(TNAP, T) CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Taylor had told them she wasn’t reckless, and that was true. Shinobi didn’t win by charging in head-on; they won by shaping the battlefield, dictating its pace until the opponent danced to their tune without realizing it. Against someone like Lung, a frontal assault was suicide. You didn’t fight him in a straight battle if you wanted to live.

“As I said before,” Taylor reminded them as they reviewed the plan, “we can’t beat him head-on, so we don’t. We keep him moving, keep him off-balance, and keep him bleeding, just enough to wear him down, but not enough to push him further into his transformation.”

It wasn’t the kind of plan the Wards liked. It was less about glory or crushing your opponent with raw power or a heroic charge, and more about patience, precision, and attrition. Three things teenagers in bright costumes weren’t exactly known for. 

But it had to be done, so the setup was everything. They would build the field with nets, wires, and lures, using choke points to make every step Lung took cost him. And to make it work, someone had to keep his attention exactly where they wanted it: on the wrong target.

Sophia didn’t like being bait. That much was obvious in her words, tinged heavily with irritation, and the way her hands flexed over her crossbow grip. But she was fast, hard to pin down, and—most importantly—able to take risks most couldn't, thanks to her shadow form. She agreed in the end, reluctantly, though Taylor suspected it was less about trusting her and more about the thrill of taunting a dragon and getting away with it.

On the other hand, Vista was their battlefield architect, primed to warp streets into funnels and dead ends, her power bending the vicinity to herd Lung toward the traps instead of letting him break free. Taylor’s own clones darted through alleys, stringing wire between fire escapes, across narrow streets, and along roof edges, anchoring them deep into steel and concrete.

That was when Taylor noticed something.

When Clockblocker’s hand brushed one of the wires, the line froze mid-vibration, locked in time, and as rigid as a steel rod. It no longer sagged or swayed, even with the brisk night air, and no matter how hard she pulled, it didn’t give an inch.

They tested it on scrap metal. The wire bit through the steel with almost no effort, severing it cleanly in a way that made her pause. She knew about his power, but seeing it in effect was mildly terrifying. 

She and Clockblocker exchanged a look. They didn’t have to say it aloud as, at that moment, both knew exactly what the other thought.

If it could cut through that, then…

It would be able to cut through Lung’s armor, regardless of his level of transformation.

. . . . .

Vista paced the nearby rooftop, tugging at her gloves as she scanned the dark stretch ahead. Her green-and-white costume caught faint glints from the nearest streetlight, her visor hiding her face, but Taylor didn’t need to see her expression to know the Ward was keyed up. Every shift of her weight, and every twitch of her fingers, radiated the tenseness of someone waiting for a fight to come. 

But as the sound came from the distance, a growl layered with heat, she took a deep breath and started bending the streets into impossible angles, hoping to funnel Lung toward the kill zone a block away.

Taylor crouched on the rooftop just above where Clockblocker was adding the final touches to their plan. The steel wires stretched across the street, invisible in the dim light, and anchored at both ends with his frozen touch. Dozens more crisscrossed the block, some low to trip, others high enough to catch and slice.

And somewhere in the subtle maze Vista had shaped, Sophia was bringing him in.

A shadow swelled at the far end of the street, resolving into Sophia, and behind her, Lung. He moved with a furious gait, each step heavy enough to make the pavement crack, and eyes burning like coals in the dark. Behind him, faint scorch marks bled across the warped asphalt where his heat had touched it.

Vista shifted her stance, nervous energy tightening her movements, but she didn’t back away.

“You’re slower than I thought,” Sophia called out from the next street over, her voice light and mocking. “Getting old?”

The answer was a roar that rattled windows, and Lung surged even faster, heat spilling off him in visible waves.

The first wire snapped taut. He didn’t even see it until it bit his ankle, frozen steel cutting deep enough to spray blood that hissed when it hit the ground.

He stumbled, but his momentum didn’t break as he kept coming.

The second line caught him across the chest, deep enough to leave a thin red line through his scaled hide. He snarled, one hand coming up to swipe at it, but Sophia darted down a side street Vista had warped into a sharp curve, forcing him to follow if he wanted to keep her in sight. 

“Nice,” Taylor muttered, already moving to the next choke point, though she kept monitoring the others. 

Sophia cleared the next tripwire easily, but Lung barreled right through. It not only sliced into his thigh, but released containment foam, and a smoke bomb laced with pepper spray. His roar came out angrier, but there was strain beneath it.

Vista warped the street again, tilting the ground just enough that his balance faltered. He slammed a claw into the wall for balance, right into another trap. A foam grenade on a sharpened blade burst against his hand, spraying more of the sticky mix over him for good measure.

Blood ran freely now, each movement costing him more than the last, but his burning eyes stayed locked ahead.

Sophia led him into the heart of the trap. Every rooftop above bristled with invisible tripwires, containment grenades, and frozen razor-edges waiting to be triggered.

He charged. The first line caught his arm, the second slashed across his torso, and the third trapped his leg, forcing him to wrench free in a shower of blood and fire. By the time he tore through the last of them, his chest chest heaved and his pace slowed to a crawl.

Lung’s voice was low, guttural, and winded when he spoke. “You think this will stop me?”

In lieu of a response, despite her close proximity to him, Taylor’s fingers curled around the blade anchoring a cable. Clockblocker was two buildings over, ready to lock it in the instant Lung made contact.

Sophia skidded to a stop beyond the kill zone, her breathing controlled despite the sprint. She didn’t look back, trusting them to do their part. And they did; as Lung’s claws tore chunks from the pavement, steam hissing from the slowly healing cuts, Clockblocker froze the first wire solid.

The second whipped around his neck. He ripped at it, only for a third to snap across his knees, slicing deep. He stumbled.

Taylor yanked hard on the fourth wire, watching as Vista and Sophia did the same, their wires locking across his body. And before Lung could even think of freeing himself, Clockblocker was there, freezing the whole web trapping him. Then, the last of their containment foam grenades went off, drowning him in thick, yellow-white mass. 

Lung roared, but the sound broke into a guttural cough, and his legs buckled. 

Taylor was already moving. She channeled enough chakra into her hand that it was practically glowing reddish-orange, and with a yell of effort, slammed her fist into his head. The containment foam was unable to hold him against the impact, and he was sent into the ground with a resounding boom. 

He could only twitch sporadically as he lay there unconscious. 

Taylor exhaled slowly, the knot in her chest loosening.

They’d done it. They’d beaten the dragon.