You both turned to stare at him in shock.

“We're not leaving you.” you protested. But really, you were ashamed of yourself for having thought of that very same solution.

“You're not. I'm volunteering to stay behind.” he corrected you. “Trust me on this, kid. If there’s anyone that can live through this, it's gonna be me…”

He didn't even turn around to look at you. His eyes were firmly locked on the centaur herd.

You and Louise exchanged a worried glance.

“Hurry up and go. I can’t cut loose with you here.” he urged, taking several steps towards the oncoming stampede.

“Be sure to come back in one piece!” you shouted after him.

“Don't do anything too stupid!” Louise called out.

“Sorry ladies…but I can't guarantee either of those things.”

Louise looked like she wanted to protest, but Harpy swooped down and scooped both of you up before anyone else could get a word in. She started to lift off, when Deadhead looked back at her from over his shoulder. The two locked eyes for a while, and Deadhead gave her a slight nod of acknowledgement.

Harpy didn't return the gesture. She only uttered a single word.

“Smash.”

Deadhead turned his head back around, and gave her a thumbs up before clenching his right hand into a fist. Green sparks danced along the surface of his darkening flesh. Likely the residual gamma radiation from the Hulk Blood. According to Harpy, it should have killed him several times over by now, but here he stood, staring down an entire horde of zombies by himself.

He wound his hand back, clenching his fist even tighter, and causing additional sparks to generate from the affected limb. His veins were throbbing, and his muscles were quivering so much that you were afraid that it might explode! But he held it for as long as he could. After a few more seconds, when the centaur herd had gotten a little closer, Deadhead finally swung his arm down.

“Death-Blow.”

A powerful shockwave ran through the ground, and tore straight through the middle of the herd! The sheer wind pressure of his punch had completely obliterated everything in its path, carving a small trench where a great number of centaur had once stood.

The herd split up and ran around to pincer him from both sides. They quickly formed a tight circle around him, with centaur running in layered, concentric patterns. As they did so, you noticed a few of them wielding bows and carrying spears.

“Look out! These guys are smarter than your average zombie!” you shouted.

Deadhead barely made to move as dozens of arrows sprouted from multiple points on his body. None of them penetrated very deep, however. The speartips, similarly, only achieved minor injuries, and barely warranted an appropriate reaction for someone who was being pelted from all sides by sharp projectiles.

(Cont.)