He stood in the middle of the deserted street and cracked his fingers, staring at the scene before him in unrivalled preparedness. The line of well-armored enemies jeered at the scene. “Stay down, Spencer,” he muttered softly to the dhole lying prostrate behind him. “Seems like I’m going to have to save your tail. Again.”
“I’ll never call you grumpy again,” whimpered the dhole gratefully. His fur was scorched, his paws sore and weary from failed attempts of escape, his body beaten and bound, affected by illness and thus sapped of its former fiery power. He hadn’t eaten in days. He was at the mercy of the enemy—but he was now under the protection of the wolf in front of him, and he had never felt safer.
The blue-padded paws, though loosened and ready for action, slipped back into the pockets of the white trench coat that covered his well-defined body. He wanted the enemy to make the first move. Hard, unblinking, ice-blue eyes seemed to pierce through theirs and weaken their resolve. The sight of the snow white wolf, with his ice-blue markings and his smooth, cool attire, seemed to freeze them temporarily—or maybe that was the drop in temperature.
“Whaddayew think yer doin’?” one finally shouted, angered by the apparent effect the wolf had on his peers. “Git outta the way, or we’ll give yew more holes ‘n a sponge!”
The wolf only rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Why do they always have to do this?” he mumbled. Though it hurt, Spencer couldn’t help but smile.
“They just don’t know what a great guy you are?”
The wolf scoffed. “Yeah. That coming from you.”
The enemy’s impatient voice rang out once again. “Alright boys, FIRE! Show ‘em freaks no mercy!”
The shots echoed throughout the city. Spencer could not count them as their weapons unloaded. The wolf, however, stood there unconcerned. He flicked a finger upward without removing his paws from his pockets, and in a flash a wall of ice materialized in front of him. Shards of ice flew through the air as myriad bullets attempted in vain to penetrate it. To the humiliation and confusion of the enemy, when the shots stopped, the wolf stood there unharmed, paws in his pockets, with the same bored expression on his face. Dozens of bullets were suspended in the ice, which rapidly began to melt.
“My turn,” said the wolf as the ice shrunk before him. He pulled his paws from his pockets and removed the trench coat, tossing it onto Spencer’s body. All he wore was a black pair of cargo pants, a well-fitted blue T-shirt, and a blue pendant around his neck. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply for a moment as the enemy looked on in confused awe and the awful realization dawned on them that they were in serious trouble.
His paw reached skyward, and in a flash of bright blue light, slammed into the ground. A chill washed over everything as the ground quickly froze over in a wide radius. The wolf did not change his expression, nor did he make a sound as a second wall of ice erupted from beneath him, launching him into the air straight toward the enemy.
He landed like a bomb in their midst, spikes of ice launching from his footpaws toward them. Some cried out in shock as their armor was easily penetrated and blood spilled from ice-infliced wounds.
“RETREAT!” came the cry from one of them. As if all they needed was permission to do what their bodies were screaming at them to do, they instantly scattered, slipping across the icy ground in their attempt to escape the wolf’s wrath.
He simply watched them for a moment, sighing unhappily. With a flash of those bright blue eyes, the ground froze anew, locking their footpaws in place. Shackles made of ice formed in midair and bound them to the frozen ground. They cried and begged for mercy from the retribution they were positive was coming.
The wolf pushed through the icy spikes with ease and walked toward their vocal leader. He trembled, trapped and at the mercy of the mysterious cryopath, much like the pyropath Spencer had been mere moments ago.
“Who are yew?” he asked in a quavering voice. “W-what’re yew gonna do with us?”
The wolf squatted down in front of him, his cold, piercing eyes boring into the fur’s. “I’m Ice,” he said coolly. The fur’s eyes widened with horrored recognition. “You’re going to face the Council of Supers for what you do to the ones sworn to protect you,” he said clearly. “You’re lucky I’m on the Council’s side. If this were four years ago, you would all be dead.”
As Ice used his phone to summon the authorities, the fur shivered and wept. Punishment from the Council of Supers sounded like a worse ordeal than death. Ice knew he felt this way. If only he and the rest of the world would give them a chance....
Despite the trench coat, Spencer was shivering when Ice picked him up from the ground, walking back toward their headquarters.
“You’re so dumb,” said Ice. “You were told to stay in bed until you recovered and got your powers back. Like always, you don’t listen. Now you almost got yourself killed, and made everyone worry.”
Spencer’s ears splayed to the side at Ice’s stiff rebuke. He knew that his capture was his own fault, but he just had to get outside. Being cooped up indoors wasn’t his thing. A few moments of silence passed as they neared Ice’s vehicle, where the others had met up after searching in vain for him.
“Were you worried too?” asked Spencer suddenly, staring up into that cold face.
Ice rolled his eyes and looked down at Spencer, another cold remark on his tongue... but he hesitated as he stared into Spencer’s weary face, noting the relief and joy in his eyes at having been saved from certain death and reunited with the furs he called his family.
Ice sighed softly. “... Yeah.”
Even at Ice’s coldest, and Spencer’s most annoying... the fiery dhole always found a way to melt him.