Chapter Forty-Three: The Savage Apopo

As the Double Dragon brothers and Bai Feng were locked in fierce battle, Wang Ling and Wang Long were fleeing at full speed. Overhead, the helicopter pursued relentlessly, its blades thundering in the sky, growing louder and louder. The reason was clear: the helicopter was gradually lowering its altitude.

Wang Ling now deeply regretted not learning to drive in the real world—not that he couldn’t handle any vehicle at all. He was quite adept at racing games like Kart Rider, Mario Kart, and Crash Team Racing, but ordinary cars were another matter entirely. It wasn’t just cars; he couldn’t ride motorcycles either. If only he could, he could borrow a vehicle from the roadside and surely outrun his pursuers. Taxis would have been another option, but with the Dark Fighters’ helicopter terrorizing the area, pedestrians scattered in panic and the cars on the street turned around and fled. In this chaos, money meant nothing—no taxi would be available.

Wang Long followed behind Wang Ling, gasping for air. He was, after all, a heavyset man, weighing two hundred pounds. Despite his basic footwork, he was still a shade slower than Wang Ling and had to push himself to sprint flat-out. After running at the speed of a hundred-meter dash for some time, even a martial artist’s stamina would struggle.

“Go back to the Kung Fu Tower and rest for a while,” Wang Ling called out. “I’ll summon you again soon. There’s bound to be an unprecedentedly dangerous fight ahead—save your strength!” Since Wang Long wasn’t engaged in battle at the moment, Wang Ling could use the scene card to recall him. He could summon him again in this world, though it would cost another hundred currency points.

After recalling the summon beast, Wang Ling spotted a bicycle by the roadside. He dashed over, hopped on, and pedaled with all his might. Under his extraordinary strength, the sturdy bicycle creaked and groaned, its wheels nearly lifting off the ground, speeding forward at a pace rivaling a motorcycle.

The helicopter overhead tracked the bicycle’s route, gradually flying ahead of it. Now it hovered barely thirty meters above the ground. The rotor’s downdraft sent trash cans and shop signs tumbling, sweeping debris across the street. A small calico cat in the middle of the road, unable to withstand the gale, dug its claws desperately into the pavement, emitting a shrill, terrified cry.

Suddenly, the helicopter’s cabin door swung open. Wang Ling, pedaling for his life, saw a figure emerge—not the two martial arts bosses he’d anticipated, but a towering man.

He was Black, bare-chested, wearing only leather pants, his massive frame standing at least two meters tall. His bones were just as formidable, his head shaved, deep-set eyes gleaming with a fierce, gray light. His exposed torso bulged with explosive muscles, his skin dark with a metallic sheen, more like polished steel rebar than human flesh.

Wang Ling’s gaze sharpened. This beastly brute, with inhuman muscle, was the stage boss of level six in Double Dragon II: the Black Giant, Abe. Compared to the martial arts bosses, he was a far more terrifying opponent. Abe had no fighting technique—what he relied on was overwhelming, destructive power capable of shattering anything in his path.

Abe stepped out of the cabin, unaffected by the rotor’s wind, standing like a cliff battered by the sea, unmoving. His eyes locked onto Wang Ling, and in the next instant, he moved—leaping directly from the helicopter, thirty meters above, as if from an eight-story building. Below was a concrete road; this height would have flattened any ordinary man.

Boom!

Abe crashed down like a meteor from the sky. The air detonated, shrieking, and the road split as if struck by an iron roller, trembling and cracking instantly. Fragments of stone, dust, and debris peeled from the ruptured ground, spreading outward in a bowl-shaped shockwave.

The calico cat, claws dug into the pavement to withstand the helicopter’s wind, was swept away by the shockwave, slamming against a wall with a crisp smack. It slid down, as flat as paper, leaving a bloodstain in the shape of a cat on the wall. The force of the explosion and the wall’s rebound had turned it into nothing but a cat’s skin.

Wang Ling, along with his bicycle, was hurled away. The bicycle landed on a nearby rooftop, while Wang Ling himself flew more than twenty meters before crashing down. He scrambled to his feet, spotting the giant Abe standing in the center of the cracked road, his savage gaze fixed upon him.

“Linda’s badge! So you’re the one who killed Linda! Eastern boy, I’ll crush every bone in your body, turn you into pulp without a skeleton, and then stuff you into sausages and eat you!” Upon seeing the badge on Wang Ling’s chest, Abe roared with furious, guttural rage.

The Black giant charged forward, fists the size of a child's head clenched, muscles bulging, veins snaking across his arms, making his black limbs look even thicker—like steel pillars. He swung his steel-black arm at Wang Ling.

Faced with such an attack, Wang Ling had no intention of blocking head-on. He retreated swiftly, grabbed a green trash can, and hurled it forward. Abe’s pillar-like arm smashed the trash can with a dull thud, blasting it apart as if it contained explosives. The contents burst out, scattering garbage in a five-meter radius—a rain of refuse.

Abe, now drenched in garbage—leftover food, empty bottles, used tissues—had a lunchbox stuck on his head, sauce and noodles sliding down his bald scalp. The stench drove him into a rage. He shook himself violently, flinging off the debris, and saw Wang Ling darting into a shop by the roadside. With a roar, he charged after him—not through the door, but to the wall, where he raised his fists and smashed forward. The concrete wall burst open, debris tumbling out.

It was a cigarette shop. Inside, a male customer and a beautiful saleswoman watched as an Eastern youth rushed in, leaping over the counter and out the window, followed by an explosive crash as a two-meter-tall hole appeared in the wall, stones flying everywhere, leaving them stunned.

Abe smashed through the wall, spotted the open window and realized Wang Ling had escaped. Enraged and covered in garbage, he needed to vent his fury. Seeing two people in the shop, he strode over, bent down, grabbed the male customer’s legs, and lifted him up.

A scream rang out, abruptly cut off—Abe, gripping the man’s legs, pulled them apart with brute force, tearing him in two along the body’s centerline. Blood sprayed, flesh and bone exposed, organs spilling from the ruptured chest cavity, a scene of unparalleled horror.

The saleswoman, witnessing this carnage, was petrified, her scream hysterical. Abe tossed aside the remains, reached out his massive hand, grabbed the woman’s golden hair, lifted her into the air, and slammed her down.

With a sickening crack, her legs’ bones shattered, followed by her pelvis and spine snapping inch by inch, until finally her skull burst. White, cloudy brain matter mixed with steaming fresh blood gushed out, splattering over Abe’s iron-dark skin, making him a nightmare demon risen from hell.

After slaughtering the two, Abe’s mood improved. He crouched and swept his hand across the counter, collapsing it with a crash. Shards of glass littered the floor, but the sharp edges couldn’t even scratch his skin, revealing its terrifying resilience.

With the counter out of the way, Abe didn’t bother with windows. He walked to the wall, raised his fists, and smashed another hole big enough to pass through.

“Don’t run! Come here and let me kill you! I swear, you’ll die in style!” Tearing a man, crushing a woman, toppling the counter, smashing the wall—he accomplished all of this in less than ten seconds. Covered in blood, brain matter, garbage, and stone dust, Abe strode from the hole and spotted Wang Ling fleeing down the road, already a hundred meters away. With a savage howl, he gave chase.