Erick Costa, encased in the E10 armor that buzzed like a living organism of metal and fire, hovered a few meters above the destroyed asphalt of Gotham. The closed helmet filtered the sensory chaos of the night—snow falling in heavy flakes, distant sirens howling like wounded wolves, the acrid smell of smoke and ozone hanging in the icy air. His HUD projected data in layers of red and blue: vital signs gradually collapsing, multiple fractures temporarily stabilized by the duplicate Venom A that burned in his veins like sweet acid. He stared at the approaching giant, slowly emerging from the rubble of the store—bricks falling like gravel from a controlled avalanche, shattered glass gleaming under the dim light of the remaining streetlights. Lobo emerged like a primal force, dust and soot falling from his sleeveless jacket torn to shreds, gray skin marked by superficial burns that were already closing like open wounds, red eyes pulsing with an eternal and insatiable hunger. Thick, disheveled beard, wild hair falling over broad shoulders, as hairy as those of a mythological beast—he was the embodiment of cosmic chaos, a being who laughed at supernovas and trampled on suns.
Deep down in his reincarnated soul, Erick knew that fighting in that condition could kill him that night. Venom A kept him functional—hypertrophied muscles stretched beyond human capacity, fractured bones forced into alignment by brutal chemistry—but it was a fragile illusion, a house of cards about to collapse. Each pulse sent waves of phantom pain, masked by the serum, but real: internal hemorrhages stopped by artificial clots, punctured lungs breathing with mechanical effort, veins tearing microscopically under the pressure. His internal clock, synchronized with the AIs via neural link, counted down: thirteen minutes until Superman arrived. That chilled his soul like nothing else could—thirteen minutes against an immortal who devoured Kryptonians for sport. He didn't know if he could endure for a minute, much less that. The fire elemental in his chest burned stubbornly, a spark of hope, but his body... his body was fragile flesh, even enveloped in E10.
As Lobo approached, his heavy footsteps echoing like localized earthquakes, further cracking the already destroyed asphalt, Erick followed the real-time information through the helmet's display. The neural link—a quantum connection between the chip in his brain and the armor—processed data like a supercomputer: thermal scanners mapping heat signatures, motion radars tracking speeds, feeds from hacked city cameras displaying the progress. He saw that the Flash had evacuated the team: Kid Flash, a speeding yellow blur, carrying Artemis and Starfire to safety miles away, then returning in fractions of a second to rescue Superboy, Aqualad, M'gann, and Robin. The block was being methodically cleared—civilians running in organized panic, guided by the speedster who dodged abandoned cars, blocked streets with makeshift barricades of overturned vehicles, and alerted families in nearby apartments. Erick sent a mental message to his AIs: "Notify the police. Total evacuation of the sector. Top priority. Block the perimeter." Natasha, the coordinator, instantly confirmed: "Message sent via encrypted channels. GCPD mobilized. Estimated time: 5 minutes for initial cordon. Surveillance drones confirm: 87% of the block evacuated."
Now that the innocent were safe—or as safe as possible in a city like Gotham—Erick wouldn't hold back. He doubted Lobo, his red eyes gleaming with growing excitement, could contain himself any longer. Not only that, but he knew that as soon as Superman arrived, things would get really ugly—a clash of titans that could level entire city blocks, buildings crumbling like dominoes, streets opening into abysses. Erick saw Lobo approaching, the Czarnian sniffing the air like a Lobo sniffing fresh blood, and spoke, his voice amplified by the helmet's speaker, echoing metallic and defiant in the empty street: "Lobo!"
Lobo paused for a moment, tilting his colossal head, his thick beard twitching with a disdainful, animalistic snort. His red eyes, pupils dilated like bottomless pits, fixed on Erick, assessing the armor as if it were a new, intriguing, but disposable toy. "Ah, so you're the worm I left in the park," he growled, his hoarse, deep voice echoing like a distant roar, laden with sadistic amusement. "You're already nesting in the city, man. You're making my night quite amusing." He rolled his hairy shoulders, muscles flexing beneath the gray skin marked by thick, cable-like veins, as if warming up for what was to come.
Erick felt a chill despite the armor's thermal insulation, the HUD flashing threat alerts: enemy speed estimated at 200 km/h in bursts, regeneration at 98% efficiency. He knew he couldn't win—even in his strongest form, with the E10 amplifying his strength to incalculable levels (hydraulic actuators multiplying his base by 25-30, allowing him to lift entire structures), the Venom A duplicated making him a living tank (strength and resistance 1600-1800% beyond normal, but at the cost of accelerated internal damage), and the fire elemental ready to incinerate with temperatures that melted steel. But it wouldn't hurt to try. He needed to buy time, survive those thirteen infernal minutes, each second an eternity of pain and strategy. "You won't touch anyone else," Erick growled, fists clenched, elemental flames dancing in the armor's joints like living sparks, crackling in the humid air.
Lobo laughed—a guttural sound that vibrated in the air, making the snow tremble and fall from nearby rooftops, echoing through the evacuated buildings like a living curse. "Let's see," he said, and moved.
The Czarnian lunged forward, a grey blur cutting through the distance like a living lightning bolt, thick legs propelling him forward with a charge that cracked the asphalt with each step, creating fissures that spread like spiderwebs. Feet crushing debris, furry arms swinging to gain momentum. Erick was ready—the armor's neural link accelerated his cognitive processing, allowing his brain to work at superhuman speeds, analyzing trajectories, movement patterns, potential weaknesses in real time. The HUD highlighted vectors in flashing red: angle of attack 45 degrees, initial speed 120 km/h, accelerating to 180. As Lobo approached, raising his right fist in a direct punch aimed at the helmet—displaced wind howling like a miniature hurricane—Erick narrowly dodged—lowering his head slightly and tilting his body to the left, the fist passing close enough to make the visor sensors vibrate with the displacement of air, tiny electrical sparks crackling in the momentary vacuum.
Without losing momentum, Erick counterattacked: an upward hook to Lobo's ribs, the armored fist colliding with the Czarnian's furry, muscular skin. The impact echoed like metal hitting reinforced metal, force amplified by the armor (hydraulic actuators and artificial muscle fibers multiplying the blow into tons of pressure) making Lobo take two steps back—not from visible pain, but from momentary surprise, his massive body swaying slightly, veins bulging in his furry torso pulsing. Lobo's smile widened, red eyes gleaming with genuine excitement, his beard twitching with a low laugh. "That's what I'm talking about," he growled, his voice hoarse and animated, like a street fighter finding a worthy opponent after years of boredom.
Lobo advanced once more, faster now, testing the limits—feet planted for stability, body leaning forward like a charging bull. A straight punch came like a hydraulic piston, fist cutting through the air with a deep hiss. Erick stepped back to dodge, the blow passing inches from his left shoulder, the wind making the armor vibrate. Then, a left cross—Erick lowered his body, feeling the displaced air brush against the top of his helmet, nearby snow evaporating with the residual heat of his flames. Another straight punch, a quick cross, and then a low punch aimed at the armored stomach. Erick dove to the right, the blow grazing the abdominal plate of the armor, sparks flying from the metal-on-metal contact, the HUD flashing an integrity alert: 98% intact. Lobo didn't stop, a barrage of punches that felt like hydraulic hammers—straight to the face, cross to the flank, upward uppercut aimed at the helmet's chin. Erick dodged with surprising agility for the size of his armor, actuators humming to compensate for his 569-kilogram weight, elemental thrusters in his feet providing tiny boosts for evasive maneuvers, but the Czarnian was relentless, each blow creating shockwaves that cracked the nearby ground.
Erick found an opening: after a missed uppercut from Lobo, he spun his body and landed a flaming punch on the Czarnian's back. He concentrated the elemental in his fist—flames condensing into a controlled explosion on impact, orange fire erupting like a living grenade. The detonation echoed through the empty street, illuminating evacuated buildings, waves of heat dissipating snow within a five-meter radius. Lobo rolled across the ground, his body colliding with debris in a trail of dust, but he instantly rose, his skin slightly smoking, regeneration already closing any superficial abrasions. "This is what I'm looking for," Lobo said, his voice filled with euphoria, his red eyes dilated like those of a predator at the height of the hunt.
He lunged forward again, a gray blur accelerating, the chain now uncoiled from his arm, the jagged hook spinning like a deadly propeller, barbs gleaming under the light of Erick's flames. The metal hissed in the air, creating a deep hum that vibrated in the armor's sensors. Erick didn't wait: he concentrated flames on his right arm, the elemental responding with a ball of condensed fire—incipient plasma, air ionizing around it in a bluish-white glow—and hurled it like a grenade. The sphere struck Lobo's chest, exploding in flames that licked his furry skin, the impact creating a cloud of smoke and vapor that obscured vision. Lobo emerged unscathed, the chain whipping—the hook struck Erick's helmet, barbs embedding themselves in the polarized visor, wrapping around his armored neck with a metallic clang. Lobo pulled with brutal force, dragging Erick across the ground — asphalt cracking into deep ruts, sparks flying from the armor plates scraping the pavement, the HUD flashing traction alerts: 95% integrity, overloaded stabilizers.
Erick felt the jolt reverberate through his bones, his ribs screaming in protest despite the protection of the E10, but the neural link allowed for quick reaction: he spun his body in the air, using the momentum to stabilize himself and activate elemental thrusters in his feet. Flames roared, propelling him forward, reversing the traction—now dragging Lobo across the ground. The Czarnian was scraped across the asphalt, his body creating gigantic fissures in the pavement, stones flying like shards of granite, cracks spreading like spiderwebs in a ten-meter radius. Lobo laughed as he was dragged, his gray skin leaving trails of superficial blood that regenerated instantly, veins pulsing with glee.
With an explosive reverse pull, Lobo broke free, planting his feet and slamming his fist into the ground—a shockwave that made the asphalt ripple like a wave in the sea, vibrations rising through the legs of Erick's armor. He was launched upwards, spinning in the air, the HUD spinning with him: stabilization in 3 seconds. He stabilized 15 meters high, condensing flames into plasma in his fist—the air ionizing, temperature scaling to thousands of degrees, molecules vibrating with kinetic energy—and hurled the energy ball. It hit Lobo squarely, causing an explosion that illuminated the entire area, bluish-white flames devouring the block, the deafening sound reverberating through the evacuated buildings, windows trembling like leaves in the wind.
Erick breathed heavily inside the armor—the elemental, still young and immature, had finite limits; expending so much energy drained him, elemental fatigue mixing with the physical fatigue amplified by Venom A, his chest burning not only from the fractures but from the depletion of his inner flame. His body ached in layers: bones protesting, muscles trembling, the serum burning veins like chemical fire. In the smoke and dust that rose like a gray curtain, the current surged again, snaking through the air with a metallic hiss, grabbing Erick's feet and pulling him down with irresistible force. He braced himself—the helmet detecting Lobo's vital signs via thermal scanners: a stable pulse of 120 bpm (for a Czarnian, this was calm), peak regeneration of 99%, body temperature elevated only 2 degrees by the residual fire. As soon as Lobo raised his fist for a downward strike—his hairy arm flexing, muscles swelling like steel cables—Erick dodged at the last second, spinning his body in the air with a boost of thrusters, the hook grazing the sole of his boot.
He struck the Czarnian's ribcage once more, condensing flames in his fist—transforming the punch into an explosion of concentrated fire, the impact creating a detonation that echoed like a bomb, waves of heat dissipating dust in a perfect circle. Lobo was thrown backward, colliding with a nearby apartment building—the facade cracking in a web of fissures, bricks exploding inward like deadly confetti. Erick had scanned the location via HUD seconds before: evacuated by Kid Flash, empty of civilians, only echoes of distant sirens confirming the operation. Lobo crashed through the entire building, interior walls crumbling in a cascade of plaster and concrete, causing a secondary explosion—gas leaking from ruptured pipes, igniting in an orange fireball that illuminated the street like an artificial sun, flames licking empty windows.
Lobo emerged from the flaming rubble, his jacket smoking like burnt rags, but intact—grey skin glistening with sweat, regeneration closing superficial cuts in real time. He laughed loudly, his red eyes dilated like those of a predator at the height of the hunt, his beard twitching with a guttural sound. "More, worm! Give me more!"
Erick didn't respond—he just charged forward, thrusters roaring, fists clenched in an impending barrage. Lobo charged back, and they collided in the middle of the street—Erick landing a downward punch to the Czarnian's head, the impact echoing like a cracked bell, Lobo turning his face to the side as if it were a light slap, but returning with a cross that struck the armored shoulder, metal creaking, actuators compensating for the recoil. The two entered a frenzy: fists exchanging at high speed, Erick deflecting a hook and counter-attacking with a flaming uppercut, Lobo blocking and responding with a punch to the stomach that made the HUD flash: 92% integrity. They moved like titans—Erick propelling himself with fire to gain height, Lobo leaping with brute force to match. A punch from Erick landed on Lobo's chin, head snapping; Lobo retaliated with a cross that sent Erick staggering backward.
Lobo seized the opportunity, a gray blur approaching, fist raised. Erick dodged, but Lobo was unpredictable—the chain whipped from his arm, a serrated hook spinning and striking Erick's helmet, barbs embedding themselves in the visor, wrapping around his armored neck. Lobo pulled, dragging Erick to the ground—the impact creating a crater, asphalt sinking into a three-meter hole. Erick felt the jolt reverberate, his inner ribs screaming despite the E10, the HUD warning: stabilizers at 85%. Lobo laughed, raising his arm to slam Erick into the ground like a piece of old rag—body colliding with the pavement repeatedly, cracks spreading, dust flying in dense clouds.
Erick, spinning in the air between slams, saw an opening: beneath the left forearm of the armor, a retractable blade emerged—a synthetic diamond edge, 30 cm long, sharpened to cut alloys. He condensed elemental flames onto the blade, heating it to temperatures that made the metal glow white—the surrounding air crackling with ionization. With a desperate movement, he twisted his body and cut the arm of Lobo that was holding him—the blade penetrating a few centimeters into the furry skin, black blood spurting, but not cutting deep enough to release. Lobo grunted, surprise mixed with momentary pain, and Erick seized: he plunged the blade upwards, aiming for any vulnerability. By luck—or calculation of the HUD projecting trajectories—he hit the Czarnian's left eye, the tip piercing the eyeball with a wet and repulsive sound, viscous blood running down his beard.
Lobo roared for the first time—not in agony, but in genuine irritation—involuntarily releasing Erick. Finally, real damage: the pierced eye smoking, regeneration working, but slow enough for a window. Erick didn't waste it: he propelled himself forward, pummeling Lobo at high speed—punch to the jaw, hook to the ribs, uppercut to the chin, each blow amplified by the armor, actuators buzzing with overload. Lobo staggered, arms raised in instinctive defense, but Erick tried once more to pierce the other good eye—flaming blade descending like a guillotine.
Lobo reacted: he grabbed Erick's arm in mid-air, his hairy fingers digging into the E10 plate, the metal creaking under the pressure. He grinned, his eyes—one whole, the other regenerating into a pulsating red mass—gleaming with sadistic approval. "Really, you'll have to come and get some blood from me," he growled, his voice hoarse and excited.
With a brutal tug, Lobo slammed Erick's body into the ground—the impact sinking them both into a deep crater, the asphalt crumbling like wet paper. They fell into the Gotham sewers below, the ceiling collapsing in a cascade of concrete and grime. Erick sank into the murky, dirty water, the stench of sewage and decay invading the armor's filters, water reaching Lobo's waist as he hovered above him, pressing his foot against the armored chest. The HUD flashed warnings: partial flooding, integrity 88%, filtered oxygen at 95%. Erick struggled to free himself, but Lobo was a living anchor.
In the sewer ceiling, exposed pipes snaked—his helmet scanning, identifying lines of pressurized natural gas. Erick seized the opportunity: he raised his right arm, minigun emerging from his shoulder with a mechanical click, barrel spinning at high speed. He fired a burst—tracer bullets cutting through the humid air, hitting the piping with surgical precision. Gas leaked out with a loud hiss, filling the confined space. Erick extended his left hand, unleashing a torrent of elemental flames—fire meeting gas, igniting an explosion that devoured the tunnel. The sound was a primordial roar, flames expanding into a fireball that illuminated the underground like a subterranean sun, pressure exploding upward, demolishing the street above.
The city block crumbled—asphalt sinking into a giant hole, nearby buildings trembling, dust and debris flying in a choking cloud. Erick was thrown upwards by the shockwave, his armor creaking, thrusters activating to stabilize him. He had to dig his way out—armored fists piercing earth and concrete, emerging on his knees in the center of the chaos, snow falling amidst the dust. Gasping inside his helmet, scanners searching: where is Lobo?
The Czarnian emerged behind him, rising from the rubble as if nothing had happened—jacket torn to shreds, grey skin smoldering but intact. He approached slowly, footsteps echoing in the post-explosion silence, and spoke with a smile: "Is that all you've got?"
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