The sound of the pouring rain soothed him, a comfortable, familiar noise amidst the wailing sirens and panicked screams. He stretched in his chair, reaching down and kicking up the footrest, leaning back as far as his seat would allow, crossing one leg over the other. The stampede of footsteps was only matched in volume by the honking cars ground to a halt by the human tsunami flowing around them. Some had simply abandoned their vehicles in the middle of the road, further stirring the chaos and leaving dozens trapped in a hell of their own making, unable to reverse or push forward, simply frozen in time as hundreds ran past them, with no room to even exit their cars without bowling over the people in the crowd. Some did anyway, rushing out and tripping and falling over the dark mass of fleeing sheep. Many slipped and slid over the wet pavement, the weeping sky already claiming its first victims as fresh blood mingled with the water from fallen bodies and cracked skulls. He lifted his mask from his face, placing it with care onto the floor.
They were all racing towards salvation that would never come.
Perhaps a salvation of their souls, their bodies, but their lives would cease to be whether the beast killed them or not.
Brockton Bay was doomed. Doomed before Leviathan ever set his sights here, before him, before Bakuda, or even the Nine.
The world had been doomed since Nineteen-hundred-and-eighty-two when Scion first showed his face.
But Scion's direct action had killed the world, nor had the Endbringers.
Powers what had killed the world.
Power.
It was a slow, insidious killer. Not like the wanton destruction of an Endbringer, but more akin to a type of cancer.
At first, it seemed mild, ignorable, or perhaps even controllable.
But as with every cancer, it spread.
And it spread.
And soon, it was a wildfire, burning brighter and brighter each passing day, consuming more and more and more until its flame would inevitably burn itself out.
As with every cancer, it would eat its hosts away until nothing remained, and they then would perish together.
So many people with so many varied abilities and strengths and goals would eventually be too much to handle, and civilization, as it is now, would collapse.
The proof already existed in the Slaughterhouse 9.
A group dedicated to wasteful nihilism, blind worshippers of death spreading misery and destruction simply because they had the power to do so.
They had lasted over thirty years in their crusade against reality, and they would last another ten after that.
For thirty years, the PRT could not stomp them out, and in wake of their failures, thousands had died.
Jack Slash was the single constant, but one day, he too would perish and fade away into obscurity, and another would rise to take his place.
Such was the way of things.
Africa and South America were lawless, empty husks of humanity. There were no laws, no customs, no borders, no governments, nor heroes or villains. There were only have's, and have-nots. The weak, and the strong. Power had stripped billions of their independence, their value, and soon eventually their lives. Slavery, genocide, rape, and murder were simply the reality of life there.
Soon, it would spread out further, across Europe, Asia, and eventually America.
Then civilization would be doomed, the world reduced to petty fiefdoms and kingdoms where those with power ruled over the powerless, and war and hunger and strife would weaken humanity until the Endbringers finally snuffed it out.
The sheep outside killing each other to get to some semblance of safety would lose everything that made their lives worth living in the first place. Jobs, families, pets, and homes.
There was a certain dignity in simply accepting fate, and letting the chips fall where they may.
He understood this. Everything was temporary.
Kenta had been temporary, a weak and indecisive boy, led around by his betters aimlessly like a dog. Strong, but confused, dismayed with his hand in life, and desperate for some kind of change, but always relying on others to make that change for him.
Lung had replaced him, a man, with the power to force change, a man who never again would be ruled over, but rule himself.
Even himself, as powerful and as mighty as he was, could one day be washed away and forgotten faster than the rain pouring above his head.
His ABB had been temporary.
When he first came to America, it was on a crowded refuge ship filled with hundreds of starving Japanese, Chinese, and Indonesian citizens bound for Brockton Bay.
At first, he had been aimless, joining a small gang that had hit rock bottom, filled with junkies and whores, and simply did as he was told.
He was happy for a time. It was familiar in a way, akin to his time with Dachi. He could fuck whoever, drink whenever, and smoke whatever, anytime he pleased, and all he had to do was burn and maim a few people here and there.
It seemed to be everything Kenta had wanted.
But Lung wasn't satisfied. He could see all the opportunities his new world provided, the other gangs ripe for the picking, the rackets they could start, and the weakness of the heroes. But Boss never took it seriously, could never see past his next fuck or high, and always told him he was just fine where he was.
But Lung was not, and so he waited. He planned and planned and planned for just the right time and opportunity. When he thought it had come, he stormed Boss's place with the intent to kill him. There he found Boss already dead with two whores on each side, heroin needles scattered about. The others didn't know what to do, and the gang would have disintegrated overnight if not for a hasty vote, to decide who would dispose of the body and take over.
He won.
He swept away Kenta's last remnants that day, and from there, things changed.
They peddled drugs instead of smoking them, pimped whores instead of screwing them, and started harassing businesses for protection money. For the first time, the gang was looking up.
But it wasn't enough. The other gangs already had too much of a headstart, and every attempt to expand further was slapped down.
He needed a show of strength.
At first, he considered ambushing the other Asian gangs, but there were so many to choose from with so few capes that the message wouldn't be strong enough.
The Empire was too large and too strong for him to face alone, at least as he was now.
That left the PRT as his only option.
When he spoke his plan aloud, his men jeered and spat, called him a madman. He bore the insults stone-faced, knowing he would pay them back in turn.
He was vindicated in the Protectorate's defeat, and his detractors were silenced, leaving only the silent and the loyal remaining.
After, when he approached the White Tygers and demanded they bend the knee to their betters, they accepted, and he folded them into his organization.
In the two days since the PRT's humiliation at his hands, the Azn Bad Boys had almost tripled in size, and in high of his first great victory, he demanded the local Yakuza submit or be destroyed.
A mistake.
They fought, and while the outcome was inevitable before his might, the loss in men and material was nearly catastrophic.
He was much more careful from then on.
After, he consolidated, whipping the men in line, and making sure business went smoothly. The ABB was primarily Japanese in its infancy, and the massive influx of Chinese members created many internal issues that needed dealing with, but they quickly united in fear of his wrath.
For a year or so, he let things lie, amassing great wealth, and ensuring his reputation was never cast into doubt with the occasional spectacle, sparring with the PRT and Empire whenever his strength was called into question.
The hunger for more remained, but he restrained himself. Rushing things would get him nowhere. He would wait for the opportunity for expansion to show itself in its own time.
In two-thousand and nine, it graced him once more.
Purity, The Empire's biggest heavy hitter, split off from the gang and went to ground. Night and Fog had left as well and headed for Boston.
For the second time since his arrival and takeover, he went on the offensive, leading his men and burning down Empire-owned fronts, drug labs, and hideouts, seizing everything they could.
Only the Empire and PRT's direct co-operation stopped his advance, and they regained most of what they had lost.
But he had gotten enough out of it for his next move.
He sent envoys to every single Asian gang and group left in the city and called a meeting.
Out of six, four chose to attend.
There, he outlined his intentions to unite them all under a single banner.
His banner.
He had proven he was the strongest cape in the city, and that the ABB was the only gang in the city since the Marche willing and able to take on both the Empire and PRT, and win.
If they joined him, they would prosper.
Of the attendees, only one accepted annexation.
That was when he met Oni Lee.
A younger boy, hardly past his twenties, struggling with the burden of leadership. His men were small in number, but his power and their tenacity let them maintain a significant territory around the docks.
His first lieutenant.
With his help, the rest of the gangs were conquered and integrated, and Oni Lee was rewarded handsomely for his efforts, becoming his right hand. The boy was bright, quick with a knife and quicker with his wit. He was an apt choice to groom for leadership.
At first.
Then his deterioration began, and a clever, talkative friend transformed into a nearly mute, forgetful automaton. Less and less of him remained with each year. By now, there was nothing left but a name.
Even as lost as he was now, he was still loyal.
But by the time Lee's decline became obvious, the ABB's golden age had already begun.
The public was panicked at the new confederation, terrified that with his newly acquired men and territory, he would begin his war with the Empire anew.
But to their confusion, nothing happened.
There was constant debate about his motivations, about why he had not simply wiped the Empire and PRT from the map.
Many called him lazy, weak, or figured he was biding his time, waiting for the perfect opportune moment to strike when his enemies' backs were exposed.
That debate raged for years, and the city seemed perpetually on edge.
None could fathom he was merely content.
He controlled a third of the entire city. He had more money than one could spend in three lifetimes and had hundreds of men and women at his beck and call. He could do any drug, have any woman, kill any man he pleased, and had the fear and respect of the 300,000 strong population. What more could he want?
Why be an emperor when you already a lived like a king?
Nothing in life lasted forever, especially life itself, so he merely sat back and enjoyed the fruits of his labor.
It all went downhill after the Cornell bombing.
He had smelled a new opportunity, a second chance for a worthy successor.
There was an obvious level of instability in her, an ego too bloated, and a tendency to monologue and prater.
But there was potential as well. She had a versatile and dangerous power, a willingness to learn and get her hands dirty, and an insatiable drive to improve. He had ambushed her prison transport and made her an offer.
She accepted, and all seemed well. She was amenable to his lessons and had a sense of panache that reminded him of Lee in his early days. She had quickly inspired his confidence, and while her professional conduct remained in question, he was confident she could succeed given time.
He did not learn the depths of her mania until it was too late.
When ever dutiful Lee broke him out, he had never been more furious with someone in his life since the woman in the suit.
Half of the city in flames, the entire city's cape population aggrieved, dozens of men dead and wasted, andbombs implanted into useful soldiers.
He had nearly killed her outright once he met her again, but it wouldn't have mattered either way.
He could only accept the situation he was in, and do his best to get out of it.
But thanks to Skitter, he was brought low once more, and he figured that would have been the end of it.
Then Canary spoke up in the birdcage transport.
He did not think much of her at first. She was pitiable and pitiful in equal measure.
But her power was useful, and with her help and Bakuda's skill, they escaped as one.
For her assistance, he offered a place at his side, at least temporarily. She had earned it, but he did not expect her to take it.
But much to his surprise, she accepted.
They made their way from town to town, city to city, inching closer and closer to Brockton Bay with each day that passed. The girl had struggled harshly with the journey, and at several times he was tempted to abandon her. But she managed to persevere, and earned a measure of his respect.
Bakuda had only gotten more erratic. She talked of revenge, of paying the Undersiders and PRT back. She scrawled schematics wherever she could, even on her own body. She began to talk in her sleep. She would snap at him and the girl both, and glare at him when she thought he would not notice, as if debating something in her mind.
She could not survive to set foot in the city.
He understood this.
What surprised him was that the girl seemed to understand as well. They did not talk, they were not friends, and they never discussed any sort of plan with one another, but when they reached the city's outskirts and the time came, she played her part perfectly.
She had hardened her heart enough to do what needed to be done, even if she had broken down right after.
That earned her a new name and a safe place to stay while he contacted the remnants of his ABB.
It was a total loss. The Empire and the Merchants had absorbed nearly all his former territory, and Lee would be crippled for life. The ABB itself had dissolved, splintering off into dozens of gangs divided by district and ethnicity, fighting and killing each other for scraps.
Thunder rumbled above, and lightning struck out at random.
He was near.
The ABB was dead, and Brockton Bay's turn was next.
He frowned and faced the door. She should have been here by now.
As if on cue, the door was smashed open, and Yīng ran inside, turning around and slamming it shut, panting for breath.
Her clothes were soaked, and the feathers in her hair bristled like a cat's fur from the rain.
His face twisted in concern at the tears streaming down her face, and he didn't miss how she was cradling one hand to her chest. Was she injured?
As he was about to question her, she caught her breath and spoke up, voice wavering. "I went to the meeting, but you weren't there, so I went back out to look for you and.." She paused to heave a great sob, fresh tears pouring free. "God, all those people."
He scoffed, and she twisted her head to look at him in shock.
"Stop talking and catch your breath." He frowned. "I had thought you better than this."
She recoiled like he had struck her, gasping at his callousness. She opened her mouth, presumably to talk back, but he cut her off.
"There is nothing you or I could do to aid them. The ones outside now are dead men walking, as by now the shelters are shut tight. Even if they made it inside, their homes would be totaled, their livelihoods destroyed, and their families displaced. If you decide to spend your time weeping for those of ill fortune, you will do so for the rest of your days. All you can do is hope they die quickly or find their own safety."
She flinched again, but saw the truth of his words, and she slumped down against the door, head buried in her hands,
Eventually, she caught her breath, but he didn't miss her discreet glances towards his window. "At least I found you. Leviathan's almost here, we ne-"
"I am not going."
She went stock still, head tilting upward and to the side as she stared at him, like she could not comprehend his words. "What?"
"My presence would change nothing. I am not going to fight."
She stood up in a frenzy, anger and disappointment etched across her face.
"You're just going to sit here like a coward!?"
His fists clenched, and she wilted under his glare, but quickly rallied herself, fueled with indignation. "I can't believe you! An Endbringer is on the way, and you're not going out to fight?"
"There would be no point."
Yīng sputtered, mouth opening and closing in disbelief before she puffed her chest in defiance. "And if I go?"
The chair slid back three feet from the force of his legs slamming down atop the footrest as he stood. "You will not."
"Will you try and stop me?"
"If I must. I would not let you kill yourself for nothing."
"I won-"
"You will die."
He was shouting now, but he did not care. He stomped toward her until he was looming above her head at the door, fingers twitching as if to grab her.
He did not bother reigning in his temper. "You will die. You will not die a hero. You will not die a martyr. You will not be sacrificing your life to save someone else. You will not die slaying the monster. You will be crushed by the hundred-foot tsunami's. Your body will be shattered by falling debris. You will be shot by a fellow cape in the panicked frenzy to hit the beast, and you will not get so much as a glance before they adjust aim and resume shooting. You will drown in the flooded streets, alone and afraid. You will die from infection in the hospital the week after. Leviathan will tear you in half with a claw, or take off your head with an errant swipe of his tail. You will not be a second thought for him or your fellows. Both will move on like you never existed. You will die for nothing, and no one would remember your name except me and your fans. You would simply become another statistic."
His voice had dropped to nearly a whisper by the end, and his fury had ebbed away. Yīng was shaking now.
"You.." There was an audible swallow before she continued. "You don't know that."
They both know her protest was hollow.
His shoulders slumped, and he sat down beside her.
"I know this because I have seen it. I was at Kyushu."
She blinked in shock.
"When news of the beast's arrival came to me, I prepared for over an hour. In that hour, the entire city was nearly annihilated. When I thought I was ready, I joined the fray. At first, my attempts to help were negligible, but I was stubborn. Eventually, my stubbornness began to pay off. Every second another cape drew his attention was another moment he was not tearing me in half, and I was growing faster than I ever had before. In less than ten minutes, I was half his size. Eventually, he gave up on the other capes and focussed on me, but it was too late for him. I had already reached a critical point, and even as he was tearing me apart, I was growing stronger, larger, faster. The ground beneath our feet had long since been flooded, but by that point, it no longer mattered. Eventually, everyone but the Triumvirate had been washed away, and I was still growing yet larger and larger."
She was was enraptured, eyes glittering with awe.
"Eventually, the air grew thick with steam, and then even the Triumvirate finally backed off. Then it was just me and the beast. I was fighting an Endbringer alone, and I was winning. We fought for what must have been eight hours or more. I was bigger, stronger, and faster, and he simply couldn't hurt me. Cuts, slashes, scratches, crushing, nothing worked, I healed too quickly. He tried to run several times, but I did not let him. I felt like a god, stronger than the Triumumvirate, stronger than Scion."
He paused for a moment, letting the memories rush by once more before continuing.
"But eventually, behind the glee and the adrenaline and the rage, the thought occurred to me: If I was winning, why wasn't Leviathan dying? It was then that I looked at him, this time without the high of battle clouding my vision. And I saw that he was healing just as quickly as I was. He had no skin or muscle, and his blood had long since been boiled away. I had hurt him more than anyone else had before, and he wasn't even slowed. It was then I realized that our fight was meaningless. Neither of us could do anything to the other, and he would get away with killing another few million people. At that thought, my power left me, and the island sank under the waves. I would have drowned if not for Alexandria."
After a moment of quiet, Yīng spoke up again. "How come I never heard about this?"
"People do not like talking about Kyushu, especially if they were there. Any and all cameras were washed away with the island itself. The PRT knew however, and made me several offers. I declined them all."
He sighed.
"When you see a tornado coming toward you, what do you do? You run away and cower inside your basement since you cannot kill a tornado, or punch it and make it go away. You simply hunker down and let it pass you by. There is no such thing as a victory fighting one of them. At most, you will have a good day where only 1-in-4 die. Brockton Bay will be destroyed no matter what, and I will not die for this city. Neither should you. The Endbringers are forces of nature, fate. And even I cannot fight fate."
Silence filled the apartment, only broken by their breathing and the rain.
"Then don't fight him for the city, don't fight him to kill him, fight him for you."
He blinked.
"What?"
"You came back to rebuild your gang, right?"
A nod.
"Then fight him to prove a point! You got arrested and kicked out of the city. The people here aren't afraid of you anymore, in fact, most of them don't even know you're here in the first place. But if you go back out there and fight, you send a message, that Lung is back, that you can fight off one of the deadliest monsters on earth, and not only survive it, but surpass it. Everyone, not just Brockton Bay, but everyone will know your name. People all over the country, people not even on this continent will fear you. No one would ever mess with you again, and your former people would come back to you. Show the world that Lung isn't done yet!"
Silence again.
Yīng's face fell.
She blinked in surprise when he stood back up and walked over to his mask.
He picked it up and cradled it in his hands, running a finger along the engravings.
He strapped it back onto his face.
"You will sing to me."
"Wait, wh-"
He turned around, and he could feel the scales itching below his skin.
"You will sing to me. You will make me think I can win."
Flames flickered to life in the eyeholes of the mask.
"Then I will break him."