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[PI] When Titans Clash (1 of 2)
[A/N: I know what the prompt said. I think this is more interesting.]
When Titans Clash (Part 1 of 2)The motorcycle cruised the midnight highway. Its engine thrummed steadily, holding to a speed exactly one mile per hour beneath the posted speed limit. Its rider was tall and broad, wearing a leather jacket and blue jeans. Oddly enough, he wore dark sunglasses even though it was night-time. This did not appear to impair him in the slightest.
He looked human. He wasn’t.
The rider was in this place, in this time, for a purpose. He was hunting a man whose existence had to be snuffed out, who needed to die before certain events could take place. Not much information existed about this man; either he lived a very reclusive life, or his data had been comprehensively scrubbed at some point in time. That did not matter; he had an address.
There was no curiosity within the rider’s mind about the missing information. It wasn’t his function to wonder about such things. His function was to locate this person and transition his status from ‘living’ to ‘dead’. He had done this many times before. While he was incapable of being boastful, he was very, very good at it. Humans were easy to kill. He knew many ways of doing it.
The man named John Wick was only human.
He would be terminated like all the rest.
Iosef smirked as he climbed out of the passenger seat of the van. He looked around at Victor and Sergey, his friends and confidantes. Most importantly, neither one would wimp out or rat on him to his father.
He’d fallen in love with that ’69 Mustang from the moment he’d seen it. He wanted it and he was going to have it. No pussy American bitch was going to stop him from getting what he wanted, Russian-speaking or otherwise. Up until now it was his father’s influence that had allowed him to have whatever—or whoever—he wanted, but tonight Iosef Tarasov was going to prove that he was his own man.
As they approached the front door, a motorbike turned into the driveway and rumbled toward them. Iosef flinched and covered his eyes as the single headlight washed over them. “Who the fuck is that?”
Victor shrugged. “I don’t know, Iosef. Want me to get rid of him?”
It stung slightly that Victor still wasn’t calling him ‘boss’ like everyone did his father, but now wasn’t the time to quibble about minor shit like that. It was enough for the moment that they followed his orders. “Yeah. Get rid of him.”
The motorbike pulled to a halt and the engine stopped, the headlight shutting off. In the sudden darkness, Iosef saw the vague shape of a large man climbing off the bike and moving toward them. Victor and Sergey went to intercept him, the former hefting the pipe they’d brought along for the break-in. A thrill of excitement went through Iosef as he knew how his father must have felt back in the glory days when he was still carving out his empire. Say the word, and a man dies.
“Hey, man,” said Victor as the guy came in range of the house exterior lights. The newcomer was fucking huge, with muscles out to there and a leather jacket. Iosef decided that if the guy had to be beaten down, he wanted the jacket too. The oddest thing was, he was wearing sunglasses at night. What kind of idiot did that, unless he wanted to look cool? “You want to get out of here, all right? Just fuck off and nobody gets hurt.”
The stranger looked at the two men standing in front of him, scarves pulled up over their faces. If he felt any kind of fear, he wasn’t showing it. Finally, he spoke, in what sounded like a German accent. “Fuck off,” he said. “And nobody gets hurt.”
Iosef stared. Did the guy want to die?
Evidently, Victor was wondering the same thing. Eventually, when the guy didn’t back off, he shrugged. “Your funeral, asshole.” Hefting the pipe, he swung it double-handed at the moron’s head.
There was a blur of motion, and suddenly the big guy held the pipe. One handed, not two, but that didn’t seem to make a bit of difference. Another blur of motion, and Victor’s head exploded.
Iosef had wanted his men to bring guns, but Victor had overruled him. He didn’t want anyone firing off shots in a suburban neighbourhood in an op that hadn’t been sanctioned by Iosef’s father. So all they had was knives and the pipe.
Now, he was really, really regretting not putting his foot down. One pistol—just one—and this problem would be over. Instead, Sergey had to get up close and dirty. A blade clicked open as he moved in for the kill.
The kill happened, but not in the way Iosef anticipated. There was another blur of motion and Sergey screamed very briefly. Iosef saw his friend’s head get twisted a full one-eighty like someone turning a volume button on the stereo. There was a crackling of cartilage and bone, and Sergey dropped to the ground like the classic strings-cut puppet.
Iosef’s nerve broke and he ran up the driveway toward the house, as much to get away from the maniac killer behind him as to seek refuge. But his escape attempt was far too little, far too late. The leather-jacketed man hefted the ad hoc weapon and threw it like a javelin.
The last thing that went through Iosef Tarasov’s mind was a two-inch pipe.
John woke with Daisy barking frantically beside him. He sat up in bed, blinking at the bedside clock. It read a little after midnight and he heaved a sigh. “You want to go, do you?”
Something in the tone of her barking warned him that there was more to it than that. She paused to catch her breath, and he heard a single metallic ping from downstairs. It sounded like metal breaking. A sound that he should not be hearing from within his own house.
Before he could grab her, Daisy scrambled off the bed and bolted out the open door, barking wildly. John groaned and climbed out of bed. The chances were that any potential housebreaker would flee as soon as they heard the dog barking, but he couldn’t bank on it. So he went after his dog, padding silently on bare feet. If they stayed, they’d probably try to hide from Daisy or make friends with her. If they gave up without too much trouble, he decided that he wouldn’t even hurt them too badly. He didn’t want to set Daisy a bad example, after all.
He was halfway down the stairs when Daisy reached the intruder. There was no swearing, no attempt at evasion at all. Just a single meaty chunk, and Daisy’s barking was cut off. Not even a yelp.
John went cold all over, as he realized that he’d just made a horrific error in judgement. It wasn’t the first he’d ever made, and it likely wouldn’t be the last. But this time it had cost him Daisy’s life.
Just as quickly, the horror was replaced by rage. Putting his hand on the rail, he vaulted over it, landing as quietly as he could on the polished floor below. Whoever had killed his dog would pay dearly. The police wouldn’t be getting involved. In fact, they would never learn about this.
I might be retired, but for Daisy’s sake I can do one last job.
As silently as he moved, the intruder had amazing hearing. He only moved one step from landing before a large shadowy figure stepped around the corner, maybe twenty feet away. The person spoke, his accent Austrian. “Are you John Wick?”
Well, that was interesting. Very few people who weren’t from his old life knew his name. The number of those people who also knew where he lived were very few indeed. “Yeah, I am, asshole. Who are you?”
In answer, the guy brought up a shotgun. John heard the k’chak-chak as the slide was racked back and forth, and he knew without knowing how that the guy was going to shoot. He acted on that knowledge, diving sideways just as the firearm boomed, blowing a chunk out of the drywall right at chest height.
There were no firearms in the house, save the ones he’d sealed in concrete in the basement. Somehow, he suspected the assassin—nobody walked into a house, killed the dog and tried to blow the owner’s head off on a simple home invasion—wasn’t going to give him the chance to get a sledgehammer and break the lockbox clear again. With the guy’s size, speed and reflexes, there was little chance of getting close enough to disable him or taking the shotgun off him, so he ran for it.
Behind him, he heard the bootsteps as the guy pursued; fast, but deliberate. The shotgun was racked again and he knew he’d have even less chance to dodge than he had the first time.
He darted into the kitchen, snatching the largest knife from the block, and a plate from the sink. As the hired killer loomed in the doorway, he threw both. The plate hit the guy in the throat hard enough to shatter both it and the guy’s larynx, and the knife buried itself in the guy’s heart … or would have, if it hadn’t bounced off and clattered on the floor. He didn’t stop to survey the results; even a dying enemy could squeeze off a last shot.
It was a good thing he didn’t. Even as he scrambled out the far doorway, two shots boomed across the kitchen. The guy didn’t seem at all hampered by the fact that he’d just taken the equivalent to a knife-hand strike to the throat, and John wasn’t at all sure what had happened to the actual knife. More drywall suffered, and John was sure he’d heard buckshot humming past his head.
Who the fuck is this guy, and why’s he after me? And how come I’ve never heard of him before?
He shelved the questions for the time being. They could be answered once he had a gun in his hand, and the guy bleeding out at his feet. Right now, he had to get armed. And that meant he had to get away.
The assassin was following his footsteps unerringly, no matter how quietly he tried to move. And he was fast, faster than anyone of that size had a right to be. So he abandoned stealth, scooping his car keys out of the bowl and heading for the door into the garage.
The door was unlocked from his side, of course, and he bipped the fob to unlock the car. The garage door opener was a large button that he mashed with his elbow on the way past; it began to rise as he wrenched the door open and dived into the car. He didn’t bother with such frivolities as the seatbelt as he stabbed the key into the ignition and started the car.
The engine roared to life and he slammed it into gear, shoving the accelerator to the floorboards and peeling out of the garage under the still-opening door. Hunching low in his seat to avoid any shots from behind, he almost missed the front door bursting off its hinges. He didn’t miss the bulky form of the man who’d come to kill him performing an impossible leap from his porch toward the car.
Bracing himself, John slammed the brakes on, the tyres skidding on the gravel before they bit in and stopped the car. The bulky assassin hit the hood and bounced off; at the same time, as the car slewed to a halt, John got a good look at three dead men in the driveway. One had no head, one had his head twisted all the way around, and the third had what looked like a steel pipe through his head.
That put a whole new complication on the matter, one that he didn’t need right now. The big guy rolled to his feet with inhuman agility—why not, because everything else he was doing was impossible—and brought the shotgun up. John let the clutch out and howled the tyres, spearing the car directly at the man who’d killed his dog. The front of the car caught the guy, ramming him backward. He still fired, blowing the windshield in, but John had already bailed out of the car, rolling over and over as the runaway vehicle rammed into a tree, with the assassin in between.
Panting heavily, John climbed to his feet. Nobody on earth would stay silent with a crushed pelvis, so …
Acting on pure instinct, he dived to the side, seeking cover. The shotgun blasted where he’d been standing, peppering his legs with gravel. He kept moving, seriously beginning to wonder what it would take to put this sonovabitch down. Whatever he was made of, it wasn’t normal flesh and blood.
Running down the driveway, the gravel harsh on his bare feet but he didn’t care, this was life or death, he saw a motorbike parked a little way beyond the three dead men. If this guy had killed them too, he had to have done it with his bare hands. The look of shock on the face of the guy with the pipe through his head said it all.
What the fuck is going on here?
The bike sat there invitingly, in the middle of the driveway. All he had to do was throw his leg over it—the keys were still in it—and ride away.
Then he heard the asshole rack the shotgun again. Acting on pure instinct, he vaulted over the bike and crouched behind it, using it as cover. Two quick blasts sounded, shaking the bike, but although buckshot skittered over the driveway, none of it hit him.
No more shots sounded, but he heard—and smelled—liquid draining from the tank. The sharp stink of gasoline reached his nostrils. He couldn’t stay here. But this guy wouldn’t stop following him, and was likely faster on his feet.
Wait a minute. Those three guys didn’t come here on this bike.
The heavy footsteps were coming down the driveway. Turning, he rose like a starter from the blocks and sprinted like he’d never sprinted before. The sound of his own harsh breathing filled his lungs as he pushed himself harder and harder. Running away grated on him, but only an idiot tried to take on impossible odds.
When he reached the bottom of the driveway, he saw that he’d been right. Parked just off to the side, in a convenient place to drive off quickly, was a black van. Diving into the front seat, he saw that yes, these guys had left the keys in it. He worried that it wouldn’t turn over as fast as his car did, but the engine was still warm so it fired almost immediately. Slamming it into gear, he smashed his foot on the accelerator, spearing out onto the road.
Movement in the rearview mirror caught his eye; the assassin, running down onto the road and then beginning to follow him. Disbelievingly, he watched as the guy began to catch up. The speedometer read forty miles per hour, the same as the speed limit on the road he was on. He changed up and up again, mentally urging the sluggish engine onward as it did its best to gain speed. Finally, the guy began to fall behind, but John did not relax in the slightest until he’d put several miles and two random turns between them.
Aurelio looked up as the roller-door to his chop-shop opened and a familiar-looking van drove in. Great. Iosef’s back again to strut around and cash in on his father’s good will. He knew the kid wouldn’t do anything so blatant as to steal from him, but sometimes the little shit got right up his nose.
But to his surprise, it wasn’t Iosef who climbed out of the van, or even Victor.
“John?” he asked. “What the hell are you doing, driving Iosef’s piece of shit van?”
John looked back at the van. “Who’s Iosef?” he asked.
Aurelio took a second look at John, and realized that something was seriously wrong. The man had no shoes on and was wearing what looked suspiciously like pyjamas. He also looked as though he’d been scrambling around in the dirt for days, and there were a couple of bloody nicks and cuts on his arms and legs.
“Viggo’s son,” he said. “But forget I asked. What the fuck happened to you?”
“Same thing as happened to Iosef and his friends,” John said. “Only theirs was a lot more permanent. You heard of any newcomers in the area? Maybe taking out contracts?”
“What? No!” Aurelio was shocked. “Are you saying Iosef’s dead? What happened?” He gestured for John to follow him to his office. There was a coffeepot there, always on the boil.
“Well, if this is his van, he’s dead.” John grimaced. “They came to my house. What for, I don’t know. But someone intercepted them and killed them barehanded. Very strong, very fast. He broke in and killed my dog, and damn near killed me, too.”
“Shit.” Aurelio’s eyes opened wide as he poured John a strong cup of coffee. After a moment of thought, he added a dash of bourbon. “Your dog, man? That’s fucking brutal. You kill him?”
“No.” John took the coffee and sipped at it appreciatively. “I only just got away. Threw a knife; it bounced off his chest.”
“Body armour,” guessed Aurelio.
“Maybe.” John shook his head. “He didn’t move like someone in body armour. I drove my car into him and pinned him against a tree. He kept shooting at me, then chased me down the damn highway.”
“Down the highway.” Aurelio wondered if he should be giving John the alcohol. “You had anything to drink, man?”
“Not for four and a half years.” John took another big drink of coffee. “I’m not sure what this guy’s deal is, but he’s not human. Nobody can do what I saw him do.”
“Not even on drugs?” Aurelio tilted his head. “I heard stories of guys on drugs, man.”
“Getting up with broken legs and running at forty miles an hour?” John gave him a skeptical look. “That’s not drugs. That’s something else.”
“So what you gonna do, man?” Aurelio didn’t like this shit, not one little bit.
“He killed my dog, and he tried to kill me.” John Wick’s expression was set in stone. “I’m going to find out how to kill him, and send him straight to hell.”
Monogatari Series 2020 Novel Order Rewatch - Bakemonogatari Season Discussion
Bakemonogatari Full Season DiscussionPrevious Episode | Next Episode
* mind Daylight Savings Time
"A hundred percent of my gratitude to all of you out there who aren't me."
- Rank the OPs or tell us your favorites
- Your favorite characters so far?
- Favorite and least favorite arcs?
- For First Timers: How was Bakemonogatari and did it meet your expectations; was it worse or better than expected?
- Rewatchers, did your perspective on arcs and characters change?
Surveys! The poll stays open, but results are in
Favorite OP -> Renai Circulation with 40%, followed by Staple Stable and Sugar Sweet Nightmare with 25% and 20%
Best Girl -> 54% voted for Hitagi Senjougahara, the other girls seem to need their time to shine
TriviaFirst Season Afterwords - Spoiler Free if you just read the Bakemonogatari parts
Bakemonogatari left a huge impression on the book reviewers; I recommend checking that video out, they talk about Bakemonogatari and about Food Wars at 9:20. They come back to it over the whole video though. People need to make them read on and read Nisemonogatari. It's a peek into the non-anime fan's mind.
Bakemonogatari OST Playlist
Keep the subreddit policy in mind and don't hype future episodes or future character development and don't tease First Timers too much.Don't hype future arcs beyond "this is my favorite arc, I'm looking forward to it". Events of the current episode or past episodes do not have to be spoiler tagged. If in doubt, break up your comment into a safer part and one just for rewatchers and rather tag too much than too little
Please remember to tag your spoilers properly; this: [The author of Monogatari is](/s "NisiOisiN") becomes this: The author of Monogatari is
Explanation on why this format was chosen for anime. If you have troubles, you might have the "fancypants editor" on new reddit which screws with the quotation marks or have other problems.
For First Timers: Try to not look up anything. The translation for Character or Arc Names, eg. Hanamonogatari, in itself is no real spoiler. But explanations of the translation, puns and reasons why can spoil many major arcs, tread carefully. Also, recommended YouTube videos, fanart and AMVs can contain major spoilers about characters. In addition, comments under those videos and posts are usually full of spoilers as well.
Even the MAL synopsis and pictures for later seasons can have spoilers.
Furthermore, some Arc names are spoilers. That's why EdoPhantom's guide blacked them out and I recommend not looking them up on your own.