Shen Cong's new tactic was simple: a game of hide-and-seek.

The saltwater croc was blind now, moving on perception alone. So Shen Cong would flick his pressure aura out and back, baiting its attention, waiting for the opening — then wrench the jin-core ram free and drive it back in at a better angle. Or hammer the dragon lance deeper into its skull and stir.

"Little Four, follow my orders. Release your pressure aura when I say, camouflage when I say. Don't go near the croc. This fight's past what you can handle."

The croc held the center.

Bao Wenhui took the seaward side, the four-legged dragon the side against the mountain, and Shen Cong had already crept down between them. Hunter and hunted had traded places in the space of a breath. This was no longer the croc's hour to throw its weight around. It was Shen Cong's hour to hunt.

Roaring, charging blindly, the croc was still an enormous threat in Shen Cong's eyes — but no longer untouchable.

The bouncing stilts eased out from the legs of the Hell Plant Armor.

Thud. Shen Cong gave the croc no time to knit itself back together. The stilts locked out; he broke into a bounding run.

Motion here drew a response there. The croc's vast body came twisting toward him, its whole left side showing the first signs of paralysis — Shen Cong had wounded its brain, and the brain governed everything. A little damage there and the whole machine faltered.

Faltering or not, it was still fast. Shen Cong had barely leapt clear when the huge body slammed through the space he'd left, kicking up a wall of dust.

On the far side Bao Wenhui loosed his own pressure aura, dragging the croc's attention around, then reeled it in and slid aside. As the croc wheeled and charged, Shen Cong signalled the four-legged dragon to open its aura. In the croc's senses Bao Wenhui vanished and Little Four appeared — so it spun and charged Little Four instead. And Little Four snuffed out its aura and bolted.

Next…