In An Actor Prepares, there's a line that goes something like this:
"On stage, within the character's living environment, think, hope, desire, and act exactly, logically, and sequentially, just as the character would—like a living person."
From the moment Hong Fei stepped onto the Bifrost Bridge with Thor and entered Asgard, he had already stepped onto his own stage.
The character he was playing was himself—but a weaker version of himself. He had to portray a Dragon King that fit Thor's and even Odin's imagination, one that matched the definition of a superhero, someone people could admire but easily forget the moment they turned away. He didn't need to figure out how to make this character come alive because he was alive.
What he needed to figure out was how someone with the traits of both a weakling and a hero would behave as the story unfolded. This wasn't particularly hard; the Avengers team was full of living examples. The real challenge was making logical moves.
That meant: during the battle, he had to suppress his instincts, slow his speed, dial back the output of his Dragon Power, and, most importantly, restrain the dodging instinct that had become second nature—or perhaps even fused with his soul.
Since transmigrating, the total number of times he'd been hit by all his enemies combined was probably fewer than the number of hits he'd taken from the Dark Elves on this trip alone. People called catching a cold, getting rained on, or soaking in water while filming dedication?
Try doing a one-shot take, suppressing your instincts, getting beaten without fighting back, and pulling it off without retakes! That, damn it, is what you call dedication! Now, with the screenwriter, director, and lead actor finally shouting "Cut," Hong Fei couldn't help but feel a surge of relief.
The Cursed Warrior standing before him had been the second-in-command of the Dark Elves before his transformation. Now, he was their strongest warrior. Malekith, who was chasing Thor, was their primary leader. Once he obtained the Aether Particle, his strength would skyrocket to the top again.
Right now, one of them remained in London, while the other was heading west with Thor. London lies in the south of Britain, in the southeast of England. Heading west, there are hundreds of kilometers of land before reaching the Bristol Channel, which stretches over 130 kilometers between Wales and the Cornish Peninsula. Only then does it finally open into the Atlantic Ocean.
The road ahead wouldn't be peaceful. The White Dragon carrying Thor and Jane would barely feel their weight, so it could easily complete the task Hong Fei had assigned. What task? Fly as low as possible, ensuring all attacks hit the ground, and let every city along the way feel the power and fury of the Dark Elves.
Once they reached the sea, it needed to churn the ocean upside down! This journey would be long and a massive test for the White Dragon. But for the sake of Dragon Power, Hong Fei believed it would give its all.
Just then, Hong Fei's expression shifted.
The Cursed Warrior paused for a moment, then let out a deafening roar at Hong Fei. In one swift motion, it grabbed a flipped bus from the side of the street and hurled it toward him.
Facing the massive projectile, Hong Fei didn't dodge. Instead, he clawed his fingers forward, and a low, rumbling dragon roar erupted from his throat.
A golden dragon claw, condensed from Dragon Power, seemed to tear through space itself as it reached out and firmly grasped the bus. The shimmering dragon scales, the five spread fingers, the razor-sharp claws, and even the powerful muscles beneath the scales were visible in stunning detail.
The dragon claw shimmered with an ethereal mist of Dragon Power, so lifelike it could pass for the real thing if not for its translucent aura. Hong Fei flexed his fingers, and the spectral claw mirrored his movement, curling inward with deliberate precision. The armored vehicle trapped within let out a metallic screech before crumpling like paper, crushed into a compact sphere.
Gasoline spilled from the ruptured tank, igniting instantly as it met the sparks from the mangled metal. A roaring fireball erupted, scattering molten debris in all directions. With a flick of his wrist, Hong Fei directed the dragon claw to seize the inferno and hurl it toward the Cursed Warrior.
The towering figure didn't flinch. It planted its feet firmly, raising both arms in defiance. The fireball struck with a deafening explosion, showering the area with scorching shrapnel and a shockwave that rippled through the air.
The dragon claw pressed down relentlessly, forcing the Cursed Warrior onto one knee. The asphalt beneath its feet shattered, spiderweb cracks spreading outward. Hong Fei advanced, his iron armor dissipating as he closed the distance. The Cursed Warrior strained against the weight, its arms trembling as its spine began to bow.
Hong Fei clenched his fist, and the portal to the Dragon Dimension flung wide. Dragon Power surged forth, a torrent of energy with a fusion rate exceeding 44%. It erupted from within him like molten magma breaching the earth's crust, a force pent-up and now unleashed.
A golden light exploded outward, enveloping a radius of over ten meters. Within the dense energy, the silhouette of a divine dragon seemed to dart and weave, swift and majestic. But just as quickly as it appeared, Hong Fei reined it in, drawing the Dragon Power back into himself. It coalesced into a shimmering aura, hovering inches from his skin, first as flickering flames, then solidifying into a golden ocean of palpable energy.
He released the dragon claw's grip on the Cursed Warrior's head. The massive figure didn't rise immediately, frozen as if stunned.
"Stand up," Hong Fei commanded, striding closer. "Let's see the strength that crushed Thor."
The Cursed Warrior lowered its arms slowly, its joints emitting a series of sharp cracks. With a sudden burst of motion, it launched itself forward, kicking up a plume of dust. Its hulking frame hurtled toward Hong Fei like a battering ram. The air itself seemed to rupture as it closed the distance, the impact's thunderous boom momentarily drowning out the distant explosions in the sky.
Hong Fei raised a single arm, intercepting the Cursed Warrior's strike with ease. The fist, larger than his head, froze mid-air, unable to push forward even a fraction. The Cursed Warrior growled, rearing back for another blow. Its second punch slammed down with bone-shaking force, a flash of black light accompanying the impact.
Hong Fei still supported it with one palm. Immediately following, the Cursed Warrior unleashed a rapid flurry of punches, its arms blurring into streaks of motion. Hong Fei stood unwavering, his own arms moving with precision to deflect each strike. The relentless barrage of collisions echoed through the battlefield, a symphony of raw power meeting unyielding defense.
The air shimmered with dissipating black and golden light after each explosive collision. It looked like someone had sprayed multicolored perfume across the sky—if perfume smelled like cordite and burned the nostrils. The Cursed Warrior suddenly froze mid-motion, chest heaving beneath its obsidian armor. The faint tremor in its shadowed gaze betrayed its shaken composure.
Hong Fei's lips curled.
"My turn."
His Ten Rings clattered as he flipped his wrists before the words finished echoing. The Cursed Warrior lunged forward—a mistake that gave Hong Fei the perfect opening. He vaulted off the warrior's knee, his arm blazing like a miniature sun as he streaked through the air like a meteor.
Energy flowed unimpeded from shoulder to elbow, elbow to wrist, wrist to fist—a clear channel for his power to surge forth. The impact sounded like a muffled thunderclap, golden shockwaves rippling outward. The Cursed Warrior's head snapped sideways with whip-crack force.
Its helmet flew off, revealing a face pockmarked with scars twisted in agony. The jawbone jutted at an unnatural angle from the whiplash motion. The warrior crumpled to the pavement with a heavy thud. Hong Fei landed hard, his boots crushing the fallen warrior's gauntlets into the fractured concrete.
The Cursed Warrior shrieked and thrashed. Hong Fei snatched Gungnir from where it stood embedded nearby. Thick draconic energy coiled around the spear from tip to base in an instant. He raised it overhead with one hand and drove it down like a lightning strike.
The spearhead punched through armor, flesh, spine, and organs before burying itself deep in the earth, leaving only half the shaft exposed. Dragonfire ignited where metal met flesh, sending up greasy black smoke as the warrior's body crackled like fat in a furnace. Within seconds, the flesh blackened and shriveled.
"During Bor's war, Dark Elf Cursed Warriors carved through battlefields like scythes through wheat."
Hong Fei watched the twitching figure.
"Pathetic."
The warrior turned its ruined face toward him and howled.
Hong Fei planted a palm on its forehead and shoved the screaming face into the dirt.
"Trust me—I was angrier a minute ago than you are right now."
His fist pistoned down, embedding the warrior's skull another six inches into the ground. Each subsequent punch struck with arrow-straight precision, hammering the same spot between its shoulder blades.
The street buckled with every impact. Compacted soil erupted in geysers of debris. The subterranean thuds traveled deeper with each blow until Hong Fei was driving his arm elbow-deep into the earth with every strike.
From ground level, the entire hundred-meter radius quivered like a struck drum. Through the fractured pavement, golden energy spiderwebbed through the soil—a glowing root system that pulsed brighter with each rising and falling fist.
The battle in the sky continued, and the flames of war gradually spread from a small area to the whole city, reaching even further as combatants broke away or gave chase. Time lost meaning. When Hong Fei finally stood, his fist dripped with viscous black blood—thick as crude oil and twice as foul.
It dripped down from his knuckles, dragging out long threads of crimson before splashing across the ruined battlefield. He raised his boot and kicked—a headless corpse flipped through the air with grotesque grace.
"Goddammit," he muttered, watching the carnage unfold. "Another overtime shift. This place is fucking wrecked."