Chapter 12

Oni Lee sped through Brockton Bay, each blink taking him nearly a quarter mile. He had a mission to accomplish, one that would take him most of the night. A brace of tinker-tech grenades were attached to his belt and bandoleers, deadly reminders of his task. Tonight, the Protectorate moved out in force against the Empire Eighty-Eight. Tonight, he would stalk at the edge of the inevitable battles, and pick off the distracted Empire capes. Lung had commanded it, and so it would be. The ABB would never get another chance like this, an opportunity to strike at their enemies without the Protectorate's interference. They would deny it, of course. They, in their weakness, their lack of conviction, would censure Oni Lee's actions this night, even as they sang his praises in solitude.

He had a name once, a name beyond Oni Lee. There was a time where he led, where he gave the orders and others followed. He could barely recall it now, those times where he searched for a purpose. Losing his position to Lung was almost a relief, in truth. The Dragon gave him a choice: serve, bend the knee and offer obeisance, or die, alone, forgotten, having never found that which he so desperately sought. Oni Lee was born that day, and the man behind the mask was forgotten.

He had a purpose, a role. He served The Dragon, enforced his will, defended his sovereignty. Oni Lee was the right arm of Lung. He served the most powerful parahuman in the Bay. One of the most powerful capes in the country, given the right circumstances. The Dragon fought an Endbringer to a standstill, even as a city crumbled around him. He survived, walked away unharmed, while Kyushu sunk into the depths of the sea. There was no one more worthy obedience.

Oni Lee settled onto a rooftop at the edges of Empire territory, and switched on the square device at his hip. The stolen Protectorate scanner would allow him to listen in to their protected frequencies, giving him locations and targets. It was a costly purchase, and Bakuda threw a fit at the implication that she could not build a better one, but there simply was not enough time. Additionally, the small part of Lee that could still feel concern was hesitant to accept any device that did not purposely explode, from the unstable tinker.

The scanner crackled into life, feeding sound into his earpiece as he listened to Protectorate chatter. He did not have to wait long for a target. Within five minutes Armsmaster reported contact with Hookwolf and Alabaster, along with a rough location. Lee turned to the west and rushed towards the battle.

The Empire were in retreat all over the city. They chose to flee, to run like the cowards they are, rather than face the fury of the Protectorate. They would pack up and hide, burrowing away into the deepest recesses of the city, and wait out the storm. The Empire was irritatingly large, and controlled huge areas of downtown and the docks. They had warehouses filled with product, whether that be drugs, or guns, or otherwise. Withdrawing without large losses was extraordinarily difficult, requiring the kind of discipline that the more... wild members of the Empire lacked. Hookwolf, Stormtiger, Cricket, Alabaster, even Rune, they would rather fight than flee when facing the Protectorate. They were filled with aggression, loathing, and other useless emotions. They were the most likely to ignore orders to retreat, therefore they were Lee's targets. There would be few chances for open engagement after this night was through, and, if Lee was successful, the Empire would lack the manpower to recover.

He slowed his pace once he heard the sounds of battle. A quick jaunt to a rooftop gave him a clear view of the situation.

Watching Armsmaster fight was a beautiful thing. It wasn't that the motions were appealing, no, the man moved like a robot. His style was ugly, a bastard child of twenty different martial arts, but it did not detract from the man's sheer skill. His fights were efficiency embodied, without wasted movement nor wavering focus. Each swing of his halberd was sublime, each twisting dodge was perfection itself. The man turned the art of combat into a machined mockery, yet Lee admired him for it. Lung's orders to avoid Protectorate casualties were not needed in Armsmaster's case. Oni Lee would never kill this man by ambush.

He waited, watched, as Armsmaster systematically dismantled the two Empire capes. Hookwolf raged and screamed, throwing himself against cold steel again and again, blind fury matching against peerless skill. With every clash, the changer lost more mass, as the halberd claimed its pound of flesh. Alabaster performed his best as a distraction, peppering the power-armored hero with bullets and engaging in melee combat whenever it was most inconvenient. The whitewashed villain was repeatedly skewered for his efforts.

The urge to simply observe was almost overwhelming, but Lee had a purpose here, and PRT reinforcements were seconds away. His moment came as Armsmaster hurled Alabaster away, into the charging Hookwolf. The collision knocked the changer clear off his feet, and the pair landed in a tangle of limbs. Lee appeared beside them in an instant, and then he was gone, his shadow self triggering a grenade built specifically for Alabaster. On a nearby roof, Lee turned to watch, managing to catch the look of stunned surprise on the pair of Empire villains, before the tinker-tech triggered and time itself shuddered to a stop. Lee watched for another few seconds, quietly ensuring Armsmaster was outside the radius of stopped time, before he was satisfied his mission here was complete. He withdrew, and blinked his way back across downtown, waiting for his next target.

The PRT was willing to provide. Within the hour, a call went out for reinforcements and Lee responded with enthusiasm. He appeared on the scene, taking advantage yet again of the numerous open rooftops overlooking downtown Brockton Bay to conceal himself. It was Triumph this time, fighting alongside a score of PRT agents, against a host of unpowered Empire members backed by Cricket and Stormtiger.

The amount of containment foam being wasted was truly staggering.

Cricket and the unpowered garbage would eventually fall to the ocean of foam, but Stormtiger was an issue. His aerokinesis would protect him and occasionally his allies, so while he stood, the fight would go on. The Protectorate hero seemed determined to fight him, but was utterly inept. Triumph's blasts of sound were reasonably powerful, but slow. He faltered against Stormtiger, who could match him blast for blast with ease, even while protecting himself from projectiles. Lee felt a sort of vague condescension towards the pair, for forgoing any form of protection in a combat situation. The hero was bad enough, wearing a skintight suit and shoulder pads that couldn't possibly be armored, but Stormtiger was the worst in the city, with his absurd lack of a shirt on a frame that was not at all bulletproof.

Lee had never encountered Stormtiger without allies surrounding him. It was the only reason the shirtless fool was still alive. In this case, his allies were far too busy to be of assistance.

Lee stood, and entered the fray. He bounced between roofs, with quick stops beside Stormtiger, leaving his shadow selves to tackle the aerokinetic to the ground. Triumph shouted something, which was immediately ignored, and his hasty blast of sound barely ruffled Lee's clones. The ABB enforcer continued his mission, dropping another three clones around the downed villain, each armed with knives and grenades. Stormtiger managed to release a panicked shock wave of pressure, a thunderclap that hurled his clones to the ground and reduced most to ash, but only one was needed.

The grenade turned concrete and flesh to glass, crystallizing the Empire cape in an instant, his arm forever stretched desperately towards the sky.

Lee left the battle, confident in a Protectorate victory and seeking new targets. The night was still young after all.

He listened patiently to his PRT scanner, disregarding the alarmed chatter that his interference had created. The Protectorate could think whatever they wanted, he knew that they would not move against him so long as they had a mutual enemy. The Empire, and revenge, seemed to be a much higher priority at the moment.

They seemed to have caught on to his hunting methods though, if the sudden radio silence was anything to go by. Lee shook his head in dissapointment. Without the constant raid updates, he was left with useless after-action reports, calling for pickups. He could not risk harming PRT agents by going after subdued Empire capes, no matter how tempted he might be. No, the scanner was pointless now. He would have to search manually.

"An independent cape just called for a wagon at Fulton and Jameson. A new hero, apparently. They claim to have Victor in custody."

Or that could happen. Lee could not feel incredulity, but he came very close. A new cape catching Victor of all people... strained belief. Still, it was an opportunity. Lee could not target captured capes in PRT custody, but if he got there first...

Lee teleported towards the docks.

Engaging an unknown parahuman was always dangerous. Lee would not intentionally target this new cape, though he would make no effort to spare them. If they became collateral damage in his mission, so be it. His priority would be to kill Victor as quickly as possible, while maintaining reasonable safety. The man was one of the few Empire capes who had Lee's respect. His power was weak, barely existent really, yet he had managed to fight the ABB assassin on even grounds multiple times. Granted, never while Lee carried grenades, but matching a teleporter in melee combat was no easy feat. It was a shame to end him while he could not fight back, but The Dragon commanded it.

Lee arrived via rooftop as usual, observing the aftermath of battle with a critical eye. Victor and a dozen unpowered gang members lay splayed across the asphalt, in front of an open warehouse. Crates of drugs and guns and everything in between were scattered across the ground, clearly knocked over in haste. Victor and his men were immobile, likely unconscioius, and restrained by... was that silk?

Lee resisted the urge to immediately attack. Without knowledge of the new hero's abilities, it was entirely possible for him to teleport directly into a trap. He had no fear if it came to a fight, but his discipline called for a cautious approach. He crept forward on the roof, scanning carefully about the warehouse in an attempt to find the missing independent. His patience was rewarded, as not one, but two capes exited the dark interior. The first, Lee noted with approval, was wearing a full body suit, clearly armored, covered in black carapace and a full face mask. Lee did not know what material it was made out of, but he would assume his blades would have minimal effect for safety. The second was clearly less cautious, wearing a simple red hoody and cargo pants. The hood was pulled up, and a black domino mask hid most of the cape's features, though she was clearly female, and- looking right at him!

Lee's instincts screamed and he blinked away, reappearing inside the second story of a nearby building, in time to hear the sound of calamitous thunder. He watched through the glass window, as his previous location shattered into powder, the roof and second story nearly vaporizing from some unseen force, rocketing out and away from the two capes.

Lee couldn't help but stop and admire the sheer power of the act.

Lung was mighty, beyond mighty, he was nearly a force of nature after a certain point, but he required time. When Lee fought him, contested his authority, his strength, he found that he simply could not exert the force necessary to kill The Dragon in one blow. Lung would always outlast him, growing ever stronger as he fought, burning hotter and brighter and with greater fury than Lee could have ever conjured.

It was the fire, in the end, that brought Lee to his knees, that bought his loyalty to The Dragon. Lung could not lay a hand on him, Lee was far too fast for that, but he could burn... everything. An all consuming torrent of fire that made the man untouchable, despite Lee's best efforts. He did not fear the flames, despite the agony they brought. They were merely an obstacle, but one that he would never overcome despite his efforts.

He never expected his past failures to save him now. The sound warned him, that familiar noise which triggered a reflexive teleport. The soft fwoosh that heralded the inferno. He was a fool to think himself safe, to let down his guard just because he had shifted locations, just because there was no line of sight. The room ignited, the air itself twisting into columns of flame, the walls, the floors, the debris scattered throughout the room, each thrummed with power before exploding outwards to consume all of creation. Lee managed to teleport just as his world became light.

He found himself on a roof, coughing, wheezing, frantically jumping again and again, until he was blocks away. His eyes ached, his outfit was charred, melted to his skin along with his mask, yet, with morbid curiosity, he turned around to look. He could see it, a miniature sun, a towering pillar of fire that roared proudly into the sky.

Then, in an instant, it was gone. Dismissed by its master like a rowdy servant.

In that instant, Lee rediscovered his fear.

Oni Lee, for the first time in years, fled not out of prudence, but terror.