บท 187: No second Chance
In the opening barrage, the Batwing's first sneak attack shocked the ancient being—Laitos—who had slumbered for what felt like eons.
The freezing cold that enveloped its colossal form, the sudden and drastic temperature drop that came with it—such power, from a species it had once considered little more than ants? Laitos could hardly comprehend that such a sharp, ultra-large-scale freezing capability was within the reach of these humans.
Since when had humanity risen to wield such force?
Though startled, the ancient entity quickly realized that this inconvenience was no serious threat. It was taken aback, yes, but this was far from a defeat.
The cracks in the ice came slowly at first but soon spread faster than a spider's web in high winds, snaking through the frozen block that encased Laitos. Then came the sharp "crack"—a sound like the thunderous splitting of a glacier. The sound echoed through the night as the ancient monster's six massive, muscular arms shattered their icy prison, sending shards and waterfalls of melting ice crashing to the ground. Each swing of its arms broke off chunks of frozen debris that exploded into fragments as they hit the earth, causing tremors to ripple through the square.
"A rapid increase in the target's internal body temperature has been detected," Friday's calm, robotic voice echoed in the cockpit of the Batwing. "The creature seems capable of sharply increasing its core heat to counteract the effects of the freezing bomb."
Even without Friday's analysis, it was obvious to Charlie Cooper that Laitos had adapted. The creature's gigantic form hissed white steam as it emerged from the remains of the ice, its sheer mass radiating an intense heat. The shimmering air around it was distorted, warped by the extreme temperatures it now exuded.
The Batwing's freezing bombs had failed to incapacitate it, but the vehicle's very presence—darting through the sky like a predatory bird—had gained the creature's full attention. Laitos had expected a world that would still bow to its power. But now, faced with this flying machine that defied the natural order, it felt the first stirrings of an actual threat.
That threat needed to be extinguished.
Without warning, one of Laitos's six tree-trunk-like arms shot skyward. Its massive, gnarled hand spread its long, crooked fingers wide as it lunged to grab the Batwing from the sky. The speed of the movement was alarming—despite its immense size, the arm cut through the air like a scythe, stirring a hurricane-like gust in its wake. The force alone sent debris scattering in all directions below.
But the Batwing was faster. The advanced propulsion engines roared to life with a force that could break the sound barrier in seconds. Charlie jerked the controls, pulling the craft into a steep climb that narrowly avoided the monster's grasp. The aircraft twisted and rolled as it broke free of the arm's path, a white trail of air pressure waves spiraling in its wake as the Batwing rocketed higher into the sky.
Below, Laitos's one enormous, unblinking eye followed the craft, unable to tear its gaze from the Batwing. It was clear that the creature's reflexes were unnaturally fast for its size, but even so, the Batwing's agility far outstripped it. To Laitos, this would feel akin to chasing a supersonic fly—buzzing and darting unpredictably, its speed marked by the occasional booming sonic crack as it weaved in and out of the creature's reach.
The entire city of Riverton was watching this encounter unfold. Streets were deserted as people gathered in homes, restaurants, and bars, staring wide-eyed at screens broadcasting the battle from every possible angle. Even within the war room of the Ninth Special Service Division, a group of seasoned officials—battle-hardened veterans, tactical geniuses, and hardened analysts—were glued to their monitors. The room was silent, all eyes fixed on the screen showing the Batwing's daring maneuvers against this colossal monstrosity.
For a moment, all eyes turned toward Dr. Richard, who had been responsible for much of the Ninth Division's advanced weaponry.
He sighed heavily. "Before anyone asks, no, we don't have anything like that."
The other officials exchanged silent glances.
"It's not just a plane, that thing is defying all aerodynamics," Dr. Richard added, throwing his hands up. "The way that machine breaks the sound barrier and then pulls off a stationary flip—it's more magic than science. I swear, at this point, if someone told me that thing could run on a broomstick, I wouldn't be surprised."
Minister Mark, another specialist, nodded in agreement, leaning back with a half-smile. "I've seen enough to know when to accept the impossible."
On-screen, the Batwing executed another mind-bending maneuver—a reverse backflip at supersonic speeds, with all the grace of a gymnast. The jet maintained its absurd velocity as it banked hard, diving back toward Laitos with an aggressive precision that made it seem less like an aircraft and more like a living, breathing hunter.
At that moment, concealed machine gun ports on either side of the Batwing's sleek wings snapped open. From within, a barrage of ultra-high-speed bullets exploded forth, the warheads specially engineered by Wayne Technology to penetrate the toughest of armors. This wasn't just standard military fare—these warheads were the result of years of secretive research, a project so costly and advanced it had nearly been scrapped by WayneTech itself. But Bruce Wayne had completed the project in secret, crafting the Batwing into a weapon that no one else in the world possessed.
The bullets cut through the air with impossible speed, streaking toward Laitos like shooting stars.
The ancient creature's hide was covered in the same substance that Commander Ross had dubbed the "Tis Shield"—a nearly indestructible material. Though Laitos's resurrection was incomplete and its form was not yet at full power, the Tis Shield was still powerful enough to withstand most damage.
But as the barrage of supercharged bullets slammed into the creature's flesh, it felt something it had not experienced in millennia—pain. The bullets tore into its dark, muscular form, the Tis Shield cracking and melting where each round hit. Waves of agony rippled through Laitos as the damage spread from the points of impact, each shot like a white-hot brand searing its body.
A thunderous roar escaped Laitos's mouth, echoing across the city.
How could this be? How could mere humans, creatures that had cowered before it for eons, inflict pain upon it?
Its eye locked onto the Batwing as if to commit the aircraft—and the human within it—to eternal memory. That this human had managed to harm it, however minor, was enough to fill Laitos with rage. This affront could not go unpunished.
The creature lashed out again, its massive arm stretching toward the Batwing, but this time it had learned from its earlier failure. When its hand opened wide, a mass of tentacles erupted from its palm like vines growing at unnatural speeds, multiplying in all directions. In moments, the sky itself seemed to darken as the tentacles shot out, twisting and coiling through the air like living ropes, seeking to ensnare the Batwing.
To those watching from below, it looked as though the sky had been overtaken by a massive web, blocking out even the wind as the tendrils writhed and twisted, searching for their prey.
In living rooms, bars, and streets across Riverton, people gasped, fearing that the Batwing was doomed.
But Charlie was calm, the neural link in his Batman armor sending warning signs to his display, marking each dangerous tendril as it closed in. He didn't need to think—he just needed to act.
With inhuman reflexes, the Batwing performed a series of rapid, physics-defying maneuvers. It barrel-rolled, flipped, and darted through the air with such speed and grace that the tentacles, despite their numbers and reach, never came close. Each movement was sharp, precise, the Batwing twisting and diving as if dancing between the attacking limbs. When a tentacle loomed too close, the Batwing's machine guns opened fire, repelling the threat with a spray of hot lead.
The jet moved like a ghost, slipping through the forest of tendrils with ease, dodging every attack with the grace of a butterfly navigating between flowers.
It was a performance that seemed almost unreal. The combination of the Batwing's cutting-edge design, the neural-linked assistance from the Batman suit, and Charlie's years of combat experience made it possible for the aircraft to dodge every lethal blow.
But there was more—Charlie wasn't just relying on the tech. Years of gaming had sharpened his reflexes. This was his playground.
The grin on Charlie's face grew as he piloted the Batwing through the chaos. This was only the beginning. The Batwing, his most powerful weapon, had yet to reveal its full capabilities.
The real fight was just beginning.
There would be no need for second chances. Victory would come in one shot.
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