The rain drummed steadily against the cracked asphalt of Brockton Bay, its rhythmic patter a soft backdrop to the tension crackling in the air. Low-hanging clouds shrouded the city in a thick, murky mist, weaving through the alleys and clinging to the shadows of derelict buildings.
Muichiro, clad in his dark cloak, stood on a rooftop with a view that extended far into the distance, a glimmer of purpose in his normally distracted eyes. Beside him, Obanai leaned against the crumbling wall, his serpent companion coiled tightly around his shoulders, flicking its tongue at the humid air.
"Do you think they'll fall for this?" Muichiro asked, his voice barely above a whisper, yet his gaze remained fixed on the street below.
Obanai chuckled softly, the sound low and serpentine. "Trust in the confusion they will have in a few minutes. They will fall for it." His eyes glinted beneath the shadow of his mask, a predatory look that matched the serpent's demeanor.
The target was two small gangs, the Vipers and the Ironbacks, who had squabbled over territory
for years without the notice of larger organizations like the E88 or ABB. The Master had discovered that beneath the grime of this neighborhood lay forgotten tunnels. These tunnels, once used as a mining site, and to transport goods, now housed treasure, artifacts and possibly even untouched resources that could be invaluable.
Things that would sell at a high price on the black market.
"We've made a fortune off worthless territories before," Muichiro mused, the mist swirling around him in response to his shifting emotions.
Obanai nodded in agreement. "And they'll think it's just another turf war. They won't suspect the mist. They'll fight each other to oblivion."
As the two observed, a flicker of movement caught Muichiro's attention. He raised his hand and concentrated, drawing the moisture from the air. The mist thickened around them, swirling and forming an indistinct figure that mirrored a member of the Ironbacks.
"Let's start the show," he said, a sly grin creeping onto his lips.
Below, the Ironbacks were gathered, laughing and pushing each other as they waited for a confrontation with the Vipers. It was then that Muichiro released the mist-formed illusion into their line of sight, a misty figure was now before them, taunting them to attack.
The response was immediate. The Ironbacks' laughter turned into shouts of confusion, fists raised as they lashed out at the phantom. They collided against each other, and the scent of sweat and rain mixed with the adrenaline of anticipation.
"Nice work," Obanai commented, adjusting his position to get a better view. He watched the chaos unfold with the eyes of a predator. One thug, a hulking brute from the Ironbacks, landed a punch squarely on a Viper's jaw, sending him sprawling to the ground. A cheer erupted from his gang, and the betting began among Obanai's division.
"I'm telling you, Johnson's going down first!" one of them exclaimed, grinning as he laid a handful of crumpled bills on the ground.
"Please, the guy's all muscle and no brain. I'd put my money on the smaller guy, the one with the bandana!" another chimed in, crossing his arms as he smirked at his comrades.
"Your money's gonna be mine, then," the first shouted back, laughter mixing with the crack of fists meeting flesh. As the fight escalated, Muichiro manipulated the mist further, ensuring that the illusions created just enough confusion to fuel the chaos. They watched with detached amusement as thugs from both sides threw punches, some stumbling under the weight of their bravado and the rain-slicked pavement.
"Just a little longer," Obanai murmured, a hint of excitement in his voice. "They're getting desperate. Perfect."
It wasn't long before a more serious injury was sustained, a thug from the Vipers clutching his side as he crumpled to the ground, prompting a scream from his companions. The air was thick with tension and the unmistakable scent of blood, mingling with the rain-soaked earth.
In absolute anger at their friend being seriously hurt one of the Vipers's pulled out a switchblade and charged, and just like that the fight escalated even more, Muichiro manipulated the mist further, ensuring that the illusions created just enough confusion to fuel the chaos. They watched with detached amusement as thugs from he fight continued until both gangs were thoroughly spent, some unable to rise, while others fled, terrified of what had just transpired.
"Looks like we have our clear opening," Obanai said, smirking. "Time for the cleanup crew."
As the last remnants of the brawl dwindled, the members of Obanai and Muichiro's divisions descended from their rooftop perch.
While Muichiro and Obanai stood back, allowing their members to work, they exchanged glances, a silent understanding passing between them.
The rain began to ease, the mist rising to obscure the bodies left behind. Muichiro felt a sense of muted satisfaction wash over him. Not because he had gotten rid of some gang, nor was it because he found it funny that the Ironbacks and Vipers wiped each other out in what some would assume would be a dramatic fashion if this was a movie. It was just because it was finally over and now the Master would be happy with the outcome.
"Welcome to your new home, girls and boys," Obanai called to the members, gesturing to the territory now under their watch. "Make sure you leave it cleaner than you found it. You'll be here for a while."
As they began to settle in, the members and the clean up crew cleared the debris and the mess from the house that led down into the tunnels, it would serve as a home for them for the time being while they were here.
Oni Lee surveyed the training room as he stepped in. The clean, polished floors, high ceilings, and subtle lighting seemed designed for perfect clarity—nothing in the space would hide a mistake or weakness. He wasn't here to make an impression or train. He had only come to check up on something Lung had thought he missed, some detail or lead. But somehow, he had found himself here, accepting the challenge of a sparring match with one of their members.
Across the room stood the strange girl—pink and green hair flowing in three braids, her stance poised but relaxed, one hand resting on the hilt of a practice katana, her gaze focused but warm. He didn't know her real name, and in a way, he didn't want to. Just another opponent, just another test.
Blaze and Resonance lounged against the wall, watching. Oni Lee had crossed paths with both before, briefly, their fiery spirit and unyielding stances making them difficult to forget, but he hadn't expected an audience for this. Their relaxed postures masked the intensity in their gazes.
Observing. Measuring.
The girl stepped forward, and he took a breath. She seemed light on her feet, but something in her posture, small shifts in her stance, a balance that seemed inhumanly perfect, warned him.
She moved, and Oni Lee was forced to react immediately.
He darted forward, closing the distance between them, his fist aimed in a sharp jab towards her centerline. Fast and precise. But she moved like water, slipping around his fist with a fluid motion that was almost a dance. In that moment, he realized her strength was not just in her movements but in her awareness. She knew where his strike would land before he even fully committed to it.
She's fast. No, she's anticipating. Predicting. The thought formed in his mind, and it made him tense for an instant. He hadn't expected this.
She twisted her body, turning his jab into an opening, and with an almost playful flick of her wrist, brought her practice sword toward his side. He spun back just in time, avoiding the hit by the width of a breath. His instincts screamed to teleport and make a clone, to strike from angles she wouldn't anticipate, but he forced himself to stay grounded. This was a test, he reminded himself. Only skill. No powers.
They exchanged a series of rapid blows, his fists weaving in precise arcs, seeking weak points in her defense. Every punch, every kick met the same fate. She slipped past his strikes, her own counterattacks barely brushing him as if reminding him of the dangers she held in reserve.
The longer they fought, the more he understood. She wasn't testing her strength against his; she was testing him, studying his reactions, his limits, and his determination. And in return, he found himself unable to read her intentions. Her movements were unpredictable, each step graceful but grounded in terrifying strength.
A part of him grew frustrated, the sense of control slipping through his fingers like sand. It's like she's a step ahead, no, she's making me move. She's deciding this fight. Oni Lee clenched his teeth, digging deeper, driving himself forward with sharper, more precise moves. If he couldn't control the tempo, he would make each strike lethal in intent, forcing her to react.
But even his focused assaults failed to push her off balance. She matched his intensity with a softness he couldn't understand. Each time he surged forward, she welcomed it, her fist meeting his own, her footwork slipping effortlessly around his strikes, as if dancing to a song only she could hear.
They broke apart briefly, breathing hard, muscles tense. Oni Lee was aware of the two exchanging glances from the sideline, but he forced himself not to look away from his opponent.
Why isn't she breaking a sweat?
He took a step back, adjusting his stance. She mirrored him, a smile flashing in her eyes, respect, maybe admiration. It irritated him. The demoness disguised as an angel was toying with him. He was sure of it now.
But then she lunged. This time, there was no playfulness. Her speed was blinding, her movements perfectly synchronized. He barely saw her coming, barely registered the flash of the practice sword as it sliced through the air toward him. He blocked it, but the force behind her strike rattled through his arm like a hammer blow. For all her grace, she had the strength of a dozen men, and she wasn't holding back.
His arm went numb, but he gritted his teeth, pushing through the pain. This isn't possible. She's stronger than anyone I've faced in a while. Yet, he was determined to hold his ground, even as each of her strikes sent shockwaves through his body. He realized that he was no longer trying to win. He was trying to hold on to his dignity while they spared, to endure the storm of her attacks for a little longer, it had only been thirty minutes after all.
She advanced relentlessly, her strikes gaining speed and force with each passing second. And then, as quickly as it began, she stopped. The tip of her practice sword hovered inches from his throat, she hadn't pulled it out until now, her gaze meeting his with an understanding he didn't expect.
The silence that followed was heavy. His fists were clenched, his breathing ragged. And yet, she looked as calm as if they had taken a stroll, only a faint sheen of sweat on her brow. He couldn't tell if it was pity in her eyes or something else.
The rain, he noticed, had slowed to a gentle patter against the training room windows. He exhaled, shoulders loosening slightly. He had been ready to go until he collapsed, but she had called the match, declared it with that look alone.
The fiery-haired man let out a booming laugh, clapping his hands together. "Well done! A spirited match!"
The sparkling disco ball stepped forward, offering him a flask and a wrapped rice ball. "Here," he said, his voice calm but amused. "You'll need this."
Oni Lee accepted it, feeling the weight of the battle still pulsing through his limbs. He looked back at the demoness, he would call her that since he didn't know her real name and her cape name was just so misleading, and tried to understand her strange kindness. She had left him with his pride, his dignity, despite proving her strength tenfold.
He watched her as she turned away, her hair swaying in time with her steps. She was unlike anyone he'd ever faced, and he wasn't sure if that was what unsettled him the most, or if it was the look of quiet respect she had given him before she walked away.