[center][b][color=slategray][sup][h1]F E N R I R[/h1][/sup][/color][/b][/center]
[COLOR=slategray][INDENT][B][SUP][SUB][H3]W E I S M A N   S T R E E T   M A L L[/H3][/SUB][/SUP][/B][/INDENT][hr][/COLOR][INDENT][INDENT][sup][color=darkgray]July 3[sup]rd[/sup], 2020  |  3:31p.m.  |  Happy Harbour, Rhode Island[/color][/sup][/INDENT][/INDENT]

	A thousand-thousand bright lights danced upon Fenrir’s retinas, the smell of brimstone and cordite hanging heavy upon his nostrils, nauseating and confusing in equal measure. He snorted, trying to clear his head. One of the Jokerz – a tall, emaciated man wearing a silly hat and carrying an orange pumpkin, who Superboy had named Ghoul – had thrown a handful of pellets, shaped like tiny grinning skulls, at his face. The pellets had then summarily exploded. Ghoul’s laughter was still echoing all around him, trill and mocking. As soon as his world stopped imploding, Fenrir was going to tear the Jokerz’ arms off. See how funny he found that.

	The feral teen’s thoughts of violent retribution were interrupted – momentarily – when a large, unyielding shape collided heavily with him. One of the stronger Jokerz must have used his distraction to throw a car at him. He was quickly coming to hate the group of motley fools. When his world stopped spinning and his vision stopped bursting, he realised that it wasn’t a car, but the leader of his group, Superboy, who had been thrown at him. He felt slightly vindicated, knowing that he wasn’t the only that was being made a fool of. 

	[color=c23d3d][b]“Sorry, Fenrir,”[/b][/color] The Kryptonian half-breed muttered. Fenrir eyed the clone askance. Leaders shouldn’t apologise. Apologising was the same thing as admitting fault, and admitting to fault was admitting to weakness. A weak leader was more dangerous than a strong enemy. It was a problem, but one for another day. First, they had the Jokerz to deal with.

	After that though? After that, there may be a reckoning.

	He eyed the enemy ranks closely, a low growl emanating from the back of his throat. As much as he’d like to start with Ghoul, to repay the insult from earlier, he knew the best way of ending this was to take out the Jokerz leaders. Cut off the head of the snake, and watch the body die. It may be a cliché, but was still effective tactical thinking. Shayera had taught him that. At least, that’s the justification he gave himself for singling out the twins. The real reason, the one that whispered in his soul, that tugged at the marrow of his bones, was the need to test himself against the strongest of his foes. Chucko and Bonk may look bigger, but he reasoned that if the Dee Dee twins were the Jokerz leaders, then they must be the most powerful. 

	So, they would be the first to fall.

	Superboy exchanged [i]‘witty banter’[/i] with the twins – a part of the job that Fenrir had never understood, nor been particularly good at, according to Shayera – before surging forwards. Fenrir was hot on his heels, lips hitched up from his teeth in a wordless snarl, eyes bright with anticipation. With hunger. The Twins watched him coming, their mocking grins fading quickly to be replaced by pale-faced looks of alarm. Prey, recognising the predator. The lone deer, frozen at the sight of the mighty wolf. Dangerous, the Dee Dee Twins might be, but they weren’t stupid.

	Mere feet separated them, Fenrir’s fingers curled into talons, ready to rend flesh and break bone. His mouth watered at the prospect, his heart beating faster and faster and [i]faster[/i], the sound of howling loud in his ears. It took him a moment to realise that he was the one making the noise. He was on the twins now, claws raised high, their frightened faces looking up at him, terrified, pleading and – 

	[H1][b][i]BONK![/i][/b][/H1]

	His world exploded for a second time that day, and suddenly he found himself flying head first through the air, his jaw and the right side of his face on fire. His headlong trajectory ended with a sudden [i]crunch[/i]. It was long, slow heartbeats before he realised that was because he had hit a wall, and that crunch was probably his face. He hit the floor hard, taking a moment before trying to right himself. He could hear voices behind him.

	“Don’t worry boss, I’ll splatter dog-breath.” A sigh of relief sounded, probably the Dee Dee’s considering their timely deliverance. Fenrir rolled onto his back, groaning slightly. The largest of the Jokerz, the hammer wielding Bonk, was stalking slowly towards him, that big mallet dragging behind him, leaving a red smear on the floor-tiles as he passed. [color=slategray][i]That’s probably my blood.[/i][/color] Fenrir realised, though the thought didn’t inspire the kind of emotion in him that it should have. In fact, he was having some trouble feeling much of anything. The clown was getting closer, and he couldn’t even summon the will to get up and face him. It just felt like too much work.

	“Hoo-Boy, you’re still breathing, huh? Gee-fucking-willickers, but you took that one like a champ.” Bonk was standing over him now, feet planted shoulder-width apart, while that mallet was raised skyward. Fenrir eyed it gingerly, knowing what was coming, but not sure how he could stop it. Seemed like all his thoughts where coming slow and sluggish. “Let’s see how you take this.”

	The mallet came down, like a thunderbolt from high heaven, crashing into Fenrir’s torso with all the force that a seven-foot man mountain dressed like a crazy clown can muster. There was a crack, like the earth was breaking apart, and a sudden, shooting pain in Fenrir’s chest. [color=slategray][i]Ribs, probably.[/i][/color] Finally his body tried to fight back, throwing up a hand that Bonk dismissively slapped aside, before that hammer came down a second time, upon the exact same spot as before. This time there was no crack, but it felt like Fenrir’s insides were tearing, and he suddenly started coughing blood. 

	The mallet continued to fall, but Fenrir lost count after the sixth time. He might have passed out. He wasn't sure. If he did, then the next blow of the hammer woke him back up.

	“Eww, gross,” Giggled Bonk, feigning disgust before lifting his hammer once more. Fenrir didn’t know how much he could take. Surely there was only so much of a beating even he could be subjected to. To be killed by a clown though? Of all the embarrassing ways to end it, after all he’d been through. He tried to summon his strength, one last time. A last, pained effort to raise his arms, to bare his teeth, to get back to his feet, to do [i]anything[/i] before the hammer came down. 

	It was all for naught. His body just wouldn’t move.

	“Play dead, doggy.” 

	The hammer came down. 

	Fenrir caught it.

	He clamped both hands around the haft, the gore encrusted head mere inches from his helmeted skull. Bonk gasped in surprise, before leaning all his tremendous bulk onto the weapon. The veins in Fenrir’s arms stood out in sharp relief as he slowly fought upwards, inch by excruciating inch, forcing the sweating Bonk back. The two foes were locked in their struggle, the rest of the world lost to them. The rest of Fenrir's team might have been dead for all he knew, or raucously celebrating their victory. He didn't care. He only had eyes for Bonk.

	He was back on his feet, bloody spittle drooling down his chin, his breath coming in quick, shallow gasps, painful and electrifying in equal measure. Bonk, panicking, tried to stamp his boot down upon the feral teen's foot. Fenrir hardly seemed to notice. Bonk swore, spat, pleaded, cried, but nothing he did seemed to stop Fenrir as he slowly twisted the mallet out of his foe’s hands. The clown stumbled back, tripped over his own feet, and fell backwards onto his rump. The wolfman glared down at him for a moment, white knuckled fists gripped tightly around the haft of his new trophy. 

	[colour=slategray][b]“I. Am not. A dog.”[/b][/colour] He snarled, rather than spoke.

	He twirled the hammer above his head before swinging it downwards, ignoring Bonk’s pleas for mercy. Does the lion stop at the bleating of the gazelle? The mallet cracked into the Jokerz’s skull, which pounded noisily upon the ground, cracking tiles. For a moment Fenrir thought – hoped, maybe – that the clown was dead, but then he picked up the faint, but incessant drum beat of his opponent’s heart. Unconscious then. 

	Hawkwoman didn’t have quite as stringent a no-kill code as some of the other Justice Leaguers, but she still considered killing an absolute last resort. For her sake, if nothing else, Fenrir tried not to kill where possible. Still, looking down at Bonk, he was sorely tempted. The Beast inside railed. It demanded the clown’s death, hungered for it. It was hard to refuse, harder still to ignore. Part of him wanted to surrender to those urges, to let slip the halters he had placed upon his more ferocious urges, and to reveal in the hunt, to the kill. 

	It was with some amount of effort that Fenrir dragged himself away, the mallet still clutched tightly in his fists. It was time to see how the rest of the team were doing.