Chapter 91 Fun.

Chapter 91: 91 Fun.

It looked like a silverback gorilla and a praying mantis had a drunken one-night stand in a vat of toxic waste.

Its upper body was a mess of overlapping, bone-white plates, held up by four twitchy, multi-jointed insect legs that gave it the nervous energy of a speedster on a three-day bender.

If this was really what Rhea and Delirium were making then I would have to have a serious conversation about decency later.

Instead of a normal face, it had four jagged mandibles gnashing together over a pulsating throat, and a cluster of beady yellow eyes.

I looked around me, honestly surprised that no one was actively puking right now.

It was basically a bespoke murder-bug built specifically for tearing through powered armor and closing the gap before you could even finish a villainous monologue.

And apparently, I was the main course.

"Fun," I said dryly, hefting the sledgehammer and letting the heavy metal head hum with a low magnetic resonance.

If I just timed my swing right and caved the ugly bastard’s skull in, this whole dog-and-pony show would be over before the VIPs could even put their bets in.

"We have quite the creature for you tonight, ladies and gentlemen!" the announcer’s voice boomed over the rattling of the steel cage. "Professor Delirium’s absolute masterpiece in the art of monster creation! The Throgg is the very bleeding edge of villainous innovation!

"With its powerful legs it can close the distance in a flash! And those jaws, ladies and gentlemen, can bite down with enough strength to rip apart a tank! Now, let’s see if the ’Skull Crusher’—" I heard the way he said that. "can take it down!"

Polite, golf-clap laughter drifted down from the observers. Charming.

I glanced up at the camera drones buzzing like fat metallic flies around the perimeter of the dome.

You really had to marvel at the sheer ruthlessness of the supervillain economy.

I couldn’t help but wonder how many washed-up heroes or D-list rogues had ended up as a protein shake for this thing just because their corporate sponsorships dried up and they needed some desperate cash.

I flexed my grip on the hammer handle, deciding I wasn’t about to become a tax write-off for Arman’s little club.

"Aaaaand Rummmmmblllleeee!"

I drew my arm back, letting the hammer thrum with a sharp magnetic whine.

Winding up was a bit theatrical, sure, but throwing a twenty-pound sledgehammer at Mach 2 would look a lot more like standard ’super-strength’ and a lot less like ’high-level magnetic manipulation’ if I telegraphed the pitch first.

"Hrk. Hrp! Hhhrrrp!"

What in the actual fuck?

I paused, watching the Throgg’s plated neck balloon outward like a cat trying to hack up a hairball the size of a Buick. But it wasn’t fur.

With a violent, horking belch, the beast spewed a massive glob of glowing green spittle right at my face.

Reflex took over before higher thought could; I twisted aside, batting the projectile away with the head of my hammer.

Corrosive snot splattered wildly across the cement, but the bulk of it caught my weapon dead on.

I could only stand there and watch as the steel immediately sizzled, the acid chewing through the heavy metal and half the handle until I was left holding a smoking, useless stub.

Well, so much for wrapping this up before lunch.

The Throgg let out a croaking, chittering sound that was uncomfortably close to a laugh—because of course the giant acid-bug had a sense of humor.

Without warning, it launched itself, claws gouging deep trenches into the cement as it hurled its massive bulk at me like a biological missile.

I waited until the absolute last second, then flared my powers, pushing my magnetic field against the earth’s polarity to yank myself violently sideways.

The thing had been built for terrifying straight-line speed, but basic physics meant it couldn’t change its trajectory mid-air.

I caught a fleeting glimpse of its cluster-eyes widening just before its face met the reinforced concrete wall with a meaty, bone-rattling smack that vibrated right through the soles of my boots.

I spun back around to face it, casting my magnetic senses out across the arena floor in a desperate search for ammunition.

Nothing. The floor was completely devoid of loose metal, and my hammer was officially slag, which meant playing Thor was off the table tonight.

Guessing Arman was still pissed about the poison thing. Well, looked like I actually had to work for my paycheck.

The Throgg shook itself off and backed away from the cratered wall, pivoting its massive frame toward me with a furious hiss.

Oh yeah, it was pissed. But even though I’d lost my primary weapon, I wasn’t exactly helpless.

I frantically retrieved the studded gloves from my pockets. I flexed my fingers inside my studded leather gloves, taking a quick tactical inventory.

I had plenty of confidence in my raw physical strength, but judging by the sound of that impact, it would take a direct hit from a brute-class cape to cleanly crack through that. But every mad scientist’s pet project had a design flaw somewhere.

I reached down and grabbed a handful of the heavy brass buttons lining my jacket, violently ripping them free.

They flashed in the harsh arena lights as I rolled them in my palm, feeding my magnetic resonance into the metal until they buzzed like angry hornets.

It wasn’t nails, but it’d have to do.

"Alright, ugly," I muttered, dropping into a low combat stance. "Come get a bite."

The Throgg unleashed a deafening shriek, shaking its heavily plated head before bounding at me again, its limbs blurring with terrifying speed.

I had to get the timing exactly right.

I slid one of the vibrating brass buttons under my thumb, tracked the incoming wall of teeth and armor, and flicked it hard—giving the brass a massive concussive shove of magnetic force right as it left my hand.

It shot out faster than a sniper round, screaming through the air and slamming dead-center into the Throgg’s head.

Instead of piercing the skull, the high-velocity metal ricocheted off its bone-white carapace with a deafening ping!

The sheer kinetic shockwave threw the creature completely off its stride, making it yowl in disorientated surprise as it flailed wildly through the air and sailed right past my shoulder.

But I’d severely underestimated the bastard’s agility.

Instead of splatting against the opposite wall like a normal giant bug, it extended its multi-jointed legs, digging its claws into the concrete to flawlessly absorb the momentum.

It clung to the vertical surface for a split second, then used the wall as a springboard, hurling itself straight back at my head with a furious screech.

Shit!