Chapter 51: Unexpected Peril (Fifth Watch)

After hailing a taxi and leaving Lower New York Harbor, Wang Ling sought out a dilapidated, abandoned construction site. The site was cluttered with half-finished buildings, some five or six stories tall, where work had long since ceased. He was quite satisfied with the complicated terrain here—it was perfect for ambushes and evasion. If he couldn't match the Dark Warrior, the maze of structures would at least make escape easier.

Cheng Fu, as always, wore his purple jacket and trousers, a wine gourd slung at his waist. He lounged against a step, sipping his wine in small mouthfuls, then pulled out a bag of fried peanuts and began to eat. Wang Long sat on the ground, his dark green Dragon Staff resting beside him. With a fierce expression, he tore into a roast duck, juices splattering everywhere.

Wang Ling looked at the two men in exasperation. They didn’t look like warriors preparing for a desperate fight, but rather tourists on a leisurely retreat.

Uncertain when the Dark Warrior might track them down, Wang Ling wasn’t in a hurry. He found a spot, sat down, and closed his eyes to rest. The sun climbed to its zenith. Suddenly, the distant whir of helicopter blades cut through the air.

“As expected, no matter how remote the place, there's no escaping a manhunt,” Wang Ling muttered, taking a deep breath and rising to his feet. In the sky, a tiny dot rapidly grew larger, resolving into the shape of a helicopter—its features becoming clear.

Wang Ling’s expression changed drastically. “Everyone, take cover inside the buildings!”

This was no transport chopper; it was an attack helicopter! Though not large, a rotating autocannon was mounted at its nose. It was unmistakably the same model that rained rapid-fire bullets in the second stage of Double Dragon II.

Wang Long was instantly pulled into the Kung Fu Scene Card. Wang Ling and Cheng Fu dashed into the abandoned buildings. Once inside, a deafening rattle erupted outside—bullets stormed the brick walls like a hurricane, turning them into a sieve.

With the sound of bullets shattering stone, the walls crumbled into gray powder and debris. Wang Ling and Cheng Fu ran for their lives through the building’s shell as the helicopter outside relentlessly pursued them, its autocannon reducing wall after wall to ruins.

A strangled cry escaped Wang Ling as he tried to dodge the hail of bullets in motion—a burst ripped through the wall and tore into the flesh of his lower leg. The bullets from the autocannon, ferociously fast and powerful, punched through and took a chunk of flesh with them. His leg buckled, and he collapsed to the ground.

Gritting his teeth, Cheng Fu rolled across the floor, then grabbed Wang Ling by the collar and dragged him behind a stairwell. He roared, “Weren’t we here for the Dark Warrior? Now there’s a gunship? You tricked me!”

“I had no idea they’d bring an attack chopper… Last time, I took down one of their transports—this must be their revenge,” Wang Ling replied, face pale as death. The fire outside was so intense that stepping out meant certain death. They could only wait for the barrage to cease; even with the autocannon’s rate of fire, the bullets would run out within a few minutes.

“If I survive this, I want two more gold bars!”

“I’ll give you four!”

Wang Ling tore off a sleeve and wrapped it around his wounded leg. The injury wasn’t fatal, but the pain would keep him from moving or running swiftly. With his leg crippled, escape was out of the question—his only path was to destroy the enemy, or die trying.

He had a healing potion, but while it could restore his life force, it couldn't instantly heal such a severe wound—it would only speed up recovery. Outside, in the hovering helicopter, the Dark Warrior sat with arms folded, listening gravely as the pilot reported, “1,600 rounds from the autocannon expended. The target is hiding behind the staircase inside the building—status unknown. We still have the rocket pod available, but only two precious Hellfire missiles are loaded.”

“Fire one missile. Let’s see if those two survived the bullets,” the Dark Warrior ordered coldly.

A Hellfire missile streaked towards the building, leaving a white trail. An earth-shaking explosion followed—stone, dust, debris, and flames erupted like a flower in bloom, engulfing much of the building’s interior. The entire structure shuddered, on the verge of collapse, thick black smoke billowing everywhere.

Coughing violently, Cheng Fu dragged Wang Ling from the smoke, both battered and disheveled. If he hadn’t snatched up Wang Ling and sprinted from their hiding place behind the stairs to another wall, they’d have been killed or gravely wounded by the blast.

“Still alive!” The Dark Warrior’s gaze flashed with a predatory glint. “In that case, I’ll send you to hell myself.”

He turned to the pilot. “If you see a good opportunity, fire the remaining Hellfire.”

With that, the Dark Warrior leapt from the helicopter, crashing to the ground below with a force that eclipsed even the missile’s explosion.

Wang Ling gasped for breath, swallowing the blood that welled up in his mouth. His injured leg, combined with the shockwave from the missile, had left him shaken. His physical resilience was nothing compared to Cheng Fu’s. Cheng Fu had already mastered the art of channeling inner energy to fortify his body against harm. The blast was nothing to him, but for Wang Ling, it was nearly crippling.

He quickly downed a small healing potion, replenishing his life force, but the wound and internal injuries would need time to heal. Seeing the Dark Warrior leap down, Wang Ling released Wang Long from the Kung Fu Scene Card. To both Wang Long and Cheng Fu, he said, “The two of you must deal with him together. Be extremely careful! I’ll use my gun and items to support you and create openings. The Dark Warrior is terrifyingly strong—whatever you do, don’t take his heavy blows head on!”

Wang Long’s face twisted with determination. “Don’t worry. With this Dragon Staff in my hands, I’ll smash that bastard to death!”

Cheng Fu’s lips curled in a bitter smile. He unscrewed his gourd, drained the rest of his wine in one gulp, then belched long and loud. His eyes grew hazy, body swaying side to side.

The Dark Warrior rose from the cracked earth and charged forward in great strides. His powerful arms swung with each step, his muscles gleaming with a metallic sheen—he was like a beast set to annihilate everything in his path.

Wang Long strode out to meet him. If his weapon were still a plain wooden staff, he’d never dare face such a foe head-on—he’d use the staff to harry and evade. But now he wielded a fifty-five-pound refined steel Dragon Staff, a heavy weapon whose destructive power was tenfold that of any simple stick.

As he ran, Wang Long raised the staff overhead with both hands. At ten meters from the Dark Warrior, he leapt two meters high, swinging the staff down with all his might. His arms and shoulders bulged with muscle—the staff cleaved downward, splitting the air with a thunderous roar like a cannon blast.

Heavy weapons are made to crush all before them. As the staff descended, afterimages fanned out behind it, a stunning visual spectacle.

Yet the Dark Warrior didn’t dodge or flinch. He clasped his fists together and brought them down with brutal force. A faint blue-white ripple of energy shimmered around his arms.

“Iron Hammer Strike!”

With a deafening crash, the Dragon Staff slammed into his fists and bounced violently back, the recoil so powerful it sent Wang Long staggering backward. The Dark Warrior, too, was forced back several steps, pain, shock, and fury mingling on his face.

His muscle strength, enhanced and mutated, was harder than steel, his bones high-density and nearly unbreakable. A single forward smash could shatter a concrete wall. Using Iron Hammer Strike, he could focus all his might into his arms and fists, enough to bend iron. Yet, in this clash, he felt his fists sting, and a faint crack sounded from within—his skin had split, and his bones were fissured.

What he didn’t know was that Wang Long’s staff was no ordinary iron—it was forged from hundred-times-refined blue steel, the highest grade, dense and heavy. As a master of the staff, Wang Long’s full strength, aided by his run, leap, and the staff’s momentum, brought down a force of over a thousand pounds—a blow that could kill an elephant. If the Dark Warrior’s body weren’t so monstrously strong, his arms would have been shattered.

Still, the Dark Warrior had suffered an unexpected setback, while Wang Long wasn’t unscathed—his palms were torn and bleeding, crimson trickling down the staff’s coiling dragon motif, and the flesh between his thumb and forefinger split open.

A gunshot cracked through the chaos. Wang Ling, limping thirty meters from the Dark Warrior, fired a white-iron flintlock, sending a lead bullet hurtling toward the black man’s chest. He inhaled deeply, his chest muscles rippling—the bullet failed to pierce him, the tip barely embedding in his flesh before being expelled by a flex of muscle, clattering to the concrete with a crisp metallic ring.