Breaking the Earth: Mister Hero vs TheDrifter

It's a beautiful sight to see Old Glory unfurled against the bold, orange sky; to see the sunrise mingle into the textures and bring out the true red, white, and blue, the ones George Washington saw and fought for. It's a beautiful scene to describe, but he could not wholly depict it to those who asked. It would be unfair to the subject, unfair to the entire scheme and sense of pride seeing that flag fold and flap in the wind. Every time he saw it, he stood at attention and gave it a military salute; whether he was on solid ground or in the air, he respected it. He fought for what it stood for. And if the time came, he would die for it.

He was sitting among the clouds, sifting through the floating bubbles of dust and air with his fingers before blowing what he had gathered in his hand into shapes that randomly assumed their ornate design and randomly disappeared. Suddenly, he heard the blaring of a city bus's horn. It was careening out of control in the middle of the city, for there were other frantic honks and the screaming of tires of people trying to get out of the way. In a flash, Mister Hero was gone off to work.

First, he descended next to the driver's seat and saw a middle-aged man with a poorly-shaven beard and bloodshot eyes. Apparently, he had fallen asleep for a split second and lost control of the vehicle. But that didn't explain why he wasn't able to stop. Hero grabbed the driver by his shoulders and tore off the door and seat belt, lifting him out of the crazed bus and onto the sidewalk. Then he focused on the main source of the problem, soaring to catch up with the rabid machine.

He was finally able to make landfall in front of the vehicle and grabbed onto the front end. He tried to flip the vehicle harmlessly onto its back and with his herculean strength, he did just that. With a mighty crack and crunch, the behemoth stopped in its tracks as Mister Hero moved barely a centimeter in the opposite direction and gently turned it over. Sighing, the bus began to emit steam from the shot radiator. People around him began to cheer for his bravery. But Mister Hero just smiled and waved to the crowd before he left the ground for favor of the air again.

As he turned back around to the thunderous cheers, he noticed that the brakes on the bus he had just stopped were cut. Someone was waiting for him to do this, but who?

As Angels we watched them fall, Spirits who desired the will to f#ck and frolic among them. Human desires but never the less, did they crave it and so they descended upon this earth, They made families, they ate, they drank and they were happy. But at what cost? They'd gone against their creator's demands, his wishes and after all he was God. The children were labeled the Nephilem and God sent upon the backs of the remaining Angels a message to be delivered, that this earth would be washed of wickedness and that the corrupt would be no more. That an Elderly man was to come from his house and make two of every animal come onto the Ark he was to build. I served as their Watchmen, their guardian Angel. I am Zadkiel.  Many years later, I served as the thundering guardian of Joan of Arc, of Mona Lisa and even of Cleopatra. But I saw the hypocrisy, I saw the lies, I saw the half truths and make believe stories. I saw through it like a cloud of steam separating before my eyes. I am Zadkiel.

I am Zadkiel, let the humans screams be heard throughout the mountains and over the hills and through the very seas, that they may cry in agony at the name of Zadkiel.

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His Knuckles with White with Desire.

So he finally knew the name of the Angel who'd cursed him. The Drifter, a man who was always a day late and a dollar short who sold his soul to free himself from the shackles of his own mind. But how? The question kept ringing in the biker's mind. How do you get revenge on an Angel? His engines revved as his knuckles grabbed hard on the handles and went soaring down the highway.

The Wheels of his mustang exploded off the high like a slug off a 45. This is true death, Black Sunshine

Making a sharp turn, he pulled on the brakes and stopped at the very feet of the Golden Goliath. "Lets settle this like men" He said as he stepped off his bike

The cheers died down as a creature, no mere mortal man, descended into the street on a black motorcycle that perhaps reflected something of himself. Mister Hero touched the concrete with his golden boots, his cape flying slowly in the scarce wind. The bystanders were afraid of what clash would occur from this meeting, but curiosity pulled them to keep watching. Mister Hero looked on as the creature retreated from his throne and took to his feet.

"Let's settle this like men." Said he.

Mister Hero looked around them. What had he done? Saved lives? Was this monster so depraved of mercy that he picked at the moral fiber of people while he fought them physically and mentally? Another question begged itself to be answered, mostly through Hero's own personal brand of intrigue: how strong was he?

"Alright, but I don't want to fight here. I want a fair battle in a canyon not too far from here,"

The leather-clad biker stood ready, but not to move in any way, shape, or form. He looked at Hero with a harsh and piercing gaze of defiance, like a rebel addressing a politician with his demands and not expecting any retort or to settle with his foe. Mister Hero crossed his arms to match this sense of overwhelming self-indulgence and arrogance. If he wanted to fight here, then he was going to be met with the stern reality that Hero wasn't going to allow that to happen anytime soon.

"Not moving, eh?"

His feet left the ground, and he disappeared with a boost of flight speed. He reappeared, but only after throwing a punch at the creature's chin that would send him into the sky and off into the distance some few miles or so.