It's like you've never read a comic book before.

In that moment, that moment of bubbling rage, something in Catalina broke. It broke in rhtyhm to the chiming of the Cat's Eye amulet buried deep within the bell on her collar. Her self-pity, her shame, her feeling of loss. It all shattered, and what rose in its place was a cold, feral, and utterly consuming fury.

The amulet in her bell gave a silent, seismic thrum that she felt in her core, a pulse of power that washed through her veins like fire, as she pulled against the handcuffs, shattering them.

Her senses sharpened in a way they hadn't before. The world slowed to a crawl. She could smell The Curator's lingering cologne, a ritzy bergamot and sandalwood, in the air. She could see the microscopic distortions where he'd translocated, a shimmering path only her cat-like eyes could follow. The Curator was close. She could still get him.

Forgetting her nakedness, she began the hunt. With an entirely inhuman snarl, she moved.

She didn't care about the gasps as she burst from the empty store onto the crowded nighttime street. Catalina didn't care about the cameras that swiveled back to her as she launched from the doorway, a flash of tanned skin and fury. For a moment she ran on all fours, a naked, terrifying blur of muscle and motion, her boots scraping on the concrete as she shot past the stunned people and a police cruiser. Darting through and into the alley, her powerful thighs propelling her forward, her bare breasts swaying with the rhythm of her sprint.

His scent was strong. He was close, arrogant, believing his escape was complete. She could taste the salt of his tears, and the coppery hint of blood from where he had likely bitten his tongue.

She found him in a dead-end alley, calmly placing jewels into a sleek briefcase. He heard her approach, turning with a look of shock and alarm as he saw her. His upper-class sophisticate persona had faltered, and he spoke with a noticeably rougher accent.

"St-stay back! You- youse- you were supposed to be three blocks away from here... You crazy naked broad, why won't you just-"

She was a vision of naked primal rage. Truly a sight to behold. Every muscle coiled and defined under her glistening skin, her eyes glowing with feral light behind the mask. The cat's paw design on her mound stood stark now, not as tacky grooming, but as a warning about her true nature. I mean, it was still cheeky and hard to take seriously, but y'know, also a sign of the beast.

He raised his hands and tried to swipe her away. He was too slow. No longer thinking, no longer worried about her years of training, Catalina cracked his chin with her knee as she blitzed the not-so-gentlemanly thief.

He cried out, "My fucking chin again? C'mon!" before stumbling back, the briefcase spilling diamonds across the dirty asphalt like scattered ice.

He swiped at the air where she'd been, but she was already above him, leaping off the brick wall, the full, naked length of her body arched in the air before her foot connected with the side of his head. He grunted, disoriented. He tried to translocate the ground beneath her, but she anticipated it, leaping again as the concrete vanished and reappeared above an empty stretch of street, crashing down harmlessly.

He had considered himself a connoisseur of all things interesting and beautiful in the world. He had considered himself an artist of villainy. He had considered himself a mind capable of reading all there was to a person in moments. What he had not considered was that this persona of his...was not built for this kind of a fight.

She landed behind him, wrapped a strong, bare arm around his neck, and sank her teeth into the muscle of his shoulder, biting through the expensive fabric of his suit. He screamed, a raw, undignified sound. His concentration broke. The oily light around his hands flickered and died.

She didn't let go. She used her powerful legs to scissor-lock his and used her tail, still firmly in place, to throw their balance, bringing them both crashing down amidst the scattered jewels. She pinned him down, her knees digging into his arms, her naked form now a sweaty, blood-smeared cage of terrifying strength. She could feel the rough asphalt against her bare sex and ass, the cool air on her back. Normally, Catalina was too shy to even change in the women's locker room at the local gym. Now she was holding a man who had played with her body in a bare-naked wrestling hold.

He tried to resist, and with a swish of his wrist, he escaped his suit jacket, leaving her in a tangle of cloth.
"Fuck off ya mangy bitch! That jacket cost more than you-" He had tried to sound triumphant, like he had managed to shake her free with that move. He was only a few feet away, but with enough room to use his powers again to escape. At least, that was the plan. Villains need to learn not to gloat so much, or at least that's what Catalina would have thought normally.

Instead, she let out a yowl that sounded not quite like a cat and nothing like a human. With a motion, she shredded the jacket and was in the air, pouncing on the villain again. This time there were no holds or grappling. No chance to get a feel of her body. No...now she was just beating his brakes off.

She rained down blow after blow. They weren't pretty strikes, oh no, they were claws and palms and stomps and kicks. It was far from the glamor of your average superpowered brawl. She beat the elegance out of him. She beat the silver wig off his head. She beat him until he was just a man in a torn, dirty suit, whimpering and bloody beneath her naked body.

The cold fury receded, leaving her panting, kneeling over him, the adrenaline fading. The sounds of the city rushed back in, followed by the shouts of the police converging on the alley, and the gasps of the few civilians who had followed.

She was still naked. Her skin was smudged with alley grime and splattered with his blood. But she was not ashamed. She was victorious. And GOD was she horny. Her body reacted, without a touch or active intent to masturbate. In her moment of triumph, she was blind to the crowd. Catalina's body was illuminated by the flashing of cameras and phones as she rose from her kneeling position. As she stared down at her figurative kill, the floodgates opened. She came so hard it rained down on the barely conscious supervillain.

To her later horror, all of this was caught on film.