Chen Mo landed, shook out his fist, and sucked in a sharp breath of pain.
Hitting Killer Croc wasn't like hitting a person. It was more like punching a rock wrapped in wet leather. His knuckles were a little numb, and his wrist had barely recovered.
"Good news," Chen Mo told Killer Croc. "I've still got webs. Bad news, my hand feels like it just had a head-on collision with the umbrella protecting Gotham's gangs. Way too hard."
Killer Croc swayed as he straightened up, webs still plastered over his eyes.
He roared and flailed his claws, smashing two rows of refrigerated cabinets.
Chen Mo stopped meeting him head-on. As an agility-based hero, he had no reason to insist on competing with a strength-based villain over who was stronger.
Besides, judging by the brief time they'd spent fighting, Chen Mo conservatively estimated Killer Croc's strength at somewhere over ten tons.
He didn't know about his bite force, but everyone knew a crocodile's strongest asset was its bite.
The spider, who had absolutely no desire to get a huge chunk bitten out of him, began crawling rapidly around the cold storage room's walls. Strand after strand of organic webbing shot out, sticking to Killer Croc's wrists, ankles, neck, and sides.
This time, the webs weren't meant to bind him completely. They were meant to steer him.
Every time he broke a strand, Chen Mo replaced it, changing the angle with every replacement.
The harder Killer Croc struggled, the more he was drawn toward the deepest pool of water in the center of the cold storage room.
Over on Batman's side, Scarecrow's gas had finally crept up to the edges of his respirator.
Like a patient surgeon, Scarecrow slashed his scythe at the tubing and chemical packs again and again.
Batman retreated