The werewolf team moved through the chaos with practiced efficiency, pulling stunned civilians from the danger zone and directing them toward safety. Their enhanced senses kept them alert for threats, their muscles coiled and ready despite their human forms.
Bulma had just helped an elderly woman to her feet, steadying her with a firm grip on her elbow. "Go—straight down that street and don't look back," she said, pointing away from the battle.
The woman nodded shakily and stumbled off, clutching her purse like a lifeline.
A flash of movement caught Bulma's peripheral vision. A man emerged from a side alley—opportunistic predator eyes scanning for easy prey. His gaze locked onto her designer jacket and the gleaming tech at her belt, and his expression shifted into something ugly and calculating.
He closed the distance quickly, pulling a serrated knife from his jacket. The blade caught the streetlight as he stepped into her path, blocking her escape route.
"Hand over everything valuable you have," he demanded, his voice rough with adrenaline and misplaced confidence.
Bulma's expression didn't show fear—just cold, undisguised contempt. Her hand moved to her hip in a fluid motion, drawing the compact laser pistol and leveling it at center mass.
The mugger's eyes flicked to the weapon, then back to her face. A grin split his features, showing yellowed teeth.
"Girl, do you think I'm afraid of your toys?" He took a step forward, knife rising. "Hand over everything you have that's valuable, or I'll cut your pretty face in half."
Bulma's finger squeezed the trigger.
The laser discharge was nearly silent—just a sharp crack of superheated air. A brilliant blue-white beam punched through the mugger's chest, the heat so intense it cauterized even as it destroyed. His body jerked backward, the knife clattering to the pavement as he collapsed in a smoking heap.
Bulma frowned at her weapon, tilting it to check the power setting. "I remember turning it to minimum power."
She examined the dial more closely. Sure enough—the indicator was set to the lowest setting. She made a mental note to recalibrate the output levels when she got back to the lab. Apparently, "minimum" was still lethal at close range.
Two members of the werewolf team materialized at her flanks, their postures protective and alert. Their eyes scanned the surrounding area, searching for additional threats.
"I'm fine," Bulma said, holstering the pistol. "Keep evacuating civilians."
Neither werewolf moved. Their alpha's daughter had just been threatened—protocol demanded they stay close, orders be damned.
Bulma sighed but didn't argue further. There were bigger problems to worry about.
Smith Doyle stood at the epicenter of destruction, arms relaxed at his sides, that predatory smile still playing across his features. The Hulk's fist had left no mark. The Abomination's strike hadn't moved him an inch.
"Very well, continue," Smith said, his voice carrying an edge of genuine interest. "Let me see your true strength."
His body shifted, weight redistributing as he executed two perfect kicks in rapid succession. His right foot caught the Hulk in the solar plexus, launching the green giant through a brick storefront in an explosion of masonry and glass. His left foot slammed into the Abomination's midsection a microsecond later, sending it crashing through the opposite wall.
Both creatures disappeared into the ruined buildings, leaving human-shaped holes in their wake.
Inside a military jeep two blocks away, a soldier shook his head to clear the ringing in his ears. His hands fumbled for the radio handset, fingers clumsy from adrenaline.
"General, God is here!" he shouted into the receiver, perhaps louder than necessary. "He's pinning down two Hulks!"
Ross leaned over the monitor in the helicopter, studying the live feed with the intensity of a man watching his entire career balance on a knife's edge. His jaw worked silently as Smith Doyle's tiny figure dominated two massive gamma-irradiated creatures with almost casual ease.
"Has Smith Doyle become stronger?" Ross muttered, the question rhetorical but troubling.
Betty moved closer to the screen, her analytical mind already working through the variables. "Bruce injected a large amount of antidote. Although he failed to kill Hulk, he should have suppressed a lot of his strength."
Her finger traced the Hulk's movements on the screen, noting the slightly slower reactions, the less devastating impacts. "In the lab at the time, Hulk was even suppressed by the that."
Ross nodded slowly, the explanation fitting his observations. One-on-two made more sense if Banner's alter ego was operating at reduced capacity. Still, the sheer dominance Smith displayed was... concerning.
Betty's thoughts drifted to other matters. How had Smith returned to New York so quickly after the tournament? What wish had Selene made with those Dragon Balls?
Surprisingly, she found she didn't care much about Bruce losing his chance to eliminate the Hulk. During their time together—during those moments when the Hulk had been conscious and present—she'd seen something the data sheets couldn't capture. The Hulk wasn't the mindless destroyer she'd feared. He'd been protective, careful with her despite his rage.
Maybe the answer wasn't elimination. Maybe it was acceptance. Bruce and the Hulk, coexisting rather than fighting for dominance.
And speaking of failures—Dr. Sterns' arrogance had created the Abomination. That much was obvious from the creature's grotesque form and Blonsky's military background. Another genius playing god with gamma radiation, another monster unleashed on innocent people.
Ross's voice cut through her thoughts. "Retreat. Maintain a safe distance and record as much battle footage as possible."
The helicopter pilot relayed orders to the ground units. Soldiers scrambled to pull back, creating a wider perimeter.
Ross had witnessed Smith's fight with the Hulk weeks ago—had seen the devastation two super-powered beings could unleash. With three combatants now, the destruction would be exponentially worse.
He leaned forward, addressing the pilot. "Lower altitude. I want to see the battle situation on the scene."
An idea was forming in the back of his mind, ambitious but potentially viable. If Smith could subdue both creatures—if he could deliver them unconscious or restrained—then Ross could salvage something from this disaster. Two captured Hulks would go a long way toward explaining the Broadway destruction to his superiors.
Because this wasn't some isolated incident in a forest clearing. This was Broadway. Cameras everywhere, witnesses by the hundreds, property damage in the millions. Someone would have to answer for this mess.
Better it be someone other than him.
The Hulk burst from the rubble like a green comet, torn fabric falling from his frame as he charged. His roar shook loose mortar from damaged buildings, primal and furious. The Abomination emerged simultaneously from the opposite storefront, its movements more calculated but no less aggressive.
They rushed Smith from both sides again, apparently not learning from their previous failure.
Smith vanished.
The two gamma monsters collided with each other in a tangle of limbs and confused roars. They separated quickly, rounding on each other with snarls of frustration and blame.
"Is this all the power you have?" Smith's voice cut through their posturing, sharp and mocking. He stood behind them now, arms crossed, his tail swaying in lazy arcs. "You guys let me down so much."
The words weren't loud, but they carried with perfect clarity—designed to be heard, designed to provoke.
The Hulk's response was immediate. His massive hands closed around two parked sedans, fingers punching through metal like it was cardboard. He lifted them effortlessly, using one as a shield while raising the other overhead like a club.
He charged, the makeshift weapons adding weight and momentum to his assault. The car-turned-club descended toward Smith's position with enough force to crater the street.
Smith's eyes flared crimson.
Twin beams of concentrated heat vision lanced out, punching through the descending vehicle's fuel tank with surgical precision. The gasoline ignited instantly, the explosion engulfing the Hulk in a sphere of orange flame and black smoke. Twisted metal rained down across the street.
The Hulk emerged from the fireball, apparently unharmed, the shield-car still intact in his other hand. He swung it horizontally, attempting to use the vehicle's mass as a battering ram.
Smith's hand snapped up, pale blue energy coalescing around his palm. The ki blast shot forward, disintegrating the car in a shower of superheated shrapnel.
A shadow fell across him.
Smith's head tilted slightly, his enhanced senses tracking the projectile before his eyes registered it. The Abomination had ripped a decorative stone sphere from a storefront—easily three hundred pounds of solid granite—and hurled it like a fastball. The air screamed as the makeshift missile cut through it, trailing a visible shockwave.
Smith's body rotated, his fist already extending. Knuckles met stone with a sound like a gunshot. The sphere exploded into powder and fragments, the debris cloud hanging in the air for a moment before settling.
His peripheral vision caught the Hulk's next attack—the green giant had used the distraction to close distance, coming in low for a haymaker that could've punched through reinforced concrete.
To Smith's Saiyan reflexes, the attack might as well have been underwater. He could see every muscle fiber contracting, every micro-adjustment in the Hulk's balance, the precise trajectory of the incoming fist.
Almost boring.
Smith's body tilted sideways, the Hulk's fist passing harmlessly through the space his head had occupied a microsecond earlier. His leg came up in a devastating counter-kick, his boot driving into the Hulk's sternum with the full force of his 1,240 combat power behind it.
The crack of breaking bone echoed across the battlefield.
The Hulk's chest caved inward, ribs snapping like dry twigs. The impact launched him backward with such violence that he became a green blur. He crashed through the first building's wall, tumbled through the interior space, burst through the rear wall, crossed the entire next block, and finally came to rest after demolishing a third structure.
The whole sequence took less than two seconds.
The Abomination stood frozen, its second stone sphere still clutched in one massive hand, its brain struggling to process what had just happened.
Smith appeared in front of it—not moving, just suddenly there, as if reality had skipped a frame.
His hand closed around the Abomination's wrist, fingers barely encircling the thick muscle and bone. With a casual yank, he pulled the creature's arm downward, simultaneously driving the stone sphere into the top of its skull.
The impact sounded like a sledgehammer hitting a side of beef. The sphere shattered completely, fragments bouncing across the pavement. The Abomination's eyes rolled back, its legs giving out as it dropped to the ground in a graceless heap.
Smith had pulled the blow—enough to stun, not enough to kill. Even disoriented and semi-conscious, the Abomination's enhanced physiology would recover quickly. Blonsky's mind might be scrambled, but his brain remained structurally intact.
Two blocks away, the Hulk was already rising. The sunken portion of his chest inflated back to normal like a balloon, broken ribs knitting together with gamma-powered regeneration. Green skin sealed over the bruising within seconds.
Smith's smile widened slightly. Now things were getting interesting.
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