Erick slowly pulled away from Starfire's lips, the contact still warm in his sensory memory. It hadn't been an impulsive romantic gesture; it was pure strategy, born from memories of his past life and obsessive readings about the DC universe. He knew: the Tamaranian race absorbed languages and linguistic knowledge through kissing. A simple lip touch was enough to transfer entire packages of language, culture, and basic understanding. That's how Koriand'r—Starfire—had learned English in the comics, by kissing Robin. Erick had bet on that: a quick, urgent kiss, so she could understand what he would say next. His blue eyes met her green ones, large and luminous even amidst the terror. He saw the subtle movement: a nod, hesitant at first, then firmer. She understood—the words, the context, the intention. A flash of recognition pierced the fear in her orange face.
"Great," Erick murmured, his voice hoarse and low, masked by his torn scarf, stained with snow and blood. He turned to Lobo without taking his eyes off the Czarnian, keeping the predator in the center of his peripheral vision. With a firm gesture, he pointed to Artemis, who was cautiously approaching, still wearing her makeshift mask, her blond hair disheveled by the wind and the rush. "Go to that girl. She'll get you to a safe place."
Starfire hesitated for a split second, her shackled arms trembling, but followed the gesture. Her steps were uncertain in the melting snow, but she moved toward Artemis, who reached out to guide her, her green eyes fixed on Erick with a mixture of worry and fierce determination. Erick felt the weight of that exchange: he was buying time for her, for both of them, with his own body as a barrier.
Lobo watched everything with a look of pure disdain, as if he were staring at two insects fighting over crumbs in his path. His red eyes gleamed with cruel amusement, his thick beard twitching slightly as he let out a low growl, almost a predator's purr.
Erick stepped forward, positioning himself precisely between Lobo and the two women. His body, still hypertrophied by Venom A, throbbed with unstable power, veins pulsing like rivers beneath his skin. He raised his chin, staring directly at the Czarnian.
"Lobo," he said, his voice firm despite the cold sweat that ran down his back. "If you want to get your hands on Starfire, you'll have to get past me first."
The silence that followed was broken by a deep, guttural laugh that made the ground vibrate slightly. Lobo threw his head back, the sound echoing through the snowy street like distant thunder. "Worm," he growled, his sharp teeth gleaming in the dim light of the lampposts. "I'm going to have a lot of fun tearing the flesh from your bones."
Erick gave a slow, cold smile, the kind of smile a man gives when he knows he's about to bleed, but has nothing left to lose. "We'll see about that."
And then the flames erupted.
They started at his knees, licking downwards like living snakes, setting the legs of his torn pants ablaze in seconds. The fabric burned to ashes that flew across the snow, revealing tanned skin now bathed in living fire. The flames climbed up his waist, consuming what remained of his winter coat and shirt, leaving only his black boxer shorts—a special fabric, treated with heat-resistant nanomaterials that Erick had designed for emergencies exactly like this. The fire enveloped his torso, arms, neck, face—not burning his skin, but dancing across it like a second layer of incandescent armor. His dark hair fluttered at the edges of the flames, his eyes gleaming with intense orange reflections.
The glow intensified exponentially. Erick became a human torch, a living lamp illuminating the snowy Gotham night as if someone had turned on a stadium floodlight in the middle of the street. The snow around him melted instantly, forming puddles that evaporated into hissing vapor. The air trembled with heat, creating visual distortions like mirages in the desert. The ground cracked and steamed, frozen water turning to vapor in seconds. The elemental fire, pure and separate from Venom A, transformed him into something beyond human: a manifestation of controlled destruction, a god of flames incarnate.
He looked at Lobo and gave a smile of pure defiance, his white teeth contrasting with the fire that licked his lips.
"I know you can handle it."
And then he threw himself into the air.
He leaned forward, knees bent, flames at his feet concentrating into brutal thrusters. From zero to one hundred kilometers per hour in zero point one second—the air exploded around him, a sonic boom muffled by the snow. He became a yellow-orange blur, a fiery arrow cutting through the night sky toward the Czarnian.
Lobo, still mounted on the space motorcycle, slowly stood up, letting the vehicle float on its own. A sinister smile spread across his gray face, his red eyes gleaming with insane excitement. He was addicted to combat, a being who lived for chaos, and that was exactly what he wanted: prey that would bite back.
Erick collided with him like a meteor.
The impact was cataclysmic. His arms wrapped around Lobo's thick waist, flames from his feet propelling them both down in a brutal downward trajectory. The space motorcycle was left behind, spinning uncontrollably before stabilizing on its own. The two plummeted to the ground, crashing through trees like dry twigs. Trunks snapped with deafening cracks, branches exploded into splinters, snow flew in dense clouds. Erick couldn't precisely direct the flight—his vision was blocked by Lobo's massive body—but he didn't care. The goal wasn't precision; it was maximum damage. He wanted to break, burn, force the Czarnian to feel something other than amusement.
But all he heard was laughter.
A deep, hoarse laugh echoed above his head as they crashed into the ground. The final impact was an explosion of earth, snow, and shattered wood. Erick felt the ground give way beneath them, a crater forming instantly. Lobo, unlike Erick, wasn't thrown aside or unsteady. He simply planted his feet on the ground, boots crushing snow and earth as if the impact had been nothing more than a friendly nudge. His massive body absorbed the fall with the same ease with which he had absorbed bullets, explosions, and entire planets throughout his history.
Before Erick could recover, a sideways blow came like a war hammer: Lobo's fist struck his right flank in a devastating cross. Bones creaked, ribs buckled, air escaped his lungs in a muffled scream. Erick was thrown sideways, spinning in the air like a broken doll, colliding with more trees—trunks splitting, branches whipping his burning skin—until he came to rest against a pile of hardened snow and rubble.
A searing pain exploded in his right side. He coughed up blood, Venom A working furiously to repair his fractured bones. The fire within his body flickered, weakening for an instant before stabilizing. He rose slowly, supporting himself on one knee, flames still dancing across his skin, illuminating the destruction around him: fallen trees like burnt matches, snow evaporated in a circle of vapor, the air heavy with the smell of burnt wood and ozone.
Lobo stood in the center of the crater, motionless as a gray granite statue. He grinned broadly, pulling a fresh cigar from the inside pocket of his sleeveless jacket. With an alien lighter—a bluish flame that didn't flicker—he lit the cigar, taking a deep drag. Acrid smoke spiraled upwards, mingling with the steam still rising from the ground.
"Interesting," he said, his voice hoarse and amused, his red eyes fixed on Erick as if truly assessing him for the first time. "Let's see what this prey can do."
Pain throbbed in Erick's flank like a burning iron, each breath a battle against cracked ribs that seemed to move like shards of glass in his chest. Venom A worked tirelessly, regenerating torn tissue and strengthening bones, but the process was slow—a race against time in a body that had already endured ripping bullets, brutal falls, and impacts that would have killed an ordinary man ten times over. He rose slowly, melted snow trickling down his flaming skin, the fire elemental pulsing like a living heart, independent of the serum that only amplified his physical strength. The Gotham night air was thick with smoke and ozone, snowflakes evaporating before touching him, creating a vaporous aura that made him seem like an entity from ancient legends. His blue eyes, now reflecting the orange glow of the flames, fixed on Lobo, who calmly lit his cigar with an alien lighter—a bluish flame dancing at the tip, close to the bearded face of the Czarnian.
Erick saw the opportunity there, a split-second vulnerability in a being that seemed invincible. With sharp mental command, he manipulated the lighter's flames—not his own, but that external spark, guiding them as extensions of his elemental will. The fire responded instantly, intensifying into a violent ignition. The lighter exploded in Lobo's hand with a deafening crack, blue flames erupting like a mini-nova, licking his gray face and spreading to the jacket pocket where more cigars were kept. A sequence of small detonations followed, like miniature fireworks, acrid smoke and sparks flying in all directions. Erick knew that the temperature and the explosion wouldn't cause real harm to Lobo—the Czarnian was known for surviving supernovas, walking on the surface of suns, and regenerating from atomic disintegrations in the comics. But the surprise was what counted: a moment of distraction, red eyes flashing in momentary irritation.
Seizing the moment, Erick propelled himself forward like a living jet. He threw his hands back for aerodynamic balance, his feet concentrating flames into intense thrusters—the elemental responding with an energy output that Venom A didn't influence, but complemented by making his body more resistant to the stress of acceleration. He increased the intensity, flames roaring like rocket engines, propelling him from zero to one hundred kilometers per hour in fractions of a second. The air howled around him, snow evaporating in trails of vapor, his body a flaming blur cutting through the night. He aimed precisely, calculating the trajectory amidst the chaos: straight at Lobo's torso, where the jacket still smoldered from the explosions.
But Lobo, even surprised, was a veteran of cosmic wars. He steadyed himself on the ground, feet planted like the roots of a living mountain, and awaited the impact with a grin that revealed sharp teeth. Erick collided with brutal force, but the Czarnian barely moved—his body absorbing the blow like an adamantium sponge, grey muscles flexing beneath his furry skin. Erick didn't stop: at the moment of impact, he raised his hands above his head, joining them into a flaming hammer, concentrating the flames in his palms. In a second, ordinary fire evolved: from orange to bluish-white, temperature scaling to thousands of degrees Celsius. The air around crackled, molecules vibrating with the intense heat.
With a primal scream, Erick brought the hammer fist down directly into Lobo's head. The impact was an explosion of scarlet-blue flames, a detonation that lit up the park like a premature rising sun. Waves of heat radiated, melting snow within a ten-meter radius, nearby trees charring at the edges, the ground cracking like superheated ceramic. The force of the blow, amplified by the Venom A in his muscles and the elemental in his essence, echoed like thunder, sending vibrations that made distant windows tremble. Erick leaped back immediately, propelling himself into the air with flames on his feet, stabilizing himself meters away. He didn't stop: he extended his hands forward and launched compact bursts of fire, balls of incipient flames that exploded in the air around Lobo, creating a dense cloud of smoke and vapor. The atmosphere in the area—the immediate zone where the Czarnian was—became a controlled inferno, zero visibility, suffocating heat that would evaporate a human in seconds.
But Lobo wasn't human. Suddenly, from the cloud of smoke, a current snaked like a living cobra, spinning at high speed and coiling around Erick's waist with lethal precision. The cold, jagged metal tightened, barbs digging into the flaming skin, resisting the heat thanks to the indestructible alien alloy. Erick was pulled forward, the air escaping his lungs in a grunt. As soon as he emerged from the smoke, he was met with a casual slap—the back of Lobo's hairy hand striking his chest like a speeding truck. The impact was devastating: ribs, already fractured from previous blows, gave way even further, bones creaking like dry branches. Erick flew backward, colliding with a tree that split in two with a dry crack, trunk splitting and falling into charred pieces. He rolled in the melting snow, the world spinning in blurs of black and white, trying to get up.
His ribs were now severely fractured—not just cracked, but dislocated, sharp points pressing into his lungs. He tried to breathe, but the air came in short, painful gulps, as if he were inhaling blades. Venom A accelerated regeneration, but the accumulated damage from the entire night—falls from heights, repeated impacts—made the process torture. Erick looked up, his vision blurred, and saw Lobo pulling the chain, dragging him across the snowy ground like a hooked fish. The Czarnian's laughter echoed, deep and insane, as he placed his foot on Erick's chest, pressing down with enough weight to crush ribs, but not enough to kill—yet.
"You're quite hot-headed, aren't you?" Lobo growled, his red eyes gleaming with amusement. He increased the pressure on Erick's foot, causing even more distress, air escaping his lungs in an agonizing hiss. "Show me what you've got."
Erick, trapped and choking, felt panic rise like bile. But amidst the pain, a clarity came: he needed to climb. Controlling the flames that still danced within his body—the elemental responding to his desperate will—he expanded them in an improvised technique. The flames spread, swirling in a vortex of fire that stretched for a three-meter radius, engulfing both him and Lobo in a whirlwind of infernal heat. The air crackled, snow evaporating instantly, the ground vitrifying into molten glass. Lobo, bathed in flames, didn't scream—instead, he laughed like a madman, head thrown back, beard lightly smoking, as if he were in a cosmic playground, amusing himself with his new toy.
Erick tried to break free from the chains, his flaming hands gripping the metal, but Lobo wouldn't let him: he pulled with brutal force, bringing Erick even closer. The Czarnian raised his free hand and delivered another slap—not with full force, clearly toying with his prey, but enough to strike Erick's face like an iron whip. His cheek ripped open, blood spurting, his vision blurring with stars. Erick was sent crashing to the ground again, chain still wrapped around him, trapped like a cornered animal.
Gasping for breath, his face throbbing, Erick realized the bitter truth: the level of his current flames wasn't enough. The temperature wasn't ideal for damaging Lobo—the Czarnian was known for withstanding cosmic extremes, stepping on the surface of the sun, and surviving absolute vacuums. Erick needed more. His brain, still scrambled from the slap—double vision, ringing in his ears—cleared enough for an idea. He lowered himself slightly, hands outstretched, and began to condense all the flames into his right fist. The droplets of fire that had previously scattered through the vortex rose like particles drawn to a magnet, shrinking and returning to his body. He directed the flow to his hand, heating it beyond its limit.
The technique was new, tested only a few times with little success: transforming flames into plasma. Plasma, the fourth state of matter, occurs when gases are heated to extreme temperatures, ionizing atoms—electrons separating from the nuclei, creating a soup of charged particles that conduct electricity and generate magnetic fields. Erick knew this from his scientific readings: plasma is what makes up stars, auroras, lightning. Here, he condensed the flames and the heat, using the elemental's energy to ionize the surrounding oxygen—the gas burned by the flames transforming into a bright, volatile, bluish-white plasma. Erick's right hand trembled with the effort, veins bulging from the Venom A enduring the physical stress, while the elemental provided the necessary heat for ionization. Drops of sweat evaporated before touching his skin, the surrounding air crackling with tiny electrical discharges. This technique was difficult—requiring precise control to avoid self-destruction—but now was not the time to try; It was do or die.
Lobo advanced, expectation in his red eyes, heavy steps crushing the glazed ground. Erick turned, his right fist now enveloped in pulsating plasma—a ball of ionized energy, its temperature exceeding 5,000 degrees Celsius, the surrounding air distorting as in a solar furnace. With a cry, he punched with all his might, the blow striking Lobo's waist. The contact was a cataclysmic explosion: plasma expanding in a shockwave that illuminated the entire park as if a meteor of light had descended, banishing the night for entire seconds. The area glowed like dawn, snow evaporating in a flash of vapor. The sound was a deafening roar, vibrations shaking the ground like a localized earthquake. Erick was thrown back by the recoil force, rolling on the ground, flames momentarily weakened.
When the smoke and dust dissipated—driven by the residual heat—Erick saw Lobo standing in the crater, as if nothing had happened. Only a small burn mark on his stomach, gray skin blackened in an irregular circle—but even that regenerated, tissue recomposing itself in seconds, disappearing as if it had never existed. Lobo gave a broad smile, taking a drag of the cigar that had miraculously survived.
"Is that all you've got?" he growled, his voice full of amused disdain.
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