Skin crawling with excitement, his presence sending a cold chill to those who could sense it. Nishant had awoken, he knew not what triggered him from his slumber, but he was ready for a blood bath. His hearty laugh creased his facial muscles, pained cheeks pushed as a loud cackle tore at the throat. Out of his mind, the bloody bastard. A visage of danger stood at the edge, he walked close. Dante slid into Nishant's notice.
"So what happened?" they said simultaneously.
"A lot," they answered together.
"What should we do about him?" Dante pointed.
"Stomp 'em into the ground," Nishant replied.
"How ya figure we do that?"
"With them…" Multiple figures came rolling in on flaming wheels as light crackled above. Calm waves were somehow heard, crushing bursts of white foam dispersed widely. Semblance of peace came as a man rode up onto a stand of bodies with a pike stacked with heads. The whistle of hot metal wheeled through the hellish terrain. A chrome cap, tight pants, CHROME emblazoned on his back. Scruffy stubble stole his youth. Just like knights that he once rode alongside, he stood fierce, a hero who climbed from the ocean's trenches. He was neither the fence or the brick, but rather the steel that held up time itself. Like a hurricane he vanished and reappeared as though it did not affect him. Instantly five grunts plummeted, these pathetic bodies building upon his atmosphere defying ego. Hank spun the spear that continued to take lives. Grease slid, his legs too long for him to stand comfortably.
"A demon is approaching," Grease said submissively. "It smells like cat shit."
"Agreed," said Hank.
Grand Square Reo, captain of the Grand Reo gang of District Thirteen, in his grip was the foundation of the last two blocks. He threw them with such speed they morphed into cubes. Molten cubes. A giggling swordsman barely moved his blade as he parried every incoming attack. The District was morphing into a board game as it began to slant off the mountain side towards the rocky ocean. Screams could be heard from those that still stood as war cries blared over the tortured noises. Four forces were as calm as pie. Slicking back his pompadour, rose Grease Boy, to his far right sat Hank in his DeLorean, on the falling slant stood the swordsman; whilst Reo climbed the sky as though he were a banshee of the wood. I'm burning, I'm burning…this sensation is what builds the fuel. That passion, without it, what are you?
"Passion, power, love, hope, tenacity, valor. Are these the things that should make up a man? No, a hero? What truly is a hero? Is it just if you're heroic? Do you need powers? Do you need some great purpose? Is it internal kindness? What do I need? The answer is nothing! A HERO is inspiration, if I believe I am the greatest, then I am!" Hank revved his engine, a flash of light placed him in the sky.
Will. Willpower is all he needed.