff PE teacher or a Little League coach with anger management issues.

Weird.

“Sidekick, partner, protege—apparently there’s a lot of names for what I am,” Genesis replied, circling cautiously, tracking every twitch of Sportsmaster’s hands. He remembered this guy from Santa Prisca, and he did not like a single thing about that memory. Those fists could shatter concrete, and Genesis was painfully aware his face was decidedly less durable than concrete.

Without warning, Sportsmaster whipped something from his belt—a disc that caught the light as it spun toward Zeke’s neck with deadly precision.

“[Mana Shield]!” A blue plane of solid mana burst to life just in time, Sportsmaster’s weapon deflecting off near silently. A half-instant later, the razor sharp projectile embedded itself deep in one of the room’s stone pillars. Zeke didn’t even have time to feel relieved or terrified as Sportsmaster closed the distance with shocking speed, a javelin appearing in the thug’s hand like a magician’s trick.

Holy crap he’s fast for a big dude!

Zeke ducked under the first swing, feeling the javelin whistle through the air where his head had been a split-second before. He countered with a quick jab to the mercenary’s side—a solid hit that felt exactly like punching a brick wall. 

The big guy… Well, he didn’t even flinch.

“That all you got, kid?” Sportsmaster taunted, grabbing for Zeke’s arm.

“Nope!” Zeke’s arm snapped up, fingers on his hand splayed out as he slammed a palmit full force into Lawrence Crock’s chest. “[Mana Impact]!”

The blast sent Sportsmaster skidding back, his boots leaving tracks in the polished floor like someone had dragged a plow across it. But the mercenary recovered with practiced ease, twirling the javelin like it weighed nothing.

“Not bad.” Sportsmaster’s mask hid his expression, but his voice carried a hint of genuine appraisal. “But not good enough.”

The javelin came at Zeke again, this time in a series of rapid thrusts and sweeps that forced him purely on the defensive. He bobbed and weaved, calling on every boxing lesson Wildcat and his two kids had drilled into him. Zeke might have been small, but he was quick—darting inside Sportsmaster’s reach to land quick shots to the ribs and sternum.

Most opponents would be wearing down by now. Sportsmaster was just warming up.

Around them, the battle raged. Security guards exchanged gunfire with Shadow operatives, bullets whizzing through the air like angry hornets. Somewhere to his right, Zeke heard the distinctive twang of Red Arrow’s bow, followed by Cheshire’s mocking laugh.

Zeke found himself backed against an overturned table. Sportsmaster lunged, javelin aimed at his chest. Zeke leapt upward, pushing off the table to vault over the mercenary’s head. As he passed overhead, he grabbed Sportsmaster’s shoulder, channeling another “[Mana Impact]!” directly into the man’s back.

The blast knocked Sportsmaster forward, but he rolled with the momentum, coming up with something new in his hand—a heavy metal ball attached to a cord.

“Oh, that’s just unfair,” Zeke muttered as Sportsmaster began to swing the hammer in a wide arc. “What is this, villain show-and-tell?”

The weapon whistled through the air, picking up speed with each rotation. Zeke backed away, calculating distances and angles like a human calculator with ADHD. When Sportsmaster finally released it, Zeke was ready—almost.

“[Power Boost]!” Golden energy surged into his legs as he darted sideways. The hammer missed his torso but caught his left arm midway through the dodge.

-88 

-41

The shock tore through his shoulder like lightning, muscles short-circuiting as his Power Boost flickered out. The impact spun him around, sending him stumbling, momentarily disoriented as his brain tried to process what just happened.

That’s definitely gonna bruise. Or break. Or both.

Sportsmaster didn’t wait for him to recover. The mercenary was on him in an instant, driving a knee toward Zeke’s midsection. Zeke twisted, taking the blow on his hip rather than his stomach, but the force still sent him sprawling across the floor like a thrown rag doll.

“Stay down, kid,” Sportsmaster advised, retrieving his hammer with a practiced flick of the wrist. “This ain’t your weight class.”

Zeke pushed himself up, ignoring the throb in his arm and hip. “Funny thing about weight classes,” he said, gathering blue energy between his palms, “they don’t really account for superpowers.”

He thrust both hands forward, releasing a dual concentrated blast of mana. Sportsmaster sidestepped, but one of the energy bursts clipped his shoulder, spinning the burly man half around. Zeke pressed the advantage, sprinting forward with another quick Power Boost that propelled him to twice his already impressive speed.

He delivered a rapid series of punches—right hook to the kidney, left jab to the sternum, right uppercut to the chin—each impact punctuated with a flash of golden light as he channeled will through his fists. Again and again, his hands moved in a blur, hitting with the force of a jackhammer against concrete.Martial Arts (Basic) + 1Lv 22

For the first time, Sportsmaster gave ground, forced back with each blow, his breathing audibly harder behind the mask. “Solid form,” the mercenary acknowledged, blocking Zeke’s next punch with his forearm. “Someone’s been teaching you.”

“Wildcat, Black Canary…” Zeke replied, ducking under a swipe of the hammer. “Plus, you know, YouTube tutorials.”

That actually earned a chuckle from Sportsmaster—right before he feinted with the hammer and the world tilted sideways, stars exploding in Zeke’s vision as something connected with his temple.

-62

Did he just—

Sportsmaster had. 

The man had hit him so fast he hadn’t even seen it coming.

Fuck me, it’s Bane all over again.

Genesis staggered back, desperately raising a Mana Shield as Sportsmaster pressed his advantage. The javelin struck the energy barrier once, twice, three times in rapid succession, each impact sending cracks spiderwebbing through the blue light like broken glass.

Across the room, Red Arrow was firing arrows with machine-gun precision while dodging Cheshire’s relentless attacks. One of his arrows flew wide, exploding against a column near Zeke with a concussive blast that rattled his already scrambled brain.

The distraction cost him. His shield faltered, and Sportsmaster’s next blow caught him hard in the chest.

Ngggh! Blue eyes went wide as the contents of his stomach hit the back of his throat, the force of the hit lifting him clean off his feet.

-113

The force… the force was no fucking joke.

Physics was weird in a certain way even with superpowers.Just because someone didn’t have proper super strength, it didn’t mean they couldn’t hit like a sledgehammer with the right momentum and training, especially if they were pretty damn strong already themselves, even if humanly.Genesis remembered a few things about stuff like that. Like, for instance, Mike Tyson was said to hit with impact force regularly exceeding a sledgehammer hit even from strong people themselves, not the average person. When it came to a world where people could train to do shit like leap over moving trains and kick down trees (looking at you, Batman), it was only gonna get crazier.In this case, it was pretty damn crazy.The way Sportsmaster hit him now was that kind of crazy. The punch was enough to send Genesis airborne, over a hundred pounds of teenage sidekick sent flying back and crashing into the remains of a buffet table as his brain tried to reboot its core functions. Oh god, he’s worse than Bane, he thought with a wheeze. Platters clattered to the floor around him, caviar and fancy hors d’oeuvres spreading beneath him like abstract art.

-55-38-26

He blinked himself back into his brain cells working and the first thing he realized, past the pain, was that he tasted blood already, blood and vomit, both in the back of his throat.The second thing he realized, again past the pain, was that any part of him that claimed his ribs weren’t screaming like a Looney Tunes character was a goddamn liar. Either way, he forced himself back to his feet anyway, because the alternative was worse.

“You know what, Little Boy Blue, you’re a quick one,,” Sportsmaster said, approaching with an unhurried confidence that pissed Zeke all the way off. “But you telegraph your moves. Left shoulder drops before you throw that right. Eyes widen when you’re about to use your powers.” He twirled the javelin like he was leading a marching band. “Sloppy.”

Zeke spat blood onto the once-pristine floor, his phlegmy red saliva landing on a bunch of something that he assumed was some kind of Rhelasian delicacy. He didn’t really care, it was all on the floor now anyway. “Thanks for the constructive criticism.” He struggled to his feet, gathering what energy he had left. “In related news, your daughter’s really hot, sir.”

Sportsmaster almost paused, the javelin nearly freezing mid-twirl. “…kid, I’m already trying to kill ya. Don’t make this personal.”

A flicker of satisfaction warmed Zeke’s chest. He’d managed to throw the guy off balance, if only for a second. Filed away for future reference: Sportsmaster has serious daddy issues.“You didn’t even ask which one ‘cause I could’ve been talking about Ninja Girl over there, but I’m not… this time.” Genesis continued, a grin spreading across his face as he flashed the man blood-speckled teeth. “See, I’m not too much a fan of blondes, personally, but I’d make an exception for her. Might ask her out for Halloween.”Now, Sportsmaster properly froze, the burly man’s muscles visibly tensing. “Bluey… I want you to know that when I kill you with prejudice… that prejudice has nothing to do with your race or your color.”Now it was Zeke’s turn to freeze a little. “…okay, but when you bring that up, it kind of sounds like it does, though.”

The moment of distraction cost Sportsmaster. A red arrow streaked past Zeke’s shoulder, exploding into foam that engulfed the mercenary’s right arm and javelin.

“Having trouble with the babysitter?” Red Arrow called, ducking under one of Cheshire’s sais.

“Says the guy who’s been playing cat and mouse for the last two minutes!” Zeke shot back, gathering energy for another attack. “At least put a collar on her or something!”

Sportsmaster had already broken free of the foam, but the interruption had given Zeke precious seconds to recover. He charged forward, feinting with a Mana Burst before dropping into a baseball slide between the mercenary’s legs. As he passed underneath, he unleashed twin impacts to the backs of Sportsmaster’s knees.

The big man staggered but didn’t fall. He spun with surprising agility, the hammer already whistling toward Zeke’s head.

Zeke twisted, the hammer missing by millimeters, close enough that he felt the wind of its passage ruffle his hair. He countered with a rapid series of jabs, each one reinforced with a small mana burst on impact.

-3 

-1 

-2

Pain shot through his knuckles with each hit—punching Sportsmaster was like punching a brick wall wrapped in leather. But he was landing blows, forcing the mercenary to give ground inch by hard-earned inch.

“Not bad,” Sportsmaster grunted, catching Zeke’s next punch in a grip like iron. “But what did I say about not bad before?”– 16

He yanked Zeke forward, pulling him off-balance. F—

Blue eyes widened again.

-166

Then they squeezed shut as Sportsmaster slammed a knee that had never once skipped leg day into his stomach with enough force to lift him off the ground. All the air left Zeke’s lungs in a rush, and for a terrible moment, he couldn’t breathe at all, couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but hang there suspended on pure pain.

Before Zeke could recover, Sportsmaster wrapped a massive hand around his throat and lifted him off the ground like he weighed nothing at all.

-22

The hockey mask stared back impassively as Zeke clawed at the fingers crushing his windpipe.

-17 

-19 

-13

“Hate to do this, Blue. Really do. Ain’t big on killing kids, even ones grown enough to fight to the death like real men. But you? You got heart,” The man was close enough to Zeke’s face that he didn’t doubt with the mask off Sportmaster’s breath would have hit his ear like smoke off gravel on a hot summer day. “Talent, too. Last time I saw you, you were tripping over crates in that wetback’s drug den. Now look at you. Kid’s got footwork. And that power…” He clicked his tongue, voice still sounding just as gruff as any pack-a-day smoker. “Ooh, boy.”-21 

-11

-13“Give it, what? Eight, ten years? You’d make one hell of a cape. Not soft, not dumb. Someone’s gotta hold the line when some of my employers get too out of sorts. But then you opened your mouth about my girls. You made it personal the second you ever thought that was funny. And as a father…” Sportsmaster let out a low chuckle, the fifty-five year old man shaking his head a little as his grip tightened, “…well, I doubt you’d get that part.”

-22

-24 

-23

-26

-24

Black spots danced at the edges of Zeke’s vision as his lungs burned for oxygen. Desperately, he kicked out, catching Sportsmaster in the chest with both feet. The impact forced the mercenary back a step, loosening his grip just enough for Zeke to suck in a thin stream of air.

With his oxygen-starved brain screaming for relief, Zeke reached deep into his core of blue, running off instinct and panic and raw desperation.

“[Mana… NOVA]!” he gasped.

Blue energy exploded outward from every pore of his body, a miniature supernova of mana that sent Sportsmaster flying backward. The mercenary crashed through three tables before rolling to his feet, his armor smoking from the blast.

Skill Created!Mana Nova Lv 1Last resort or first strike—dealer’s choice.Unleash a devastating omnidirectional blast of raw mana energy.Damage: 30% of INT x Skill LevelRange: 10 feetCost: 100 MP

Zeke dropped to his hands and knees, gulping air like a drowning man trying to breathe in all the oxygen he’d ever missed. His entire body trembled, muscles spasming from the aftereffects of channeling so much energy at once. Status notifications flickered at the edges of his vision warning him about lack of air and other bullshit, but he was too focused on basic biology—breathe in, breathe out—to read them.

Sportsmaster was already recovering, reaching for another weapon on his belt. But his attention shifted suddenly, looking past Zeke toward the center of the room.

Zeke turned to see Cheshire rushing forward with a cart, the woman making a rapid beeline directly toward the North and South Rhelasian leaders, both men huddled behind a makeshift barricade of overturned tables. The cart’s contents were hidden by a cloth, but Zeke didn’t need his Observe ability to guess what it was.

“Shesgotabomb!” he shouted, struggling to his feet.

Red Arrow was pinned down by Shadow operatives, his bow trained on Cheshire but unable to get a clear shot. The room seemed to slow as adrenaline kicked Zeke’s perception into overdrive.

He didn’t need to plan or strategize or even think, everything else in his brain rushing aside as he relied on pure instinct again as Genesis thrust both glowing hands forward and screamed at the top of his lungs, “[Mana Shield]!”

Light formed at the far end of the room, blue and bright and big, all his energy materializing in front of the leaders’ position in the form of a wall the full height of the ballroom itself, the whole thing curved to redirect the blast. Zeke poured everything he had into it, the shield growing thicker, brighter, wider, as he pushed his power to its absolute limits.

Mana Shield + 1

The shockwave hit almost as as hard as a full-force punch from Sportsmaster himself, the raw blast from the explosive sending Genesis airborne and throwing him backward a few good feet before he caught himself and landed back on shaky feet.– 120– 31C-come on. Even stll, he kept his shield up, focused as hard as he could even as it began to give way under the force, fractures spreading across its surface like spiderwebs. He flooded it with more mana, desperately trying to hold it together.Mana Shield + 4Lv 15

The barrier held—barely—redirecting the worst of the blast upward and outward, away from the dignitaries. But it wasn’t anything easy. He could feel how much the effort cost him, mana damn near drained to nothing, as he hit the floor hard, vision swimming, and ears ringing from the concussion.

That… really sucked.

Through blurred vision, he saw Sportsmaster moving with purpose toward the leaders, who were stunned but alive behind the remnants of Zeke’s shield. The mercenary had drawn a knife—smaller than his usual weapons, but no less deadly at close range.

Zeke tried to stand, but his legs refused to cooperate, sending white-hot jolts of pain up his spine every time he tried. His mana reserves were critically low, status warnings flashing urgently in his peripheral vision. He’d never make it in time.

Then, something unexpected happened.

The woman who had escorted him to Luthor’s suite—Mercy Graves—stepped between Sportsmaster and his targets. With mechanical precision, her right arm unfolded, transforming into a high-tech energy weapon that hummed with power. A beam of brilliant red light erupted from the cannon, narrowly missing Sportsmaster’s head as he dove sideways, the blast leaving a smoldering hole in the wall behind him.

Sportsmaster stood up and Zeke could almost swear he was grinning behind that mask with the way his eyes crinkled. “Another time,” he said, though whether to Mercy or the room at large wasn’t clear. He threw down a smoke pellet, the thick gray cloud instantly obscuring his position.

By the time the smoke cleared, the League of Shadows forces were in retreat, pulling back to the helicopter hovering outside the shattered windows. Cheshire was the last to leave, blowing a mocking kiss to Red Arrow before vanishing out the window.

Zeke lay on his back, staring at the ornate ceiling as his breathing slowly returned to normal. His entire body ached, and he was pretty sure he had at least one cracked rib. But they’d won—or at least, hadn’t lost. Which, in his book, counted as winning when you were facing someone who was apparently one of Deathstroke’s homeboys.

Security forces swarmed through the room, securing the perimeter and attending to the shocked dignitaries. Medical staff rushed to treat the injured. Through the chaos, Zeke spotted Lex Luthor, immaculate despite the destruction around him, speaking calmly to the leaders of North and South Rhelasia.

They were nodding, expressions of fear giving way to grudging respect as Mercy stood silently beside her employer, arm once again concealed beneath her suit sleeve as if it had never transformed into a weapon of mass destruction.

Red Arrow appeared above Zeke, offering a hand. “You still breathing?”

“Barely,” Zeke groaned, accepting the help up. His legs wobbled, but held. “Did we just… did we just get used?”

Arrow’s eyes narrowed as he watched Luthor charming the Rhelasian leaders. “The assassination attempt. The weapons demonstration. The convenient rescue.” His jaw tightened. “Luthor played everyone. He gets to be the hero and sell his security tech to both sides.”

Zeke glanced over at him and blinked. “How did you not figure that? Like, the moment he showed up? That was like my… second guess, I’m pretty sure.”

Red Arrow shot him a dirty look, but didn’t answer.

Across the room, Genesis spotted Luthor looking his way as the man offered him a small, subtle, self-satisfied absolutely Lex-like smile.

Zeke resisted the urge to flip him off. Instead, he turned to Red Arrow. “So, successful mission? The treaty’s still happening. Nobody important died.”

“Luthor gets everything he wanted,” Arrow said bitterly.

“Yeah, but so did we.” Zeke shrugged, then winced as his ribs protested. “Peace treaty signed, bad guys didn’t win, probably no war. I’m counting that as a win.”

Red Arrow looked like he wanted to argue, or at least that’s what Zeke figured the constipated look he had on his face had to be.Mission Success! 

Defending The Peace

Gained: 20000 XP, Increased reputation with Red ArrowStill, after a moment, the redhead simply let his shoulders slump and ran a hand through his crew-cut. A sigh escaped his lips, the sound almost sounding painful before he stood up straight again and that domino mask focused on Zeke. “…Look, you did okay back there. For a kid.”

Oh wow, he really does care. He smiled back through the pain, definitely sure his ribs had almost hit the threshold for an actual crack during that whole mess with the meanest PE teacher in existence. “You too. For a jerk.”

The archer almost smiled. Almost. “We should probably get out of here before the real police show up. These diplomatic situations get messy.”

“Yeah, plus I think I’m banned from this hotel now,” Zeke said, glancing at the destroyed ballroom. “Something about excessive property damage.”

As they made their way toward the exit, Zeke cast one last look back at Luthor, who was now posing for photos with the Rhelasian leaders, Mercy standing impassively at his side.

Just as good as I thought. He wasn’t sure what it meant that Lex was living up to his expectations but Suoerman wasn’t.He definitely wasn’t sure he liked it.

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –

Ezekiel Patrick Armstrong

Class: Sidekick

Title: None

Level: 26

XP: 17000/29000

Age: 13

HP: 1260/1260

MP: 495/495

Will: 460/460

STR: 80

SPD: 55

VIT: 85

INT: 75

WIS: 9

CHA: 15

Stat Points: 3

Cash: $83,275