The video feed flickered to life on Ross's monitor, showing Smith Doyle's fist connecting with the Abomination's jaw in a devastating blow that sent the creature hurtling backward. Ross's chest loosened for the first time in minutes—reinforcements had arrived.
"Banner, wait a minute!" Ross's voice cracked as he lunged toward the comm system.
Too late.
Bruce Banner's silhouette was already disappearing through the open cabin door, his body dropping into freefall toward the chaos below.
Ross's jaw clenched, frustration churning in his gut. His eyes snapped to the doorway where Betty leaned dangerously far out, her hair whipping in the helicopter's downdraft.
"Get her inside!" he barked.
A soldier materialized at Betty's side, his grip firm on her arm. "Come in, miss!"
The cabin door slammed shut with a metallic thud. Ross exhaled sharply and whipped his attention back to the screen, his knuckles white against the edge of the console.
On the street below, the Abomination pushed itself upright, concrete crumbling beneath its massive hands. Its spine straightened, joints popping audibly as it threw its head back and released a guttural roar that reverberated through the city blocks.
The sound wave hit like a physical force. Civilians clutched their heads, stumbling to their knees. Windows rattled in their frames. Car alarms shrieked to life in a discordant symphony.
Smith Doyle's eyes narrowed, his tail flicking in annoyance behind him. His enhanced hearing picked up every whimper of pain from the bystanders still scrambling for cover.
"Just be quiet," he muttered.
In a blur of motion, Smith closed the distance between them. His size appeared almost comical before the Abomination's hulking mass, like a housecat squaring up against a grizzly bear.
The slap came without warning.
Smith's palm cracked across the Abomination's face with enough force to snap its head sideways, cutting off the roar mid-breath. Silence fell over the street, broken only by the creature's heavy breathing and the distant wail of sirens.
The Abomination's yellow eyes blazed. Its lips peeled back from jagged teeth as rage contorted its features. It swung its massive arm in a haymaker that could've pulverized a car.
Smith shifted his weight, the attack whistling harmlessly past his shoulder. His counter-punch landed in the Abomination's solar plexus, driving it downward with such overwhelming force that the pavement exploded outward. Chunks of asphalt and concrete erupted like shrapnel as the creature's body cratered into the street.
The Abomination's howl of pain was almost pitiful—a stark contrast to its earlier bravado.
Inside the helicopter, Ross stared at his monitor in disbelief. His brow furrowed as he replayed the footage in his mind, trying to reconcile what he was seeing.
"This newly appeared monster seems a little weak," he murmured, more to himself than his team.
The Smith Doyle he remembered from weeks ago had struggled against the Hulk—powerful, certainly, but not overwhelmingly so. The man on that screen was toying with this creature like it was nothing more than an unruly child throwing a tantrum.
"It looks like another failed product," Ross continued, his analytical mind already categorizing the threat. "It's far worse than the Hulk."
He had no idea how wrong he was about which monster was the failure.
Several blocks away, Bruce Banner's body slammed into the pavement with bone-crushing impact. The concrete spider-webbed outward from the point of impact, creating a crater three feet deep. Dust billowed upward in a choking cloud.
Bulma, who'd been directing civilian evacuations with her werewolf team, spun toward the sound. Her eyes widened as she caught sight of the familiar torn purple pants among the debris.
"Banner?" she whispered, recognition flashing across her face.
She'd studied the Dragon Ball tournament contestants extensively—knew their capabilities, their triggers. And she knew exactly what stress did to this particular fighter.
"Fall back!" she shouted to her team, already backing away herself. Her hand instinctively checked the laser pistol holstered at her hip—compact, elegant, and capable of punching through tank armor. One of her better designs.
The crater exploded.
A massive green fist erupted from the depths, scattering chunks of pavement like confetti. The Hulk pulled himself free, shaking concrete dust from his shoulders like a dog shedding water. His muscles rippled beneath emerald skin as he stretched to his full height.
"Another Hulk..." a nearby police officer breathed, his service weapon suddenly feeling very inadequate in his trembling hands.
The Hulk's chest expanded as he drew in a massive breath, then released it in an earth-shaking roar that rattled teeth and set off every car alarm within two blocks.
This time, the sound carried excitement rather than rage. The Dragon Ball tournament had ended, and for once, Bruce Banner wasn't fighting his transformation. The Hulk was eager to cut loose, to test himself again.
Smith's head snapped toward the sound, his Saiyan instincts immediately cataloging the power level. His lips curved into something that wasn't quite a smile.
"Another noisemaker," he said, just as the Abomination launched itself from the crater behind him.
"Hulk!" the Abomination bellowed, its voice thick with savage joy.
The two punches Smith had already delivered had tempered the creature's arrogance, replacing blind confidence with something resembling tactical thinking. It glanced between Smith and the distant green giant, yellow eyes calculating.
"Hulk, beat him up!" the Abomination roared, then immediately drove its fist toward Smith's skull in a sucker punch.
The Hulk's gaze locked onto Smith Doyle's airborne form. Memory flickered behind those green eyes—pain, humiliation, the taste of defeat. Recognition sparked into fury.
With a ground-shaking leap, the Hulk launched himself toward Smith.
Smith's body twisted mid-flight, his hand rising with casual grace. A single finger extended, meeting the Abomination's full-force punch.
The creature's fist stopped dead, as if it had struck an immovable mountain.
"Impossible!" Blonsky's voice cracked through the Abomination's throat, disbelief and rage warring in those inhuman features.
Smith's hand blurred, catching the Abomination's wrist. His core engaged, his hips rotated, and he executed a textbook over-the-shoulder throw that would've made his Fraternity instructors proud.
The Abomination's massive body flew through the air like a missile—directly into the Hulk's charging path.
The collision sounded like a freight train derailing. The two gamma-irradiated behemoths crashed together in a tangle of limbs and curses, tumbling across the street in a cloud of debris before sliding to a halt against an overturned taxi.
Both creatures staggered upright, shaking off the impact. Their heads swiveled in unison toward Smith, twin expressions of bestial fury etched across their faces.
As they roared their challenge, Smith's scouter fed him updated readings. The Abomination's power level remained stagnant—impressive by human standards, but nothing extraordinary. The Hulk, however, had spiked higher since their last encounter. Bruce's training during the tournament had clearly paid dividends.
Good, Smith thought, that predatory smile widening. This might actually be interesting.
"You two come together," Smith called out, his voice carrying clearly across the battlefield. His tail swayed behind him in anticipation, his Saiyan blood singing with the promise of a real fight.
"Today I'm going to fight two on one."
The words were pure provocation—and they knew it. Smith remembered his early days in this world, when a combat power of barely 200 had been enough to make him challenge the Hulk. Now, sitting comfortably at 1,240, he didn't just want to beat them.
He wanted them to make him work for it.
The Hulk and Abomination exchanged a glance, and for one bizarre moment, they were united. Both recognized the challenge in Smith's stance, the mocking confidence in his smile. For Blonsky, who prided himself on being the ultimate warrior, the disrespect cut deeper than any physical wound.
They charged.
Two massive forms thundered across the broken pavement, moving with surprising coordination for creatures of pure rage. They split apart at the last second, flanking Smith from both sides. Their fists cocked back simultaneously, ready to crush him between them like a bug between two anvils. If those blows connected, even reinforced steel would've been compressed into a thin pancake.
Smith's expression didn't change. His arms moved outward, fists meeting theirs with perfect timing.
Four fists collided.
The shockwave that erupted from the impact point was catastrophic. It radiated outward in a visible ripple of distorted air, shattering every window within a three-block radius. Electronic billboards exploded in showers of sparks. Metal storefronts crumpled like aluminum foil. The pavement beneath their feet spider-webbed outward in concentric circles.
The civilians who'd been foolish enough to stay and watch—thinking this would be like Iron Man's public battles, spectacular but safely contained—learned the truth the hard way. The sonic boom picked them up and flung them like ragdolls, bodies tumbling across concrete and asphalt. Those closest to the epicenter collapsed, hands clamped over bleeding ears as their eardrums ruptured from the pressure wave.
Blood trickled from noses. Teeth rattled loose. Internal organs bruised from the concussive force alone.
The survivors curled into fetal positions, every thought of spectating or recording video footage gone. Their minds held only one desperate realization: this wasn't entertainment—this was a natural disaster with a body count. Their only prayer now was for medical treatment and whatever compensation the government might offer to keep the lawsuits at bay.
This battle was beyond human scale. And they'd just learned that lesson written in pain and blood.