My World My Justice Ch.28: Dragon Slayer Pt.2

-Colin Wallis, Armsmaster-

Colin moved through the underground tunnels, his visor scanner sweeping every surface, every junction, every place for potential threats. His halberd remained in an optimal position; balanced for both offensive strikes and defensive maneuvers.

The bunker’s corridors were professionally constructed. Reinforced concrete, proper ventilation systems, integrated power distribution networks. This wasn't some hastily assembled hideout cobbled together by the run-of-the-mill criminals. Oracle's intelligence file had been accurate—Coil had invested years developing this infrastructure directly under their noses.

An unacceptable security failure. He would investigate with Dragon later and ensure nothing like this happened again. Right now, his priority was locating and neutralizing the explosives.

Although…. If Coil was inside these tunnels, he would take the chance to capture the villain. AFTER he neutralized the bombs.

However, fifteen minutes of searching had yielded nothing. No visible placement points, no structural weaknesses showing concealed devices, no electromagnetic signatures his sensor suite could identify. Maybe they were behind walls made of lead or were hidden deeper underground.

Frustrating, but not unexpected. From what he learned Coil was paranoid and methodical, so it was expected that a villain like him would have contingencies or plans on top of plans. And that his power was based around high fidelity simulations made him dangerous but not invulnerable. Oracle’s file was indeed very helpful to this operation.

‘Armsmaster.’ Mandalay's voice came through the telepathic link. ‘Ragdoll's detecting faint signatures. Right corridor, approximately thirty meters ahead. Whatever's down there isn’t trying to hide.’

'Understood. Adjusting route.' 

The Claw Patrol had proven to be exactly what Oracle promised—efficient, disciplined, competent. Mandalay's telepathic coordination eliminated the need to speak. Ragdoll's Thinker power functioned like precision radar, which was better than his own equipment. Pixie-Bob, could feel and register the large swats of the tunnel extensions and Tiger provided combat capability if they encountered hostile forces, although every member was experienced fighters too.

He'd been skeptical about working with independents. Most lacked proper training, operated on emotion rather than tactical doctrine, created complications through poor coordination. But their performance was exceeding his initial projections by a significant margin. Perhaps True Might and Oracle's judgment was more reliable than he'd assumed.

"You're leaving the downtown district perimeter," came through his specialized secure radio—a different voice, but familiar in its peculiar duality.

Jin Bubaigawara.

The former rogue who'd been half of the villain duo Uber and Leet, now integrated into PRT support staff with full commendation from Oracle and True Might. Colin had reviewed the file extensively. The clone ability raised obvious Master concerns, but he'd immediately recognized its tactical applications. One copy currently operated from his workshop, providing technical support and real-time analysis through his live feed. Two minds working in parallel on the same problem—once he located the first device, disarmament efficiency would increase by approximately forty-three percent.

The man's integration had also helped stabilize operations after they'd been forced to arrest and fire a significant portion of their staff for corruption and conspiracy. Useful, even if the circumstances were infuriating.

"Confirmed," Colin acknowledged. "Continue monitoring. Alert me to any anomalous readings."

"Roger."

‘Armsmaster,’ Mandalay updated, her tone shifting. ‘Ragdoll's locked onto the location. Two capes signatures one floor down. Multiple baseline human readings in the same area—at least eight. They're stationary."

Hostages, or mercenaries most likely. Oracle had mentioned Coil kept captives in his facility. Squealer was confirmed, but there could be others—leverage against enemies, test subjects for his operations, or simply people who knew too much.

'Tactical assessment?' 

‘One cape is stationary, the other is moving around the human signatures,’ 

‘Could be Squealer’

‘Though I have to say,’ she added with slight amusement creeping into her mental voice, ‘for someone who's supposed to be a criminal mastermind, Coil's guards aren't exactly being subtle. Then again, who expects heroes to tunnel into their secret underground base during a city-wide gang war?’

A valid observation, even if the levity was unnecessary.

'Prepare your team for combat.' Colin ordered, his mind automatically calculating probable scenarios and optimal response. 'We will split to extract any hostages first, secure the area, then locate and disarm the explosives. Non-combatant safety is priority one.'

‘Understood. We're ready when you are.’

Colin's grip tightened on his halberd as he approached the stairwell leading down. His visor highlighted potential ambush positions, optimal firing angles. His armor's systems were ready, tranquilizer reservoirs full, containment foam dispensers primed.

This was what he'd trained for. What all his preparation, all his equipment development, all his research had been building toward. A critical mission where failure meant people would get hurt and the villain would escape.

He would not fail.

'Moving in,' He transmitted, descending the stairs. 'Engage on my signal.'

They reached the final stair, which led to a door that was, surprisingly, neither reinforced nor locked.

He immediately flagged this as suspicious. Either Coil's security was less thorough than anticipated, which contradicted everything he was able to gather about the villain or this was deliberately designed to provide a false sense of security. A psychological tactic to make them careless.

But he had a mission to complete, and standing here analyzing wouldn't change what waited on the other side.

'Breaching in ten seconds,' Colin transmitted. 'Flash-bang I'll provide initial disorientation, then we move fast. Secure all hostiles before they can mount effective resistance or trigger alarms.'

'Ready when you are!'

Armsmaster centered himself, running through his plan one final time.

Three. Two. One.

He kicked the door, enough to slam it open but not enough to compromise his balance for the critical first seconds of engagement. The moment it flew wide, his halberd discharged a concentrated flash of light that filled the entire room with searing brightness, the intensity calibrated precisely to overload human vision without causing permanent damage.

Multiple voices shouted and cursed, the surprise attack doing exactly what he'd predicted.

Colin didn't hesitate. He used his halberd as a launching point, the weapon's integrated propulsion system accelerating him forward with explosive speed. A mercenary was frantically rubbing his eyes, weapon half-raised but useless in his disoriented state. His boot connected with the man's chest and he was taken down.

Without breaking momentum, he pivoted and swung his halberd in a controlled arc, the blunt end connecting with another hostile’s helmeted head. Only then he returned his attention to the first one to deliver a firm hit to the head to momentarily stun him.

Around him, the Claw Patrol demonstrated why Oracle had recommended them. Tiger’s arms stretched for long punches while Pixie-Bob used those arms to propel herself, using her power to hit other combatants before they could raise their weapons. Ragdoll used the front to her advantage, flowing around attacks before they even developed, disabling opponents before they could act.

They were good. Better than good, actually. He could even say that their coordination was even better than a Protectorate team.

"I SURRENDER!" a voice shouted—young, panicked, muffled through what sounded like helmet speakers. Male, probably late teens.

Every standing combatant in the room immediately focused on the source. A figure knelt on the ground, hands raised high in the universal gesture of surrender. He wore green power armor—tinker-tech, Colin assessed automatically, though the construction quality suggested amateur work. Functional but inefficient design, poor material choices, suboptimal joint articulation and a jetpack. The full-head helmet bore superficial resemblance to his own aesthetic.

Still, it was operational tinker-tech, which meant the wearer posed a potential threat until properly secured.

"Secure the remaining hostiles," Colin ordered sharply, his halberd tracking toward the surrendering cape. "Ragdoll, verify his emotional state. Everyone else, stay alert awareness. This could be a diversion."

So the team worked.

Colin approached the kneeling young man, his weapon ready to discharge tranquilizer darts at the first sign of hostility.

"Designation," he stated flatly. "Explain your presence here and your relationship to Coil. Quickly."

"C-Chariot," the young man said rapidly. "I'm—okay, look, I was forced into this, alright? Coil hired me for a few jobs some time ago, the pay was really good and the tech too, I needed the money for my mom's medical bills, and I didn't realize what I was getting into until—"

He didn't get to finish.

Ragdoll practically materialized beside him. She invaded Chariot's personal space with absolute disregard for social boundaries; her face coming within inches of his helmet as she blinked rapidly. Then she began circling him, her head tilting at odd angles.

"Hmmmm," she hummed thoughtfully, blinking again. "Elevated heart rate, respiratory distress, stress hormones through the roof! But no deception markers, no hostile intent patterns!" She bounced on her heels, grinning. "He's telling the truth! Poor kid's absolutely terrified right now!"

A little earlier but alright.

Besides Colin's lie detection software had already confirmed the same conclusion—elevated heart rate consistent with genuine fear rather than adrenaline-fueled aggression, vocal stress indicating honesty, no telltale micro-expressions or physiological indicators of deception. His clone had likely reached an identical conclusion.

Still, double checking was a necessity. 

Then the cat-themed heroine's attention immediately shifted, her head snapping toward something across the room. She bounded away without explanation.

"Coil knows my identity!" Chariot blurted, getting his attention back. "He knows where I live, where my mom works, everything! He threatened to have her shot if I didn't cooperate! I didn't have a choice! Please, you have to believe me!"

Colin thought about this. It was a common criminal tactic, threats against family to force compliance. But even then he couldn’t lower his guard with any sob story, so he would still detain him and take him for questioning back to the HQ.

"I know where the bombs are!" Chariot continued, which got everyone's attention. "Well, only one, but still! I stumbled into it by accident when I was moving equipment days ago! Nobody told me this asshole was a fucking terrorist! I thought I was just doing transport work and maybe some protection! If I'd known he was planning to blow up half the city—"

Colin raised his hand sharply, cutting off the rambling. His plan changed. This was an unexpected asset—someone with internal knowledge of the underground layout.

"Have you observed more IEDs?" he demanded, his voice brooking no evasion.

"Just one, I swear! I'm not cleared for most of the facility—Coil keeps everything compartmentalized. I only saw it because I took a wrong turn in the tunnels!"

If the young cape could lead them to even one device, he could analyze its construction, identify the triggering mechanism, and potentially trace the network connecting it to other explosives. With the facility map he'd been constructing, he could make calculated predictions for the rest.

More importantly, once he accessed one device, he could determine if they operated on an integrated network or independent triggers. An integrated system would be more vulnerable to systematic disarmament but more dangerous if improperly handled. Independent triggers would require locating each device individually but reduced the risk of cascading failures.

"You will guide us to that device immediately," Colin ordered. "If you're lying or try to warn Coil's personnel, I will ensure the full weight of federal law comes down on you, including charges of terrorism conspiracy. If you cooperate fully and provide actionable intelligence, I will personally advocate for leniency given your documented coerced circumstances. Your choice. Decide now."

"Yes! Yes, absolutely! I'll help with whatever you need!" Chariot frantically nodded his head.

"Yoohoo, guys!" Ragdoll's voice rang out across the room, bright and cheerful. She waved both hands overhead enthusiastically, bouncing on her toes. "I found the second cape! She's over here!"

Colin immediately moved toward Ragdoll. 

A woman lay unconscious against the far wall. Her clothing was disheveled, and even from a distance, Colin could see evidence of poor treatment—malnutrition, inadequate hygiene, withdrawal symptoms.

Squealer. The Merchant tinker. Oracle's intelligence had been accurate again.

Colin knelt beside her, his visor changing to a medical scanner, analyzing her condition. It was bad but expected for a former Merchant.

"She's alive," he confirmed aloud. "Heavily sedated. She'll require immediate medical attention once we extract her from this facility."

"Ragdoll, continue monitoring for additional life signs," he ordered. "Chariot, you're going to lead us to that explosive device now. Mandalay, have Pixie-Bob  prepare an extraction route for the hostage. We'll secure her location and continue the mission."

Things were proceeding according to plan. Multiple objectives achieved—hostiles neutralized, intelligence asset acquired, hostage located, and a direct path to at least one explosive device.

Efficient progress. Exactly as it should be.

--------------------------------------------------

-Rebecca Costa-Brown, Alexandria-

Rebecca sat motionless at her desk, both hands clasped in front of her mouth, her eyes fixed on the screen. She finally understood.

Contessa's seemingly erratic behavior over the past months; the impulsive decisions that had contradicted years of carefully laid plans, the abandonment of tested strategies, the release of valuable assets, all of it had appeared dangerously out of character. Rebecca had questioned that woman’s judgment more than once. Yet she had continued to follow through, placing her faith in the Path even when it made no logical sense.

But now, watching the live feed of Lung's transformed state, everything became clear.

The ABB leader had transformed to full size. However, his current draconic form bore little resemblance to the creature that had faced Leviathan back in 1999. Even if that battle had ended with Lung's defeat, his power seemingly reached its upper threshold as the ground crumbled beneath the combined weight of two titanic beings, swallowing him into the depths. Even then, the analysis had shown they were evenly matched in raw strength if not stronger.

But this form transcended those limitations entirely. Rebecca would stake her reputation on the assessment that Lung power evolved without a second trigger. If he were to hypothetically face Leviathan again under current conditions, there was a high chance that Lung would win.

And yet True Might was holding his own against this pseudo-Endbringer.

Rebecca's breath caught in her throat as her mind connected dots. If Contessa's erratic project to create a living symbol of hope, if all those months of careful manipulation and seemingly reckless gambles could produce someone capable of defeating this evolved version of Lung...

Then True Might could realistically engage an actual Endbringer in single combat and have a decent chance of victory.

Only El Chapulín Colorado had ever managed such a feat, and even then, the circumstances had been heavily qualified with caveats and conditional factors. His success against Behemoth had required specific advantages and a degree of luck that couldn't be reliably replicated which was also one of the reasons why he didn’t join the Triumvirate.

But if Contessa's gambit paid off completely…

If even one of those monsters recognized that a particular region harbored a cape capable of fighting them individually and winning, they would almost certainly avoid that zone entirely.

The cost-benefit was brutally simple from their alien perspective: why risk significant damage when easier, more vulnerable targets remained abundantly available across the globe?

Which meant that if True Might proved himself here and now, if he demonstrated the full capability that Contessa had been betting on, then the entire American continent could transform into a relative safe zone through the simple presence of a deterrent.

And that would be an opportunity. Resources previously dedicated to endless disaster response and city-scale reconstruction could be redirected toward research, development, and long-term planning. Critical projects that had been indefinitely shelved because of the constant threat of Endbringer attacks could finally move forward. Infrastructure investments could be made without the expectation that they might be destroyed within months. Most importantly, preparing humanity's final confrontation with Scion.

But it all hinged on what happened in the next few minutes.

This was the point of no return, the inflection point where divergent paths split irrevocably. How Daniel performed in this fight would determine not just his own fate or even the immediate future of Brockton Bay, but potentially the entire trajectory of Cauldron's decades-long operation and humanity's survival as a species.

"Show me that Contessa was right to bet everything on you.”

--------------------------------------------------

-Daniel, True Might-

I jump out of the way from the incoming flaming fist, the massive appendage missing me by a good margin and cratering the ground where I'd been standing moments ago. Lung is surprisingly fast despite his size, but still not quite at my level. I glance down at where I was standing—the stone has melted into slag, leaving a glowing crater of molten rock that radiates heat.

Cool but that would definitely pulverize anybody else on the spot. Good thing I kidnapped him and dragged him to the outskirts of the city before this could happen in the middle of downtown.

Still, this outcome is vastly different from what I imagined or even what Futaba planned. It was supposed to be a big performance—put on a show and drag it out until he grew to Leviathan size gradually. But somehow he's grown way too fast, skipping several stages of transformation. But well, there's that old saying about plans not surviving first contact with the enemy, which turns out to be very true.

Doesn't mean I'm running away from this though. If anything, this is more… exciting.

I look up to see Lung already coming at me again, this time with two flaming fists raised as he roars. The sound echoes across the mountains, probably audible for miles.

Huh, this is a perfect chance to copy a cool moment I've always wanted to try. I smirk as I plant my feet down, digging into the rocky ground, and take the best possible stance to deliver a counter-punch. I wait and watch as those two massive fists come down.

It probably looks completely ridiculous with somebody my size going for a clash of punches against a thirty-foot titan. Like a mouse challenging an elephant to a boxing match.

But I've never cared much about looking ridiculous. Not after enduring that stupid crippling speech affliction everywhere I go for so long.

I tense my muscles, feeling the power coil through my body like a spring being compressed. 

"JUSTICE PUNCH!"

And I meet his strike head-on with my fists. The collision creates a massive shockwave that tears across the mountainside, lifting earth and debris in an expanding ring around us. 

But more importantly, Lung's arm—the one that connected with my fist—explodes.

Not figuratively. Literally explodes into fragments.

Metallic scales shattering and spraying outward like shrapnel. Chunks of black flesh and bone follow, the entire appendage just... gone. It takes the fake dragon a full second before the pain registers, and then he lets out another earth-shaking roar of pain, reeling backward and stumbling away from me. His remaining three arms instinctively clutch at the smoking stump where his upper right arm used to be.

Now it's raining metal around us—chunks of his armored scales clattering against the rocks and earth, some pieces still glowing red hot. Which, honestly? That was actually pretty damn cool to watch. Like I just punched clean through a meteor.

My arm is perfectly fine; doesn't feel numb or hurt at all, though it is vibrating slightly from the impact. A good trade-off for destroying one of his limbs.

I roll my right shoulder experimentally, working out the minor stiffness.

"FEEL THE POWER OF RIGHTEOUS JUSTICE!" I boom, striking another heroic pose. "NO EVIL IS TOO LARGE TO OVERCOME! NO VILLAIN TOO STRONG TO RESIST MY RIGHTEOUS CRUSADE!"

Lung snarls at me in response, fire pouring from his deformed maw and from the stump of his destroyed arm like blood from a wound. But then, only seconds later, I watch as a new arm literally bursts forth from the stump and replaces the lost limb as if nothing happened. 

Right. He can do that. I forgot about the regeneration aspect when he's this ramped up.

Then his four wings spread out wide, blocking the sun again as he rears his head back. His oddly X-shaped maw opens wide, and I can hear him taking a deep breath. The fire cloak around his body seems to converge, flowing toward his throat in a vortex.

Understanding his intentions immediately, I make a leap to punch his mouth shut before he can unleash whatever attack he's preparing because it could reach the city.

But his tail is faster than I anticipated. The whip-like appendage catches me mid-air, the sharpened tip slamming into my stomach. The impact sends me hurtling back down, though I land on my feet instead of crashing face-first into the ground. It didn't hurt, but it's annoying that physics didn't bend the rules for me.

However, I notice I'm now on the opposite side of Lung, the side where behind me there's no city silhouette visible on the horizon. Which means no fire attack from this angle would threaten Brockton Bay.

Perfect.

So I let out a chuckle and brace myself as the gang leader finally unleashes his concentrated torrent of fire directly at me. Anybody would get away but I need to make a statement to everyone watching.

The flames wash over me in a continuous stream, a column of fire at least fifteen feet wide that tears up the surrounding ground. And yes, this time it's HOT.

Like standing close to the oven type of hot. And if this is what I feel then this is the kind of fire that would instantly vaporize or atomize a normal person, delete them from reality before they even had time to scream. 

The force of it pushes me back, my feet skidding across the rocky ground as I'm forced to brace with both arms in front of my face.

But soon I plant one foot forward, then the other, stopping my backward slide. My feet sink into the ground as the stone beneath me melts from the sheer heat, but at least it helps anchor me in place. So I just wait patiently, letting the flames wash over me. I can only imagine Lung’s face when I’m still standing after that.

When the fire finally stops, I take a deep breath and survey my surroundings. The entire area around me has melted—the earth turned to a smoky molten slag that's already rapidly solidifying. My feet are sunk about ankle-deep into what used to be solid ground, which makes sense given that the fire literally melted the ground beneath me.

But I'm perfectly fine. Just a little warm, like I've been standing in front of a space heater for too long and need a cold drink. My outfit is covered in black ash and soot, but otherwise undamaged and I can say the same for my hair. Although I have plenty of smoke around me too.

And that gives me an idea for a dramatic moment.

I pull my feet from the cooling slag with wet sucking sounds, then flex my muscles really hard; every muscle group tensing simultaneously. I literally shed the layer of ash and soot like a second skin, the blackened material flaking off and falling away, leaving my costume as clean as it was moments ago.

Lung just stares at me, his multiple eyes wide with what I can only interpret as shock that I survived his attack completely unharmed.

I let out a short laugh and wag my finger at him, clicking my tongue in mock disappointment. "HOW MANY TIMES MUST I SAY IT, VILLAIN? EVIL CANNOT PIERCE THE ARMOR OF JUSTICE! YOUR FLAMES ARE BUT A GENTLE BREEZE AGAINST THE SHIELD OF RIGHTEOUSNESS!"

The dragon's eyes narrow, and I can practically see the rage building again. His whole body preparing for another assault.

Alright, time to go on the offensive.

I charge forward, my feet pounding against the solidified slag as I build momentum. My plan is simple: take out his legs first and bring the big monster down to size. Basic stuff, you can't fight effectively if you can't stand.

However, the monster seems to anticipate this, his tail whipping around in a wide arc aimed directly at my path, trying to repeat his earlier success.

But it won't catch me a second time.

I jump over the sweeping tail easily, the sharpened appendage passing harmlessly beneath me with inches to spare. While airborne, I cock my fist back and adjust my trajectory mid-flight, aiming for his left leg; specifically the knee joint where the scales might be thinner.

"JUSTICE STRIKE!"

Huh, new one.

My fist connects, and I feel the impact reverberate through his entire leg. The limb buckles immediately, bending at an unnatural angle with a sickening crack. The titan screams, his massive body tilting to the side as he loses balance. One of his four hands slams down to catch himself, leaving deep gouges in the stone.

Not wasting a single moment, I land on his lower body and immediately start running upward along his back, using his own overlapping scales as footholds.

"VILLAIN! YOUR DEFEAT IS INEVITABLE!" I boom as I run, practically sprinting up his spine like it's a vertical racetrack. "JUSTICE CLIMBS EVER UPWARD!"

Obviously, Lung doesn't just sit there and take it. His body reacts accordingly and tries to reach me with his four arms, sharp claws swiping and grasping at where I was just moments before. His massive wings flap violently, creating hurricane-force gusts that would blow away a normal person. His entire body twists and contorts as he attempts to shake me off.

But it's all futile. He's faster than he should be for his size, but thanks to the massive size difference and my own enhanced speed, I have the edge. I dodge each grasping hand with ease, jump over sweeping claws, and maintain my balance even as his entire body bucks and thrashes beneath me like a crazed bull. Each scale provides another launching point, another foothold in my steady climb toward his head.

Then I notice the heat building up around me—rapidly increasing to dangerous levels. The scales beneath my feet are glowing brighter, shifting from dark metal to orange red. The fire veins running through his body pulse with increased intensity, like lava flowing through cracks in volcanic rock. The air itself seems to shimmer and distort from the rising temperature.

Oh...

I immediately punch a hole into the scaly surface right in front of me, my fist tearing through his armored hide. I grab onto the jagged edges of the wound with both hands and hold on tight just as Lung's entire body explodes outward in a giant sphere of flames.

A fire nova of pure destruction that would have sent me flying helplessly through the air if I wasn't firmly anchored. The flames wash over and around me, even pouring through the opening I've created, but I hold firm against the expansive wave. Hot, although not as hot as before.

When the explosion subsides, I'm still there, still holding on despite the explosion that just tried to dislodge me.

"NICE TRY, VILLAIN!" I shout, pulling myself further into the wound I've created for better leverage, my hands digging deeper into his regenerating flesh. "BUT JUSTICE CANNOT BE BURNED AWAY SO EASILY!"

That was actually a pretty excellent line, if I say so myself.

"KILL! KILL YOU!" He expresses his frustration, and I can feel his entire body tensing beneath me for another desperate attempt to dislodge me.

Not giving him the chance to try again, I resume my climb, using the hole I've created as a solid launching point. I springboard myself upward, jumping from scale to scale. Each leap carries me higher—, past his wings' anchor points where the membrane connects to bone, toward his long serpentine neck.

Finally, I reach the base of his neck and prepare to make the final jump toward his head to end this swiftly.

But then I pause, actually looking at my target. His neck is incredibly long and constantly moving, bending and coiling like a giant snake attached to his body. And that head, while fucked up, is relatively small compared to his overall body size.

That makes it practically impossible to hit the head. Even if I jump with perfect timing, he can just whip his neck to the side at the last second and I'll miss completely, sailing harmlessly past into empty air. Then I'd have to start this whole climbing process over again.

Change of plans then.

Instead of going for the head, I look at the neck itself; specifically the thickest part near the base where it connects to his main body. A part that he cannot move.

Perfect target.

I move forward and wrap both arms around his neck in a crushing bear hug, locking my hands together on the opposite side. My biceps flex and bulge as I begin to squeeze with all my strength, feeling the metal scales groan and buckle under the pressure.

"THE BIGGER THE VILLAIN," I shout, tightening my grip even further and hearing the satisfying cracking, "THE BIGGER THE FALL TOWARD JUSTICE!"

And back to the awful lines.

The Asian escape goes wild. All four arms reach back desperately trying to pry me off, claws scraping uselessly against my invulnerable body. His wings flap frantically, creating massive gusts of wind. His tail whips around trying to strike me from every angle, and his entire body thrashes as my grip continues to tighten around his throat. But thanks to my hold nothing can make me falter. The roars that emanate from his constricted throat become strained and choked.

I can feel the scales starting to crack and splinter beneath my arms, feel the bone and muscle structures beneath beginning to compress dangerously. Lung might be capable of regenerating anything but definitely not the air he needs.

But I have to hold back since I cannot kill him on international TV.

So with that in mind I bend my knees, preparing myself.

And then I launch myself.

Lung's entire body is yanked forward by his own neck, his center of gravity completely thrown off balance. His legs buckle uselessly beneath him, his wings flap without purpose, and his four arms pinwheel desperately as he's forcibly brought down.

We sail through the air together, Lung roaring the entire way—practically kicking and screaming like an oversized toddler having a tantrum—as gravity inevitably takes over. 

He roars a lot though.

"JUSTICE DESCENDS UPON THE WICKED!" I shout triumphantly as we fall together toward the unforgiving ground.

The earth rushes up to meet us at terminal velocity, and I make absolutely sure Lung's body hits it first.

The metallic dragon slams into the already broken and solidified mountainside hard. The impact zone causes a shockwave that radiates outward, shattering stone and sending up a massive cloud of dust and debris that obscures everything.

And I'm still holding onto his neck through it all, maintaining my iron grip.

When the dust begins to settle, I finally release my hold and backflip off his body, landing in the classic superhero three-point stance with one fist against the ground.

Just for the dramatic effect when the dust completely dissipates.

The gang leader lies there for a moment, his body motionless. For a second, I think maybe he's actually down for the count.

But then he slowly, laboriously pushes himself up with his four arms. His wings start flapping to help lift his massive bulk, creating powerful gusts that clear away the remaining dust and debris around us.

Of course he's not done. That would be too easy.

"BEHOLD THE POWER OF JUSTICE!" I declare, already charging forward again to press my advantage while he's still recovering.

His head snaps in my direction at the sound of my voice, multiple eyes locking onto me once more. But rather than staying put like most would after being body-slammed into a mountain, he suddenly lunges directly at me with his X-shaped maw open wide, rows of razor-sharp teeth gleaming under the light.

Oh…

With my current momentum and speed, I can't stop myself or pivot away in time. Can't jump or dodge to either side without losing all my forward velocity. All I can do is throw my hands up in front of me and brace for impact as we clash head-on.

My palms slam against the roof and floor of his mouth, catching his jaws just before they can snap shut around me. My feet skid backward across the broken ground, leaving deep furrows as I'm pushed back by his raw momentum and strength.

I'm ceding more and more ground with each passing second, my heels digging trenches in the earth as Lung continues to push forward. That's dangerous, if I lose my footing completely, I'll be lifted off the ground and lose all my leverage. Then he could just throw me as far as possible, essentially taking me out of the fight and letting a fully grown dragon to rampage through the city.

Can't let that happen.

With a grunt of effort, I push harder, redirecting all my strength into my arms. I force his head to the side, deviating his trajectory. Using his own momentum against him, I twist and slam his skull into the ground and then come down with an overarching punch causing it to partially bury it.

The combo works and his body follows through with the new momentum, his serpentine neck bending at an awkward angle.

With the brief respite I take those seconds to think. This back-and-forth brawling isn't going to cut it anymore... well, unless I go straight for the heart or brain, but that would kill him on the spot and I can't do that, regrettably. 

But he will keep regenerating and getting back up every time I knock him down. His regeneration at this size is ridiculous. So that leaves to contain him which in turn would cause him to shrink.

With that line of thought, I jump backwards, creating a distance between us. My feet hit the ground and I plant myself firmly. I take a deep breath, centering myself and focusing my strength as Lung begins to recover, pushing himself up with rising smoke coming out from his body.

I want to try something.

I slam both hands into the ground, my fingers digging deep into the stone. Getting a solid grip I channel my strength and prepare to unleash one of my signature moves.

"JUSTICE WAVE!"

The ground immediately ripples outward a wave of displaced stone and dirt traveling forward at high speed. 

He manages to pull himself upright just in time to see the artificial wave crash directly into him.

The impact causes his form to tilt to one side. One of his legs sinks deep into the suddenly softened and displaced terrain, throwing off his balance completely.

Not quite what I expected; I thought it might knock him completely over, but the unexpected results gave me an idea.

Quickly, I jump sideways, circling around to his flank. I plant my feet again in that same wide stance, hands slamming into the ground.

"JUSTICE WAVE!"

Another ripple of earth tears through the mountainside, traveling at the same speed. The wave crashes into his side from a perpendicular angle, and combined with the already unstable ground beneath him, it causes another part of his body to sink. Now his entire right side is partially buried, his wing on that side pinned awkwardly against the ground.

Okay, that should work.

I'm already moving again before my opponent can fully grasp what's happening, repositioning myself. Naturally Lung is trying to free himself, his four arms clawing at the ground, his partially free wings flapping to help his efforts. However, his struggling surprisingly is causing the opposite effect as he sinks deeper.

"JUSTICE WAVE!"

The third wave hits him, buckling and destroying the ground beneath his hind legs. They sink immediately up to the joints, his long tail thrashing uselessly as it too becomes partially buried. 

But that is not enough.

"JUSTICE WAVE!"

His left side sinks now, the wing on that side folding awkwardly as well.

"JUSTICE WAVE!"

His front right leg disappears up to the shoulder joint. And that’s when I notice that he's emanating so much heat from his body, the ground around him melts into slag again, which only makes it much harder for him to break free,  and when he controls his fire the slag solidifies quickly.

"JUSTICE WAVE!"

Now his underbelly sinks.

"JUSTICE WAVE!"

"JUSTICE WAVE!"

"JUSTICE WAVE!"

He's being swallowed by the mountain itself.

Lung realizing that he cannot do anything let out a roar with impotent rage, fire streaming continuously from his deformed maw and multiple eyes, spitting in every direction. His four arms claw desperately at any solid ground they can reach, trying to find anything solid or stable to pull his massive bulk free. His remaining mobile wings beat frantically against the air, creating gusts that blow away loose debris and dust but accomplish absolutely nothing else. What's left of his tail above ground whips back and forth.

But obviously I didn't stop my assault.

The surrounding ground around him has practically become quicksand, then compacted again and again by his own tremendous weight pressing down. The heat from his body that doesn’t seem he has much control over it, melts the earth, which cools and hardens around him, helping in encasing him. 

After a while, I stopped to check on him.

Lung is now buried up to his chest—at least half of his massive thirty-foot draconic form is trapped in the mountain's surface. Only two of his four arms are still free above ground, clawing uselessly at the hardened slag around him. His long neck and head are still mobile, whipping back and forth frantically as he roars his defiance into the sky, spitting gouts of fire in every direction like a caged animal.

But still he is now trapped and cannot break free.

"BEHOLD, VILLAIN!" I boom, striking a triumphant pose as I survey my handiwork with satisfaction. "THE EARTH ITSELF RISES TO AID THE CAUSE OF JUSTICE! YOU ARE BOUND BY THE VERY GROUND YOU SOUGHT TO BURN!"

Lung's response is to spit a concentrated torrent of fire straight at my position, the flames washing over me harmlessly. But compared to the massive charged breath attack he unleashed earlier, this barely registers as warm. Maybe he is getting tired.

Now… How do I actually finish this fight?

Think, Daniel. Think….

Then an idea strikes me, and I pump my fists together with a renewed purpose before turning around and running away from the evil dragon at full speed.

This clearly confuses the oversized lizard, he actually stops his struggling and just stares at my retreating form with what I can only imagine is bewilderment. His elongated head tilts slightly to one side. 

However, I'm not actually retreating—I'm just taking distance, getting as far back as I think I need to maximize power. When I feel I've created enough space between us, probably a few hundred feet at least, I pivot sharply on my heel and break into a full sprint back toward him. My feet pound against the battered mountainside as I accelerate.

The ground cracks beneath each footfall as I build up more and more velocity, all to become a living missile aimed directly at the monster. 

"COMBINED SERIES: JUSTICE RUSH!"

Although, more like a Javelin.

At what I feel to be the perfect moment, I spring myself high into the air leaving a small crater behind.

It would be really cool if I had wings to spread out right now for maximum dramatic effect with the sun behind me.

And as I reach the limit of my jump, I tuck my legs beneath me and aim directly at Lung's upper body as gravity takes hold. Aiming for the place where his neck connects with his torso. The best place to target without going straight for the kill.

"JUSTICE CRUSH!"

I plummet toward him like a meteor.

Combined Series: Justice Crushing Rush!

...That sounds incredibly dumb. Thank god I only said it in my head this time instead of shouting it out loud like usual.

And the villain can only helplessly watch my fall.

Direct impact.

My meteor-drop attack obliterates the multiple layers of reinforced metallic scales, shattering them into thousands of glittering fragments and my feet going deep, right up to my ankles. 

However, my legs can feel something happening inside, cannot see but I can feel tremor and cracks spreading everywhere. And then parts of the dragon’s body explode outwards like mini detonations of gas pumps.

Did… Did I just cause an internal explosion inside Lung's body? 

The fake dragon lets out one final roar echoing everywhere, maybe even heard all over the city.

Then Lung, the leader of the Azn Bad Boys, just... completely collapses. His dragon form goes totally limp in an instant, his two free arms falling uselessly to the ground with heavy thuds, his elongated head dropping and hitting the ground like a tree. Even the fire dissipates and the flowing cracks also lose that orange red color.

I quickly extract my feet from where they're embedded deep and jump down to solid ground, well more like semi-solid ground, creating some distance to observe the aftermath. 

Just to check if he's actually down for the count and not try to eat me if I lower my guard, although I would just punch through his stomach.

And then I hear something.

A loud, sustained groaning sound like metal under immense stress, cracking and wet tearing of metal grinding. I look up and watch in fascination as Lung's dragon form shrinks rapidly, the monstrous structure collapsing in on itself like a glass dome.

The scales start shedding and falling away in massive chunks; the armor fragmenting and cracking at every conceivable angle in a strangely beautiful effect. The whole transformation reverses itself in a matter of seconds—thirty feet becoming twenty, twenty becoming fifteen, ten... the draconic features melting away like wax as the human form underneath tries to reassert itself.

The wings dissolve into nothing. The extra arms shrink and merge. The tail withers away.

Then the remaining shell of scales just tears away completely and falls off in one final dramatic cascade, kicking up a short-lived cloud of thick smoke and dust that completely obscures my view of what's left.

I clap my hands together once. The small shockwave from my clap disperses the smoke and dust, clearing the air and revealing the aftermath.

And there, lying in the center of the hole where the thirty-foot monster had been trapped just moments ago, is Lung himself.

Completely naked.

And without arms and legs.

Uh... so he DID take serious damage from my attacks, and it translated directly to his original human body when he was forced to revert. Also his body is covered in bruises and steam still rising from his skin.

Well, he should be able to regenerate his missing limbs eventually, but the important thing is he's still alive and thoroughly, completely defeated. Not dead, not dying, just... neutralized as a threat.

Mission accomplished, I guess. Dragon successfully slain without actually killing the dragon.

I look up at the sky, where the sun is conveniently shining a dramatic beam of light down on me through a perfectly positioned break in the clouds. 

Well….

In the spur of the momentI decide to follow my instincts and lean into it completely, striking my most heroic pose yet—legs spread wide in a power stance, fists planted firmly on my hips, chest puffed out proudly, chin raised toward that convenient sunbeam like I'm accepting the heavens' approval.

"ANOTHER GLORIOUS VICTORY FOR JUSTICE!" I boom, my voice carrying across the land. "EVIL HAS FALLEN BEFORE THE RIGHTEOUS HAMMER OF TRUTH! THE EVIL DRAGON IS NO MORE, AND PEACE SHALL SHINE ONCE MORE UPON THE INNOCENT!"

I hold the pose for several long seconds, letting the dramatic effect fully sink in and really committing to the moment and giving a show to those who are definitely watching the fight. And I'm absolutely sure Futaba is laughing her ass off.

But hey, I've fully committed to the bit at this point.

Classic dragon hunting: Complete!

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AN: Hope you liked it.