It wasn't until every super in the room was primed and poised for the order to kill him that his true position in all of this - and his first viable survival plan - really clicked for Ryan.

Instead of answering right away, he rifled through the photos Marcus had given him with his non-wooden arm. Being careful not to move the other as that one was busy being his backup plan. Selecting the few he needed to make his point, Ryan casually flicked one across the table to the twin with the gun pointed at him, another towards the twin he’d mentally dubbed ‘Meatfist’, and the final one at Marcus's feet.

Both thugs tensed, but when nothing janky happened with the cards, neither moved beyond sharing a glance. Marcus eyed the one in front of him warily, as if deciding whether or not it was a snake, before backing up a single step.

It was all the confirmation Ryan needed. Gotcha.

"So." Ryan drawled with as much mock incredulity and scorn as he could put into his voice.

"Your plan is to threaten me with a gun." He pointed one finger towards the burly guard with a rifle, imitating Marcus's own mannerism. "When your own men have wasted… how many bullets on me already?

Marcus's manicured brow furrowed the barest inch. "Those are explosive rounds, I can assure you--"

"And Meatfist here thinks he can just what… punch me?" Ryan asked, continuing right over the mayor and gesturing again with the same finger. "When none of you will risk touching me again in case I pop you open like a bag of chips for trying?"

"He won't actually die, he can--"

Ryan’s gaze went hard and he cut the mayor off again with a wave of his hand and a sharp nod of his head at the photo lying faceup in front of the mayor.

It was that same image from earlier. Of Ryan absorbing a dead man's body into his own for the first time. Not that Marcus has any idea what I’m actually doing here. Does he?

The stage set and doubt planted, Ryan stretched both of his arms in front of him as casually as he could. His next words had a false joviality to them, as if giving a special reveal to a large crowd.

"You seem to think you have me pinned down there Mr. Mayor, so let me tell you something about my power, because ours really aren't all that different."

The editor slowly pushed himself to his feet and brought his hands back down to the table to make his point. Taking care not to make any sudden movements that would trigger the goon squad to end his play at bravado here... What was coming next would hurt enough without their interference kicking things off early.

Ryan locked eyes with Marcus. The man whose cold gaze still frightened him, even in that moment, more than his own death. He couldn’t imagine being enslaved like the others were. Couldn’t imagine watching his body move without being able to stop it. The stories they’d told him back at base…

Only an effort of will kept the editor's stance from sh aking. He knew he was taking a potentially fatal risk here… but he didn't really have any other options. There was just no fighting the sheer amount of powers that could one-shot him in this room. Not how he was now. And definitely not solo.

So, after a brief - hopefully dramatic - pause… he continued.

"Your power lets you add pawns to your collection." He glanced around the room to each of the very ‘pawns’ he was referring to in turn. .

Then Ryan placed one hand on his wooden arm as if to flex it, surreptitiously tapping the table at the same time with his wooden pointer finger. He grinned as confidently as he could. A showman with the stage as set as he could make it, he sent one last glance first at Marcus, then at the pile of various displayed abilities, then back to the mayor to make his point.

"My power lets me add powers to my collection."

Marcus's eyes widened slightly, the implications of that statement hitting him even as the man’s next command came out. The mayor tapped something on his wrist and dove behind Meatfist, shouting to the rest: "Stop him!"

Ryan moved all of his kinetic skin to cover his head, neck, upper torso, and left arm. The essentials. Then came the hard part. He closed his eyes and activated his power.

Around him, the whole room devolved into chaos.

Annnd then it exploded.

Would you like to absorb the remainder of your left leg, your right leg, your right arm, your left eye, and all internal mass and organs not required to survive the next hour - down to what can be covered by 40% of total skin - for a total of 4,585 points?

Warning: Energy gained over your maximum will be lost if not immediately used. There is also a chance it may violently escape.

Ryan only had about 40% of his skin upgraded to absorb kinetic energy, and in order for him to survive this next part that basically meant everything else had to go.

Going to lose it anyway, so might as well make use of it.

At least, that had been his logical thought process.

His actual thought process was consumed more by trying not to scream as his own limbs began literally disintegrating into his chest. The whole not-screaming bit turned out to be, in practice, flatly impossible. So Ryan bit down hard on his diamond-reinforced lips to keep his mouth shut as tightly as he could. He still screamed of course, but it was an internal sort of screaming. Manlier, maybe. Several teeth cracked as his jaw clenched against actual diamonds.

While the majority of his mind was preoccupied with the searing pain of having what felt like half his body forcibly liquefied, the primal part of him - the one that demanded survival at all costs - blocked all that crap out and forced him to activate his power once more. The editor wasn’t done yet, and he knew his enemies weren’t going to wait to see how this ended up to attack.

Would you like to transform the remainder of the table and all furniture connected to it into fine sawdust, convert 4,000 points worth of energy into fine sawdust, and propel all of it in the chosen direction? Cost: 4435 points.

While the Mayor had been villain-monologuing away, Ryan had been carefully absorbing small flecks of wood from it up into his wooden arm as points. Then redirecting those same points into connecting the nearby tables around the restaurant via a tiny rod of wood underneath the rugs scattered liberally around as decoration. Initially his goal had been to have one single block of wood he could harvest for points.

The process however had been painfully slow - so slow in fact that he’d had to sacrifice a few toes to speed it up (numbing that process to keep the pain of it from being noticed had cost him his left pinky toe in additional points).

If the room hadn’t been so tense, or the sliver-thin rods of wood connecting the tables had been much thicker, Ryan’s actions might have been noticed. As it was, the editor now had three extra tables worth of wood counting as a single block of ‘wood’ to play with. Which meant he had everything he needed. Hopefully.

Every farmer worth their salt new that there were four conditions necessary to cause a dust explosion:

a combustible dust dispersed at a high enough concentration an oxidant a confined area and an ignition source.

The first condition was usually found in grain silos. Ryan's education had taught him the reason behind that was the high surface area each particle of grain had. There was just more potential for boom the finer the grain dust became. John Q. Public never heard about these dangers because it was mainly one the agricultural community had learned well to avoid by now.

The other two conditions were met already. The restaurant definitely counted as an enclosed space. And while it wasn't quite as sealed off as a grain silo might be, it was still packed enough for the editor's purposes. Oxygen was, of course, an oxidant. One they were breathing right now. Which left an ignition source. And according to Ryan’s uncle, that could be: "Damn near anything. Even a broken light bulb could send you off to high heaven. Why do you think silos are never kept near the house?"

Ryan mentally shook his head at the memory of his irascible uncle - who would no doubt highly disapprove of this next course of action - and accepted the second prompt. Immediately resolving another of the requisite conditions.

An enormous plume of sawdust exploded out of him and from the nearby wooden tables. The small tornado of wood shavings coming off him blanketed the entire area in a dense cloud of highly flammable sawdust right as the rifle-toting Percival chose to fire his weapon.

And, in doing so, the thug helpfully satisfied the final condition for Ryan's semi-suicidal escape plan.

Whether it was the firearm’s discharge that did it or the explosive round that slammed into Ryan’s chest, he would never be able to tell. What felt like the very instant after the round had gone off, a rapidly expanding cloud of flame rose from practically everywhere at once as nearly every single particle in the room ignited all at once.

The resulting dust explosion blew out every window in the restaurant, several less-sturdy walls, most of the roof, and flung most of its occupants in varying directions at cartoonish speeds.

The editor, right in the epicenter of the blast and not actually connected to the ground anymore as a falling mostly-torso, was rocketed backwards like a half-man, half-meat missile through two separate walls and into another building entirely. Crashing through furniture of every variety before finally slamming into something solid enough to stop him. The impact alone stunned him briefly and what was left of his body fell limply to the floor.

For a moment it was all Ryan could do just to try and gasp for a few breaths of air. Opening his crisped eyelids felt like lifting weights. A quick glance around let him know he appeared to be in another restaurant of some kind. Maybe a buffet? That fact was logged… somewhere… in his brain as the rest of his mind numbly congratulated himself on surviving a story his aunt and uncle would probably have a heart attack hearing about. His cousin would probably get a kick out of it though.

That particular mental rabbit hole consumed his addled mind for the better part of a minute before a feeling of impending danger brought him back to the present. Pulling up his own status screen Ryan groaned internally at the laundry list of negatives he was suffering from. Apart from the multiple missing limbs, concussion, and severely torn skin where the blast had apparently just been too strong even for his upgraded body (did that say 'skull fracture'?) his injuries could have been worse… Maybe.

His ears would be ringing right now if the blast hadn’t completely deafened him. His skin would have been crisped to a cinder - or outright melted off - if it weren’t for the diamond-reinforced outer layer handling some of the heat. And he’d definitely be dead if the kinetic upgrade hadn’t absorbed as much of the blast as it had. Just how much had been absorbed was a question for another time, but the gamble had apparently paid off.

Ryan had actually hoped to be able to weather the entire blast, pivot the energy back into healing and upgrades, and then wade through his surely-devastated foes like the reaper on roids, but--

Sudden pain arced through every exposed inch of skin on his body, jolting every nerve with what felt like electricity. The feeling reminded Ryan in no uncertain terms that he currently had way too much energy absorbed in his skin. Being death on performance drugs would have to wait.

Accessing his power, Ryan converted the energy in his skin to something he could actually use, groaning as searing pain that felt like part of him actually was melting this time wracked through him, then looked at the total.

He blinked his one remaining eye in shock as he stared at the prompt. All concerns about pain temporarily forgotten.

Energy Capacity: 80,000 / 800 points. Maximum overcharge capacity limits reached.

Warning: Energy gained over your maximum will be lost if not immediately used. There is also a chance it may violently escape.

Warning: Energy gained over the overcharge capacity cannot be used and will begin breaking down one’s physical form.

That… sounds bad.

‘Breaking down of one’s physical form’ sounded like the sort of thing that would kill him the way cartoon characters died. Just a puddle of-- Stop it, Ryan… think! He chided himself.

He had to act fast. This was his chance. He just needed to be cool and take it.

Ryan took a deep breath, and accessed his power again. First things first, he needed to fix himself. Fighting with one arm was something that only happened in unrealistic fantasy stories where the hero had more plot armor than common sense.

Would you like to restore your previous form and clear all listed negative status effects? Cost: 7,450 points.

Sometimes, I really do feel like these prompts come with a sarcastic tone. Ryan thought as he accepted the prompt.

Relief washed over him in a wave of lost pain every bit as potent as the shock that followed. New limbs grew over the course of only a few seconds, a tumultuous series of sensations that Ryan couldn’t have possibly described as bone, sinew, and skin regrew. Sensations he fervently hoped he’d never have to feel again. His mind cleared as the world came back into crystal-sharp focus. Sound returned to him as if the entire world had been on mute. And his missing eye returned with a swelling pop, bringing his depth perception back.

He felt… giddy. Elated, even! Not only had he survived the mayor, and his goons, and the explosion… but he had over seventy thousand points to spend! He cou--

Searing pain shot through him again and Ryan’s arms went to his stomach as he doubled over, retching up some kind of translucent, chunky liquid. Hrrnghh… Okay, less talk, more do. Under--hrngh--stood.

Not even bothering to pull himself up, Ryan went for one of the upgrades he’d planned for even as more vomit spilled up and out.

Would you like to upgrade your remaining skin to diamond kinetic skin? Cost: 72,000 points.

As helpful as it had been just now in avoiding the burns, Ryan knew he would be replacing the ‘diamond’ part as soon as he could. He already had several more durable, resilient, or just plain better materials in mind… he just couldn’t afford them yet. Even eighty thousand points wasn’t enough - and there was no way he was ever doing piecemeal upgrades as his sole defense ever again.

Maybe I can find a way to afford graphene or something… He reflected briefly before coughing up what he was somehow not entirely sure was his breakfast. Gritting his teeth over what was coming next, he accepted the prompt.

Immediately every newly formed square inch of his skin clenched and for a moment Ryan felt like he was back in his first day at the hospital. Or trying to squeeze out his own diamond. His entire exterior grew denser and heavier as the transformation took root. The editor spat the last of whatever-that-was out of his mouth and grinned like a madman holding a first place trophy.

Only about half of his skin would be able to repulse energy now… but with this upgrade he’d finally be able not to worry about dying every few seconds to some stray bullet or random overly muscled thug with--

The crunch of splintering wood and distant, shouted commands interrupted Ryan’s train of thought as Ryan saw the Percival twin he’d dubbed ‘Meatfist’ making his way through a hole in the wall almost as if on cue. The bastard had the gall to look completely unharmed somehow, as if the dust explosion he’d been standing literally inside of a moment before had been no more than a harsh breeze.

Now that’s just cheating… Ryan grumbled, remembering both the man’s ‘density’ superpower and his ability to regenerate. Pretty sure I just leveled that whole building, and he gets to just walk it off!?

As Meatfist crunched his way through the wall, Ryan noted with no small amount of satisfaction that the man had not just walked the whole affair off. His clothes hadn’t survived the blast nearly as well as their wearer had. Or at all. Percival was naked. Save for superheated metal fist weapons on either hand, that is.

A curious glance down at his own lack of apparel confirmed that Meatfist wasn’t the only one swinging freely, either.

Ryan sighed and got to his feet. The big man had seen him, and it’s not like Ryan had much hope of outrunning anyone with superstrength anyway. Not yet at least. A few more explosions like that and I might have a chance.

Still, he decided to at least try and avoid what was coming. Even if his own blood was boiling for the chance to fight back.

“I don’t suppose you’d be willing to postpone this?” Ryan asked in a congenial tone somewhat belied by the manic grin still on his face.

He stepped away from what he now realized was an industrial freezer that he’d slammed into and towards a pair of large sinks filled with forgotten dishes as Meatfist clambered fully through the seven or eight food-wide opening he’d torn in the wall.

“I can book us for a birthday-suit-brawl some other time, maybe promote the fight and get you a cut of advertisi--” Ryan’s next words were cut off as Meatfist closed the gap between them in a single leap, his broad shoulders smashing through metal cabinets and appliances as he slammed his enormous metal-knuckled-covered fist directly into Ryan’s gut.

The editor took a half step back, rocking with the blow, and... coughed. Meatfist blinked, clearly having expected an entirely different series of events. The burly man pulled back a bit and stared at his own hand in confusion, then looked at Ryan as if unable to mesh what he’d just seen with what he knew to be true about the world.

In fairness to Meatfist, Ryan was every bit as shocked as he was. That must have been quite the punch for him to actually feel that through a kinetic absorption layer. Kevin’s blows hadn’t even registered as a tap. And yet the leftover force of it had still moved him backwards.

Just another reminder that you’re never invincible, Ryan. How many more of those do you really need today?

Curious, and before Meatfist could recover enough from the shock to try again, Ryan raised his left hand and flicked it toward Meatfist’s outstretched… well, fist. As he did, the editor expelled the same force that had just hit him back towards his opponent.

The man's fist rocketed right into his own face, catching Meatfist on his chin and smashing him into a nearby shelf of condiments. Most of which popped open, spraying sauce in every direction.

Okay, expected a bit more from that but… I’ll take it.

Ryan's grin deepened by several notches. Finally. Finally he was on relatively even footing with a powerful opponent in melee combat. Finally no longer outclassed and forced to hide behind his friends when push came to shove.

The editor raised his fists in the defensive boxer's stance Kevin had taught him.

"Alright big guy, let's do thi--"

A much harder punch than before blurred between his defenses, connecting hard with Ryan's own jaw and sending him stumbling backwards. Stars exploded in Ryan's vision. He’d seen the blow coming thanks to his enhanced vision, but he couldn’t even pretend to move that fa--

Another fist slammed into Ryan's gut. Blood coughed out of the editor unbidden. A massive blow turned him almost entirely the other direction and then Meatfist began whaling on Ryan with both metal fists. Smashing him with blow after blow until he was forced to retreat against the meat freezer. The editor kept his left arm in the path of as much as possible, hoping to store up as much energy as he could from the onslaught.

Every time his opponent connected Ryan tried to activate his power and turn the man into a vegetable. To end the fight as quickly as it had begun. But the weapons he wore on either hand prevented any actual contact, making the attempt impossible. And trying to form a coherent plan to get around that obstacle kept being rudely interrupted by Meatfist's repeated attempts to turn him into paste.

"ENOUGH!!" Ryan roared, unleashing the stored energy from that hail of blows all at once in his opponent's general direction. A wall of force so thick it shimmered through the air erupted out of him. Cutlery, dishes, and assorted expired food products went everywhere. The blast picked Meatfist up and hurled him bodily through the wall separating the kitchen and the dining room… and then through the glass wall looking out onto the street, bouncing him off a parked car.

Meatfist, to his credit, took the SUV-sized blast with far more grace than a man of his size should have. Skidding to a stop, he then began bounding back to resume the fight. The editor noted with no small amount of self-satisfaction that the man now sported some bruising about his face and chest… though not nearly enough in Ryan's opinion.

Ryan healed his own injuries from that last exchange, spat out a mouthful of blood, raised his fists again, and prepared himself to meet the charge. He could feel his blood pounding in his ears, his heart thudding in his chest, and the thrill of battle surging through him. In that moment, he didn't just want to survive.

He wanted to pound this bruiser into the dirt and win.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Percival/Meatfist went sailing back through the last wall in the restaurant that didn't have a hole in it. Crumpling the drywall as if it were made of paper mache. Ryan had stopped counting how many times he'd hurled the man backwards at this point. It was a wonder the building was still standing at all… he was pretty sure some of the roof had caved in on that last exchange.

And yet, no matter how many times Ryan repelled him... Percival kept coming. The editor logically knew his opponent would have to tire out at some point. Even superhuman bodies had a limit to the amount of punishment they could take. He had to wear out at some point.

But on and on the big man kept coming, attacking Ryan with the single-minded devotion of a man possessed. Even under Marcus's control, Percival had to know somewhere in there that this fight wasn't working out for him. So why was he--

Ryan stopped cold.

Mentally, the editor knew he had the upper hand in this fight. Percival was unable to kill him outright, which is what he’d basically have to do at this point. And while the big man seemed able to shrug off Ryan's return volleys… Ryan could just use the energy from the man's own blows to heal himself as the fight went on. Effectively making this a war of attrition with only one side likely to win.

So... why was Percival still attacking? The mayor wasn’t stupid enough to waste a pawn on Ryan without a strategy.

Marcus and his crew of pawns had never reappeared after Ryan went all Farmer John on the other building, but there had definitely been a delay between that and Meatfist's appearance. Enough of a delay to give an order, easily. He did remember someone shouting... What order would keep Percival here, though? Unless the goal wasn't to keep Percival here.

Realization shot through Ryan and his blood suddenly ran cold. He'd been so caught up in fighting for his life that he'd missed the obvious threat looming over him.

Meatfist is just the distraction.

Marcus was going for reinforcements. He'd failed to stop or convince Ryan with what was available… so he was out getting more. Given that the mayor had the entire police department to fall back on, that could be a whole lot more. And soon. Percival just had to stall Ryan until the cavalry arrived.

"Fucking… supervillains." Ryan swore as Percival's naked, ketchup-covered form stepped back around a broken wall for what must have been the 10th time that day.

Yeah... That's the last time I want to see that.

The pair exchanged another series of furious blows. Or, to be more accurate, Ryan got punched around a lot until he had enough energy saved he knew he could send his opponent back out on his ridiculously muscled rear end in one shot.

Instead of focusing the energy release back in a wide blast on Percival as he had been doing however, Ryan released it all in as thin and narrow a beam as he could directly at the big man's skull. The energy smashed into Percival's forehead like a rocket-powered sledgehammer, the momentum stopping the man's next attack in mid-air.

Before Percival's brain could unscramble and catch up to what was happening, Ryan lunged forward. Grabbing a hold of the man's wrist for the first time he'd been able, the editor activated his power to end the fight.

Sixty five points and a few seconds later, Percival slipped into a sudden coma. The big man's eyes - blank and emotionless throughout their fight - rolled back into his head and he fell forward. Ryan stepped lightly out of the way as his opponent's dense frame impacted and cracked the last few unshattered tiles in this part of the restaurant… and a sizeable chunk of the concrete subfloor underneath

Unable to resist the potential point gain and well aware that Percival's other twin could just respawn this one at any time... Ryan had no qualms about absorbing his fallen foe.

Unsurprisingly, the big man with an impressive suite of superpowers was worth an equally impressive amount of points. 12,000 and change. Ryan could only imagine how much food Percival's twin would have to consume in order to respawn his other half each time. It was probably a literal buffet worth.

The hefty amount brought with it a decision though. Now that Ryan's defensive power was effectively fully online, he needed something… else. Adding another superpower outright, as he’d discovered the other day, required an enormous boost to his base capacity - effectively making the act cost-prohibitive even with twelve thousand points to spare. Upgrading parts of himself however had been fairly straightforward.

Ryan had thought long and hard about the primary drawback to his editor ability while he was planning. It all came down to whether or not he could touch what he needed to change. Limiting his ability to affect the world down to basically whatever was in reach.

In a fight - and especially in that last fight - that could be made substantially more difficult than one would think. His skin had protected him against Percival… but maybe it was time to go beneath the skin. His eyes could already follow most targets, it was just his reflexes that hadn’t been able to keep up. Like watching a movie in bullet time while frozen in place.

In a word? Frustrating. As much as… well, as a super-strength fist to the face, really.

He would have loved to extend his power's. range, but the cost for almost any additional distance was obscene. Dizzying, even.

Reflexes it is, then. Ryan accessed his power, attempting to upgrade his reaction time directly rather than targeting any single muscle group. To his surprise, the upgrades were categorized based on the type of response he wanted. The five senses (visual, auditory, etc.) were each separated into their own categories alongside a sixth category of ‘mental’. A few tweaks of his prompts and the editor finally had what he was looking for… at least within the range of what he could afford, that is.

Would you like to channel the stored energy from this body to improve your average sensory reaction time by 40 milliseconds? This upgrade includes reactions to stimuli from all sensory inputs, but does not include mental reaction speed or processing time.

Energy to be channeled: 12,200 points. Cost: 200 additional points.

Ryan selected ‘yes’, bringing his current point total down to a measly 54 as the big man’s corpse was liquefied and funneled up his arm. A small mountain of muscle that seemed entirely too large to fit where it was going.

When it was over, Ryan shuddered.

Never going to get used to that… He thought, then looked around to see if anything had changed.

The restaurant was motionless. There wasn't anything to 'react' to right now and the world didn’t feel much different. Not right away at least. He wasn’t exactly sure how to test it by himself either.

Just a he was about to grab some cutlery and practice his juggling, the crunch of broken glass sounded from the front of the store. Ryan whirled in that direction, fists raised for a fight with the other Percival twin, the pair Marcus had brainwashed, or some new unknown threat. He couldn’t tell if he’d been any faster to react this time, but… maybe that was the point?

Instead of an oversized nude man or any of Marcus’ other flunkies however… the familiar form of a large, furry wolfman with spiked fur padded around the street corner, sniffing at the glass.

“Lucas!” Ryan called out, relief washing over him as he dropped one clenched fist open to his side and raised the other in a cheery wave. “Over here!”

The great were-wolf tensed suddenly, turning to look in Ryan’s direction, and then bared its way-too-sharp teeth in a low, rumbling growl. With a sinking feeling in his stomach Ryan activated his power… and then immediately wished he hadn’t.

Name: Lucas Fulmon

Superpowers: Werewolf, Acidic Excretion, Spiked Fur

Mental Status: Enraged, Under Influence

The editor felt an ice-cold rage seep down into every one of his veins. It smothered the surge of fear that came with having to soon trade blows with someone he cared about. Someone he knew for a fact was a lethal adversary. Someone he knew had a family…

He felt his anger replace all of those emotions with white-knuckled fury.

“Oh…Oh no you fucking didn’t, Marcus.” Ryan swore as his best friend in this new world leapt through the shattered storefront window, claws and fangs bared for the editor’s throat.