Bruce's heart steadied, his body finally responding with perfect harmony. The tide of the battle was about to shift.
Bruce drew a sharp breath, forcing his tired body into a fighting stance. His limbs trembled, but his will refused to falter.
"Can you do it?" he asked, doubt flickering in his exhausted eyes.
A faint smile touched Aldrio's weathered face. "I may have grown old… but I am still me."
Bruce's lips curved into the hint of a grin. "Fine. Then let's do this."
But before either of them could move, Akira charged. His arms twisted grotesquely, lengthening into jagged, plant-forged blades that gleamed with malice.
Bruce met him head-on, his body pushing past its limits. He ducked a slash, countered with a punch, then drove a knee forward—but the weight of earlier battles was heavy on him. The fights with the cults, the first exchange with Akira… it had drained him. Every strike was slower than the last.
Then it came—the sting. The same burning sensation he'd felt during their handshake, crawling through his veins like venom. His body faltered mid-swing, muscles locking, nerves betraying him.
Bruce's knees buckled. Darkness clouded his vision. He collapsed.
"Sir!" Aldrio caught him with a swift motion, lowering him carefully against the wall. For a moment, the hardened warrior's expression softened. Then it vanished, replaced by the cold steel of resolve.
He rose, turned toward Akira, and raised his stance. His back straightened, his fists tightened. He looked not like an old man, but like a warrior reborn.
"Bring it on," Aldrio said, his tone almost playful. "This old man could use some exercise."
Akira shrieked, vines coiling around his arms as he lunged. But Aldrio was faster. He pivoted aside, his movement precise, and slammed his heel into Akira's ribs. The impact thundered through the floor, sending the plant-controlled man crashing into the tiles.
Before Akira could recover, Aldrio stepped forward, raising one leg high, then brought it down in a merciless stomp across his opponent's face. The ground cracked beneath the blow.
Akira roared, launching himself back up. But Aldrio was already moving. He placed both hands on the ground, twisting his body like a coiled spring, and lashed out with both legs. The double kick launched Akira through the air, crashing him into the reinforced walls of the base.
The fight grew faster. Akira attacked again and again, his vines whipping in every direction, but Aldrio's movements were flawless—dodges, counters, and strikes so fluid it seemed as if time itself bent for him. Each blow landed with surgical precision: a fist to the stomach, a strike to the throat, a crushing elbow to the shoulder. Then, leaping high, Aldrio twisted mid-air and drove his heel into Akira's face, sending him crashing through several walls in a cloud of dust and shattered stone.
Akira staggered to his feet, dazed. He stared at the old man, and for the first time since his possession, fear flickered in his eyes.
"You should be thankful," Aldrio said, his voice low and steady, "that you did not meet me in my prime."
Akira screamed, the sound sharp and inhuman, higher than the human ear should bear. The cry carried, awakening the plant-infected. From every corridor, every corner of the base, nurses and workers twisted in grotesque shapes came crawling, staggering, rushing.
In moments, Aldrio stood surrounded.
He didn't flinch. His lips curved into a faint smile, and he rolled his shoulders as if warming up.
"This… reminds me of the old days."
The horde descended.
Bruce stirred weakly on the ground, his voice hoarse. "That old man… he's dangerous. He's been in this field since the age of five. Now he's sixty-five…"
But Aldrio fought as if age meant nothing. He wove through the tide of monsters with impossible grace. A fist shattered a jaw. A knee collapsed a ribcage. A spin sent three flying at once. Every movement was efficient, merciless, a dance of destruction that tore through the infected like paper dolls.
Akira could only watch, his eyes wide, disbelief spreading into terror. His army—his vines, his strength—meant nothing against the storm named Aldrio.
And then Akira's gaze shifted. He saw Bruce—barely conscious, defenseless on the floor.
"Sir!" Aldrio turned, but too late.
Akira was already upon Bruce, his palm pressing against Bruce's throat.
Aldrio broke from the horde, cutting down the last infected in his path. He felt it—a strike coming. He caught the fist with a single hand, prepared to crush it—
—and froze.
It wasn't Akira.
It was Bruce.
But not Bruce as he knew him. His flesh twisted, vines sprouting across his arm, half his body swallowed by the infection. His eyes glowed with a plant-born hunger.
"...No," Aldrio whispered, his grip faltering.
Bruce's punch drove the sting deep into Aldrio's flesh. His weathered body, though iron and unyielding for decades, finally betrayed him. Pain surged, his vision dimmed. The warrior who had fought entire nations sank to his knees.
He fell unconscious.
Akira roared in triumph. The vines burst outward, crushing the base from within. Metal groaned. Stone shattered. The stronghold collapsed under the weight of his rage.
Far away, in a quiet room, a screen flickered.
Ron, Locki, and Zorio watched, their faces pale. Locki had rerouted the CCTV when Bruce pressed the hidden button earlier. Now, the truth played out before their eyes.
They saw Bruce's fall.
They saw Aldrio's last stand.
They saw how the infection spread.
And they knew the battle for Hero Town had only just begun.
Ron looked at Locki, "Gramps literally beat the shit out of everyone alone. Is he really human?"
Ron felt a hand on his shoulder.
Everyone's eyes widened along with a wide smile after seeing the man who patted Ron's shoulder.
"Now that Carter is here why don't we check everything from the start." Locki spoke