A car suddenly crashed into the mansion. As soon as Arthur and Zatanna shouted a warning, Robin immediately shielded the owner of the house, while Arthur tackled Zatanna to the ground, protecting her in his arms.
"Are you okay?"
Arthur asked Zatanna beneath him.
"I'm fine, thank you, Arthur. Are you hurt?" Zatanna asked with concern.
"No, I'm fine."
"Hehehe, Arthur, you really are my guardian angel."
The atmosphere between the two felt somewhat warm.
Robin got up from the ground, visibly annoyed, and refused to look at them.
"That's enough, you two! Look at the situation we're in! Pick a better time to flirt, okay?!"
"Someone sounds jealous, not saying who..." Arthur teased with a smug grin in Robin's direction.
If he thought he could win, Robin would've gladly punched Arthur in the face right then.
After poking fun at Robin, Arthur stood up and looked toward the source of the crash.
The ground shook beneath the weight of slow, heavy steps, as if the earth itself rejected the presence of the creature approaching. From within the thick mist blanketing the swamp, a colossal figure emerged—more nightmare than man.
Solomon Grundy.
His skin was a lifeless gray, stretched taut over grotesquely swollen muscles, like a corpse molded by hand and forced to move in defiance of nature. Every vein under his flesh pulsed with barely restrained fury, as if hate and pain were the blood still driving him forward.
His face was a mask of death. Harsh features carved from cracked stone, with dull white eyes—empty, statue-like, expressionless. Soulless. His furrowed brows seemed forever frozen in a furious scowl, and his mouth hung half-open, as if each breath was a curse dragged from the depths of the grave.
From his scalp, ragged tufts of white, tangled hair dangled like cobwebs. Time had not been kind to whatever this creature once was. Now, he was a walking shadow of death.
He wore a tattered black coat hanging loosely from his broad shoulders like a shroud begging for rest. His pants were torn, stained with mud and dried blood, and his massive bare feet left soggy, cratered footprints behind him.
Each of his fingers, thick and skeletal, ended in filthy, claw-like nails—tools of a predator that had clawed its way out of the grave. When he moved, it wasn't like a man walking. It was a burden being dragged. Death itself—tired, but relentless.
There was no mercy in him. Only fury, pain, and an eternal return to the land of the living.
He was the strongest enemy Arthur had faced so far—more than Ares or that bizarre version of Kingpin.
Grundy cannot truly die. Even if his body is burned, shattered, or buried in the deepest corners of the earth, he always comes back, rising from the cold, silent swamp with the chains of the underworld still clinging to his wrists. Each rebirth fractures his soul further, alters his mind—sometimes childlike, sometimes demonic.
Grundy's strength borders on the absurd. With a single blow, he can hurl cars, punch through steel walls, or make the earth tremble. He's fought titans like Superman and remained standing. Even without technique, his rage is a weapon.
His body is a profane temple of endurance.
Even after fatal damage, Grundy regenerates. Sometimes in seconds. Sometimes hours. It depends on what version the world has chosen to awaken.
Each time he returns, he is a variation of himself. Brutal and wild. Quiet and mournful. Occasionally, disturbingly intelligent.
Some versions carry a necromantic aura that makes animals flee and plants rot.
He has high resistance to magic, poison, and mind control.
He can fight in the vacuum of space or the depths of the ocean.
"Robin, Zatanna, get back," Arthur said in a serious tone.
"You sure you can handle that thing alone?" Robin asked, already retreating while carrying the mansion's owner.
"Absolutely," Arthur replied with a grin.
"Be careful," Zatanna added as she followed.
"Who would've thought I'd get a chance to cut loose today?" Arthur said, stretching with a smile.
A crooked, almost playful smile that didn't match the tension in the air. Because even in the face of that monster, a part of him—the part that learned through battle and thrived in chaos—was thrilled by the challenge.
The monster charged.
The impact of each step boomed like muffled thunder in the swamp. The ground caved beneath each footfall.
In the blink of an eye, Arthur vanished from Grundy's view, reappearing behind him, senses razor-sharp. His body moved with grace and precision, every muscle calibrated. He spun, ducked low, and unleashed a rising kick to the base of Grundy's spine, using his deep knowledge of human anatomy—even if Grundy barely qualified as human anymore.
The blow echoed like a cannon shot.
Grundy staggered forward but didn't fall. He turned slowly, his soulless eyes locking onto Arthur again. His neck cracked as he turned. The damage? None.
Arthur expected that.
"Not bad…" he muttered.
"How about this…?"
Without hesitation, Arthur raised his hand.
Behind him, golden circles opened in the air like portals. From each one, weapons emerged—swords, spears, axes, all gleaming.
"Let's test your endurance with my treasures," Arthur said, snapping his fingers.
The weapons launched all at once.
Like a golden storm, dozens of projectiles slammed into Grundy, pushing him back, shredding his clothes, piercing his gray flesh, sending up bursts of dust and blackened blood with each impact.
But when the smoke cleared... Grundy was still standing.
He looked down at his chest, where blades remained embedded. He pulled one out and snapped it effortlessly in his hand. Then charged again, roaring.
Arthur leapt away, using the abilities he'd gained from the radioactive spider to swing onto a tree with a web. He circled the monster, using the environment as his platform.
He dove with a spear-shaped punch, aiming for the base of Grundy's skull.
The ground erupted on impact.
Grundy dropped to his knees.
Arthur backed off, eyes sharp as blades, analyzing. Grundy's bone structure was more durable than expected. But even stone cracks under enough pressure.
"You can take a lot... but even things that can't die have limits, right?" Arthur smiled.
Grundy let out a guttural growl. But this time… there was anger. As if he was beginning to see Arthur not as a buzzing insect—but as a real threat.
He rose again.
Arthur's smile widened.
"Perfect... then let's dance until we drop."
From the sky, more portals opened. The storm of treasures resumed. Arthur's hands trembled slightly—not from fear, but from sheer adrenaline. He spun in midair, dodging massive blows, countering with legs, torso, shoulders. Each impact made his bones ring… and made him grin.
Grundy came again—faster this time. Like a runaway train wrapped in decades of hate. The ground quaked, trees snapped on contact, and his fist rose like a grotesque hammer of flesh and force.
Arthur crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow like he was entertained.
"You're faster. Good." His eyes glowed gold for an instant.
"But still way too predictable."
Grundy's punch came down like a boulder.
Arthur moved.
It was nearly invisible—a hip twist, a pivot of the foot, a millimeter-perfect shift in weight. It wasn't just a dodge. It was a counter.
"Flowing Water Reversal — Variation: Breaker."
His arm rose in a tight arc, using Grundy's momentum, striking the monster's chin with focused force that rippled through his skull, spine… and cracked the air like a silent thunderclap.
Grundy's neck snapped sideways with a sickening crunch.
The body crashed backward, shaking the forest with a muffled boom.
Arthur landed softly, still in a fighting stance, breathing steadily. But his eyes remained sharp.
"Are you going to get back up?"
And as if bound by some cursed script, Grundy rose again.
Slower, but still without pain. His neck popped gruesomely back into place. His hollow eyes held no hate—just cold, stupid, immortal persistence.
Arthur growled, wiping sweat from his brow.
"Alright… brute force and style won't cut it." He spread his arms as if embracing an invisible kingdom.
"Time to spam like I was born to." He laughed at himself.
Instantly, dozens… no… hundreds of golden portals bloomed like war flowers above the trees. Each one summoned a new weapon: swords, spears, halberds, axes, even a certain golden chain that moved on its own.
The entire forest glowed gold. The swamp quaked.
"This is the first time I've unleashed this many treasures since I got those memories..." Arthur said softly, almost solemn.
He clenched his fist, and the chains shot forward, binding Grundy's arms and legs with metallic snaps. The monster roared and thrashed, but these chains were not ordinary. They were forged to restrain gods and monsters—and Arthur commanded them with precision.
Granted, Grundy wasn't divine, so the chains wouldn't hold him for long.
"Now… let's see how you handle a storm."
And then, the weapons fired.
A downpour of destruction rained upon Solomon Grundy, tearing into his flesh, exploding his chest, burying blades into bone. Swords spun like boomerangs, spears danced through rotting muscle, daggers sliced through joints.
Even for Grundy, this was too much.
He fell to his knees—chained, impaled, riddled with wounds. Like a statue of death on its last breath.
But Arthur wasn't done yet.
"You're strong and relentless. But you know what happens to things that don't evolve?"
He appeared in front of the monster, inches from his mutilated face.
"They get left behind."
His fists glowed with red and blue energy.
"Whirlwind Water Stream: Roaring Aura Sky Ripping Fist."
The blow struck Grundy's head with such violent force that it formed a crater beneath him. The shockwave echoed like a sonic boom.
The monster's head was vaporized by the technique's raw power.
Grundy did not get back up.
Arthur staggered backward, panting, his body covered in sweat, mud, and blood—not his own. Still, the smile remained.
"Hah… not bad, corpse." He rolled his shoulders and looked up at the darkened sky.
Then turned away.
"Ended perfectly," he said, glancing at the wide-eyed Zatanna and Robin.
"Thanks for your help tonight, Zatanna."
"Hmm~ So how do you plan to thank me?" Zatanna asked, narrowing her eyes with a mischievous glint.
(End of Chapter)
A/N: I accept criticism for the improvement of Arthur's future fights.
"Hmph. If you really want to be useful, then entertain me, try to throw those pathetic power stones at me. Let's see if even your insolence can amuse a king."