Chapter 37: Alien Arena, Razorhawk vs. The Crazy Chicken
A gentle breeze swept across the plains, making the tall grass bow in silent waves. In the distance, the colossal arms of windmills turned in a slow, lazy rhythm. The scene was one of deep peace and pastoral beauty, a perfect landscape painting, except for the two figures currently trying to tear it, and each other, apart.
Diamondhead and Kevin, now a grotesque amalgam of Ben's first ten aliens, were locked in a brutal back-and-forth across the verdant field. Seizing an opening, Kevin slammed a four-knuckled fist into Diamondhead's crystalline chest, sending him skidding backward. The Petrosapien's feet dug two ugly, muddy trenches into the once-pristine lawn.
"You dweeb!" Kevin snarled, his voice a distorted chorus of multiple aliens. "I've got the powers of ten of your freaks, plus my own! You can't win!"
He raised a hand, the skin rippling from gray rock to orange fur, and fired a volley of diamond shards, each one humming with kinetic energy.
"Maybe," Diamondhead grunted, deftly sidestepping the deadly projectiles, "but each of your powers is only a tenth as strong as the real thing!"
He weaved through the crystalline storm, his movements sharp and precise. As the final shard flew toward his face, he snatched it from the air and, with a contemptuous flex of his fingers, crushed it into glittering dust.
Not far away, sheltered by the Rustbucket's extendable awning, Klein and the others lounged on beach chairs. With cool drinks in hand, they watched the brawl unfold as if it were a pay-per-view event.
As for why Kevin hadn't targeted them, the reason was simple. Kevin had made it clear that ever since witnessing Klein transform into the city-sized Way Big, he had absolutely no interest in picking a fight with him. His grudge was with Ben Tennyson, and Ben Tennyson alone.
So, when he had intercepted the Rustbucket, he hadn't launched an all-out assault. Instead, he had goaded Ben, challenging him to a one-on-one duel.
And Klein, who had zero desire to meddle in the bizarre love-hate melodrama between his cousin and Kevin, was more than happy to let them sort it out themselves.
While the spectators relaxed, the combatants charged each other again, their earth-shaking footsteps thundering across the field.
But just as their fists were about to collide, a column of brilliant red light descended from the heavens, instantly engulfing them both.
A flicker of alarm crossed Klein's face. 'Trouble.'
In a flash of green light, he transformed. "Fasttrack!" he yelled, the sleek, velociraptor-like alien already a blur of motion as he shot forward to intervene.
Unfortunately, even with Fasttrack's incredible speed, he was a fraction of a second too late.
He managed to tackle Diamondhead, his claws digging into the crystalline form, but the teleportation beam was already active. Before he could pull his cousin free, the world dissolved into a crimson haze, and all three of them vanished.
"Cousin! Ben!"
A strangled cry escaped Gwen's lips. Panic flared in her eyes, and a brilliant magenta aura erupted around her, her human form dissolving into the shimmering, powerful silhouette of an Anodite. She shot into the air, hovering where the three had disappeared, her energy senses scanning desperately, but finding nothing but empty air.
"How could this happen!" Grandpa Max exclaimed, running over to her, his face etched with worry.
Gwen forced a deep breath, wrestling her panic into submission. As her mind cleared, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a small, carefully carved wooden bird. It was something Klein had whittled out of boredom weeks ago and discarded; she had kept it as a memento. Closing her eyes, she focused, pouring her mana into the small object, using its connection to Klein as a beacon.
Her eyes snapped open. "They're… in outer space!" she gasped, her gaze instinctively turning toward the vast, blue expanse above.
Hearing this, Grandpa Max didn't hesitate. "Gwen, with me!" he commanded, already heading back to the Rustbucket. "I'm calling in a favor. We're getting a ship." He was retired, but a lifetime as a Plumber meant he still had connections.
Gwen immediately followed. As an Anodite, she could technically survive and travel freely between planets, but she didn't know that yet. Grandpa Max did, but there was no way he was letting his granddaughter fly into the depths of space alone.
…
'Where… is this?' Fasttrack thought, his senses reeling. He was surrounded by pitch-black darkness.
Suddenly, with a loud hum, a bank of powerful lights flared to life, illuminating his surroundings.
"WOOOOOHOOO!"
A deafening roar of cheers erupted from all sides.
Fasttrack's brow furrowed. He scanned the area, his eyes adjusting to the glare. He was standing in the center of a massive, circular arena, surrounded by tiered stands packed with a bizarre menagerie of cheering aliens. 'They want to watch a show? Please. I'm always the one watching other people's shows.'
Just as he was contemplating grabbing a few spectators for a hands-on "survival challenge," a loud rooster's crow echoed from behind him.
He became a blue-and-black afterimage, effortlessly dodging a powerful flying kick that whistled through the space he'd occupied a moment before.
"Cluck cluck?"
A hulking, ridiculously muscular, humanoid chicken stared in confusion at the empty spot on the ground.
A moment later, Fasttrack's voice echoed from behind the creature. "You want to fight me, do you? Alright, you asked for it!"
He slapped the Another Omnitrix symbol on his chest.
"Razorhawk!"
A flash of faint blue light washed over him. In his place stood a new figure: a similarly muscular, humanoid eagle, its face concealed by a black-and-silver wrestler's mask. Lethal, obsidian blades extended from its powerful forearms, gleaming under the arena lights.
"Hey! Stupid chicken," Razorhawk taunted, his voice a low, gravelly squawk. "Ever played a game of 'Eagle Catches the Chick'?"
He lunged forward, a blur of feathers and steel. His right arm swung, the blade an arc of black death. The brawling cockerel, snapping back to its senses, leaped back, but not fast enough. Three deep, bloody gashes were torn across its feathered chest.
Razorhawk didn't pause. Seeing his opponent stumble, he retracted his arm and spun into a reverse side kick, the blow connecting with a meaty thud that sent the chicken-like creature flying across the arena. It crashed to the ground, rolling several times before coming to a stop at the very edge of the fighting pit.
The avian pugilist staggered to its feet, looked up, and saw Razorhawk already closing the distance. With no time to think, it threw itself into a sideways roll, narrowly avoiding a devastating stomp that cracked the ground where it had been.
It scrambled up and threw a desperate, haymaker punch.
Razorhawk caught the creature's arm with ease, twisted his body, and used its own momentum to execute a perfect over-the-shoulder throw, slamming it back onto the hard-packed dirt.
He pressed his attack again. The creature, its pride wounded and its fighting spirit ignited by the repeated humiliation, finally let out a furious squawk and charged head-on, abandoning all defense.
It threw a wild right hook. Razorhawk simply raised an arm to block it, the punch glancing harmlessly off his bladed forearm. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he raked the blade down the creature's outstretched limb.
"CLUUUUCK!"
The creature shrieked in pain, snatching its arm back. The momentary opening was all Razorhawk needed. A final, powerful kick connected squarely with its chest, lifting it off its feet and sending it sailing clear out of the arena.
"WOOOOOHOOO!"
The cheers from the alien audience erupted once more. A slow, predatory grin spread across Razorhawk's beak as he turned to face the crowd, a look that promised not entertainment, but retribution.
However, just as he was about to act on his malicious impulse, another column of red light enveloped him, and the world vanished again.
BOOM!
Seconds after Razorhawk was teleported away, a heavy metal wall in the arena descended with a deafening crash, revealing another section of the fighting pit.
"Kevin!"
"Ben Tennyson!"
…
"Where is this now?" Razorhawk muttered, his voice laced with growing impatience as he materialized in a new, metallic room.
He suddenly leaned forward, a gleaming energy axe swinging through the air where his head had just been. He caught the weapon's haft with one hand, yanked hard, and pulled a hulking robot warrior off-balance. A slash from his other arm's blade carved a deep, sparking gash across the robot's chest, and it collapsed in a heap of scrap metal.
Whoosh!
Another energy axe flew at him. Razorhawk ducked under the attack, then lashed out with a powerful kick, sending the second robot warrior flying.
CRASH!
The robot slammed into a far wall and slid to the floor, its circuits shorting out in a shower of sparks. It, too, was nothing more than junk.
"Very impressive."
A low, gurgling voice sounded from across the room. Razorhawk turned to see an octopus-like alien with a transparent cranium sitting on a floating chair, observing him with multiple eyes.
"I believe you will make me a great deal of money," the alien, Slix Vigma, said to himself, a smug look on his face.
"So, you're the one who brought me here," Razorhawk stated, his voice flat and dangerous.
"Of course," Slix Vigma preened, gesturing grandly. "I am Slix Vigma! I capture the most powerful warriors from across the Milky Way Galaxy, forcing them to fight for the entertainment of my audience. It is a most profitable enterprise."
Razorhawk didn't reply. He simply began walking toward the fight promoter, his expression hidden behind the mask, but the sheer menace radiating from him was unmistakable.
Slix Vigma's smugness evaporated, replaced by a flicker of fear. "What do you think you're doing? Guards! Guards!"
Clang. Thump. CRUNCH.
"No!"
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