The plaza was large enough, with rock gardens, a parking lot, a statue of the Virgin Mary, and other features that could serve as cover—actually, it was quite suitable as a battleground for a large-scale gang shootout.
Of course, from Hardy's perspective, it was anything but suitable—this was his turf.
If anyone tried to tell Hardy that Harvey Dent hadn't arranged this on purpose, he wouldn't believe it for a second.
A plaza in front of a community, a dock, an alley, and two blocks—these became the battlegrounds for both sides.
Each was held by a major gang with hundreds of members, plus the manpower of smaller affiliated gangs. In the end, this escalated into a massive gang war involving over a thousand people.
"Bang!"
A massive black metal hand came down, crushing a Falcone family thug into pulp.
Hardy ignored the bullets ricocheting off his black-gold armor, simply maneuvering it forward. He raised his right hand, revealing the barrel of a built-in modified submachine gun.
A burst of muzzle flashes swept across a whole swath of enemies.
"Hey! Watt! You just hit one of my guys!"
Two-Face stood next to a Titan-enhanced man over two meters tall, shouting at Hardy.
Hardy didn't answer, just aimed the black-gold gun barrel in Harvey Dent's direction.
"Hey!"
Harvey Dent dove behind the Titan-enhanced man.
The bullets struck the Titan, causing wounds but nothing fatal.
Unlike last time, Harvey Dent had outfitted each of these enhanced men with heavy-duty bulletproof armor and helmets.
Each set of armor weighed far more than ordinary bulletproof vests.
But for Titan-enhanced men, weight wasn't an issue—they could easily wear armor thick enough to stop even large-caliber rounds.
Unless they were under sustained heavy fire, or hit by heavy weapons, the Titan-enhanced men were nearly invincible on a battlefield dominated by light firearms.
Introducing these tank-like killing machines into a gang war had predictable consequences.
"Looks like our friend Watt is really pissed off this time, huh?"
Harvey Dent, hiding behind the Titan, flipped a coin and caught it.
"Tails? Good. Fifteen fully armed Titan-enhanced men in total—should be enough to deal with my dear friend Watt."
"Boom!"
A small rocket came flying in from a distance, exploding against the Titan's body.
Harvey Dent checked the dazed Titan's breathing with a finger under his nose.
Barely alive.
"Well, that makes fourteen."
No matter how strong the armor, it was still only meant for small arms—there was a limit to its protection. The Titan-enhanced men weren't monsters like Bane, just super-soldiers with strength beyond normal humans.
After firing a small rocket he'd bought from the Penguin, Hardy swept the area with his built-in infrared scanner. Seeing that Harvey Dent had called a few more Titans to cover his retreat, Hardy changed direction and continued the slaughter.
There were more Titans this time, and they were armored—much tougher than last time. Better to focus on killing Falcone's men first.
He was having the time of his life.
During the Great Ninja War, as a mere Chunin, Hardy had always kept his head down, picking off the weakest targets, terrified of running into someone he couldn't handle.
But here, he could go all out and dominate the battlefield!
In the ninja world, I kept my head down—in Gotham, I strike with a heavy fist!
"There are more enhanced men than you told me, and your intel underestimated Watt's strength. For enemies of this caliber, I want more money."
A demonic voice sounded in Carmine Falcone's ear.
"Another fifty million dollars."
"Not enough. That'll only cover me holding him off, or killing half of Two-Face's enhanced men."
"Fine, another hundred million! No, after this, I'll liquidate some assets and add another fifty million. Kill all those enhanced men—and that Watt guy too!"
Carmine Falcone's face was dark as thunder.
He'd learned through an informant that the Two-Face Gang had gotten their hands on a version of Bane's Titan formula—albeit a weaker one—and that Watt from the Hog Union had a suit of extremely powerful combat armor. So, he'd paid top dollar in the underworld to hire a professional.
But he hadn't expected the price to go up at the last minute—nor that the display of supernatural power would be so overwhelming!
"Deal. Have your men follow my orders."
"Fine!"
The man, clad head to toe in orange and black metal armor, turned away with satisfaction and drew the long sword from his back.
Deathstroke.
The death knell has already sounded.
...
On the battlefield, a Titan-enhanced soldier raised both arms in front of him, using his bulletproof wrist guards to shield his face as he charged toward a Falcone henchman wielding a rifle.
Under the effects of the Titan III serum, his face was twisted with ferocity, muscles bulging grotesquely. With hands as thick as barrels, he grabbed the henchman by the neck and lifted him high into the air.
"Whoosh!"
A heavy sniper bullet crossed hundreds of meters, striking the Titan-enhanced soldier precisely in the neck from the rear flank, threading through the gap between his bulletproof armor and helmet.
The alloy armor-piercing round, infused with special metals, was far more powerful than any conventional bullet.
Without bulletproof armor, a Titan-enhanced person's skin and muscle tissue could at most temporarily withstand small-caliber weapons.
Thus, the Titan's head exploded in an instant.
On top of a distant truck, Deathstroke racked the bolt of his rifle again, chambering a fresh armor-piercing round.
"Bang!"
Another shot, another precise hit.
"Mr. Wilson, the mines have been planted, and the personnel you requested are in position,"
reported a man in a suit to Deathstroke atop the truck.
"Bang!"
"Bang!"
"Bang!"
Several more shots rang out. Deathstroke swept his gaze across the battlefield and spoke:
"Begin as I instructed."
As someone who has fought Batman to a standstill multiple times—and even forced Batman to suffer setbacks—Deathstroke is one of the world's top masters of combat and tactics.
He can always devise the perfect plan with whatever resources and conditions are available.
"What's going on?"
Harvey Dent sat in a modified car, watching through bulletproof glass as Titan-enhanced soldiers fell one after another.
Hardy sensed something was wrong too.
His unstoppable charge was slowing.
Falcone's henchmen were suddenly attacking and maneuvering with discipline, focusing fire with submachine guns, rifles, and even energy weapons to restrict his movement, cleverly using vehicles and terrain to press their assault.
Everything was proceeding in an orderly fashion, as if someone had given them an impeccably detailed battle plan in advance.