Dragon Tiger Rampage
Sean didn’t say a word.
Not a second wasted.
With both monkey wrenches in hand, he charged forward like a missile, hurling himself straight at Dave—and unleashed his ultimate technique:
Dragon Tiger Rampage.
Dave instinctively reached out, trying to grab any part of Sean’s body.
He knew—if he could just get a hold of him, he could end this with a single punch.
But he couldn’t.
Because Sean’s every move… was aimed to kill.
The wrenches sliced through the air like twin silver flashes—targeting only Dave’s vitals:
his eyes, his throat, his crotch.
Dave couldn’t attack.
He couldn’t even blink.
All he could do… was defend.
And on that battlefield, the sound of war rang out—
CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!
Metal crashed against steel muscles again and again.
It sounded like someone was forging a weapon on Dave’s body.
From the outside, it looked like two silver streaks dancing wildly around Dave’s enormous frame.
But this dance… was deadly.
Sean didn’t stop.
The strikes kept raining.
Ten. Twenty. Thirty…
He called out a number after every ten hits.
…Nine hundred. Nine-ten. Nine-twenty…
Three minutes had passed.
Dave’s abs, chest, shoulders—his iron body—were finally starting to crack.
Muscle fibers tore. Blood seeped out.
Sean could feel it.
He was close to breaking through.
If he kept going, Dave’s legendary defense would collapse.
And Dave… would die.
But Sean didn’t notice something else—
The same cracks forming…
Not on Dave…
But on the wrenches.
Another minute passed.
Sean shouted, “One thousand nine hundred seventy!”
Then—
“One thousand nine hundred eighty!”
“One thousand nine hundred ninety!!”
And finally, with a war cry, he screamed:
“TWO THOUSAND!!”
He slammed both wrenches down hard—
straight into Dave’s massive chest.
CRACK!
Dave coughed out a fountain of blood.
His body lurched backward.
But before Sean could celebrate—
SNAP.
The two monkey wrenches in his hands split in half.
The broken pieces spun through the air and landed far down the street.
Sean’s heart dropped.
He quickly jumped back several steps—eyes locked on Dave, bracing for a counterattack.
Dave stood still.
Bleeding. Wounded. But still upright.
Sean looked at his empty hands.
Then muttered under his breath—
“Goddamn it… They broke… at the worst possible time.”
The Hardware Store Bombardment
“This must be made in China…” Sean muttered, glancing at the two broken wrenches on the ground.
Then he turned and looked toward the hardware store.
He spotted a few more wrenches sitting neatly on a shelf inside.
“I can’t beat him barehanded without weapons,” he whispered to himself.
Without hesitation, he dashed toward the store.
But Dave had already guessed his intent.
He knew he couldn’t outrun Sean—but he didn’t need to.
Instead, Dave grabbed a pile of rocks from the ground and began hurling them, one after another, in a furious volley toward the shop.
Sean felt the air behind him ripple.
He instinctively considered dodging, but quickly realized—
those rocks weren’t aimed at him.
They flew past him like a meteor shower, crashing into the hardware store with terrifying force.
The store erupted.
It was like a warzone—an endless missile strike.
Rubble exploded in all directions—twisted steel, shattered shelves, dust, splinters. Everything inside went airborne.
Sean had no way to enter. He halted just outside the blast zone, shielding himself with one arm.
When the dust finally began to clear… what was left was nothing but wreckage.
The store had become a ruin.
Tools lay shattered across the floor. Splintered, cracked, broken beyond use. He spotted several destroyed wrenches—some bent, others twisted into unrecognizable shapes.
And then… he saw the shopkeeper.
Lying in a pool of blood.
Sean rushed over.
“Hey! You okay?” he shouted, crouching down. “You still owe me money, remember?!”
The shopkeeper didn’t respond.
Sean leaned in closer—
And froze.
The man’s heart was still beating… but it wasn’t inside his chest.
It was a severed heart, pumping rhythmically a full meter away, lying on the ground like a twitching fruit.
“…Oh my God,” Sean whispered. “He’s dead.”
He paused, unexpectedly somber.
And then, in the shopkeeper’s stiff, bloodied hand—he noticed something.
Gripped tightly was a solid, untouched piece of steel.
Sean reached for it.
A wrench.
Brand new.
He pried it from the shopkeeper’s cold fingers and held it tight.
Then, almost ceremoniously, he picked up the dislocated heart and placed it gently back near the man’s chest—so at least his body was complete.
Standing up slowly, wrench in hand, Sean turned back toward Dave.
His grip tightened.
His eyes narrowed.
Round two was about to begin.
The One-Handed Rampage
Sean gripped the wrench tightly in his hand. But deep down, he knew—
With only one wrench, he couldn’t unleash his full technique: Dragon Tiger Rampage.
After all, Dragon Tiger Rampage wasn’t just a flurry of attacks. It was a two-part dance:
The wrench in his left hand? That was the Dragon Swing.
The wrench in his right? That was the Tiger Swing.
Together, they moved like flowing water—seamless, relentless, with no blind spots. A total assault on every vulnerable point of the enemy.
But with only one wrench, the motion couldn’t flow. The rhythm was broken. He couldn’t lock down Dave’s counterattacks the way he used to.
And then—
Sean coughed violently and spat out a mouthful of blood.
That last punch from Dave had done more damage than he thought. His insides were rattled. His speed was down. His stamina had dipped. He couldn’t afford to let Dave get close again.
This next round had to be all about spacing.
He had a weapon. And Dave was already seriously wounded.
If he could just land a few more solid hits…
Maybe, just maybe—he could end this.
The fight resumed.
Sean and Dave clashed again—up close, personal.
But this time, Sean was smarter.
He kept just the right amount of distance—close enough to strike, far enough to dodge.
They exchanged twenty, maybe thirty attacks in rapid succession.
Dave swung, but every punch missed.
Sean’s lone wrench, however, connected five or six times, each one a brutal hit to Dave’s battered body.
Blood sprayed from Dave’s mouth again—thick, dark, and sudden.
Sean’s heart surged with hope.
If he kept this up…
Victory might still be his.
The Cornered Beast
Ever since emerging from ten years of seclusion, Dave had been full of confidence. In his mind, he was untouchable—the strongest man on Earth. He had never once considered defeat.
But now, standing bloodied and staggering, he felt it for the first time—the creeping possibility of failure.
Every time that wrench slammed into his body, the pain was unbearable. It was like being struck in the heart by a hammer. His nerves screamed. His vision blurred. And worst of all—he couldn’t even close the distance.
Sean kept weaving in and out, never too far, never too close—just perfectly placed to land those brutal hits. Dave had nothing to counter it with.
That thought sank in deep:
“Maybe… I’m not as strong as I thought.”
All he had were muscles. No technique. No style. Just brute force and blind confidence.
If only he had learned even one real skill…
Maybe he could’ve turned the table around.
As that doubt tore through his mind, another heavy blow landed—this time, a crushing hit to the chest. Dave staggered. Blood spilled from his mouth again. He reached out instinctively, trying to grab something—anything. But Sean had already backed away.
He gasped for air. His lungs burned. His entire body ached. At this rate, he knew—three to five more hits like that and he’d collapse for good.
He felt like a rat cornered by fate. No way forward. No way back. No way out.
But sometimes… it’s only at the edge of death that a man finds his true self.
Suddenly, a bright image flashed in his mind—a crackling lightning bolt. In that instant, something clicked.
He had awakened a new technique. A move unlike anything he’d ever used before. And he smiled to himself, naming it on the spot—something cool, something powerful.
Just then, another vicious strike landed—this time to the back of his head. His body jerked forward, stumbling a few steps. His vision swam. His mouth filled with blood.
But when he lifted his head this time…
Sean had already pulled back again, keeping distance like before.
Only now—Dave wasn’t afraid.
A smile crept across his face.
“I’m going to end this war… once and for all.”
Muscle Dash
Sean braced himself, whispering under his breath:
“Just two more hits… just two more heavy strikes and that muscle freak will be down—for good.”
Suddenly, Dave let out a deafening roar and shouted:
“MUSCLE DASH!!”
Sean paused—then burst out laughing.
“Muscle Dash?!” he yelled. “Who the hell comes up with a name like that?! That’s gotta be the dumbest move name I’ve ever heard. Only Dave would think of something so… stupid.”
But before he could even finish laughing—
Dave’s right foot slammed into the ground with terrifying force.
The floor caved in. Spiderweb cracks exploded outward in all directions.
And using that explosive recoil, Dave’s body launched like a missile—a horizontal cannonball screaming across the street—straight at Sean.
In the blink of an eye, Dave was already inches from his face. Nose-to-nose. Zero distance.
Sean’s brain screamed:
“Shit—SHIT—why is he so fast?!”
But it was too late.
Dave’s fist was already driving forward.
A straight punch to the chest—simple, direct, and absurdly powerful.
Sean’s body shot backward like a ragdoll launched from a slingshot.
He smashed through a concrete wall.
Then another.
And another.
His ghostly blue eyes flickered—then went completely white.
CRASH. CRASH. CRASH. CRASH. CRASH.
Five walls.
Sean finally landed on a sidewalk far down the street, limbs limp, eyes rolled back.
He was completely unconscious.
Back at the launch point, Dave stood motionless, arm still extended.
He didn’t move for five whole minutes.
Then, slowly, he retracted his fist… and smiled.
For the first time in his life, Dave had felt it—the true pleasure of combat.
The thrill. The satisfaction. The raw, primal joy.
It lingered in his chest, even stronger than pain.
Finally, his knees gave out. He dropped to the ground, panting hard.
He was exhausted.
And in that quiet moment, he thought to himself:
“Maybe I still have a long way to go… maybe I’m not really the strongest man on Earth… not yet.”
A few bystanders—those who still hadn’t left—peeked out from behind cars and rubble, clapping softly.
Someone whispered,
“Damn… that was better than the NBA Finals.”
Until We Meet Again
Soon, the ambulance arrived.
Paramedics quickly lifted Sean—unconscious and battered—and placed him onto a stretcher. Two medics, one at the front and one at the rear, began wheeling him toward the back of the ambulance.
At the same time, news reporters swarmed the scene.
It was the same female reporter from earlier, along with her team. She rushed up to the stretcher and began her live broadcast.
“What unfolded here today was an extremely violent street battle. One dead, one critically injured. Multiple buildings have been destroyed or severely damaged. And behind me—lying unconscious on this stretcher—is one of the fighters involved. His name is Sean. He’s a former gangster… and a man who served three years in prison for violent crime.”
Suddenly, Sean sat up on the stretcher, face pale, lips purple—and started yelling:
“Hey hey hey hey hey! You standing there, wide-eyed, spitting lies?! Should I say you used to be a prostitute? That you were raped by different men and had a dozen abortions?! How would you feel if I said that on live TV?!”
He shouted with every ounce of strength left in him—then collapsed back onto the stretcher and immediately passed out again.
The reporter froze.
Mouth wide open. Eyes locked on Sean’s motionless face. The camera kept rolling.
A full ten seconds of awkward, unbroken silence filled the live broadcast.
Nothing but the sound of the wind… and the collective shock of everyone watching.
Far away—in the darkness of unconsciousness—a faint flicker still glowed.
A ghostly blue flame, dim but resilient.
And in the depths of his fading mind, Sean heard a strange voice whisper:
“Sean… until we meet again.”