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hollowg1rl · 2 days ago

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Apollo's Six Arrows (short story)

Summary: Abomination. The S-class Supervillain. Me, a C-class hero. I take a deep breath. Close my eyes. Remind myself that I’m a hero.

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Damn. I really wanted to live.

The jets roar overhead again, screaming familiar complaints after only a moment. It’s easy to see the scene – three military planes diving down towards the writhing, fleshy tentacles and then being forced to pull up as Abomination hurls another chunk of freeway at them. The sequence has been repeating for the last two hours as they desperately try to buy time until the big hitters arrive.

I hold my hand up towards what’s left of the ceiling. Abomination had peeled open the tin roof of the service station like an anchovy can. That was back when my team first arrived on scene. Back when they were on either side of me, winded but already looking back towards the fight. Back when the worst of it was just—

My hands are a mess. The road rash tearing across my palms is the worst of it, but my attention goes to my nails. Blood and soot and dirt (and worse) tear at my cuticles. My nails look like they made friends with a cheese grater. My sister once told me all things look better under the sun, but I bet she’s never seen a hand like mine held up against the peerless blue of a rare, sunny Portland day. Not that she’ll ever see it--

I imagine a joint between my fingers and pull it back to press against my lips. Puff, puff, pass. My ribs bark a protest when I laugh. I let my head fall back so I can watch imaginary swirls of smoke escape through Abomination’s handmade skylight. Carefully I bring my hand to rest on my chest. If I let my cracked bones ache instead of throb, it’s kind of like the good burn of smoke in my lungs.

I take a deep breath. Close my eyes. Remind myself that I’m a hero.

I open my eyes and let them water from the sudden radiance of the noon sun shining down on me.

The lumps of spandex on the other side of the station are hardly noticeable when I look up like this. And listening to my own breath helps me ignore how I can’t hear theirs anymore.

My sister will never see my hand again. I have this insane urge to text her a picture of it – maybe my left one since it’s got less blood on it – but my phone is back at headquarters. She’ll get something soon enough, even if it’s not a text from me. They won’t wait long to send Hero Force agents to pack up my bunk. An hour. Maybe two. They’ll wrap up my effects in small, neat, brown-paper parcels that my sister can throw in her god-awful Croc bag that she usually reserves for farmer’s market veggies or thrift store finds.

A Mesolithic howl rips through the air. Machine guns bark and the air throbs with percussive force. Abomination laughs and it’s like lava escaping through an ocean vent. Subatomic and primal. Out of reach. Unstoppable.

I sniffle. Swallow blood. Gross. It’d probably only get grosser if I started crying, so I don’t. Hauling my aching corpse to its feet is a process that I savor. I won’t be doing it again, will I? I can’t get my spine to unfold which doesn’t feel worth savoring, if I’m honest. I crouch hunched against the broken station wall, shoulders rounded, and head tucked to my chest. The standard issue mask is gone, and my face is sticky with soot. My nails bite into the road rash cutting across my palms. I grind my teeth. There’s a whine that coming from the fight that could be the jets’ engines or could be someone screaming. “Come on. Come on. Come on.”

My back straightens with all the integrity of a pipe cleaner. Fuck, that hurts. Training kicks in. Rotate shoulders, swivel hips, shake out my arms. Diagnosis? Not combat ready.

My foot nudges something metal. I blink blearily and look down. My helmet. Soot-stained and devoid of its usual red frill along the crown. I pick it up with more effort than I’d like to admit. Put it on.

Right.

I launch myself through the ceiling, twisting to avoid the snarls of metal. Portland blooms below as my winds buffet me higher. Crawling roads and squat buildings built like sugar cubes that’ve gone soggy at the edges. Streetlights and swathes of green sneak between apartment buildings and fifty-year-old shops.

And over there where the highways twist together is Abomination.

He’s bigger than in the pictures. I think it might be the largest sighting ever recorded. His center mass has to be the size of a blimp and from it spring at least fifty appendages. Some have hooked talons on their ends. Others have whole hands. Some are covered in dozens of eyes that swivel and scowl at the planes shooting by overhead. How much has he eaten to grow so large? How much of it was biological? How much of it screamed?

My winds drop me at our original entry point. The bridge we parked the team van under (“Sorry, guys, I asked and Hero Force won’t let us paint it like the Mystery Van.” “What the FU—“) is gone. Rebar twists like broken fingers from the shattered edges. The van is half lodged in what remains of the underside and debris falls over it like a curtain. I have to move a slab of asphalt and concrete from the passenger side to crawl in.

It still smells like Tay’s gun oil and Crew’s hot Cheetos. It floors me for a minute. This will be the last time I get crumbs all over my fucking hands because Crew can’t eat clean. This will be the last time I’ll choke on the chemicals Tay insists she needs to keep her weapons lubed up. I could stay here. I could just sit in the middle of the van and tell Hero Force I was too hurt to try again. Maybe it’s even true. If I did that, I could probably see my sister again.

Ha.

It’s dark and cramped inside and I can tell a lot of it has been dented and crumpled. But the case behind the driver’s seat – my seat – is still there.

My backup bow is too long to pull out with my body in the way. I have to drag it out behind me, wiggling across the seats in a way my ribs really don’t like. I exit the van butt first and pull all 6 feet of solid yew out in one go. I set it aside and go back in for whatever arrows survived the initial attack. I can pry 6 out of the quiver pinned to the van door before I start feeling splinters along the shafts.

Six is probably all I have in me anyway.

When I crawl back out of the van, there’s a kid holding my bow.

He’s probably 15. Buzzed head, torn hoodie, pajama pants and house slippers. There are fresh tear tracks cutting through the soot staining his face. I check him head to toe. No blood.

“Thanks for holding that for me,” I say. I extend a hand. “Appreciate it.”

The kid’s knuckles go white along the body. The string trails along the ground. “…I wasn’t going to take it.”

He probably thought about it. Hero artifacts are worth a lot – especially after they’re dead. The van will be stripped by locals before Hero Force thinks to recover it. I don’t mind people taking the costumes or snacks or even the little hula bobblehead Tay insisted was our mascot. The weapons…

I remind myself to put one problem on my plate at a time.

“I know,” I say, dropping my hand. He’s not running, so he’s telling the truth. I put the arrows in the quiver strapped to my back, grateful that they slide in without much resistance. The kid might be able to tell me how bad Abomination’s last hit messed up my back, but I wasn’t about to subject him to more blood than he’d already seen. “I do need it back though.”

The kid stares. His eyes are bottomless pits, that’s how blown his pupils are. “You’re going out there again.”

Yeah, ‘cause I’m stupid. I nod. “Yep.”

The kid looks over his shoulder. There’s destruction down the street. I wonder which house is his. Or rather which pile of rubble is what’s left of his house. When he looks back at me, his chin is trembling. “How?”

I try to keep my voice even. His clothing is torn by glass. He got out through a window. “You leave someone behind?”

He blinks quickly. Goes to speak. Can’t. Nods and looks down at the bow in his hands.

“That’s okay,” I say. I’m supposed to get down on my knees during these conversations. Supposed to take off my helmet. My body won’t do it. I’m also supposed to sound a lot more comforting. I can’t do that either. “Getting yourself out is already more than enough. And I’m sure you tried. You did what you could.”

“You tried too,” he says. When he looks up, it’s a surprise to see he isn’t crying. His eyes are angry. “You’re going out there again. I can’t ask you —I should be able to—”

“Blame me,” I interrupt. I hold out my hands. Helpless. “Any other day, I’d be going there for you, you know? I’d try and save whoever it is. But I can’t today. I’m the only one l—” left “—here. I’m the only one that can. I have to go and that means I’m the one leaving your people behind. Not you.”

He wants to argue. I can hear a thousand other voices begging me to save them and I know he wants to be one of them. His brow knots and his knees shake. His lips purse. He wants to, I can see it, he wants to, but--

“But you’re trying to stop it,” he mumbles. “You’re trying to save everyone else.”

“I am,” I say. I’m two seconds from ripping my bow from his hands. He’s costing me time. I keep my voice soft. “But I’m not trying to save you. It’s okay to hate me for that.”

The kid is quiet for a beat. Another. His eyes drift back to my bow and I can see the veins in the back of his hands flex as he squeezes and unclenches in sync with his unsteady breathing.

I time it and snatch my bow from his hands when his grip is loose. He staggers in surprise. He yells – for me to stop? For me to wait?

I can’t hear him over my wind.

My winds fling me into the air and I hurtle towards Abomination. My chest stings and I think it’s partly from the broken ribs and partly from what I just did. I’m trying to save the day, I am. But I left that kid with two villains today.

At least I won’t have to live with the guilt for long.

The jets are fewer in number now. Abomination’s appendages are long and thick, more than strong enough to sling a plane into the city. Response teams are having to weigh the risk of getting close enough to give him another projectile. It’s good and bad news for me.

Good news, I don’t have to watch out for other air traffic.

Bad news, I’m alone as I crest above Abomination.

He sees me. I know he does. His many eyes roll in their ill-fitting sockets, watering and twitching under the uncompromising sun. It’s possible that I’m backlit and that’s why his eyes never fix on me. It’s possible that I’ve found a blind spot that I should be grateful for.

His eyes spin away from and all I feel is rage. He hits me, hits my team, hits my city and then dismisses me?

I hiss in a breath as I string my bow. I feel all one hundred and fifty pounds of draw as I pull an arrow fletching back to my cheek.

“One,” I whisper and let go.

The sun follows my arrow, catching and spinning along the arrowhead until it’s orange with heat. In normal, cloudy Portland, my secondary power isn’t very impressive. My arrows fly a little faster, maybe. I can get a better vantage point from up high, sure.

But in the sun?

Abomination screams as molten metal drives deep into the largest of his eyes. His appendages writhe, curling back into the main body like an octopus’ tentacles.

I laugh. “Didn’t see that coming, did you?”

“I’ll kill you!” Abomination’s many mouths screech. He roils and surges, appendages turning over until a new one is revealed. There’s a man at the end of this one, or the facsimile of one. His blonde hair hangs over his face in a curtain so thick I can only make out his teeth bared in a grimace. “You’re DEAD!”

I spin through the air as he lashes out. A hook swings past and curves towards the back of my legs. I whistle and the wind flips me into a backflip that helps me neatly evade the attack.

Tay’s voice whispers, Make it look easy.

I string another arrow. It’s not easy. My backup bow has a draw twenty pounds heavier than my main. I close my eyes, feeling the sun against my face. It reminds me of the last time I saw my sister. It’d been a sunny day like today. She’d brought along a picnic basket. Peanut butter and jelly like she used to pack me for lunch every day.

“Two,” I say and fire at the fake man Abomination created.

This time it’s not the sun that follows my arrow; it’s a cyclone. The roar of it matches Abomination’s when the appendage fails to dodge and lodges into his chest.

It destabilizes my wind. I get tossed in the air and dropped twenty feet before I can catch myself again. I pant as I reach for another arrow. Abomination’s stretching, his appendages reaching higher and higher. Trying to reach me.

“Three,” I gasp and release a sunbeam. The power of it sears me. I’m usually C-class at best. B-class on sunny days. The sun cuts through my dominant arm and clings to my arrow like lightning.

Abomination is too big to dodge now. He tries to hit the next shot out of the air. He can’t. The light cuts like a laser through his hooked arm and his howls shake the air as it crashes into the city below.

Don’t wait for them to get back up, Crew whispers. The crackle in my lungs sounds a little like how he cracked his knuckles. Hit them again.

Not very hero-like, Tay says.

“We weren’t always heroes,” I say and shoot. I don’t remember pulling the arrow. Don’t remember drawing the bow. “Four.”

I go blind. I think I draw the sun into the arrow again. I don’t know. Nausea churns my stomach. I fall, I think. For a second. Just a second. Then my wind catches me like a battering ram and I wheeze, flat on my back with the sun burning through the gaps in my helmet.

When I can blink the darkness from my eyes, I’m barely higher than the rooftops. Abomination is a hundred feet away from me.

He sees me at the same time I see him.

A large section of Abomination is charred. Burnt through. I can see the sun sparkling through the cracks in his charred flesh. The smell makes me gag.

I don’t see the tentacle ripping towards me until it’s too late.

I get my bow up a second before it hits. The thing is fleshy and warm. Alive. There’s something so different between getting hit by something alive than something dead. I hear snapping, like a branch in a storm. The air is chased from my lungs.

It’s not my first time getting thrown. It’s not even my first time today. But this time my wind isn’t fast enough to even slow my descent. I hit the ground at full force and I lose track of time for a while.

When I come to, the world is filled with smoke. It curls around the shattered remains of buildings and through the jagged cracks in the road beneath me. Sitting up is fucking heroic on its own. I spit to my side and force myself to look. Abomination is moving – away from me. The sluggish path he’s cut across the city isn’t over. He thinks he’s killed me.

I look down. My bow is split, like I feared. The two jagged halves are connected by the string and that’s all. I consider it for a second before realizing my quiver is still on my back. I pull my last two arrows and stare at their wicked points.

Yeah. Yeah, that’ll work.

If standing was hard before, it must be impossible now. There are sounds coming from me that shouldn’t come from a human. I tune them out. Abomination sounds like a sack full of slime when he moves. Wet and heavy. Half-blind, I stagger after the sound. I trip over valleys gouged into the road and shards of metal I can’t identify. In each hand, I have an arrow gripped about halfway up the shaft. My palms are raw and scream as I tighten my grip.

I thought I had six shots in me. It looks like five is all I’ll get. Pulling the sun takes negotiation. I can only coax a trickle in, but it’ll have to do.

I really wanted to live.

I raise both arms, cocking them back in preparation to throw—

Steel hands grab my arms on each side. Instinctively I try to rip away from the grip, legs buckling when I try to kick out. The same hands holding me back, hold me up.

I turn my head to find Strongwoman on my left.

Strongwoman’s dark eyes are kind. “Good job, Apollo. We’ll take it from here.”

On my other side, a woman I’ve never seen before nods agreement. She’s wearing a gold body suit and there’s a flame motif along her mask. Her dark hair is a riot down her back. “We are here.”

I try to speak and nothing comes out. My knees buckle and Strongwoman holds me up. The other woman smiles at me. “You’ve done your part. Now it’s ours.”

She walks towards Abomination.

I find my voice as she gets within a hundred feet from him. “W-wait. F-flame. He’s weak to heat. My arrows—“

“Don’t worry about Firebreather,” Strongwoman says. She hauls my arm over her shoulder and turns to start marching us back. “She’s got plenty of that. She’s just happy you held him back long enough for her to get to him.”

This time the roar that flood through the city isn’t from Abomination. It’s not from my winds.

It’s from the flames.

“We should help,” I say. I watch the shadows at my feet writhe as the fire behind us blooms. “We should—”

“Your team needs your help more,” Strongwoman interrupts. Her eyes are fixed ahead. In the distance, there’s the canopy of a white tent. “They’ve been asking for you.”

This time, even her help isn’t enough to keep me on my feet. I collapse so hard that I can feel the impact through my hips. “W-what?”

Strongwoman mutters a curse and swings me up into her arms. “I was trying to preserve your dignity, you know. The cameras haven’t left you since you first started solo fighting.”

My dignity is the least of my worries. I grab around her neck. “My team? My team is asking for me?”

“Yes? Of course they—” Strongwoman hisses in a breath. “You thought they were dead.”

I didn’t look. The spandex in the corners of the station—“They’re alive?”

“They’re alive,” Strongwoman confirms.

Finally, I start to cry.

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Thanks for reading! If you like what I do, please consider supporting me on Patreon (X).

Next week's story will be posted on my Patreon early by Sunday 8/17! It's a bit more lighthearted and is about one of my fave heroes The Shark (read first part here)

Summary: You are The Shark and your new hero team leader wants you to go to support group about it.

thanks for reading!

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hollowg1rl · 2 days ago

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Request From Anon: "Hiii, I love how you write the RE boys!! Can you write something on how they would react if their partner threatens to leave them? </3 Bonus points if it's super angsty but if not, that's also ok!! Hope you're having a great week"

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HC Preferences: Resident Evil Boys' Reaction To Reader Threatening To Leave Them

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♂️Male Characters:

Leon S. Kennedy

Chris Redfield

Albert Wesker

Carlos Oliveira

Piers Nivans

Jake Muller

Jack Krauser

Luis Sera

HUNK

Karl Heisenberg

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Leon S. Kennedy

His face would immediately fall, eyes dark with panic but voice soft as he tries to understand.

He’d blame himself instantly, whispering, “What did I do wrong this time?”

Runs a hand through his hair nervously, pacing the room while trying to hold himself together.

He pleads quietly, not with desperation but with heartbreak in his tone.

Would bring up all the moments you’ve shared, as if reminding you could stop you.

His guilt eats at him. He thinks he’s cursed, that everyone he loves leaves him eventually.

Tears are rare, but his eyes would shine with unshed ones.

“If you walk out that door, I won’t stop you… but don’t think I’ll ever be the same.”

He’d give you space if you needed it, even if it shredded him inside.

Leon would drink himself sick that night, blaming himself for driving you away.

Chris Redfield

His first reaction is anger, not at you, but at himself. “Dammit, I knew I’d screw this up.”

His voice raises slightly, but it’s frustration, not cruelty.

He’d beg you to sit down and talk instead of walking away.

He gets too emotional too fast, fists clenched like he’s fighting tears.

“I can’t lose you too. Not after everything else I’ve lost.”

He’d try to make promises, desperate ones, swearing he’ll change.

His protective nature kicks in, he refuses to accept the idea of you leaving as final.

If you still walk away, he’ll collapse into a chair, utterly defeated.

He’d drown in guilt, questioning if his obsession with missions ruined everything.

For weeks, he wouldn’t sleep properly. Haunted by your absence like a nightmare he can’t wake from.

Albert Wesker

He doesn’t panic, he narrows his eyes, calculating.

His first words are sharp: “You wouldn’t dare.”

He tries to intimidate you into staying, his tone cold but trembling with suppressed rage.

“You think you’ll find someone better? No one else will tolerate you like I have.”

Beneath the mask of control, his chest burns with fury at the idea of losing you.

His possessiveness flares, he’ll try to manipulate you emotionally, twisting your doubts.

But there’s also desperation. He’ll follow you with a quiet, venomous, “You belong with me.”

If you actually leave, he shatters something nearby, unable to contain his rage.

Later, his anger turns inward, why couldn’t he control even this?

And yet… he’ll always watch from the shadows, never truly letting you go.

Carlos Oliveira

His smile would falter instantly, the humor dropping from his face.

“Wait, wait, querida. What do you mean leave me?”

He’d follow you around, desperate to understand.

His charm cracks, replaced by raw panic.

“Tell me what I did wrong. Just give me a chance to fix it.”

His voice would break, pleading, “Don’t joke about this. Don’t.”

He grabs your hand gently, terrified to let go.

If you push him away, he mutters brokenly in Portuguese under his breath, praying you’ll change your mind.

He’s not ashamed to cry, tears streaming openly as he begs you to stay.

If you do leave, he’ll try to laugh it off with friends. But behind closed doors, he’ll drink himself into silence.

Piers Nivans

His heart sinks instantly, expression devastated but quiet.

“You don’t mean that…” he whispers, like he’s begging it not to be true.

He tries to reason calmly, even though his voice trembles.

Every word you say feels like a bullet lodged in his chest.

“I can be better. Please, just tell me how.”

He’d gently reach for your hand, not to hold you back, but to anchor himself.

He blames his long missions, his absences, he thinks he failed you.

Silent tears slide down his cheeks as he tries to smile for you one last time.

If you walk away, he stands frozen in the doorway, unable to move.

Later, he writes in his journal about you. Every memory, like a eulogy for someone still alive.

Jake Muller

At first, he laughs bitterly. “You’re kidding, right?”

When he sees you’re serious, his smirk vanishes.

He snaps, “So you’re just gonna walk out? After everything?”

Anger hides his fear; he paces, cursing under his breath.

Deep down, he’s terrified; everyone always leaves him.

“You’re just like the rest of them.” His voice cracks on the words.

If you pack your things, he’ll try to block the door, not forcefully, but desperate.

He softens suddenly, grabbing your shoulders. “Please… don’t go.”

His eyes shine with unshed tears, but he bites them back.

If you leave, he shuts down completely, cold and bitter, pretending he never cared, though it kills him inside.

Jack Krauser

His face hardens instantly, jaw clenched.

“You’re not leaving me.” His tone is both threat and plea.

He tries to assert control. “You don’t know what you’d be walking into without me.”

His voice rises, rough with desperation.

Anger simmers beneath the surface his pride can’t stand rejection.

But when you push back, you catch a flicker of pain in his eyes.

“I’ve lost too many people already. You’re not going to be another.”

If you insist, he’ll punch a wall, bloodying his fist rather than breaking down.

His breathing grows ragged, panic disguised as rage.

If you do leave, he’ll spiral into darkness, convincing himself love is a weakness he should never have wanted.

Luis Sera

He forces a smile at first, “Ah, cariño, don’t joke like that.”

When he realizes you mean it, his smile dies instantly.

“No, no, no, you don’t walk out on me like that.”

He follows you, hand pressed over his heart like it hurts to breathe.

His voice trembles, slipping into rapid Spanish as he pleads.

“I know I’m a mess. I know. But please… don’t leave.”

He drops all charm, looking raw and broken in front of you.

Tries to joke through his tears, but his voice cracks every time.

If you go, he sits on the floor where you left him, staring at the door in silence.

Later, he drowns in wine, whispering your name like a prayer he’ll never get answered.

HUNK

At first, he says nothing, just stares at you behind the mask.

His silence is suffocating, but inside he’s spiraling.

“If that’s your decision… I can’t stop you.” His voice is flat, but faintly strained.

He won’t beg, but his fists clench tightly at his sides.

The thought of losing you slices deeper than any battlefield wound.

“You’d be safer without me anyway.” It’s the only justification he can give.

His mask stays on so you can’t see his breaking expression.

When you leave, he just stands there, motionless, until the silence crushes him.

Alone, he removes the mask for once, head in his hands, trembling.

After, he throws himself into missions recklessly, as if daring death to take him since he couldn’t keep you.

Karl Heisenberg

He laughs harshly when you say it., “Ha! Good one, doll.”

When he realizes you mean it, the humor drains instantly.

His voice drops into a growl, “You think you can just leave me?”

He tries to joke it off again, but his hands shake as he fumbles with a cigar.

His sarcasm masks the raw panic gnawing at him.

“After everything I’ve done, you’re walking out? Figures.”

If you reach for the door, his voice cracks, “Don’t. Please.”

He grips the doorway, metal clinking faintly around him as his powers slip with emotion.

If you leave, he smashes the workshop apart, screaming your name until his throat burns.

Later, he sits in the rubble, muttering bitterly, “Guess I was never good enough to keep anyone.”

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