Henry was a different child. Of course, all children are different, but he was truly unique. As a result, it became increasingly difficult for him to fit in with others. During elementary school, this was obvious. The children he interacted with were fairly open-minded, so he could easily win their sympathy, and the few friends he still had today all came from that period. It was in middle school that things started to go wrong. His father had enrolled him in a private school, so all his friends ended up at the local public school and he found himself alone again. Add to that the fact that puberty was not kind to Henry and that his unusual attitude got him into trouble, and you can guess what happened next.
In addition to being spotty, wearing ugly braces on his teeth, and sporting round glasses like the perfect nerd victim, Henry also had a tendency to trust anyone. As a result, people often played tricks on him, such as telling him that a teacher was absent when they weren't, telling him that an exam had been moved, or taking advantage of his gullibility in other ways. On top of that, Henry was friendly with everyone, so some people, in particular, misinterpreted his thoughts. Finally, he was often the victim of bullying and didn't have the courage to talk about it with his teachers or even his parents. Alone and unloved, he went through some truly painful times.
Despite this, the party continued at his house. Whether it was his older brother, Leopold, whom he admired and loved with all his heart, even though Leopold took advantage of his kindness to pass on his household chores to him and excluded him from his life, finding Henry annoying; or his father, a man raised in coldness who so desperately did not want to repeat this with his children, talking a lot, very often awkwardly, and hiding behind a deep bad faith, always pretending to act and speak for the good of his children. Henry loved his father but was afraid to talk to him. He was afraid of having a different opinion from him, of doing something differently from him, of not being what he wanted him to be.
And he wasn't what his father expected him to be. His father had a preconceived image of what a man should be. A man had to be strong, study hard to get a job, and not a "subordinate job" like a YouTuber or artist. He had to know about mechanics and, above all, as the head of the household, he had complete authority over the people who lived there, especially if he was the father, and he didn't necessarily have to take care of household chores, since his children and wife were there. Also, the children were not to question their father, otherwise it would be disrespectful. Henry was not particularly strong; he wanted to become a novelist, a profession that required more culture and imagination than specific academic knowledge. Motorized vehicles frightened him, and he imagined himself as a stay-at-home dad, taking care of the house and his children while writing. He also believed that respect and submission were two different things.
It was in high school that he finally began to express himself. He explained to his brother that he was fed up and defended his positions to his father. It was a waste of time. His father always told him, "I'm your father, I'm right," and thought that if Henry "rebelled," it was only because he was a teenager and that when he was his age, he would understand that his father was right about everything. This annoyed Henry, who tried to control himself, but despite his efforts, his father began to treat him like a delinquent just because he had a different opinion.
Things weren't much better at school. Henry had trouble making friends, even though he was no longer being bullied because his pimples and braces were gone. However, he was now wary of people and found it difficult to trust them. More than once, he was criticized for being "too distant," or sometimes, when he felt a little more confident, he was called "intrusive."
This really annoyed him, and he gradually began to shut himself off from others, telling himself that he couldn't please anyone. Another thing that prevented him from fitting in was that he didn't like the same things as everyone else. The popular genres were pop and rap, but he was more into hard rock and heavy metal. Everyone was talking about the latest TV series, but he was more of a fan of films from the 80s and 90s. Finally, while manga was popular among his generation, he preferred comics. Many would say that today's society has moved beyond these considerations, but Henry was convinced otherwise. If he didn't listen to rap, he was considered closed-minded. However, if others didn't listen to metal, it was just a matter of taste.
Despite this, the young man's mother couldn't understand why her son had trouble making friends. She had raised her boy properly and thought he was kind. For his father, the answer was simple. Based on his biased interactions with his son, namely a calm and relaxed conversation when suddenly the father decided to make a disparaging remark to his child, motivating him to no longer want to talk to him, he was convinced that it was all his fault and that his bad temper had harmed him. This often led to arguments between the two, and the father would decide to go to bed before his wife, taking the time to annoy his son by telling him that it was all his fault.
At high school, as in his family, Henry was unloved and unable to respond. Why? Because he had been raised to believe that if he dared to defend himself, he would be in the wrong, no matter what happened. So he just took it. He hardly spoke to his father except at the dinner table, and he walked the halls of his high school alone, wondering, "Why do I exist?" A month before the end of the first term, it was the last straw. Sitting at the end of a deserted table in the cafeteria, he played with his mashed potatoes drowned in sauce from meat that resembled a sponge. To occupy his loneliness, he had his headphones on and was listening to Saxon's latest album.
He tapped the rhythm of the music on his tray, knowing it by heart. He immersed himself in it, closed off from the outside world and blocking out all the people and their incessant movements that would stress out any agoraphobic. The chair opposite him was empty, but he stared at it desperately, imagining that a new student would take his place. He was already dreaming that it would be a newcomer, that his principal would send him to show him around and that they would become friends. Or maybe they wouldn't get along at first, but after a great adventure, they would become friends like in buddy movies. But he knew it, the adventure would never come to him. He was just one guy among many who fantasized on their way home.
To his surprise, he saw the chair move. It was a guy he knew. The same height as him, he was wearing a denim jacket over a white hoodie. With brown, slightly slicked-back hair, he had a smug smile. The kind who acts tough when surrounded by his gang but disappears when he's alone or faced with someone he knows is stronger than him. He slumped in his chair and rocked it back. He had two other friends with him. A gnome and a tall beanpole. The guy in the hoodie waved at him and Henry took off his helmet.
"Hi, James," Henry said jadely.
"Hi," he replied with an air of power. "Is the food good?"
"Not great, you know the cafeteria?"
"To tell you the truth, I don't give a shit," he said, straightening up with his elbows on the table. "I've heard some not-so-nice things about you and my girlfriend."
"I don't see how I could possibly be involved with Mary."
"You won't be, and I'll make sure of it."
"How?"
"I heard you were looking at her. That's not true, is it?"
"She's pretty, it's true, but it never crossed my mind."
"That's good," he said, as if talking to his dog.
Henry put his headphones back on and resumed his meal. Someone snatched them from him, and he saw James holding them in his hand. He stepped forward, but the other leaned back in his chair and said,
"Hey, hey, hey!"
"Give it back to me."
"We're not done talking."
"I told you I don't care about your girlfriend."
"When I talk to you, you listen to me," he said aggressively. "It's called respect!"
"You're not my dad!"
"You're not my dad," he mimicked in a nasal voice. "Don't touch my girlfriend, and if you ever go near her, I'll beat you up, got it?"
Henry remained silent.
"Got it ?" asked James.
"Got it," replied Henry.
"Good dog," he said, handing him back his helmet.
James got up and left with his two other friends. Henry remained motionless, his eyes fixed on the table, then looked up for a moment. People were pointing at him, laughing at him, and there were no supervisors in sight. Suddenly, he heard James say aloud to his friends:
"I told you, he's just a sissy. He acts all tough with his square shoulders, but in reality, he's just a scared idiot."
"Aren't you afraid?" asked the tall one.
"Of him? If he tries anything, I'll beat him up."
He'd had enough. Henry put his helmet back on his neck, climbed onto his table, and grabbed his tray full of mashed potatoes. He jumped on James and pinned him to the ground. Surprised, his friends didn't know what to do. Henry turned James over and smeared his food on his face before hitting him a second time with his tray. The impact was so strong that it broke in two. After that, he grabbed him by the collar and hit him again and again and again with all his strength with his left fist. He had broken his nose, knocked out a tooth, and his right eye was turning red. With each blow, he thought back on everything he had been through. With each blow, he screamed out his frustration and sadness. When his knuckles turned red, he exhaled as James began to break down in tears.
They then grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed him back. He recognized two of the guards who were never there when he needed them. He shoved them aside and joined James, who had been helped to his feet by another guard. He looked at him with the same contempt he had shown him earlier. "Dirty bastard," he thought. When James saw him, he trembled all over.
"So," Henry asked. "Who's going to explode now?"
The matter was referred to the high school principal, and when he was in the principal's office, he was told that what had just happened was serious. His parents were then called, and while his mother trembled with fear, his father simply said, "I'm not surprised." After a conversation with the school staff, the three of them found themselves in the family car. After a few moments, his father asked angrily,
"Don't you have anything to say?"
"No."
"Of course, you'll never say anything to me."
The young man clenched his fist.
"Phil, maybe this isn't the right time..."
"Not the right time? Not the right time? When the hell is the right time?!! Look at our son, he's a fucking delinquent! I've been telling you this for years and years, and look at the result! You're always defending him, saying he's not well and all that, but look! He sent one of his classmates to the hospital! He doesn't respect anything or anyone anymore! If he keeps this up, he'll end up on the wrong path, that's for sure!"
He paused for a moment.
"But don't worry, I'll train that animal! He'll finally become a good person! He'll stop jumping on people for no reason! He..."
With a brisk step, Henry got out of the car and began walking in the pouring rain. The father stopped his car and got out too. He grabbed Henry's jacket, but Henry pulled away. He grabbed him again, but Henry pulled away again. Angered, Phil reached out and threw a punch at Henry. Henry dodged it and threw a hook at his father, who fell to the ground. When he came to his senses, he looked at his child as one would look at a monster.
"I... I...I...I'm your father!" he stammered.
"So what!" Henry exclaimed. "Because you're my father, that gave you the right to say all the things you've said to me over the last ten years? Because you're my father, you had the right to say mean things to me whenever we talked? Because you're my father, did you have the right to make me feel like I'll never be good enough? Because you're my father, did you have the right to walk all over me to ensure you had complete control over your house? Because you're my father, did you have the right to do to me everything that was done to me in class? No! You didn't have the right! You never had the right! And I'm sick of it! I'm sick of you being mean and belittling me when you would never accept anyone else doing that to me! I'm sick of everyone thinking they can do whatever they want to me and that as soon as I defend myself, I'm considered a monster! I'm sick of living in an environment where, if I let myself be pushed around, I'm just a loser, and if I don't let myself be pushed around, I'm an asshole! I'm sick of it! I want to be respected and I want people to stop taking me for granted or treating me like a servant! That boy I hurt, do you know what he was doing? For several weeks, he had been bothering me over and over again, and "out of respect," as you would say, I did nothing! Today, I got tired of being treated like a clown! I just want to be respected as a human being!"
He suddenly glanced at his mother and couldn't quite make out her emotions because of the rain. He thought he saw fear, but she was actually smiling slightly, relieved to see that her son was still the person she had raised. Because of this misunderstanding, Henry took off running. He crossed several streets, several avenues, several alleys, and finally arrived near the city's port. When he stopped, he took a moment to breathe, thinking about what he had just done: he had run away. He put his hands in his pockets and began walking along the river. The meeting between the principal and his parents had gone on for a while, and it was already 8 p.m. Glancing to his right, he saw a pleasant-looking bar. It was called Oldie's.
He walked up to the door and pushed it open. The interior had an old-fashioned feel to it. In addition to playing Frank Sinatra, the owner had also decorated the walls with hand-drawn posters of classic films. 12 Angry Men, North by Northwest, and Dial M for Murder hung above the tables. He sat down on one of the stools near the counter and asked the bartender if he could have a ham and butter sandwich with a soda. After a few moments, he gave him his sandwich but replaced the soda with a beer. He looked at him intrigued, and he replied, "Because you look like you're having a bad day." While he was eating his sandwich, another guy walked in. He was wearing a large, wet coat and hiding his head under a hat. Henry didn't look at him and just heard the man ask for a glass of whiskey.
When the glass arrived, the man drank it in one gulp with a quick movement that caught the young man's eye. He turned his head and saw a few teeth shining in the darkness of the hat. As he asked for another glass, Henry could see the man's teeth more clearly. It looked as if he was missing every other tooth. He then lowered his eyes and saw the whiskey drinker's hand. His skin was deathly pale and appeared to have been stitched up in several places. The man's fingers were skeletal, and they grasped the whiskey glass again. He drank it in one gulp, then without warning anyone, smashed his glass and slashed the bartender's neck before turning to Henry.
He lunged at him, but the runaway dodged him by deliberately sliding off his stool. On the floor, he saw his attacker's bare feet. They were like his hands: skeletal, livid, stitched together. He sneered heartily, then dropped the glass, which shattered on the floor. He then removed his raincoat and hat, revealing a horrific sight. A living corpse, stitched up all over and wearing gray overalls with black stripes over a white tank top, laughing heartily. His face was inhuman. As mentioned earlier, he was missing an incalculable number of teeth. His "skin" clung to his skull, and sunken, bloodshot eyes stared madly at Henry. He had no eyebrows, and his nose was flattened against his face. Finally, there were only a few sparse blond hairs scattered across his skull.
Attached to his overalls was a sheath containing a Honesuki, a Japanese knife often used for boning meat. On the other side was a small brown cloth bag, closed like a purse filled with gold coins. One detail, however, intrigued Henry even more. He had a rather unusual watch on his wrist. It was white, and instead of a dial, it had a blue screen. He then turned to the six other customers in the bar and took out his knife. He jumped on the first one and plunged the blade into his heart. Then he slit the throats of two others before grabbing a woman by the hair. Feeling his heart about to give out, Henry decided to turn around and slowly got to his feet, freezing when he heard screams of terror and pain. Once standing, he looked behind him and saw the cadaverous man covered in the blood of his victims. He crouched over the woman's body and plunged his knife into her right eye. With skill, he pulled it out and it fell into his hand. He then opened his small purse and placed the eye inside. He turned back to Henry, who stammered:
"It's impossible, you're an imitator. You don't exist."
" It's true that the boss told me that your world stinks of normality," he replied in a disturbed tone. "But hey, at least that means I won't have any idiot dressed up as a crow coming after me."
"No!"
He jumped on him, and Henry grabbed one of the stools to block him. He held him at bay for a moment, then backed away from the psychopath's thrust. He regained a few inches, then hit him in the face with his makeshift weapon, causing him to retreat for a moment. The blow delivered with the legs of the stools had twisted his face. The madman turned back to face his target, his jaw hanging and his skin slightly torn. He reset his jaw, opened his purse, and grabbed an eye. He threw it into his throat and swallowed it. He removed his hand and his skin roughly stitched itself back together.
"Oh, no," Henry whispered in horror. "You can't be him. You can't be the Stitched."
"How do you explain that, then?" he asked slyly, pointing to the bloody tip of his knife.
Henry turned his head and saw that a large gash, from his shoulder to his elbow, was bleeding profusely, staining his jacket purple. He felt himself swaying when the Stitched's scream woke him up. He launched several knife attacks, which the frightened man managed to fend off as best he could with his stool. Luckily, he took advantage of a moment of imbalance to disarm the serial killer. His blade fell to the ground. Without thinking, Henry swung the stool again, but it missed. The Stitched had fallen backward, then, pushing off with his hands, had propelled himself forward with his feet against Henry.
He hit him in the stomach, and his target crashed into the wall, tearing down a poster as he fell to the floor. The Stitched got up, picked up his weapon, and jumped on Henry again. He wrapped his legs around Henry's ribs, who had just gotten back up, and began to crush them. He let out a groan, which sent the Stitched into ecstasy. He then grabbed Henry's right shoulder, raised his right hand armed with his knife, and brought it down on him. At the last moment, Henry grabbed the Stitched's wrists, stopping his attack. Despite this, his hand grew weaker and weaker, and the blade moved closer to his eye.
"I'm sure your mother has told you this many times, but you have beautiful eyes, you know."
Henry responded only with a breath of futile effort.
"You're right, she won't be able to tell you that anymore since you'll never see your home again!"
"Teleportation: Home," said a voice coming from his strange watch.
"Huh?" they said together.
Suddenly, white halos grew larger and larger, eventually surrounding the two men who were fighting. Henry felt himself shaking and then exploding. Everything went black. Was he dead? No. He could feel his consciousness but not his body. He imagined himself becoming a current of air floating in the void. After a few moments, he felt his eyes and reopened them. He could see the sky and felt himself falling. He screamed and hit a trash can, then a wall directly in front of him, before falling onto bags of garbage.
"Oh, damn it. My back," he groaned as he struggled to get up.
He put his hand on the wall and took a few sharp breaths. When he bothered to look around, he realized he was in a filthy alley, the ground covered with small steel trash cans with lids, large plastic trash cans, and black bags. There was also some ugly graffiti on one of the walls. Panic gripped him and he glanced behind him. The Stitched was on the ground. He was starting to get up, but he hadn't noticed Henry's presence. Knowing that this was his chance, he looked around the alley and saw a baseball bat sticking out of a trash bag. He grabbed it, got into position, and when the psychopath finally had his back to him, he hit him as hard as he could on the head, knocking him out instantly and sending him crashing to the ground. As he fell, he broke his watch. Without noticing this, Henry threw away his bat and ran away.
He left the alley and ended up in a huge square reminiscent of Times Square, but the steps had disappeared and the images displayed on the giant screens were nothing like the ones he knew. In the middle of the crowd, he knew he was safe. He ran his hand through his hair, noticing the wound on his arm. He then spotted a bench and headed in its direction. Facing it, he sat down and tore the bottom of his T-shirt. He wrapped it around his arm and, after tying a knot, tightened it to close the wound. It was mediocre, but it would do. While he was doing this, he thought about everything that had just happened. It couldn't have happened. It couldn't be true. He had just fought a fictional character or a very good impersonator.
He had known the Stitched for five years. First appearing in issue 32 of the Raven-Lad comic book series, he was a supervillain. His real identity was William Colins. He was a psychopath willing to do anything to be immortal. In his quest for eternal life, he discovered that by sacrificing a pure soul, he could achieve longevity by regularly ingesting human eyes. To do this, he became a serial killer, and while his early appearances suggested that he killed out of necessity, it was revealed in issue 54 that he also killed for pleasure, earning him the title of psychopath. Henry had just fought against a character from one of his favorite comic books.He then looked up and realized something. The shape of the buildings, the distinctive color of the night, the orange taxis he was no longer in his city. He was in Wing City, the city where the Stitched committed his crimes.
He really needed to walk. He stood up and put his headphones on. He took out his phone, found the right song, and started walking to Scorpion. He walked with his hands in his pockets. As he walked, he recognized several well-known places in Wing City. The Atlas Observatory, whose base was shaped like a huge statue of the Greek god, Connor Tower, headquarters of Kyle Connor's cutting-edge technology company Connor Industries, and finally he passed by Corvus Park, although he preferred not to linger there, knowing full well what would happen to him. He then stopped on a street he knew well: Charlton Street.
This street was very important to anyone familiar with the history of Wing City. In the middle of it stood a rental building where one of the city's most terrible tragedies had taken place. A criminal known as the Genealogist had brutally murdered a couple and their eight-year-old son. He was credited with this crime because his calling card was found there, a tree drawn with the blood of his victims on a wall. He was so named because when he killed someone, he made sure that their close family members would join them. Thus, by killing parents, he also killed their children. However, one thing that few people knew about this tragedy was that, this time, the Genealogist had failed. The parents had not one but two children. While the first was killed, the second was lucky enough to escape the massacre, and his existence was hidden from the media so that he would not be hunted down by the criminal. No one knew what had become of this child.
Even less was known about what had become of the killer. Some theorized about his death, others said he had left town, while still others thought he was a police officer, which would explain why he left no trace. Finally, some suggested that there was not one but several murderers. Thinking back on all this, it reminded him of how eagerly he used to read all those stories.
Feeling that he had listened to enough music, he took off his headphones and heard movement in an alley between the building where the tragedy had taken place and its neighbor. He moved forward slowly, hearing the breathing of an injured person. When he reached the alley, he saw something that sent a shiver down his spine. Sitting on the ground and staring at the wall, he saw a man. He took out his phone and turned on the light, blinding the injured man. He was wearing a strange outfit. It consisted of a black jumpsuit decorated with gray markings at the joints. He had boots made of a material resembling steel and gray gloves with sharp claws. He wore a black cape on his shoulders that resembled the feathers on a bird's wings and a mask that looked like a crow's beak with red eyes. Finally, he had a raven on his chest spreading its black wings, drawn with gray lines.
Henry approached him and held out his hand. The disguised man appeared to have several cuts on his body, and blood was flowing from his head. He looked at him suspiciously. They did not move for a few minutes. The silence was broken when Henry said candidly, "Let me help you." A minute passed as the man lowered his head. He clung to the wall and then stood up. He put one foot in front of the other and then fell toward Henry. Reflexively, the teenager caught him.
"Sir? Sir?" he called, but received no response.
Without asking any questions, he wrapped his arm around the man dressed as a bird and walked in a direction he knew. A few meters further on, he stopped in front of a private building. According to common belief, only one floor was occupied, the top floor, while the others were officially deserted. This was not the case, and Henry knew it. At the foot of the large white building, he stood in front of the golden doors and glanced at the intercom. He pressed the button, awkwardly trying not to drop the injured man. After a few seconds, he received a response.
"Connor Residence, how can I help you?"
"Mrs. Abigail, this is urgent. I have Mr. Connor with me. He's injured."
"That surprises me," replied the woman on the intercom. "He's right here in front of me."
"No need to cover for him, I know that Raven-Lad and he are one and the same."
The communication was cut off immediately and the doors opened. He entered with the owner of the premises and walked into a small empty hall. The only elevator in the room opened, and a blonde woman with green eyes dressed in a tailcoat rushed over to him. She took the injured man by his other arm and said,
"We have to take him to the infirmary."
They both went into the elevator, and the woman asked Henry:
"Press..."
She didn't finish because she heard the elevator say :
"Ninth floor."
"But... How?" said the woman named Abigail in surprise.
"I'll explain."
On the ninth floor, Abigail got out of the elevator and took Raven-Lad with her. She then looked at Henry and said:
"Go to the living room and don't touch anything. I assume you know where it is?"
"Top floor."
He pressed the number twenty button, and after two minutes, the elevator doors opened onto a beautiful apartment. The floor was covered with a huge red carpet, and in the center of it was a rounded red leather sofa facing a fireplace. On the left wall of the room were several bookcases filled with detective novels and tragic plays. Between two of these bookcases stood a suit of armor proudly bearing a halberd. Between the other two bookcases was a mannequin wearing an ancient African outfit and a mask, observing the room.
To the right of the entrance, a bay window overlooking the streets of Wing City caught the young man's eye. Behind the window, a luxurious balcony offered a magnificent view. Just walking on the red carpet, just looking at the decorations in the room, he remembered the legendary scenes that had taken place here. He remembered the moment when Kyle Connor realized that to fight crime he would have to take on the guise of a crow; the moment when supervillains took the billionaire hostage and demanded Raven-Lad's presence in exchange, which was impossible; or the time when the Eagle Clan stormed the apartment, having discovered the billionaire's double identity.
He felt a slight shiver run through him. All his life, Henry had dreamed of this. At night, he imagined himself as a superhero facing all kinds of dangers in a city ravaged by crime, where he would embody hope, a city where he would know why he existed. Although the circumstances were somewhat morbid, he had just realized his dream. He was in the most famous city in comic book history, and he had just saved his protector.
Thinking back on this, he sat down on the sofa and grabbed the remote control lying on it. He pressed the power button and the fireplace moved back to reveal a screen. He flipped through the channels, watching a little of the news from this world. He stopped when he felt something cold on the back of his neck.
"I thought I told you not to touch anything," said Abigail.
He put down his remote control and slowly turned around. She was pointing a six-shooter at him.
"I apologize, in the heat of the moment I forgot my manners."
"Heat of the moment?"
"I've always dreamed of coming here."
"Who are you?"
"I... My name is Henry, Henry Conrad."
"Who sent you? Play-Child? The Sandman? Doctor Elements?"
"No one sent me. I shouldn't be here."
"Exactly. How do you know all this? How do you know about Kyle's identity? His secrets, his tower?"
"You wouldn't believe me."
"Tell me," she replied, lowering the dog. "If you think I won't dare, you're wrong."
"I know Raven-Lad promised not to kill, but nothing is stopping you."
"Answer my questions instead of stating the obvious."
"I come from another world."
"Another planet?"
"From another planet Earth."
She looked at him questioningly for a moment, then began to lower her weapon.
"Where I come from," Henry continued, "you, Mr. Connor, and all the others you just mentioned are fictional characters from comic books. I read a lot of these comic books, so I know your story inside out."
"Who am I, then?"
"You are Abigail Dupré, daughter of Paul Dupré, a veteran of the Algerian War, and Charlie Dupré, a former French police officer. You attended college in the United States, which is where you met Kyle Connor and became best friends. Thanks to your military training, you taught Mr. Connor many of the skills he needed to train for his fight against crime. After he told you his story, you volunteered to actively support him, and when he began his career as a vigilante, you officially became the bodyguard of his billionaire alter ego. You were also almost married when... "
"Stop," she said. "I understand, you're telling the truth. It hardly surprises me. Kyle always told me that parallel universes existed. Yet I never expected to see one of their offspring one day."
"That explains a lot, then," said a third, much deeper voice.
They turned their heads and saw the one who had just spoken. He was quite tall, around 6'4", with a muscular, well-defined torso covered in bandages. He was wearing sweatpants and had a scar on his right eyelid. His brown hair was closely cropped.
"I only heard the end of your conversation," he continued. "That explains why you were in front of the building where it all happened. Come to the lab."
Excited, Henry stepped over the couch and joined Kyle Connor in the elevator. Determined to keep an eye on him, Abigail followed them.
"Kyle, this isn't reasonable," she said. "With everything you ate last night, you need to rest."
"I'll rest when I've finished my investigation."
They went down several floors and arrived in front of a lab. Once again, Henry was on familiar ground. It was exactly like in his comic books. Steel floors and walls enclosed the room, making it invisible to anyone outside. There were no windows or entrances except for the elevator. At first shrouded in darkness, the room became brighter when neon lights came on. At the far end, there was a large blue screen displaying the same emblem as the one on Raven-Lad's costume. It was accompanied by a large keyboard with azure keys. Right next to the screen, a human-sized cylinder made of glass with steel joints stood in front of a kind of black camera mounted on a large tripod.
A few meters from the computer, there were two tables forming a path leading up to it. On the first table, Henry recognized some of Raven-Lad's iconic gadgets. Among them were the Claw, a grappling hook that allowed the vigilante to climb the walls of Wing City, the Croaking, balls that created sonic frequencies capable of disrupting an individual's senses or even knocking them out, and the Feathers, most of which were found on his cape and which he would occasionally unhook to throw at his enemies and disarm them.
On the other table, he recognized the instruments with which the feathered crusader conducted his experiments to solve crimes using science. Test tubes, Erlenmeyer flasks, pipettes, handling tweezers, and protective goggles were laid out on it. Just looking at it made Henry feel excited. He was at the heart of one of Raven-Lad's investigations. When they arrived at the computer, Kyle Connor began typing commands on the keyboard when he felt himself falter. He began to fall forward, but Henry caught him by the shoulder. A second later, Abigail arrived behind him, pushing a chair so her friend could sit down. He took his seat and continued typing his command. The screen displayed "analysis" and a 3D representation of the cylinder next to it appeared.
"Go to the scanner," Connor ordered.
"OK," Henry replied timidly, doing as he was asked.
Inside the glass and steel object, a transparent partition closed, and a green beam of light came out of the camera lens. The camera, mounted on a tripod, moved up and down. Meanwhile, Henry remained motionless while the platform on which he stood rotated 360°. When it stopped turning, the light went out and the partition opened. He stepped out of the cylinder and rejoined Abigail and Kyle. An image of planet Earth and a number next to it appeared on the screen.
"Earth 121,864," Connor said. "One of the two normal Earths."
"Is that my home?"
"I scanned you and your DNA sent me there."
He rubbed his chin and tilted his head a few degrees. Henry looked at him and asked,
"What is it?"
"This isn't the first time I've seen that number," he said. "It has something to do with my case."
"Is it related to the Stitched?"
Connor turned his head abruptly and stared at Henry.
"He's the reason I'm here."
"How so?" Abigail asked in surprise.
"He came to my world to kill me."
"Why you, specifically?" asked the vigilante.
"I don't know. He killed other people before me, but he said something that really surprised me."
"What?"
"He said... How did he put it? Ah! That's it!" he exclaimed. "He said, 'It's true that the boss told me your world stinks of normality.' That's it."
"And what happened next?"
"We fought, and in the battle I accidentally activated his watch, which teleported us to your world."
"Watch?"
"Yes, he had a watch to teleport from his world to mine."
"That explains everything!"
He turned to his keyboard and brought up the files on current cases. He pulled out one with a photo of the Stitched, opened it, and a list appeared.
"What's this?" asked the young man.
"For several days, various technology companies throughout Wing City have been burglarized. The night guards were found with their eyes gouged out and the reinforced doors torn off by superhuman hands."
"It's signed by the Stitched and Hand-Smasher."
"Exactly. And relying on all the technology in this world, I couldn't find any way to connect everything they had, but now that you mention interdimensional travel and watches, it all makes sense."
"And if you found the number for my Earth twice tonight, it's certainly because the Stitched activated his watch in his lair..."
"... And I found traces of tachyons indicating your world thanks to the Wing-Bird's scanner..."
"...Your state-of-the-art plane, and so you went to the criminals' lair where the teleportation energy came from..."
"...But he was waiting for me, and that's why you found me in that alley."
"Um," Abigail coughed. "Am I interrupting?"
"Sorry," Henry said.
"There's one thing that's still unclear," she continued. "Why did you try to kill us? Kyle, I get it, but why you? You're just a regular kid who reads comic books, no offense."
"No offense," Henry replied, both disgusted and thoughtful.
"The question remains," Connor replied.
"Wait. What if we've been looking at the problem the wrong way?"
"How so?"
"We assumed that the Stitched's watch was a portal between this Earth and mine, but as you know, since you're the greatest genius in your world..."
"Don't flatter him, or he'll start believing it," Abigail interjected.
"You know that there aren't just two Earths, but an infinite number."
"Exactly."
"And what if it wasn't me specifically that he wanted to kill, but certain versions of me, or even all of them, since he's crazy?"
"All right, but why?"
"Maybe an alternate version of me did something that someone didn't like, and now he wants revenge?"
"That seems far-fetched to me."
"Let's take an example. You see Play-Child? He's your greatest enemy. If he had the opportunity to kill you over and over and over again, would he do it?"
"Definitely."
"Well, there you go."
"Maybe, but who would hate you enough to want to wipe you out of the entire multiverse?"
"No idea, but if anyone knows the answer, it's Stitched. We have to find him."
"In that case, luck is on your side," said a fourth voice.
All three turned their heads and saw the aforementioned psychopath accompanied by a guy who was at least nine feet tall. His arms and legs were massive, and instead of hands, he had steel prostheses that clanked loudly with every movement. He also wore cargo pants over his huge legs and had his feet encased in military boots. Finally, a crushed raven was tattooed on his chest, and his face wore an ivory mask with the features of a woman.
Connor stood up, glaring determinedly at the killer and his big brute. Once again, Henry felt his whole body shaking. It wasn't cool anymore. It wasn't exciting anymore. He was barely sixteen years old. He shouldn't be there. He should be at home. Abigail raised her weapon and pointed it at the two intruders.
"Who would have thought?" said the Stitched in surprise. "The most idle and irresponsible billionaire, heartbreaker and target of scandals and gossip was actually the greatest defender this city has ever had. Really surprising. Almost disappointing."
"I'm going to put a bullet between your eyes, then you can tell me if that's disappointing," Abigail said firmly. "How did you find us?"
"When someone is special, you always notice them with the right tools," he said, raising a strange device with an antenna toward Henry.
"Why do you want to kill him? What does your boss want?"
"He wants me to take him out... Along with everyone else like him."
"Why?"
"I don't know... But he sponsors me."
"Who is he?"
"They call him Ozzon."
"Ozzon?" Henry whispered.
"But enough talk. Let the show begin!"
Kyle Connor raised his hand in the air and threw something on the floor. A huge cloud of smoke filled the room and blinded Henry. He started to panic when suddenly he felt someone pull him by the arm. He heard a door open and then close behind him. When he opened his eyes again, he found himself in a rather cramped space. Accompanied by Abigail and Connor, he found himself in a narrow corridor between walls, lit only by white neon lights on the ceiling. As the experts took the lead, Henry followed suit.
They went down a few steps, walked straight ahead, then turned at other points before stopping at some random place. Kyle Connor pressed his flat hand against one of the walls, and an opening appeared. He stepped out, followed by Abigail and Henry, whose eyes were filled with stars. They were in the Nest's weapons and trophy room, Raven-Lad's secret hideout. He had to restrain himself from jumping up and down. To his right, he recognized the iconic weapons of many supervillains. Cybear's claws, Hooked Beak's swords, the ninja leader of the Eagle Clan, and the dark green suit with zippers on the hands of Leeches, who absorbs the blood of his victims with the mouths on his palms.
On the other side, he went from joy to sadness. First, there was a framed family portrait of a man, a woman, and their two children on the wall. Next to it was a photo of Kyle Connor in his younger years at university with Abigail Dupré, who was the same age. They were both wearing sportswear and standing arm in arm. After the two photos, a shiver ran through Henry's body. First, he saw Raven-Lad's first costume. Behind a glass case, it was made entirely of black fabric and had gray gloves and boots. A kind of gray undershirt sewn over the costume and a belt the same color as the gloves held it together. There was no cape, and unlike a full mask, there was only a small piece of fabric covering the eyes on the mannequin's face. Finally, the emblem was slightly different, as it depicted black wings but without heads.
Henry remembered the first issues. He remembered Raven-Lad's first adventures. He remembered the first villains. Mr. Gold, the Harpy, Eagle Eye, Stone Force, and Elizabeth Shark. Thinking back, the urge to take out his phone and take as many selfies as possible to keep them in memory crossed his mind. However, it wasn't the right moment. Next to the old costume, he recognized Raven-Lad's current costume, which he took out to put on. Abigail walked over to a display rack and put on an outfit. Henry turned around, then, when he heard that she was finished, looked again.
She was wearing an all-green jumpsuit with military camouflage patterns. Holsters were attached to her legs, containing two Desert Eagles. She also had a grappling hook integrated into her right forearm protection and a belt covered with steel balls around her waist. A yellow target was drawn on her chest. Finally, she wore a mask that completely covered her face. She had just put on her vigilante outfit.
First appearing in issue 60, she renamed herself Target and only wanted to intervene under this identity when Raven-Lad faced an enemy she knew she couldn't defeat alone. When they were ready, they headed for the wall through which they had entered, and Raven-Lad once again placed his flat hand on the wall. The opening from before appeared, and they turned to Henry.
"When we're outside, I'll lock all the entrances," Raven-Lad said. "You're not coming out under any circumstances, understand?"
"Yes, sir."
"Don't worry, you'll get home."
They disappeared when the wall closed. Henry turned his head and saw a steel wall closing over the elevator doors. This reassured and relieved him. He sighed and fell to the floor, realizing he had been stupid. Since earlier, he had been getting excited like a virgin, thinking, "This is so cool, I'm in a comic book, yay!" But at the same time, something now seemed clear to him. He had no business being there. He wasn't a hero. He was just a kid going through a teenage crisis. He found it sadly comical.
From the beginning of his life, he resented others. He resented them for not seeing his good qualities and for inventing faults in him. He always imagined himself capable of proving the opposite of what people thought of him. He wanted to prove to them that he was not cowardly, malicious, and selfish, but courageous, kind, and altruistic. What a joke. He had always dreamed of living a great adventure, of fighting a danger that would put everyone's backs against the wall but that he would nevertheless manage to thwart. He already imagined himself being adored after this feat. He thought that this victory would make the whole world realize its mistake. He could already picture his detractors apologizing profusely and then doing everything they could to earn his forgiveness and friendship.
But deep down, he knew they were right. Even when he tried to do good deeds, they were often motivated by a feeling that always exclaimed, "Well, what about the losers?" He wanted to prove something above all else, not do good. He was incapable of truly helping anyone, not even his childhood hero.
Sitting on the floor, he hugged his knees to his chest and wanted to shut himself off from the world. He felt pathetic. A few moments later, he raised his head and bumped it against the glass. He turned around, noticing that there was a fourth glass cylinder in the room. He stood up, visualizing what it contained. It was a silver-gray jumpsuit. Almost identical to Raven-Lad's. The mannequin wearing it was smaller, the same size as Henry. Unlike the black vigilante's outfit, the mask had an opening revealing the hair and eyes of the hooded figure, which were white. Finally, falcon wings replaced those of a raven.
"Silverhawk," Henry whispered when he realized what was standing before him. First appearing in Raven-Lad Annual No. 17, it was in issue No. 64 that Jim "Jimmy" Richardson donned the hood and cape of Silverhawk, Raven-Lad's partner. Originally a young African-American boy from the slums, he was the son of a factory worker and a nanny. Because of his hatred for the system, he soon found himself rubbing shoulders with unsavory characters who promised him revolutionary deeds, when in fact they were often part of gangs under the control of the very people he wanted to hold accountable. This was particularly the case with Carlton White, nicknamed the White-man because of his white suit. He was a gang leader and unscrupulous businessman. During a robbery orchestrated by members of the White-man gang, of which Jimmy was a part, Raven-Lad intervened and fell into a trap set by the mobster.
Knowing Raven-Lad by reputation and aware of his good deeds for Wing City, Jimmy intervened and foiled White-man's trap, saving the vigilante. In the same issue, they arrested him together and he obtained the Silverhawk costume to fight alongside Connor, who, under his billionaire identity, invested funds to make the neighborhoods where Jimmy and his family lived more livable. This character was very important to Raven-Lad. First of all, for the first time, we were able to see things from the perspective of someone who had fallen into crime through no desire of his own. Then, after meeting Jimmy Richardson, Kyle Connor realized that beating up criminals wasn't enough, but that he could also invest fully in improving the city, thereby reducing the social inequalities that led to crime. Finally, the editor-in-chief believed that creating a younger sidekick would allow readers to identify with a character.
Although he was not African American or from an underprivileged neighborhood, the identification worked for Henry. Jimmy was a young and impressionable teenager, capable of making mistakes and bad choices. However, his perspective offered an interesting point of view to Raven-Lad, showing that even inexperienced youth could contribute something to their elders. Finally, the brotherly relationship between the two feathered crusaders was familiar to him. As the younger brother, he was used to being second best, the sidekick, the assistant, like Silverhawk. Despite this, like many others, he was heartbroken when Silverhawk perished in issue 190 during a flood caused by bombs on the docks. The young hero had sacrificed himself and died saving civilians.
Henry placed his hand on the glass of the display case, then his forehead, feeling his heart pound as if at the funeral of an old friend. He was ashamed. Ashamed of not being as good as these characters he admired so much. He was ashamed of not being as strong, as courageous, as selfless as them. He was often told that taking these characters as role models was stupid, either because they weren't realistic or simply because they didn't exist. Now he knew that was wrong. He knew that, somewhere along the line, everything he'd read was true. What was his excuse now? What was he waiting for to finally be like them? What was he waiting for to finally do something? What was he waiting for to finally be what he wanted to be?
A knock broke the silence, and he turned toward the partition covering the elevator doors. Bumps appeared, preceded by a violent crash. It was Hand-Smasher. He had to react, fast! What to do? What to do? Hide, yes! Hide, but to better prepare to attack. To do that, he glanced to his left, and then his hair stood on end.
A few moments earlier, Raven-Lad and Target were once again in the tunnel between the walls. They came back the way they came, and when they arrived at the secret entrance to the laboratory, they stood against it and listened. Stitched and Hand-Smasher were still there. Raven-Lad opened the door, then Target threw a marble at the two criminals. It exploded in a burst of smoke, and they rushed toward them. The two friends each grabbed the psychopath by an arm, then entered the building's elevator. They pinned him against the back of it, and then Raven-Lad pressed the button leading to the ground floor. As they descended, they beat the serial killer. Blows to the liver, neck, face, knees, elbows, crushed hands, everything was there.
Once they reached the bottom, they grabbed the madman and threw him before jumping out of the elevator. They stood up and faced whatever was taking them down. In a second, the cage was crushed by the feet dragging Hand-Smasher's immense mass. He climbed out and then slapped his hands together. With a glance, Target and Raven-Lad understood each other. As she charged toward the Stitched, he charged toward Hand-Smasher. His body dislocated from all sides, the psychopath knew he wouldn't win the fight that way. With the last remaining finger, he opened the cloth bag hanging from his waist while dodging Target's blows with unpredictable movements. She tried kicks, punches, side-hand strikes, and palm strikes, but nothing hit her target. This frustrated her greatly. Her father having taught her to read people's body language to predict their movements, she couldn't decipher the Stitched's, which seemed too random.
She stopped her attacks when it came time to take a breath. Taking advantage of this lapse of time, the madman swallowed three eyes, which caused her broken bones to heal and her skin to mend. Ready to attack again, he drew his knife and launched himself toward Target. He first attempted an approach with a straight stab to the stomach, but she dodged by spinning. He followed her and then delivered a sharp diagonal blow, which this time struck Target. A line extending from her right shoulder to her left hip, drawing blood from her.
He moved toward her again, the tip of his blade pointing behind him, and sliced horizontally through the woman in green. However, that was what he thought at first, since she had swung her torso backward and then, thanks to the propulsion of her hands on the ground, sent her heels straight into the psychopath's chin. The shock lifted him slightly off the ground, giving her time to regain a stable posture on her feet. Back at the same height as him, having barely reacted to the technique used by the military girl, the organ consumer felt a powerful punch in his stomach that lifted him again. Target launched another uppercut, then another, then another, when suddenly, she felt a jolt throughout the building.
She took her eyes off the Stitched and then glanced in the direction of Raven-Lad and her opponent. This was going very, very badly. Using one of her large steel hands, Hand-Smasher had pinned the feathered crusader against one of the walls of the building's lobby. Blood was flowing from his mouth and he wore an expression of pain.
"Fuck!" Target exclaimed. "His wounds have definitely reopened."
"There'll be two of you then."
She felt something burn her skin, and then her left ribs seemed to have disappeared. She looked down and saw the madman, his blade buried near her stomach. She clenched her fist and launched an assault at his face. Weakened and on the verge of losing consciousness, the serial killer felt absolutely nothing and savored the spectacle before him. At the end of his blade, he held the best friend of his greatest adversary. He twisted his blade and let it fall to the ground. He then turned to the other side, gloating over his weakened enemy.
"Scumbag…" Raven-Lad breathed between breaths.
"It feels so good to have you in my hands for once," the Stitched sneered. "Hand-Smasher? Go get our guest."
The large beast merely grunted and dropped the Stitched to the ground. His boss tossed him the device he'd used to track Henry down and stood facing Raven-Lad, his finger on the tip of his knife.
"I've never plucked a chicken, but hey, there's a first time for everything."
Behind him, Hand-Smasher climbed onto the twisted roof of the elevator. After that, he dug his thick steel fingers into the walls of the elevator shaft and began to climb. Each floor he reached, he turned and pointed the Stitched's strange device at the doors, but ten times he got no results. On the eleventh attempt, the device's antenna vibrated and the colossus leaped toward the floor entrance. First, he separated the two doors and was frustrated to come across another steel wall.
He cocked his fist and then struck it. He dug a gap. He threw another blow. He dug another gap. From the third blow onwards, he accelerated the speed of his blows to finally pierce the wall. An opening the size of his arm had just replaced what had closed access to the upper floor. He then opened the hole horizontally and then vertically with his right hand, then passed through it when it was at his waist. Inside, it was dark, he couldn't see anything. He waved his camera, but he was yelling no matter which direction he threw it. He knew Henry was on this floor, but he didn't know exactly where. This wasn't the case for his prey. She could see him perfectly well. She was starting to sweat where she stood. In all honesty, Henry was hot. However, he didn't know if it was really hot or if it was simply fear. His heart was pounding, his limbs were growing numb, and his stomach was feeling heavy. It had to be this. He was terrified. His opponent impressed him, but he still knew he was in a strong position.
He remembered a conversation he had with his uncle. A former career soldier, he collected all objects related to the history of war, directly or indirectly. In addition, he regularly read essays on military conflicts. Among these was Sun Tzu's famous The Art of War. In his book, Sun Tzu explained, in a crude summary, the principles that guaranteed victory in every conflict. The most famous of these was the following: "He who knows his enemy and himself will be sure to win." Henry knew himself inside out, and he knew his opponent inside out.
Floyd Simons was a criminal underworld figure who ruled Wing City with a firm hand before Raven-Lad's arrival. Coming from a modest family, he was known for his impressive build and his inherent good looks. It was said that he attracted the favor of every woman who caught his eye. Due to Raven-Lad's numerous interventions alongside the authorities, the city's criminal underworld was weakened, and during a final police operation aimed at apprehending the entire organization, Simons and his boss were on the verge of fleeing. But that was without counting on Raven-Lad's intervention. The two men fought a bloody duel that pushed them to their limits.
The pivotal event of the confrontation was the vigilante's final blow. He blew off the henchman's nose and part of his jaw, disfiguring him for the rest of his life. Shocked at losing his proudest face, he ran in the opposite direction of Raven-Lad, only to land in a crowded street. One of them hit him head-on and sent him flying into a newsagent. Miraculously, he survived the accident, but with severe injuries. His legs and hands were rendered useless. He was about to be condemned to a life in a wheelchair when a suspicious individual entered his life.
He was called "The Surgeon," and he was interested in having a bodyguard since, in his spare time, when he wasn't operating on a patient, he was a serial killer. Knowing that this was the only solution he had, Simons agreed. Using technology stolen by the Surgeon's men, he received new, reinforced limbs and an exoskeleton granting him superhuman strength and endurance. Ashamed of his face, he covered his face with a mask that replicated the delicate features of what he had previously taken for granted: a woman. Under the identity of Hand-Smasher, he was now determined to take revenge on the man he considered responsible for his condition, Raven-Lad.
With his knowledge of Hand-Smasher, he knew what it took to defeat him. He was a very powerful individual, skilled in combat, and resilient. It was virtually impossible to defeat him with brute force. However, it was possible to reach his mind. To do so, his mask would have to be ripped off. Without it, he would feel vulnerable and lose control of himself, becoming more predictable. To accomplish this task, Henry had the ideal tool.
As he was considering his plan, the colossus had just reached the middle of the room, still in complete darkness. He looked to his right, then to his left, noticing something that attracted him. He saw four costume displays, three of which were empty. He took a step when a blue light flashed behind him. He turned around and saw an emblem similar to Raven-Lad's glowing in the darkness. The emblem suddenly moved closer as the titan saw blue eyes standing above it. His gaze dazzled, he could only hear the sounds of metal clashing against each other.
Unexpectedly, he felt a large closed fist, at least as big as his own, hit him square in the stomach and then propelled him against the wall. The room shook and the lights came on. A high-tech black armor, emanating blue light from its knuckles and a logo on its chest, stood before him. Its helmet was shaped like a raptor's head. The armor clenched its fists as Hand-Smasher stood up.
"Hand... Now I'm going to smbecle !" Henry stammered from the armor. "Oh, what the hell!" he finally exclaimed, charging toward the monster.
He threw a right hook, which he easily stopped with the flat of his left hand. The former underworld member then raised his foot and brought it down on the modern knight's chest, causing him to fall to the ground. This shook Henry enormously, and a moment later he realized that his opponent had just leaped forward with his hands to crush him. He rolled to the side and dodged the attack, which slightly damaged the ground. They stood up, then Hand-Smasher regained the initiative. He threw a left hook, then a right, which pushed Henry to the wall, even though he protected himself with his forearms.
This was going to be more complicated than he had anticipated. While Henry took a breath to recover, the criminal taunted him with a wave of his hand. Answering the call to dance, he propelled himself with his foot from the wall to the brute, who strategically protected himself, expecting a direct assault. His left hand protected his head, and his right hand protected his stomach. However, Henry had expected this and hadn't rushed forward at full speed. He had stopped right in front of him, then gone around him, and before the golem could realize the deception, the young man had passed behind him.
With a backhand, he struck him in the face, slightly disorienting him, then elbowed him in the ribs, causing him to kneel. Seeing him vulnerable, he threw his hand toward his mask, but a firm hand stopped him. It began to crush his armor. Hand-Smasher raised his head and declared coldly, "Don't touch my mask."
In a hurry, Henry raised his knee, then took a run-up, and threw it toward the monster. However, the latter stopped him, then lifted him up before throwing him in front of him. Confused, Henry didn't have time to get up before the giant kicked him in the helmet. Then another. Then another. Then another. When he was finally on his back, the monster placed its foot on the head of its future victim. Slowly, it began to crush the helmet, which would crush the head it contained. Was this how Henry was going to end up? Crushed by a size 13 shoe? He was going to die like shit? All alone and having never accomplished anything? Mind you, that wouldn't surprise anyone. He'd always been seen as a victim, like shit. The kind of person who would never accomplish anything. That was what people obviously thought of him. He wanted so badly to prove them wrong, but right now, he was telling himself they were right. He imagined himself already dead and that the moment it became public, everyone would say, "No wonder." He imagined all the things that would be said about him to the point where it made him furious. He heard remarks that he attributed to specific people.
He was sick of it ! He was sick of hearing those voices! He was sick of other people! He was sick of hearing them! He was sick of having their opinions he hadn't asked for! He wanted to fight for himself, not to please the public! And if anyone found fault with his survival, he didn't care ! Henry grabbed Hand-Smasher's steel foot and began crushing it much faster than he was crushing his helmet. The monster tried to get away, but the young man held him back. He struggled, and after forcing himself once too hard, he leaped back and tore off his entire foot and the steel shinbone the Surgeon had installed. Resigned to fighting, Henry got up, transformed the monster's steel limb into a shapeless, useless ball, and threw it away. He clenched his fists, ready to fight for his life.
Hand-Smasher swayed, struggling to fully balance on his left foot. However, he remained confident in the face of his opponent. He was young and predictable; his gestures spoke for themselves. Just by observing his legs, he could see the arrogance of the one who thought himself unstoppable. The fight was about to turn into a melee. The moment he saw him lean forward, he pushed off with his only foot and charged straight at him. In an overwhelming collision, they both collided, shoulder to shoulder, before pushing off with their arms. Hands clutching their opponent's, they refused to give up. The former thumbbreaker already believed himself the winner in this struggle of strength, but in his arrogance, he underestimated the strength of the armor as well as that of the man wearing it. Moreover, he also underestimated the handicap that losing his right leg would cause. Because of all this, he fell backward, and the young man let go of his hands.
As he was about to fall to the ground, the armor-wearer went behind the giant, swept him aside with his foot, and grabbed him by the waist. He lifted him up and slammed his neck against the ground before standing up. He turned toward him again, fists forward. As his enemy pushed himself up onto his hands, facing it, he saw a white object on the ground. Broken in two pieces. Hand-Smasher turned his head toward Henry, presenting him with a shapeless and disgusting sight. He had no right cheek, and the skin holding his left eyebrow covered his eye. His lower lip was open, and his nose gave the appearance of having four nostrils.
The monster howled, leaped with inhuman savagery, and galloped like a gorilla toward Henry. After closing the distance between them considerably, the animal tried to wrap its arms around him. Expecting such a predictable attack, the armiger bent its knees and lunged toward the wildling's waist. He grabbed him, pinned him with his left shoulder, and threw him backward with such force that they went through the ground.
Eleven floors below, the Stitched was lunging at Raven-Lad, stabbing him again and again. He managed to land a blow to his face, which the Feathered Crusader blocked with his left wrist. With his right hand on his ribs, he owed this new injury to the fact that the old ones had reopened during his fight with Hand-Smasher. The madman smiled, which annoyed him. Behind him, he imagined his best friend dying on the ground. He didn't want to waste any time. He thrust his left wrist forward, widening the gash the psychopath had just inflicted, then grabbed her by the wrist. He tried to break free from the vigilante's grip but didn't have time to react before he was headbutted in the face.
His head lurched back before he let out a cry of pain caused by Raven-Lad's firm grip. He had just broken his radius. He stepped back, distressed at not being able to feel his hand. He took another eye from his satchel and swallowed it. A few seconds later, his bones were functional again.
"That's going to cost you dearly," the serial killer declared madly.
"Not as much as the repairs!"
The birdman propelled himself towards the Stitched, his left fist forward, and threw a jab. The human corpse dodged it without a hitch and returned the jab to his chin. Raven-Lad's jaw vibrated for two seconds before his skull joined him in that state. The ordinary bladed weapons ace had pivoted his pelvis to strike the injured Target's head with his heel. He then followed up with a palm strike to the throat and, after gaining a few inches of momentum, jumped towards him feet first before striking him in the heart.
Raven-Lad slid to the ground and collided with Target's body. Everything was becoming a blur for him. He was bleeding everywhere, and his head hurt excruciatingly. What hurt even more was his heart. He stared, through narrowed eyes, at the one who had accompanied him on so many adventures.
The Stitched, for his part, was in heaven. He rubbed his hands together and walked over to his fallen blade. He leaned over it, chuckling. After straightening up, he looked at those he was about to cut. He wondered how their faces would look above his fireplace. Surely, they would look beautiful next to his mom and dad.
As he twirled his knife, he heard a noise getting closer. He glanced at the ceiling, then, without thinking, jumped back. Debris fell, and among it was Henry in his armor and Hand-Smasher. When they hit the ground, the monster was on its back, while the young man was standing on top of him. Holding his head, the high-tech knight stood up, not without staggering. After fully stabilizing himself, he grabbed his former enemy's steel hands and crushed them until they were nothing more than balls of metal.
As he turned toward the Stitched, sparks began to escape from his armor. Without further ado, it stopped moving before opening at his chest. Slowly and decisively, Henry stepped out of the armor and set foot on the ground, ready for battle, wearing Silverhawk's colors. The Stitched merely sneered, but the new hero stood with his fists forward. He let out a cry and leaped, cape unfurled, toward the one who wanted him dead. At the same time, something struck Raven-Lad's shoulder. He struggled to open his eyes and saw Target, his fists pressed against the ground, struggling to get up. She was breathing heavily, so heavily that her mask revealed a lump over her mouth.
"Come on, Kyle. This kid is fighting. We have to help him."
"Are you sure this is okay for you?" Raven-Lad asked, imitating him despite the pain in his bones.
"I loved Jimmy. So there's no way it's happening again."
"We're in agreement."
They stood up in unison. Raven-Lad pulled out some Feathers, Target unholstered his Deagles. In the heat of the moment, they jumped over Hand-Smasher and launched themselves at the Stitched. Blade in one hand and Henry's neck in the other, he let go when he saw the two more experienced vigilantes falling on him. He stepped back as the birdman launched two of his Feathers. They grazed the criminal's cheek, and he went to grab a new eye to heal himself. However, he was met with a right hook from the new Silverhawk, which sent him flying into the wall.
With no time to recover, Target struck him in the face with one of his weapons before holding him in check. Finger on the trigger, she squeezed it, but with a backhand of her right hand, the killer corpse deflected the shot into the wall before launching another incisive assault, this time right in the middle of his stomach. However, he couldn't reach his target before one of the blades of the avian vigilante's cape made him drop his own.
Determined to stab someone, he jumped towards his knife but received a double uppercut to the face from Raven-Lad and Silverhawk, who had beaten him to it. This surprised the older of the two, not expecting him to understand his intention immediately. He didn't take into account that the young man had read his adventures so much that he knew his combat strategies by heart. The Stitched slid across the ground until it collided with the body of its giant colleague. The three heroes took a moment to breathe, then, with inhuman coldness, Target raised his weapon towards the two monsters.
"No!" Henry exclaimed, stepping between them. "That's not necessary. They've had enough."
"Okay," she replied as he walked over to them.
Standing and facing the Stitched, Henry pulled out the handcuffs built into his costume when Raven-Lad exclaimed, "Where's the knife?!"
Henry turned his head but didn't have time to realize his stupidity before his handcuffs were fastened around his wrists. He turned and saw Stitched, knife in hand, ready to debone his piece of meat. He raised it, and the teenager cried out in terror. A tear fell from his eye, and he closed his eyes. Waiting for cold death, he jumped when he heard a gunshot and a blade fall to the ground. When he lifted his eyelids, the one who was to kill him was standing there, a Feather stuck in his hand and a bullet between his eyes.
Henry slammed his knees against the ground, his eyes watering like Niagara Falls and screaming like a terrified child. He hadn't felt this way in years, but he wanted more than anything in the world to grab his teddy bear again. Everything went black, he felt arms grab the back of his neck, and a deafening silence reigned. The next moment, he felt a pillow and a comfortable mattress. He heard the sound of a fan. The smell of medicine caressed his nose hairs, and a faint light illuminated him. He opened his eyes.
Looking down, he saw he was in his underwear. The current from the fan rubbed his hairs, and the mattress caressed his skin. To get up properly, he tilted his feet to the side and let them hang. Their weight helped him sit up on his buttocks without hurting his back. The floor was frozen. All his hair stood on end, but he was determined to get up. Looking around, he recognized the infirmary. On the walls, there were X-rays. Maybe his own, maybe others'. In the center, he saw the operating table and medical tools. Connor and Abigail must have spent many hours on it, operating on each other, while he slept peacefully on his bed. He felt ashamed. He was the one who had suffered the least in the battle and he was the one who was treated with the most care. A knot in his stomach appeared when he saw a wheelchair right next to him. His t-shirt and pants were folded above it with a note. He recognized it as feminine handwriting. He picked it up and read it.
''I washed and ironed your clothes so you could feel comfortable in them. Please know that I also offer you my congratulations. You've impressed Kyle, something few people have ever accomplished. In fact, only someone you know well has managed.''
He smiled and then put on his clothes. After that, he walked to the elevator and pressed the button for the top floor. Once there, the doors opened, and he was delighted to see that they were okay. Abigail was reading a book on the couch, and Kyle was standing on his balcony. When she saw him, she closed her book and walked past the teenager. She patted him on the shoulder with a sweet smile, then entered the elevator before it closed.
Henry walked to the French doors on the upper floor, went through the open one, and leaned on the balcony. He glanced discreetly at Connor. He was wearing a scruffy white shirt with sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He also wore gray pants and dress shoes. A cigarette was sticking out of his mouth. As one of the few students at his high school who didn't smoke, Henry hated the smell of tobacco. However, he didn't want to say anything. He then looked out at the city.
The sun had just risen and the streets were crowded with cars. Horns honked and the sun's rays reflected off the windows of the buildings, giving the white of the buildings a lovely golden color. Connor straightened up, taking his cigarette from his mouth and then sticking it in an ashtray balanced on the balcony railings. He then rested his left elbow and turned to Henry.
"Are you feeling better?" he said with a smile.
"Yes, and it's thanks to you."
"Tell that to Abigail." I don't know how she does it, but she missed out on a career as a doctor.''
''What happened to Stitched and Hand-Smasher?''
''I handed the colossus over to the authorities, but I kept the other freak's remains. I plan on calling in some experts to learn more about his 'magical powers.'''
''Cool.''
''Yeah. Otherwise,' he continued. ''You're good.''
''Really?''
''Really. Have you ever learned to fight?''
''I did six years of judo. Otherwise, I know a lot of theoretical moves.''
''Theoretical?''
''Every other comic I read has a martial arts expert as the protagonist. Eventually, I'm able to spot the common moves.''
''Amazing'' thought the billionaire.
''Otherwise, I wanted to thank you.''
''Why?''
''It may seem surprising to you, but I experienced the most horrible and the most beautiful night at the same time. I faced villains, fought alongside superheroes, and I lived an extraordinary adventure that I think many would envy me for. You know, my favorite song is Something Just Like This by Coldplay. It tells the story of a child who dreams every night that he is living an adventure worthy of the greatest heroes. Every night, to forget the difficult day that awaited me, I listened to this song before falling asleep and I dreamed. I dreamed of a moment like this. A moment when I came to someone's aid. A moment when the world was threatened and I gave my body and soul to save it. In these dreams, even though I knew they were dreams, I felt alive, and that night, I have never felt so alive. One of the reasons was surely because I had the audacity, and I apologize for this, to don your young ward's costume. You know, when I was younger, my brother, barely three years older than me, used to play at being you. To accompany him, I imagined I was Silverhawk. And that night, I rediscovered the sensations I experienced with him. It may seem strange, I know, but I really enjoyed acting like a hero that night. Of course, there were times when I was scared, when I thought I was going to die, but I didn't care. I knew I was going to die doing something I enjoyed.''
''The way you sound, you're sad to be going home.''
''A little. Where I come from, you can't be a hero like I'd like to be. There are people who do good things: paramedics, firefighters, and even police officers; they're heroes. However, having good intentions isn't enough; there are always constraints. There will always be a time when I doubt what I'm told to do. There will always be a time when I question whether what is considered legal is right. And it's because of this that I've always felt a disconnect with where I come from. Scientifically and biologically, it's home, but morally, I don't feel at home.''
"Don't worry, it doesn't surprise me. I don't know if they say it in your comics, but at one time I wanted to become a police officer. However, I quickly realized that the law was imperfect and that I didn't want to defend an unjust law. I didn't want to break it, but I didn't want it to prevent me from doing something good. Knowing this, I'd like to offer you something. I know a place," he said, placing his hand on the young man's shoulder. "A place made for people like you. For people who want to do the good you speak of."
"What is this place?"
"It's a universe among universes. Within it, the greatest minds, mages, witches, gods and goddesses, heroes and heroines, collaborate to allow young people like you to find their place in the infinity of existence."
Henry wanted to speak, but something in his heart prevented him from making even a sound.
"They call it Infinitown. It's the largest city in the entire multiverse, and there, you can finally do as you please. There, no one will ask you to change. Do you want to be part of it?
"Yes, yes, please, yes."
He burst into tears. It was the first time he'd felt this way. For the first time in his life, he cried for joy.