So much for charm, Elektra thought when Octane slammed into her, his shoulder catching her in the ribs, arm snaking around her waist, as she was rushed off her feet. She didn’t even have time to bring her elbow down between his shoulder blades. The surprise and speed of it stole her breath away.
Then she was falling, crashing into a wall, her skull ringing as a metal grate slammed shut. She shook away the confusion faster than a normal person might, but it was already too late. She didn’t even have time to be glad that she’d been right. She wasn’t; Octane could’ve stabbed her in the back and walked away. Instead, she was safe behind bars and he was - running. Leading all the hordes of werewolves and vampires away from her.
Elektra screamed.
She kicked, and punched, and pulled at the grate with both hands, but even with the Black Sky’s strength humming in her muscles, the damned thing wouldn’t budge. There was a lock, of course, and it was on the outside. “Octane!” Shouting his name did little good, but too soon it was all she could do. She watched helplessly as the rampaging swarm closed in on him. As they stopped chasing and turned, instead, to devouring.
They might have been several hundred feet away, but the sound of their fangs and claws tearing him apart carried through the otherwise silent market. A few mangy wolves paced outside the now-closed storefront, drawn by Elektra’s futile cries, but most of them feasted. On Octane.
His final wail pierced the night and then all was silent.
At length, sated and satisfied, the wolves and vampires skulked off. A prosaic calm settled over the market. Elektra sank to her knees, alone inside her prison, staring at the torn metal limbs which lay a few feet from the horrific, mangled body of a man who shouldn’t have been her ally.
It should have been her, lying there in pieces. But it wasn’t.