The air in was thick with the scent of high-octane fuel and the acrid tang of ozone. Below, the intersection had been transformed into a jagged landscape of pulverized concrete and twisted rebar. The Titans were locked in a frantic struggle against the H.I.V.E. Five. Starfire's green starbolts illuminated the smoke in rhythmic flashes, while Cyborg's sonic cannon provided a bass thrum to the symphony of destruction. But to the figure perched atop the blackened skeleton of a nearby skyscraper, the battle didn't look like a clash of heroes and villains. It looked like a failure.
Jake Long stood on the edge of the roof, his breath coming in shallow, ragged hitches. The skin on his back and arms was a map of angry, red burns—remnants of the explosion that had leveled the cafe. His wounds weren't fully healed yet.
He pulled a strip of dark, salvaged cloth tight across the bridge of his nose, tying it behind his head to mask his features. His eyes, usually a vibrant brown, were now molten gold, the pupils stretching into vertical slits that pulsed with a predatory rhythm.
Below him, he saw them. He recognized the hulking form of Mammoth, the pink-haired Jinx, and the mechanical brat Gizmo. His blood began to boil, the heat radiating from his core until the air around him shimmered. He thought of Rebecca and Hudson, the owners who had made the cafe feel like home. He thought of little Julie, the "princess" who had given Rose a plastic flower just minutes before the world turned orange. He thought of the two patrons who hadn't made it—the people whose lives had been snuffed out because a bunch of "repeat offenders" wanted to make a point.
His grandfather's voice echoed in the back of his mind, a repetitive mantra of restraint and the Dragon Council's decree.
"Yeah, right," Jake whispered, the words carrying a draconic rasp.
He remembered the last time he had followed those rules. He had let a pack of goblins live, and it had nearly cost him Fu Dog's life. Of course he was well aware that some monsters didn't deserve second chances. But, it was him who chose to be the ignorant one, just like many others.
"No more," Jake muttered. "Consequences. Today, I am the consequence."
Jake closed his eyes, reaching deep into the ancient, searing well of his heritage. When he opened them again, he wasn't a boy anymore. He didn't fully shift—the Council would have to wait for another day for that—but his limbs underwent a horrific, partial metamorphosis. Crimson scales, hard as diamond and shimmering like cooling lava, erupted along his forearms and shins. His fingers elongated into obsidian claws, and his feet tore through his sneakers as they transformed into three-toed talons.
He cracked his neck, the sound echoing like a gunshot, and darted off the building.
He didn't fly; he plummeted like a meteor. He hit the center of the intersection with a localized shockwave of dragon fire that sent a ring of white-hot flames racing across the asphalt. The Titans and the H.I.V.E. alike were forced back, shielding their eyes from the sudden, violent arrival.
Before the fire could even dissipate, Jake was a red blur moving through the smoke. He had one target: Mammoth. The brute loved to toss things around—dumpsters, cars, oil tankers. Jake decided he was going to see how the giant liked being the one thrown.
Mammoth barely had time to blink before Jake was in his personal space. With a roar that vibrated the very marrow of his bones, Jake drove a scaled fist into the brute's solar plexus. The "boom" of the impact sounded like a cannon firing. Mammoth, who usually tanked bullets without flinching, was lifted clean off his feet and sent flying backward.
The giant villain skidded fifty feet, his massive boots carving grooves into the street. He barely managed to cross his arms to block the follow-up, his fighting instincts screaming in terror. When he finally came to a stop, his arms were trembling, deep purple bruises already blooming beneath the skin where Jake's knuckles had connected.
Jake flicked his hands, the dragon fire intensifying at the tips of his claws. "Bastard's sturdier than those ogres," he growled to himself.
Mammoth looked at Jake—at the glowing gold eyes and the scales—and felt a shiver run down his spine. He had fought a lot of things in his life. But he had never seen something that looked so angry. A silent anger that wanted nothing more than to reduce everything to ashes.
Jake didn't give him time to breathe. He darted in again, using a level of speed and versatility that Mammoth couldn't match. It wasn't a hero's fight; it was an execution. Jake moved like a dervish, his martial arts training from Lao Shi blending seamlessly with his draconic physiology. He rained down a barrage of punches so fast they were a blur, each strike opening a new bruise or a fresh cut on Mammoth's face.
But Jake didn't stop at punches. He used his claws, raking them across the brute's chest and arms, drawing thick, dark blood. He wanted Mammoth to feel the weight of every brick that had fallen in that cafe. He wanted him to suffer.
The rest of the battlefield had fallen into a stunned stupor. Gizmo's mechanical legs twitched as he watched his heavy hitter get dismantled. Robin, however, was the first to recover. His mask-covered eyes were wide, fixed on the red-scaled figure.
Robin had been trained by the best, and Bruce had warned him about the "Dragon in Human Skin" from New York. Batman's files were clear: "The boy has power that defies the standard hero-villain dynamic. If he ever loses his tether to humanity, he'll be a calamity".
"Titans! Regroup and counter! We can't drag this any longer," Robin barked, his voice sharp with an unease he rarely showed. "And Beast Boy. Try to keep those two separate and busy!"
Robin knew that that dragon wasn't looking for a collar or a cell. He was looking for blood.