Chapter 19

The rage trickled through his veins like oil waiting to be lit. It simmered, rising ever hotter with anticipation. The smallest spark of his power would ignite it, would consume his surroundings in a glorious inferno, but Lung held back. He let his power build, let his rage grow, for the proper moment.

He was under siege on all fronts, a dozen different battles scattered across his domain each nearly as important as the last. He was Lung, but he could not be everywhere, and his enemies were taking advantage.

Still, there was no fear, no panic, only anticipation. This was a final strike, a desperate blow from a fallen enemy, he had but to survive it to triumph. Kaiser sought revenge for his fallen comrades, but he would find only death.

In time.

For now, he had a tinker to retrieve. Armsmaster was bold, Lung would grant him that, and skilled. Even recovering from his injuries, Oni Lee was a deadly fighter. To use Bakuda as a human shield... Lung would likely be impressed if he hadn't been so very angry. Lee's call for aid prevented him from defending his borders, and for that Lee would be punished, but Armsmaster, for his impudence, would be seeing the inside of a hospital. Lung longed for the days where he could simply kill the man, but the smallest part of him, that part who still felt fear and caution and weakness, resisted the decision.

The Protectorate will not tolerate another death, Kenta whispered in the back of his mind.

To hold back was galling to Lung. It was the antithesis to everything he was, to the power that he bore within him. Why shouldn't he show the city, the country, the world, the might that battled Leviathan?

He walked away. He didn't flee, he left, because you could do nothing against him.

But no, he would not kill Armsmaster. The hero would simply have to deal with being maimed until New Wave's pet healer saw to him.

So, Lung waited. He sat quietly in the back of the van as his driver frantically raced towards wherever Lee directed him. He paid little attention to his surroundings, focusing entirely on the anticipation. His power smoldered within him, his eyes glowed with heat, his scales tensed, ready to burst forth from beneath his skin at any moment, until, finally-

"I see him!" his driver shouted.

Lung glanced up, eyes narrowed, in time to see Armsmaster race around a corner, Lee's clones nipping at his heels. The hero was on a motorcycle, almost a block away, driving in the opposite direction.

Close enough.

Lung stood and, at long last, released his grip on The Dragon.

Power, the feeling was indescribable. It flooded him, his blood, his organs, his very bones, and he changed. Scales, gleaming silver, burst free of his skin, his neck lengthened, his torso thickened, muscle reshaped itself, as Lung gained a foot of height and ripped the roof clear off the moving van. The screeching metal drowned out the sounds of his screaming driver, and Lung's roar eclipsed even that. The sound echoed through the street, a defiant bellow announcing himself the lord of this domain, and for a moment Armsmaster nearly lost control of his bike out of sheer surprise.

The hero twisted around to look at Lung, to gaze upon the glory of The Dragon, and immediately began cursing. Lung merely laughed, or at least made the closest approximation he could manage, as Armsmaster revved his engine and tore off down the street.

Lung gave a brief glance down towards his driver, the cowering man muttering a series of prayers even as he dutifully followed after the fleeing hero. Lung rumbled in appreciation, dedicated minions were so hard to find.

Still, he could not stifle The Dragon, the sheer outrage of his enemy fleeing. Running away withThe Dragon's property!

He roared again, this one filled with rage and possessiveness, and ripped the closest door off the van. His driver squawked again, barely managing not to flip the brutalized vehicle, chanting all the while. Lung, now nearly eight feet tall, wrapped his arms around the dismantled door, and squeezed. The metal gave way easily beneath his massive strength, screeching and peeling and bending itself into a rough ball. His arm cocked back, his legs braced against the van floor, and with a tremendous heave, he hurled the metal sphere at Armsmaster's motorcycle. The floor of the van gave way under Lung's unstoppable strength, shattering beneath him, and his feet embedded themselves into the concrete below. The van, still bound by the laws of physics, ripped itself in half as metal contested with silver scales and found itself wanting. The Dragon's muscles screamed in protest as they kept his colossal bulk standing, the concrete giving way before him, as he carved a cavernous trench into the ground. His knees bent to absorb force, but his body remained upright, unmoved, eyes fixed on the arc of his throw.

The projectile ripped through the air, crossing the space in an instant. Armsmaster never even glanced behind him, as he whipped his bike into a vicious slide, wheels squealing for grip on the road as he skid perpendicular to the street. One hand left the handlebars to pull at the halberd slung over his back, and in a single smooth motion the blade intercepted Lung's throw.

The impact blasted the hero clear off his motorcycle, hurling him through the glass window of a nearby store.

Lung roared in triumph, ridding himself of the remnants of the van with a careless shrug, before leaping through the air towards his fallen tinker. He slammed down next to the bike, and pried Bakuda free. The tinker took injuries from the fall, and appeared to be unconscious, but alive. Good, he could deal with her later, once The Dragon was sated. He tossed her carelessly to the side, not surprised in the slightest when Lee appeared in time to catch her. A careless gesture dismissed the assassin. He would not need him for this fight. Lee gave a short bow, and shifted Bakuda over his shoulder.

Easy, too easy. Why was it so easy?

A flash of silver caught Lung's attention, right as the foam grenade tucked into Bakuda's belt exploded. In an instant, Lung's lieutenants were enveloped by the cursed material, rendering them utterly irretrievable unless he wanted to burn them to death.

At that moment, the rage within him finally ignited. Lung roared, his hatred manifesting as a nearly physical force. The street cracked beneath him as anger drove his power ever onwards, his height shooting up nearly three feet in an instant. Fire blasted outwards, melting concrete and metal alike. The world caught fire, and the building Armsmaster fell in detonated.

Not fell, hid. 

The hero dove into the street, his armor glowing white hot, but still intact, as The Dragon stepped forward to crush him. The little man was clever, was skilled and brave, but nothing could stand before The Dragon. All would fall in time, and he would grow ever stronger, as long as there were enemies-

Armsmaster's motorcycle blared out a noise, the keening sound loud enough to rupture Lung's eardrums. He flinched, and swatted the machine away, tinker-tech metal breaking beneath his mighty-

The bike exploded, clear liquid and white fog billowing outward onto his skin- cold cold COLD SO COLD!

FREEZING PAIN PAIN PAIN!

The Dragon screamed, an unnatural impossible sound, as cold cold ice cold washed over him. Fire rushed through his limbs, fending off the chill, burning life back into his body. Flames filled the air, turning the fog to ash, to smoke, to heat, and The Dragon raged against his pain.

His vision cleared, the last of the cold giving way to the inferno, and The Dragon searched for his foe. A flash of blue far in the distance revealed his fleeing enemy.

No no no.

Running again?

No, not here, not here.

Running again!?

This is mine! This territory is mine! 

He howled, the ground quaked, the city trembled, as The Dragon pursued the man who had the audacity to cause him pain.

Things got a bit fuzzy from there. The world descended into a red haze, a murky hallucination of fire and lightning, of bullets and blades, of thunderous sound and white foam, so much foam. There was no pain, only rage, overwhelming fury at the ants that dared to strike The Dragon. He grew, slowly, so slowly, but he grew. The bugs fled before him, but still he followed. This was his domain, and he would not be dissuaded.

Buildings crumpled, concrete broke beneath him, steel melted before him, and he moved ever onwards. He would catch them, he would killthem! He would make the one who hurt him watch as The Dragon burnt away all he held dear!

His wings unfurled, massive and powerful and free, and at last he could move, could take to the sky and overcome these tiny, insignificant-

Something smashed into him, some overwhelming, absurd force swatted him out of the sky. For the second time this day, The Dragon screamed. His scales shattered, his organs burst, his bones splintered, and he was driven down deep into the earth. His senses vaguely registered the cataclysmic shock wave that followed his descent, but his burst eardrums were ignored in favor of the agony racing across his entire body.

The Dragon's regeneration soothed his pain. Bone and skin and scale re-knitted itself, organs hardened and reformed, and once again he could stand. He bellowed out a challenge, daring his enemy to show himself. He would crush them, break them, burn them-

The ground gave way beneath him, softening into liquid, and enveloping him. The Dragon lashed out with the inferno, great blasts of flame scouring the surface, he struck with his massive claws, thrashing against the thick, clinging liquid, roaring his denial even as it dragged him beneath the earth. The ground above him snapped closed, erasing his last source of vision. His fire would not answer his call. It bubbled beneath his skin, but would not burst forth, would not break free and incinerate the syrupy liquid that confined him.

The liquid pulled, and he found himself hurtling through the ground. He struggled, viciously, violently, threw all his strength into clawing his way to the surface, yet he made no progress until he was forcefully ejected into a massive concrete vault.

"You," a voice spoke, dripping with contempt, "are such a disappointment."

The words barely registered, but the meaning... The Dragon had found its foe. He struck, lashing out with claw and flame before even glancing at his foe. The fire found its mark first, and the shock nearly stopped his assault.

His fire vanished, hit an area of pure nothing and was utterly undone. His fist followed, breaking upon a barrier of nothing and shattering under its own strength. Pain followed, as force struck him once again, an unrelenting, all-powerful blow that drove him to the floor.

Can't win can't win can't win!

He detonated the air around him, releasing the full force of his flames, but The Dragon stiffened in shock when it vanished, his control ripped away.

Impossible, just like Leviathan, just like her!

The Dragon glared at his enemy, taking in her small stature, her long hair, her complete lack of scent.

Run, have to run, need to run!

"What is the point of turning into an giant rage-dragon if you lose your fucking mind?" the enemy asked.

Words, irrelevant, meaningless. The Dragon charged at the motionless girl, his fist breaking on the air in front of her. He bellowed his defiance, clashed again and again, growing ever larger. There was no defense he could not break, no injury he could not heal, no force he could not overco-

A whip of concrete wrapped around his arms, ripping him upward. He lashed out with his tail, not even wincing as the scales shattered, and wrapped it around the impossible field that surrounded the girl. His muscles tightened, straining against reality itself as he squeezed.

No no no stop! Not again not again not again!

The girl sighed, and with all the nonchalance of a tourist on vacation, she reached past her barrier and touched The Dragon's tail.

NO NO NO!

"Since you seem so willing to give up your free will to another... well I'm sure I can arrange something."

PAIN PAIN PAIN PAIN

Skin and muscle and sinew and bone ripped free, an orgy of blood and terror and complete agony. The girl, so small and fragile and unassuming twisted, her shirt and jeans reforming into a neat suit, her hood detaching and morphing into a black fedora.

The Monster winked cheerfully upward at The Dragon, and Kenta screamed.