Seven giant, pale men (none under six feet tall) circled the brash, long-haired Texan. Between them all, a varying amounts of tattoos and teeth. The leather-clad malcontents of the Bourbon Street bar closed in on the arrogant cowboy like pack animals ready to dig their teeth on a particularly large forest beast.
But the fact that Colt didn't look scared at all was what made John Henry bite his lip.
Well, here we go, he sighed as he watched the first punch thrown.
The blonde Lothario was able to dodge it with ease, of course--he was a trained fighter. And he didn't even so much as wince as one of the ogres broke a whole wooden chair across his back, splinters and wooden legs flying off in every direction.
Behind the bar, Sandra covered her mouth with her hands. "Goddess grace..."
"Now you're just makin' me ornery!" Colt growled. He took on a wrestler's stance and clipped the giant by his legs, knocking him off balance. All the while, Sandra, the very petit, very pretty bartender, threw threats and curses towards the combatants for daring to break her furniture. John Henry wasn't sure who scared him most among, the gang members, or her.
Either way, he knew this young stallion--or Colt, as it were--wasn't about to easily handle seven grunts with access to shadow magick, no matter how confidence his ring persona. Mr. Iron dived into the frey, using his words as his shield. "Hey y'all, why don't I buy us a round and or two and we can work this--"
He caught the bald, sinewy man's punch with his hand before it could connect with his face.
He sighed. "So, that's how it's gonna be..."
The troll looked at him doubtfully. Meanwhile, the skin on John Henry's hand melted into liquid metal, the molecules in his cells changing atomic properties as his whole arm turned to metal.
He gripped down on his foe's knuckles. CRUNCH.
The grunt, who dared throw a punch at him, let out a high pitched scream, before John Henry release his broken hand and allowed him to fall to the ground. One down. Six more to go. And now the others had taken proper notice of their new combatant, slithering in to double team the iron-handed fighter.
This was, officially, a ballroom brawl.
To his credit, Colt had taken his opponent to the ground, mounting him and pummelling his face and chest with his fists. But the greasy haired gang member's skin was thick, and his bones even denser than his brain. He absorbed Colt's hits like a sponge. Worse, the cowboy failed to notice his enemy's shadow slithering from beneath his stinking boot. It formed a tail, or tendril, around Colt's ankle, just above his overly-embroidered, cowboy boot.
John Henry grabbed the skulls of his two assailants in his iron grip and brought them together, like smashing two eggs into each other at once. The two oafs made a sickening grunt and fell to the ground, giving John Henry a clear view towards Colt, wailing on his foe like a schoolboy. John Henry blinked. The floor looked like it was moving. That couldn't be right. No, it was the big man's man shadow, wrapping around clueless Colt's leg like a damn serpent.
The sweaty lunk on the ground, blood dripping from his cut lip, flashed Colt a yellowed, evil grin. "Got you now," he breathed, breath rotten with cheap liquor.
Colt blinked, breathing heavily. His energy was already spent. "You don't know when to give up--"
Cold, sharp pain dug into his legs as the razor-wire shadow manacles clamped down. It was ready to saw the cowboy's calves right off, cut through to the bone.
Gritting his teeth, Colt's eyes flashed like lightning. "You just made a very, very big mistake, partner."
John Henry had just enough time to note the odd scent in the air, like burning oxygen, and the curious sensation of an oncoming storm. Strands of Colt's long hair stood on end, an invisible force teasing them out. John Henry felt the molecules in the air shift, electrify. A current ran through John Henry's metal arm, and he looked down to see what was causing the tingling sensation.
Suddenly, the gang member on the ground bolted up, convulsing and smoking, while Colt, eyes lit up golden yellow, held his hand against the varmint's thick neck. He was electrocuting the bastard!
"Stop!" John Henry commanded, but he had other things to worry about. Living shadows, larger than him even, were closing in--and they meant business.
The black tendril gripping Colt's leg dissipated, and it was only for his heroic disposition that he relented his assault, ceasing electrocution. The ogre twitched on the hardwood floor, eyes rolled back into his head. Colt got off his mount, breathing heavily, making sure to shake ambient static out of his hand and pat down his now messy hair. To John Henry he looked tapped out of power. This was not uncommon for young guns like Colt who channelled all their magick in one go, burning out too early in a fight.
Even worse, the other Shadow Boys were just getting started. By now, the blonde bimbo that Colt had been hitting on---kicking off this whole sordid mess---had turned on her high heels and fled, as did most of the bar's sensible people, leaving Sandra to hold sway over the unruly dregs. A crowd of drunks formed a circle around the combatants, cheering, jeering, and throwing down money as if this were a cage fight or a live spellbreaking match.
Which, technically, it now was. Or so John Henry surmised.
Shadows pulled themselves from the floor, not unlike adhesives ripped from the skin of reality. Black substance, trickling like saliva, accompanied the blobs as they shaped themselves into three dimensional, darker copies of their conjuring hosts.
A human fiend threw his knotted, muscular arm around Colt's neck, getting him in a tight chokehold---while his shadowy doppelganger did the dirty work of pounding against his torso. Spittle threw from the cowboy's mouth as the shadow beast dug in deep. John Henry figured Colt was trained to take a beating or two, but knew he wouldn't last long with most of his voltage spent.
Still, Mr. Iron had problems of his own. He took a step forward, no further than the overturned table---a sea of beer and brown liquor around his feet---before he felt a tug, a pull, on either of his hands. Those damn living shadows, pliable as they were, had turned their limbs into ropes, binding John, pulling him in either direction. The shadow's owners warmed their knuckles, grinning menacingly, while the crowd whooped and yelled at this sudden turn of events.
Before John Henry could react, his eyes caught motion of something flying through the air over the bar. At first, he assumed some bourbon-drunk idiot had chucked a table their way. Then, he saw the outline of a furious Sandra landing on the big brute's back, wrapping her arms around his neck. He struggled to pull her off as she rode and pounded on his head, bucking bronco style. John Henry was stunned!
Even more so when Sandra's eyes began glowing an unearthly white. The giant she rode suddenly dropped to his knees, struggling to free himself from her grip as all the color--what little there was--drained out of his body. She was literally absorbing the life out of him. His shadow evaporated into smoke, returning to its proper place beneath his massive build.
The drooling colossus in leather tipped over, like falling timber, and collapsed into the puddle of beer. The toothless, bearded shadow magi binding John's left arm, glared towards the bartender who'd downed his buddy. Suddenly, his shadow's tentacles freed John Henry's arm, turning instead towards Sandra, standing at attention and ready for more.
"Sandra!" John Henry yelled.
The black, liquid ropes wound themselves around the bartender's arm, and the crowd cried out in fright. It was only when Sandra's lips curled into a smile that John Henry realized the brilliance in her strategy. Her eyes flashed white again, and a silver light appeared within the shadow beast's smoky, dark form. Its dark consistency shifted, shadow-flesh cracking. The light inside it exploded the beast into trails of vapor, all magick dispelled, and its master fainting on the spot, joining his other comrades on the ground.
"That's some woman!" Colt opined, as he wrapped his thick arms around a grunt's waist and suplexed him over behind the bar.
The sound of accompanying glass shattering drew Sandra's attention back towards her station. "Damn it, Colton!" she said, bounding towards the bar. She pointed an accusatory finger in his direction, and even he flinched. "You fix this damn mess, or I'm gonna fix you." With that, she hurdled over the bar again, attending to the damage--and, presumably--the damaged man.
What's someone with the 'Life' glyph doing serving swill on Bourbon Street? John Henry thought. That was healing magick she possessed. And Sandra had just demonstrated its propensity as harming magick, when applied offensively.
But John Henry hadn't the time to dwell on the thought. A tall, gangly freak with oily, long hair, still had him by the arm. He was in the process of trying to reel him in like a fish. More irritating than troublesome, John Henry thought. Without sparring much effort, Mr. Iron turned his left arm into liquid mercury--quick silver. The shadow bindings passed right through him, life falling through water. John shifted back to skin and bone, and then used the same arm to deliver a haymaker to the tall bastard's jaw. The sound of his fist connecting with face told John Henry that the gang member would no longer be a problem.
Two grunts left--so of course they were both the biggest of the bunch. John Henry pressed his back up against Colt, making sure they were in an advantageous position. John Henry's opponent was a mean looking bastard with a devilish series of tattoos on his face. Necromancer or Demoniac, in all likelihood. Very dark magick, seldom used for good.
"You okay, ace?" John Henry whispered to his impromptu tag partner.
"The name's Colt, not Ace!" the fighter said, frowning, and eyeballing the giant, corpulent bear of a man rearing up in front of him.
John Henry smiled. "Ah, so you're stupid! I like that in a guy."
"I can take on both of them!" Colt growled. "This is my show, big man."
John Henry could tell this scrappy spellbreaker was burning out quick. His energy was off, low. "You need to build up your energy, lightning man. Looks like you've just short circuited."
"Nah, I just gotta hold 'em off for a bit longer!" The grimace Colt made as he held his side---a bruised or broken rib probably---suggested otherwise.
Mr. Iron sucked his teeth. This handsome idiot wasn't gonna listen to him unless he felt like he was in charge. And John Henry was pretty sure he'd used a up good chunk of his own magick already. He couldn't sustain his metallic forms for lengthy durations. So, he relied on an old trick of his. He decided the battle was already won and that he just needed to figure out how to get from point 'A' to point 'C'...preferably while still alive.
What tools were available? What offensive magicks were we dealing with here? How could it be countered. In spellbreaking, especially in tag teams, the goal was always finding that sweet, perfect combination of elements. Oftentimes, the more surprising mixtures produced the best outcomes. So, what did we have here? Electricity. Metal.
"Perfect," John Henry said, his eyes lighting up at any idea. Now, he just had to hope that 1. Colt would actually take his suggestion, and 2. he had enough juice left inside him to action it. He wasn't sure which was more probable now.
"Okay, cowboy, listen up." He straightened his back, threw back his shoulders, and addressed the crowd. "You wanna give these geeks a Goddess-dammed show? Listen to me." With his back against Colt's---and damn was this boy built out of bricks---he couldn't see his face, so no sign of whether he'd convinced him. The pause that followed was not encouraging.
Then, "Hell yeah, brother! What do you have in mind?"
The wave of relief cooled John Henry down, gave him hope even, but he knew they were both far from out of trouble.
"Now this might sound crazy, Tex. But don't turn your electricity onto either of these lugs. I need you to turn it on me instead."
"You insane, big guy? It'll fry your brains out!" He lowered his voice. "Truthfully, metal man, I don't know if I have enough juice for one of them, let alone two."
"Trust me, partner. I need you right now more than you need me." Which was a lie, of course, as John was damned sure he could handle this without the cowboy's intervention, but for the sake of the moment, this was the easiest path towards victory.
"Okay, sure. You got one of those trusting faces, partner. Plus, I ain't never been steered wrong by a guy with that much muscle!"
"On my mark. Pivot yourself around, clamp down on my neck, and unleash the lightning."
Of course, John Henry had never attempted something so brazen as this before, so the end result could very well be his heart exploding from the voltage. But, he was man of science and magick, and it was the best option they had.
"Ready?"
The two monster men closed in, their shadow servants rearing up behind them to assist in the inevitable dismembering. John Henry side-stepped, taking a wide stance, and threw out his arms--tempting targets for the dark magi to make a grab. Luckily, they fell for the bait.
This would require perfect timing. No second chances. John Henry closed his eyes. "Now!"
For once in his life, Colt did as he was told. He jammed his fingers into John Henry's thick neck, and pumped all the voltage he had left inside him. Simultaneously, John transformed his whole body into pure silver---for maximum conductivity---becoming a living, metal sculpture. His consciousness blinked out, and as he faded into black, he hoped to Goddess that this stunt would pay off.
The electricity travelled through the metal giant, a perfect conduit, and into the bodies of the giant magi. A short shock, packed with enough wattage to fell a bull, was all that was needed. The two men convulsed, their shadows evaporated, and they fell to the ground---completely stunned.
All the while, Sandra looked out from behind the bar, her hand covering her mouth. She had never seen a human use magick like that before, become metal. It was almost like a living work of art.
John Henry became flesh and blood again, gasping for air and looking around wildly to see if his stunt had worked. Total silence. Hundreds of drunken, wide-eyed stares.
The next thing John saw was the tattooed man's head trapped between Colt's jean as he hoisted him up and spiked his head into a low table, sending splinters everywhere. Colt stood up and pointed to the air with a 'number one'. "Piledriver!" He cried out. "K.O.! Yeeeee-hawwww!"
"You're paying for that, Colton Tamberly!" Sandra cried out, before she was drowned out by a wild crowd, spilling beer and throwing dollars at John Henry and his stormy companion.
Colt pulled back his ponytail, breathing heavy. He took in the adoration of the crowd, giving them a wide grin, and striking his 'number one' pose again. "Howdy, howdy, let's get rowdy!" He shouted, hands up in the air, strutting around like a damn champion. If the men in the room were capable of lifting him up on their shoulders and parading him around like a king, they would have. As it were, they chanted, "Bolt! Bolt! Bolt!"
John Henry rolled his eyes. "That...wasn't even practical, man!"
Torn from the drunks currently touching his biceps, Colt stopped flexing and turned his eyes towards John. "But it is flashy," he said proudly. "And Colt the Bolt is about that flash bang!" He made finger-guns. Finger-guns.
Then, to John Henry's complete and utter annoyance, the cowboy took a fighting stance, squaring off with him instead.
"But I still got some fight in me, and now we have a crowd! You want some, too, steel giant?" he said, fists raised. "I ain't ever gone up against a titan like you, and I think I'd like to strike down a giant tonight!"
"Aw hell no---you're not gonna fight me after that, are you!?"
"Too afraid? Here comes the storm!"
Colt reached out to grab John Henry's arm, but the bigger man promptly transformed it into metal---the last spurt of energy he had. The cowboy reacted by pumping a shock into him---just as John Henry expected. Nothing happened. The crowd looked on, stupid. So did Colt.
"...Uh...what?"
"You know the best defense against lightning, boy?" John Henry said, nodding to his feet. He'd turned his left leg into metal as well, grounding himself, letting the voltage pass through his system and into the floor without damage. "A lightning rod."
Colt leaned back, and then gave John Henry the goofiest, shit eating grin he'd ever seen. "Aw, hey, see I was just messin--"
The next thing the crowd saw was the giant John Henry clamp his massive legs down on Colt's head, hoist him by his waist, and bring him up so high that the cowboy's head almost touch the ceiling. Then, John Henry delivered the most spectacular bomb that anybody in the bar had ever seen, inside or outside a spellbreaking ring.
Colt groaned on the ground, half conscious and concussed, laying helplessly splayed out for all to see. John Henry towered above him, inhaling and exhaling.
"That'll learn you--" John Henry started to say, before he felt something on his back. A darkness took hold. He slipped into oblivion. And that was that.
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