Malphegor
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PIG V2 Ch. 36
🕑 Added 2026-01-08 02:27:16 +0000 UTC"OPEN FIRE! ALL UNITS, OPEN FIRE! TARGET THE HOSTILES!"
Gordon's voice came over the radio.
Within seconds, every gun still operational in the plaza swiveled toward the two giants lumbering through the smoke. GCPD officers, Falcone's enforcers, and even some of Black Mask's thugs opened up with everything they had.
Dozens of automatic weapons firing simultaneously created a continuous roar that drowned out everything else. Tracer rounds streaked through the darkness. Muzzle flashes strobed across the plaza in a chaotic light show.
But the bullets did nothing.
Marco watched through the PTRD's scope as the rounds hit the giants' bodies. There were no impacts that made them flinch or stumble. Instead, the bullets made squelching sounds like someone punching a waterlogged leather couch. The rounds barely penetrated past the thick layer of hair and leathery skin before getting stuck in what looked like dense, fatty tissue underneath. The giants didn't even grunt. Their eyes stayed locked on the Batmobile, which was still maneuvering through the smoke and wreckage.
One of the giants, the one on the left, slightly taller than its companion, let out a low growl. Then it reached down and grabbed a cast-iron streetlight. The concrete base cracked and crumbled as the giant ripped the entire thing free, electrical cables still attached, sparking and whipping around.
The giant hefted the streetlight like a club and swung it down at the Batmobile with both hands.
WHOOOOOM.
"How are they even moving?" Anna muttered, staring at her empty AR-15.
Marco glanced at the giants. Dark blood was seeping from dozens of bullet wounds, but compared to their massive size, the damage was trivial. Like mosquito bites. The wounds weren't even slowing them down.
"Probably steroids," he said, watching the Batmobile execute an acceleration burst that barely got it clear of the streetlight's impact zone. The improvised weapon hit the plaza where the vehicle had been a heartbeat earlier, smashing through the pavement. Stone shards exploded upward, and the impact left a crater you could hide a body in.
He pulled the PTRD off the gun rack. "Looks like we're gonna need the big gun."
The second giant was already following its companion's lead, grabbing anything within reach and hurling them at the Batmobile. But darkness was Batman's ally. The vehicle darted left and right, making the giants' clumsy attacks miss by meters. All they accomplished was destroying what was left of the plaza, roaring in frustration every time another throw went wide.
Marco set up the PTRD on the E350's hood, bracing it against the frame. Shooting at something the size of a two-story building didn't require a perfect sniper position, but the smoke and shadows made it hard to get a clean sight picture through the scope. He was lining up a shot when the entire plaza suddenly lit up.
FWOOOSH. FWOOOSH.
Two brilliant white streaks shot up from somewhere behind Black Mask's scattered forces, trailing smoke as they climbed into the rain-filled sky. Then they burst with sharp cracks, and suddenly two bright flares hung in the air.
Someone in Black Mask's crew still had their shit together enough to think tactically.
"Thank you, whoever you are," Marco muttered, pressing his cheek against the stock. The flare light gave him a perfect view of the giant on the left, the one that had tried to cave in the Batmobile.
He centered the crosshairs on its chest, right where a human's sternum would be, held his breath, and squeezed.
BOOM.
The rifle's report was like a thunderclap, loud enough to momentarily drown out every other sound on the battlefield. The recoil slammed into Marco's shoulder. Through the scope, he watched the 14.5mm armor-piercing incendiary round cross the less-than-two-hundred-meter distance in a fraction of a second.
The tough, leathery hide that could stop 5.56mm bullets like they were pellets might as well have been tissue paper. A hole the size of a basketball exploded open in the giant's chest, spraying dark red muscle tissue, white bone fragments, and glowing greenish fluid.
"RRRROOOAAAAARRRR!"
The giant's scream was unlike anything he had ever heard. It was a sound that belonged in a nature documentary about dying whales, not in the middle of Gotham. The massive body staggered, the wrecked car it had been holding tumbling from its hands and crashing to the pavement. One arm clutched reflexively at the gaping wound in its chest. Dark blood mixed with that green fluid poured out in torrents, pooling at the giant's feet in a spreading puddle.
But the flares hadn't just helped Marco. With the plaza lit up, the Batmobile was now clearly visible.
The second giant saw its opportunity. It bellowed and hurled the streetlight it was holding like a javelin. The throw had all the power of that enormous body behind it, and the aim was better than anything that size had a right to achieve.
WHAM.
The Batmobile was in the middle of dodging chunks of concrete torn from the plaza when the streetlight hit. It struck the vehicle's side with enough force to lift the entire armored car off its wheels. The Batmobile tumbled through the air, flipping end-over-end twice before slamming down. Electrical arcs danced across the wrecked chassis. Smoke poured from ruptured panels. For a moment, nothing moved.
Then the cockpit canopy blew outward with a bang, torn free by some internal mechanism, and Batman pulled himself out of the wreckage.
He looked hurt. One arm hung at an unnatural angle. He raised his other arm, reaching for something on his belt, when he suddenly yanked his hand back and put it in front of his face.
A bullet ricocheted off his gauntlet.
Marco's head snapped toward the source. In the harsh flare light, at the edge of the illuminated zone, he spotted a figure in a black skull mask. The guy was backing away from the main group of Black Mask's thugs, a revolver in his hand.
He tracked him through the scope. The guy looked like every other gang banger on the plaza. But something was off. He couldn't put his finger on it, but his instincts were screaming.
Killing? That made sense for these psychos.
Sneak attack on Batman? Sure, why not.
But running away? That didn't track. Black Mask didn't tolerate deserters. Anyone who tried to run in the middle of a fight would get shot by their own people. So why was this guy walking away, and why was nobody stopping him?
The figure was about to disappear into the shadows when he made a decision. He focused his will on Precision Strike: Hammer of God. He triggered it mentally, aiming at the retreating figure.
Nothing happened.
He blinked. What?
Had the ability expired? Could they do that? He hadn't used it for a while, maybe it had...
The giant he'd shot earlier suddenly charged forward with a roar. But instead of going for Batman, it veered off course. The second streetlight it had grabbed swung wide, missing Batman, and slammed into the crowd of Black Mask's thugs.
Bodies went flying. Marco watched through the scope as the skull-masked figure, the one who'd shot at Batman, was launched into the air. The guy tumbled through space, arms and legs flailing, and crashed through a third-floor window of a nearby office building.
He stared. Huh. Guess it worked after all.
He swung the rifle back toward the giants. The one he'd shot earlier was still on its feet. The massive hole in its chest was still there, but the bleeding had slowed. The edges of the wound looked like they were trying to close.
"Oh, you've got to be kidding me."
The giant fixed its eyes on him and the E350. It roared and charged.
"Shit!" Marco worked the bolt, ejecting the spent casing and chambering a fresh round. His shoulder screamed in protest as he brought the rifle back up. "Shit, shit, shit..."
He fired.
BOOM.
The round took the giant in the shoulder, blowing through the joint. The arm came half-loose, hanging by strips of muscle and tendon.
The giant kept coming.
He worked the bolt again, and fired a second time.
BOOM.
This one hit the head. Half the giant's skull exploded in a spray of dark blood and brain matter. The creature's legs finally gave out. It crashed forward like a falling building, hitting the pavement with an impact he felt through the vehicle's frame. Foul-smelling fluids poured out of the corpse in rivers, flooding the ground around it.
He lowered the rifle. The recoil had done a number on him. His shoulder felt like someone had been hitting it with a hammer, and his hands were trembling from adrenaline and exhaustion.
"Captain!" Anna was there suddenly, grabbing the PTRD and pulling it away from him. Otis helped him down from the hood, and Marco half-collapsed into the back of the E350.
He pulled off his radio headset with numb fingers and sprawled flat on his back in the cargo area, arms and legs spread wide.
"I'm done," he gasped. "I'm fucking done. Let me rest… just a bit"
