Brent Seabrook wore a sleeveless red shirt over a bulletproof vest with green army cargo pants. Across his chest, he had two black straps in an “x” shape with kept his harness for his swords in place securely. He was a highly skilled, often wisecracking but greatly amoral mercenary who wielded a pair of katana swords with superhuman speed and skill sufficient to deflect fully automatic weapons fire.

Brent reached behind him and whipped out his two katangas. He growled and swung them around in a warm-up move. The corners of his mouth were twisted upward into a scowl as he stood on boards, which were over where the blue line was in the Blackhawks’ practice facility, Johnny’s IceHouse. The western IceHouse was currently under renovations, so the ice was covered by boards. The lights were dim in the arena, giving him little to no visibility past where the center of the rink was.

The echo of a low growling noise came from the shadows ahead of where he stood. It sounded like it came from all around him, but he pinpointed the location, based on the sound that followed, which was the scratching of nails or claws on the boarded surface.

“Why don’t you stop being such a coward and come out and fight me already? What are you a pussy cat?” Brent called out.

“I’m no pussy…” a loud sounding voice came. “I’m your worst nightmare!” With that, the skidding sound of claws scampering on the boards sounded. Then a flash of golden brown flew from the shadows.

Brent swiftly moved his swords and he saw tiger-like claws hit the metallic blades. Steve Ott was glowering at the swordsman and he flashed a pair of canines at him. Ott was wearing a black trenchcoat with black pants like Victor Creed in X-Men: Origins. “What are you supposed to be?” Brent snarled.

“Does it matter, since I’ll rip you to shreds?”

Brent drove his knee into the muscular goon’s stomach. Ott swiped at him with his hand, but Brent was faster and he brought one of his swords up to deflect the blow. Ott swiped with his other hand, but again Brent caught him and stopped his attack. Ott growled and gave off a tiger-like roar of frustration.

Brent kicked out again and slewfooted the fourth-liner, sending him crashing to the boards. Then the swordsman pointed his swords down at the fallen villain. “Actually,” the Canadian defenseman began, “How about I rip YOU to shreds?”

“With what? You’re cute little swords?” Ott sneered, shoving the blades out of his face.

Brent recovered and moved them back, lunging down at Ott, until the blades criss-crossed over the villain’s throat. Ott smirked at him. The villain slowly lifted one of his hands up and he gently pushed against the blades with his claws, careful not to cut his skin. He managed to get them a safe distance from his throat, still holding his exaggerated canine smirk.

“You’re real cute, Seabsie, you know that? I commend your enthusiasm and all, but really, you have no chance against me.”

Brent answered him with a sharp flick of his wrist to Ott’s face. Blood was drawn from the quick cut. Brent then moved and got his other cheek. Ott chuckled, amused at the swordsman’s bravery.

“You’re really going there, huh?”

Suddenly Brent was thrown backward and he landed roughly on the boards at the far end of the rink, narrowly missing the wall and the vertical boards. He quickly rolled back to his feet. "Hey, that hurt," he snapped as he wiped some dirt off his pants.

"You wanna dance some more," Ott sneered as his tiger-like claws slid out of the tips of his hands and shone like moldy toenails in the dim arena lighting.

"Ott," Brent muttered, snatching up his swords and spinning them around once more skillfully in his hands, moving them in the air like a helicopter’s blade. He managed not to harm himself with his deadly tricks.

Then he took a quick step back as Ott lunged, claws extended. Brent turned and blocked with his swords again. Ott’s cheek wounds were healed like he was a superhuman. Brent held his ground, but he was panicking deep inside. It would take a miracle to defeat Ott. Sure he could plunge his swords into the goon...but Ott was fast. He had super senses and speed. He was like Sabretooth.

If he could get the swords into Ott, he could end it, but he couldn’t. And even if he did...there was no telling if Ott would actually be killed. Unlike the wild man, Brent couldn’t heal, so he had to be on his guard. But he was so sure that he had a chance. He couldn’t back down. It wasn’t in his blood.

Brent pulled back and darted away from Ott instead. He hopped over the boards and into the bench. Maybe he could attempt to tire Ott out. Sure enough the villain sprinted on his hands and feet like an animal, darting for the bench. He let loose a howl and pounced at Brent, who rapidly ducked.

Ott slammed into the back boards of the bench and fell to the ground. He shook his head and spun around to see Brent hop back onto the boarded rink and dart into the shadows. Ott slammed his fist on the bench and got to his feet. He pounced back over the boards and onto the rink. He snapped his head from side to side looking for Brent.

“I know you’re scared, Seabsie Boy. You can always stop running and just give in!” Ott rose to his feet slowly, smirking and showing off his exaggerated canines once more.

Brent crept out of the rink and into the stands. The exit for the building was on the far side. He could go and get help if he remained quiet. He looked to the rink. In a swath of light, he spotted Ott with his head up. He appeared to be sniffing the air around him. Brent continued forward.

Suddenly he lost his balance and made one of the chairs creek rather loudly. The sound echoed around the empty, dark arena. He halted and gasped. “Shit!” He snapped his head to see Ott looking his way. The goon was smirking as he dropped into a runner’s stance and launched toward him. His claws scraped against the wood as he ran.

Then he launched into the stands and bolted for Brent. Brent grabbed his swords and blindly swung in the dark stands. He felt a searing pain on the side of his neck but he ignored it and continued to swing the swords.

After a few seconds he was thrust from the darkness and the stands and he collided with the boarded rink again. Ott landed on top of him, snarling. Brent’s swords were stripped from his hands and thrown far away. The defenseman kicked up but Ott wasn’t bothered by the move and instead he wrapped his hands tightly around Brent’s wrists and pinned them above his head. He held them there with one hand.

Brent squirmed under his hold. Ott took one of his talon-like claws and brushed one of Brent’s brunette hair locks out of his face, being careful not to cut him or draw any blood. Brent tried not to show his panic in his face and maintain a sharp glare but Ott sensed his vulnerability.

“Hey, remember when you hit my teammate Backes and then taunted him?”

Brent spat at him.

“I’m just talking here, man. No need to be rude.” Ott dragged his claw down the side of Brent’s face and he grabbed Brent’s chin in his thumb and forefinger. “Such a pity you can’t heal like me…” He let go of Brent’s chin and raised his hand up in the air, ready to strike.

“Hey Ott!” a voice shouted. “Leave ‘im alone!”

Ott snapped his head up and growled. There was clicking sound, like a gun and then a popping sound. Instantly Ott flew backward, his grip retreating from Brent, who scrambled to his feet and looked at the newcomer. A young brunette man in a black jacket stepped forward. Brent recognized him at once.

“Tavs!?”

John Tavares nodded his head. He raised his puck blaster back up and let another black disc fly from the barrel. It hit a recovering and stunned Ott in the head. The hulking giant wasn't expecting it and didn't move out of the way in time. The puck hit him hard, licking at his flesh and propelled him backwards to slam into the wall of the rink.

He landed on the ground dazed and grumbling. John kept his gun trained on the villain as he slumped. His body folded over, blocking John and Brent’s view of the severe burns on his chest. John waited for several minutes, assuring himself that Ott was well and truly down.

The seconds ticked by with almost agonizing slowness and John and Brent kept their eyes on the threat. John walked forward and patted Brent on the shoulder, wearing a stern expression on his face. No one was laughing, but he was concerned about the Canadian Blackhawk defenseman.

“You okay man?” John asked.

“Yeah.” Brent went to collect his swords. “I honestly had him.” He slid both weapons into the holster on his back. The weapons criss-crossed each other and he looked like a skilled martial artist once again.

John scoffed. “Right. You looked like you were handling yourself really well…based on the way you wriggled around like Tyler Seguin does.”

“Don’t even compare me to that Dallas Star kid!” Brent spat back.

“Fine, whatever. Where’s my thanks? A simple, “thank you Tavs for saving my life!” will do!” John stated, putting his gun into his belt.

Ott remained slumped over by the boards, unmoving. Either he was playing them or he really was down and out. His claws had disappeared into his nails...so maybe he really was done? But Brent was a little skeptical. He kept his guard up.

John stepped forward and patted his fellow hero on the shoulder once more. “Let’s get out of here man...too dark. Besides Torey, Ben, Nathan, Saader, Gabriel and Nikita Nesterov are outside.” He pointed at the exit.

“Where’s everyone else?” Brent asked, looking at Ott again.

“Dunno. We need to get back to the United Center and talk to the Captain!” John remarked. “He’ll know! Jonny allows knows what to do!”

Brent nodded. “Alright, let’s get out of here then!”

They raced to the exit and left the building. Outside, they met up with Torey Krug, Ben Smith, Brandon Saad, Gabriel Landeskog, Nathan Mackinnon and Nikita Nesterov. Nikita’s steel armor was still repairing itself, but it was almost fully repaired. Gabriel was playing around with his glaciokinesis. Torey and Ben were chatting.


As soon as they were safely outside, Ott lifted his head, smirking and snickering. “Looks like its time to go to the UC…” He cracked his neck and got to his feet. He spun around, unsheathing his claws and he lashed out at the boards, etching a message into the paint.

Then he roared and bounded out of the practice facility.

Notes

Whoa! It's been a while since I've been on here and updated anything...wow! I just have been so busy. But here we go....
I give you Seabs vs Ott! :)