Battle in Rushmore
1164 Words
Astrea steadied her breath, eyes locked on the towering brute who stood before her like a wall of muscle and menace. The wreckage around them crackled with tension, smoke rising in wisps as dust settled over the fractured floor.
She launched forward with a burst of speed, her wings slicing through the air like blades. The brute didn’t flinch. Their fists collided with a thunderous boom, the force rippling through the room like a shockwave.
The brute retaliated with a wide, brutal swing—Astrea ducked, narrowly avoiding the punch that cracked the wall behind her. She countered with a flying kick, but he caught her mid-air and slammed her into the ground like a ragdoll.
Astrea groaned, gritting her teeth as she pushed herself up.
“You’re going to need more than that to bring me down,” she spat, wings flaring defiantly.
Across the compound, Danny was facing his own battle. The glowing man hurled energy blasts at him while the woman generated shimmering force fields, blocking Danny’s return fire with graceful efficiency.
“You're not going anywhere, kid,” the energy wielder barked, launching another blast.
Danny flinched but quickly realized—his mechanized suit absorbed the impact. “Huh. Neat feature,” he muttered.
But before he could gloat, the glowing woman punched him square in the jaw, sending him tumbling.
“Okay… note to self: also add shock absorption.”
Back with Astrea, the brute landed a devastating right hook, sending her skidding across the ground. As she lay there, breath ragged, her mind snapped back to Nectar—to the chaos, the helplessness, the sound of Electro’s mocking laughter.
The weight of her failures. The faces she couldn’t save.
Her eyes darkened. Her ears sharpened, fangs emerging, as something ancient stirred within her—a feral instinct buried deep, now unleashed.
She rose slowly, aura crackling with raw, primal energy.
“You picked the wrong fight,” she growled.
She shot forward, fists landing in a savage flurry. The brute reeled under the onslaught. With a deafening roar, Astrea delivered a vicious uppercut, sending him hurtling through the ceiling and crashing down in the courtyard outside—unconscious and defeated.
---
Danny, meanwhile, adapted quickly. His suit’s HUD tracked enemy movements, predicting strike patterns. When his opponents made their move, he dodged with split-second precision, landing calculated counterblows.
“You’re pretty good,” the force-field woman admitted, surprised.
Danny grinned. “I get that a lot.”
With perfect timing, he fired a concentrated energy pulse, catching both opponents off guard. They collapsed in a heap as the suit’s sensors confirmed they were down.
From the shadows, the masked figure watched. His frown deepened. “That boy’s more capable than I anticipated…”
Astrea didn’t give him time to think.
With her wings flared wide, she launched herself at him like a missile. But the masked man didn’t even turn—he sidestepped effortlessly.
She smashed through the wall behind him, dust and bricks exploding around her.
Danny joined her, catching his breath. “You okay?”
“Just bruised,” she muttered, brushing debris from her suit.
The two of them pressed on, following the masked figure down the hall as alarms blared overhead. He ducked into a secured chamber, slamming the heavy door shut.
Didn’t matter.
Astrea barreled through it like paper, the force blasting the masked man across the room. He crashed into a console and groaned as Astrea seized him by the collar.
“Where are the Protectors of the Planet?” she demanded, her voice a deadly whisper.
He chuckled. “They walked into my trap like the arrogant fools they were.”
A low hum filled the room as overhead lights flickered to life. Astrea’s grip loosened as the horror revealed itself: six metal slabs. Upon them, the Protectors—Aqua, Nova, Zenith, and the rest—laid motionless.
Lifeless.
“No…” Astrea whispered.
The masked man grinned. “Welcome to the end of heroes.”
She froze, the weight of it hitting her like a freight train. The world’s greatest defenders—gone.
The villain took his chance. With a swift jab to her eyes, she yelped and released him. He sprinted to a hidden panel and disappeared behind a false wall just as Danny arrived.
“He’s gone,” Danny said grimly. “And I don’t think we’re going to like what happens next.”
---
Hours later, PRISM agents swarmed the compound, detaining the remaining terrorists and combing through what was left. The air was thick with ash and grief.
Marvel arrived on-site, her jaw tight, fury in every step. When she saw the bodies of the Protectors being loaded into black transport units, her composure cracked. She slammed her fist against a steel table, denting it.
“How did this happen?” she growled.
Michelle entered behind her, calm but shaken. “Marvel… we need to stay focused. We need to find out who did this—and why.”
Marvel breathed heavily, grounding herself. “You’re right. Let’s start the investigation. Now.”
Turning toward Astrea, Marvel’s tone softened. “You did well.”
Then her gaze landed on Danny—and hardened again.
“And you… what in the world were you thinking?”
Danny straightened. “I was trying to help—”
“Out here, it’s Director Marvel,” she snapped. “And you broke protocol. You could’ve been killed.”
He lowered his gaze. “Yes, Director Marvel.”
Her anger cooled, but her authority held. “You’re going home. We’ll talk later.”
Danny gave a slight nod and walked away, silent. For once.
---
That night, rain fell in heavy sheets over PRISM Headquarters. A makeshift memorial had been erected—six marble stones beneath the PRISM emblem, lit by blue and silver torchlight.
Astrea stood silently in the back, wings draped at her sides, soaked to the bone but unmoving.
Marvel stepped forward to deliver a short, somber eulogy. Her voice never trembled—but everyone could feel the weight of it in their hearts.
“They were more than heroes,” she said. “They were the last line of defense for a world that never knew how much it needed them. And now... they’re gone.”
After the speech, Michelle turned to her. “How are we going to tell the world the Protectors are dead?”
Marvel stared at the memorial, her eyes glinting under the torchlight.
“We’re not,” she said. “Not yet. Not until we understand what we’re up against. We’ll keep this contained—for now.”
Michelle nodded solemnly. “Then we better work fast.”
---
From the shadows, Astrea clenched her fists. Her gaze never left the memorial. The pain in her chest burned, but beneath it, something darker stirred.
Resolve.
Whoever took the Protectors from this world... would face her.
And this time, she would be ready.
- Writer
