Fight or die

"Superior? So he's like me? He has to, he doesn't smell human at all. How did I not see it sooner? Only bloodthirsty, ruthless creatures behave like that. He killed that man without a cause!" George muttered to himself, momentarily forgetting his own identity as he processed the revelation.

George's muttered realization was cut short as the dark figure approached, its movements unnaturally fluid and predatory. The creature's eyes blazed a hellish red, teeth bared in a feral snarl that sent a chill down George's spine.

"Who made you, little fledgling?" the figure growled, its voice a guttural rasp that seemed to echo in the night air. "And why are you out here alone, poking your nose where it doesn't belong? Don't you know how bad it is for wandering fledglings? Didn't your creator teach you?"

The creature's lips curled into a cruel smirk. "I'm feeling rather generous today. So here's the deal, I'll give you one chance, boy. Turn around and run while you still can. This isn't a game for the likes of you."

George's mind reeled, confusion and fear battling for dominance. 'Who made me? I was cursed!' he thought frantically. But as he stared at the inhuman figure before him, a terrible realization began to dawn. If this creature existed, were there more like it? More like... him?

Before George could fully process this horrifying thought, the air seemed to crackle with tension. In a movement so fast it was barely perceptible, the figure launched itself forward. The sound of its departure was like a gunshot, a shockwave rippling out from where it had stood.

George had only a split second to react as the creature closed the distance between them, fist pulled back and ready to strike with inhuman force. Time seemed to slow as George's newly heightened senses kicked into overdrive, his body tensing for the imminent impact.

In that frozen moment, George faced a critical decision. Would he attempt to dodge the incoming blow, risking exposure of his own inhuman abilities? Or would he stand his ground and take the hit, potentially suffering grave injury but maintaining his facade of normalcy?

The figure's fist hurtled towards him, and George knew he had to make a choice – and fast. His entire world now hinged on this split-second decision, with consequences he could scarcely begin to imagine. And it didn't take long, the choice had been made.

George positioned himself for combat, his massive form tensed with anticipation, the figure's laughter echoed across the ship's deck.

In a split-second decision, George raised his arm to block the incoming blow. The figure's fist connected with devastating force, and a sickening snap echoed through the night air. George's forearm bent at an unnatural angle, a jagged piece of bone jutting through his skin.

Before he could even process the pain, the figure's leg shot out in a blindingly fast kick. The impact to George's midsection was so powerful it felt as if it had bypassed his flesh entirely, striking at his very soul. The air rushed from his lungs as he was launched backwards, his body becoming weightless.

Time seemed to slow as George sailed through the air, his mind struggling to comprehend the sheer power behind the attack. Then, with brutal suddenness, his flight was halted as he slammed into a metal railing. The collision drove what little air remained from his body, leaving him gasping and disoriented.

As he slumped against the railing, his body a mass of pain and shock, a single thought managed to pierce through the haze:

'What is this power?!'

The realization of just how outmatched he was hit George harder than any physical blow. This creature, this... superior being, possessed strength and speed that defied human limits. And while George knew he was no longer entirely human himself, the gap between them seemed insurmountable.

Struggling to breathe, his broken arm hanging uselessly at his side, George fought to stay conscious. The figure's words echoed in his mind - "Turn around and run while you still can." But it was too late for that now. He was in over his head, facing a threat he barely understood, with abilities he had yet to fully grasp.

As the pain began to dull – his accelerated healing already kicking in – George realized he was at a crossroads. He could no longer deny the reality of what he had become, nor could he ignore the dangerous world he had unwittingly stumbled into. But with this brutal awakening came a choice: would he succumb to fear and retreat into denial, or would he rise to the challenge and learn to navigate this treacherous new existence?

The figure's silhouette loomed in the distance, a stark reminder of the imminent danger. George knew he had to act, and quickly. But what could he do against such monstrous power? As his body began to mend itself, George's mind raced, searching desperately for a way out of this nightmare. He rose to his feet, still favouring his hand.

"So, the fledgling still wishes to test his mettle?" the shadow-cloaked figure taunted. "Very well, let's dance!" The figure blizted towards George.

"I won't die like this!!" George growled.

George pushed himself off the railing, a newfound determination coursing through his veins. A primal voice echoed in his mind, its message clear and brutal: 'Kill or be killed.' In that moment, his choice crystallized – he would not become prey.

With a surge of adrenaline, he charged at the figure. Planting his foot firmly, George unleashed a punch with every ounce of strength he could muster. But the figure's movements were fluid, almost prescient. It ducked effortlessly, avoiding the blow.

"Slow..." the creature taunted, its voice dripping with disdain.

Undeterred, George pivoted instantly, launching a backfist in hopes of catching his opponent off-guard. But again, the figure's reflexes proved superior. It parried George's attack with ease, countering with a lightning-fast jab to his shoulder.

The impact was devastating. George felt another bone shatter, the pain searing through his body. Yet, almost immediately, he could sense the bone beginning to knit itself back together – a painful but rapid healing process that both amazed and horrified him.

Gritting his teeth against the agony, George refused to relent. He lashed out with his legs, attempting to throw his opponent off balance. The figure danced away from the kick, its movements graceful and controlled.

"Is that all you've got, fledgling?" it sneered, circling George like a predator toying with its prey.

George's breath came in ragged gasps, his newly healed bones aching with a deep, residual pain. But something was changing within him. With each exchange, each brutal lesson in his own limitations, he could feel his instincts sharpening, his body adapting.

The voice in his head grew louder, more insistent.George realized that to survive this encounter, he would need to embrace whatever he had become fully.

As the figure closed in for another attack, George steeled himself. This time, he wouldn't just react – he would anticipate, he would embrace the inhuman speed and strength that lurked within him.

"Embrace the beast within or die," he remembered these very words. Nebula was right as much as he hated to admit it. Right now, George wouldn't make it out alive. But perhaps the other guy that stopped a robbery that faithful night could?