Chapter 17

Warpath's bike roared with all the rage that its owner couldn't express from her lack of breath. It snarled as the woman twisted its handle and followed him. The catboy barely managed to dodge in time again; he rolled to the side but then felt something, a big pair of fingers grabbing his tail. 

"No touching the fluffy tail!" He yelled and then hit the woman in her hand with all his strength, using the butt of his weapon. Tom would not risk blowing up his own tail.

"Ah! Fucker!" She cursed him, losing her grip as the impact was hard enough to make two things clear. 

She was mostly immune to slashing and piercing attacks, and the immunity to bullets must have been conditional. Like a specific power that made her immune to projectiles. There was not much time to think as Tom rolled on the dirty floor filled with monster gunk; Warpath had already spun her bike around.

Its front wheel was lifted in the air, ready to crush him like a predatory bird coming from the skies to claim its prey. 

Tom's smirk didn't fade, even if he was about to get crushed. The catboy quickly dodged out of the way, using his huge agility and tail to grab the woman's leg and push her out of the way at the last second. Most importantly, to move to her back, copying the monster before and giving her another rear chokehold. 

"You fucked up," the woman said, he was now riding her bike.

On that second, Tom understood the horror of centrifugal force.

She began to move faster, riding in circles around the circular room with such speed that Tom could feel the wind pushing his hair back and stretching the skin of his face. It only took a few seconds of the catboy desperately grabbing her neck for him to just be shot, flying through the room. Slamming his back against a wall and feeling burning pain in each inch of bone in his body.

"Ah . . . fuck . . ." he cursed to himself as the bike was already over him. His durability saved him from breaking his bones. 

The biker charged again, this time turning at the last second so the woman could use the momentum for a brutal sweeping kick. Tom barely leaped back in time as the tip of the boot grazed his chin. 

Then the man realized something. Warpath was heavily relying on her bike for her attack; her stamina should be really on the last digits. 

He dodged another charge, this time deliberately letting the bike get closer to test how stupid his plan was. It was possible.

Warpath snarled in frustration. "Stand still, you fucking rat!" She grunted, revving her engine again.

"Wrong animal!" Tom taunted and just jumped out into the hole in the middle of the room, quickly descending to the lower floor.

"You cannot run from me!" The woman yelled and followed him down, not using the stairs but just throwing her bike through the hole and landing with unusual precision. 

Then it came, Tom shooting at her nonstop over and over while running, dodging, and taking each chance to attack until he had run out of bullets without doing any damage. He just threw the shotgun out of the way as he kept running, getting cornered in a room full of broken mannequins.

"Finally, you are out of tricks!" The woman yelled, charging once again and making Tom fall on the ground surrounded by broken pieces of plastic. 

"Ahh . . . fuck!" The catboy yelled, his new senses going to limit searching for something without directly looking at it. He needed to find it, the faint residual stench of gunpowder and stale plasticine.

She was about to charge again, watching as the man was pathetically crawling away from her. "Are you giving up?!" Warpath snarled.

"Why? I am winning," he answered with a smug smile. 

Tired of that smile, Warpath decided to run over him; he would probably survive that. 

At the last second, Tom rolled out of the way, another dodge, something that the woman was expecting. What Warpath was not expecting was why the catboy rolled in a diagonal forward until she felt her bike suddenly stop.

Tom had jammed her back wheel with the shotgun he had lost the previous night. A trick that Warpath didn't see coming that almost made her fall from her mount. The catboy pouncing at her finally tackled her off her bike, making the girl fall to the ground with a loud thud sound, with the man over her.

The vehicle tried to return to her master, but the metal pipe that made the cannon of the shotgun kept it paralyzed, grinding against the tube. 

Just as Tom was tasting the victory on his lips, a strong headbutt blurred his vision; the woman quickly got out of his grasp and got up. Before he knew it, Warpath was just punching the ever-living shit out of him, left hook, right hook, just wailing at him like a rabid berserker for the mere fact that the catboy had humiliated her in such a way.

He was doing his best to dodge and sidestep the attacks, blocking what he could as her punches grew slower. Then, as blood flooded from his nose and the gums in his mouth, tainting his teeth red, Tom saw the opening. 

The catboy didn't dodge; he grabbed her arm, using her own momentum to flip it over her shoulder in a hold that he learned in the army. Warpath crashed face on the ground, the impact making the whole museum rumble. Before she could recover, Tom had coiled his stronger legs around the neck of the exhausted woman. 

"Yield," he ordered with a painful grind as he could feel the fingers of the woman digging into his legs, but it was to no avail. Their strength was equal, her bike was out of the picture, and there was no way that a pair of arms would win against the anatomically superior legs.

For a second, she didn't move. Then, with a frustrated growl, she went limp, letting the exhaustion take over her.

" . . . you are so dead . . ." she mumbled, but Tom let out a breathless laugh.

[Congratulations! For defeating a super with way more experience than you, you got a special reward!]