Godfather Owl: Guardian of Batman [57]

Ghost Riders?

Bruce squinted at the figures approaching from the distance, their shapes gradually coming into focus.

Flames crackled from their motorcycle tires, leaving blazing trails in their wake.

The riders were clad in black, spiked leather jackets, swinging fiery chains that cut through the air, each swing accompanied by a bone-chilling scream.

As soon as the Ghost Riders appeared, Hawkeye gave a quick warning—

“Protect Bruce…”

But before he could finish, the Riders were upon them.

One of the Ghost Riders rode his flaming bike right over Hawkeye’s head, delivering a brutal kick that knocked him to the ground, blood streaming from a fresh wound.

“Logan—”

Hawkeye called out, hoping Wolverine would step in to help.

But to his horror, Logan was already sprinting toward the Spider-Mobile, leaving him in the dust without so much as a backward glance.

Wolverine… ran away?

Bruce stood there, stunned—not out of fear, but sheer disbelief at how Hawkeye and Logan were acting.

Weren’t these two supposed to be former superheroes?

How could they possibly drop the ball like this?

Logan kept running, his eyes fixed solely on the Spider-Mobile in the distance.

If he could just make it to that car…

Suddenly, a fiery chain whipped out, wrapping around Logan’s ankle and yanking him to the ground.

A group of Mohawked Riders circled him, kicking and stomping on him.

“Old man, you really thought you could run?”

They sneered, kicking him back and forth.

Logan didn’t resist, curling up with his hands over his head, taking the beating without so much as lifting a fist.

“Do whatever you want,” he muttered through gritted teeth. “I swore I’d never raise a hand against anyone again.”

“Oh, got yourself a big mouth, huh?”

One of the Ghost Riders laughed, raising a spiked bat, ready to smash Logan’s head.

At that moment, a large boulder came hurtling through the air, smashing into the thug and knocking him aside.

The rock rolled forward, crushing several of the Ghost Riders beneath it.

It was Bruce who had finally intervened, unable to stand by any longer.

He eyed the groaning Riders pinned under the boulder.

“Think that might’ve killed them?” he murmured. “I wasn’t aiming to kill.”

Kathoom reassured him, “Relax. They’re still breathing.”

So long as they were alive, Bruce’s no-kill rule remained intact.

“Good.”

Bruce muttered, then walked over to Logan, reaching out to help him to his feet.

Disappointment simmered within him as he regarded the former hero.

He’d expected to find a retired legend, but Logan was barely a shadow of his former self.

This was the Wolverine Kathoom had praised?

This owl was messing with him again.

More Ghost Riders were closing in, visibly enraged by Bruce’s interference.

Just as they prepared to launch another assault, the sound of an arrow cutting through the air echoed.

One of the Riders dropped with a scream, an arrow embedded in his head.

Bruce turned to see Hawkeye, blood dripping down his face, now gripping a short bow.

He had closed his eyes, relying solely on sound to pinpoint his enemies’ positions.

The Ghost Riders turned their attention to him, howling as they charged, swinging their flaming chains.

In that moment, Hawkeye regained a glimmer of his old heroic grace, silver hair disheveled as he drew his bow with calm precision.

With every arrow he released, a Ghost Rider fell.

As the Ghost Riders swarmed him, Hawkeye stood at the center, composed and unshaken, taking down enemy after enemy without letting a single one get close.

By the time his arrows stopped, only Hawkeye remained standing.

The battle was over.

As the tension left his body, Hawkeye sagged, breathing heavily, every bit the aging warrior he was.

“Logan, what happened to you? Why are you so cowardly?”

He staggered over to Logan, his voice filled with anger and frustration. “Can’t even take down these small-time thugs? What did they do to you?”

“It’s none of your concern. This is the life I’ve chosen now.”

Logan hung his head, spirit utterly broken, as he climbed back into the car.

“Let’s go. This place isn’t safe. We need to keep moving through the night.”

Hawkeye was filled with bitter disappointment, but with a resigned sigh, he motioned for Bruce to get back in the car.

—

The Spider-Mobile’s engine roared to life once more, leaving behind a battlefield strewn with bodies.

The next morning, after traveling through the night, they finally reached Hammer Falls.

This town had somehow retained a sliver of peace amid the chaos, a refuge for the homeless and displaced.

Hawkeye drove slowly, weaving through the crowded streets.

“The only reason I survived all this time is because the villains thought I was useless. No superpowers, no threat to them.”

He spoke as if to himself. “But you, Logan… how did you and Professor X make it?”

Logan kept his gaze down, not a trace of willingness to answer.

Just then, a commotion erupted on the side of the road.

A group of thugs were beating up a scrawny figure who neither fought back nor flinched, instead plastering on a sycophantic grin. He wore a cheap knockoff of Captain America’s uniform, its blue and white fabric faded and torn.

The man being beaten was dressed as Captain America.

At last, the thugs tired of beating him and paused.

“Captain America” managed a grin. “Satisfied, boys?”

“Not bad.”

One thug tossed a few crumpled bills at him. “We’ll come back for more next time.”

“Captain America” bent over, nodding and smiling as he thanked them, even inviting them to return soon.

This was Hammer Falls’ business model—people dressed as superheroes, paid to endure humiliation.

Watching this, Logan spoke.

“You’ve got no right to talk down to me. Captain America was your comrade, wasn’t he?”

Logan’s tone was icy. “Seeing him reduced to this—doesn’t it make you feel anything?”

Hawkeye’s expression didn’t change. “I wouldn’t know. I’m blind, remember?”

Bruce watched in silence, his disappointment growing with every passing moment.

He hadn’t expected the heroes of old to sink so low in their later years.

Could they still be called heroes?

The Spider-Mobile rolled into the town center, where a crowd had gathered, kneeling in reverence.

At the center of their worship was the object that gave Hammer Falls its name: the weapon left behind when a god had fallen here fifty years ago.

Unable to be lifted by any who had tried, it remained in place ever since.

“Ah, Mjolnir.”

Kathoom craned his neck out the window, catching a glimpse of the crowd’s object of worship.

Thor’s broken hammer rested in the middle of the plaza, battered but unmistakable.

“You know, this hammer is a bit ironic for you,” Kathoom commented. “Your future teammates—Superman and Wonder Woman—both managed to lift it. But you never did.

“So, want to give it a try this time? See if you can lift it?”

Without missing a beat, Bruce shook his head.

“No, I’m not lifting it.”

—

T/N: Frig right I only did italics when they were fused