This fic is a slight AU. Leviathan hits Brockton bay several weeks earlier than in canon. Also, this chapter takes place simultaneously with the events of Chapter 3. I got a lot of criticism about chapter 3 because of a lack of a certain notable character. Hopefully, this chapter remedies that. Enjoy!

Beta read by: Name of Love

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-Lung-

"This is your final chance. Once I close this door, it's the birdcage for you."

Lung opened his eyes, having dozed off listening to the chirping of the birds. It was not his usual hobby, but one had to adapt when wholly immobilized.

"Get on with it," He snorted in amusement. The threat was lackluster as the man giving it.

The nameless PRT officer scowled. Teeth clenched, he glared angrily and for a moment, Lung thought he would be struck. He usually wouldn't bother with a common grunt, but he would not allow insults to go unanswered. But instead, the man slammed the van door shut before stomping off with a curse.

For a threat to be… well… threatening, a man needed more than just angry words. They needed reputation, something a pack-and-file PRT trooper undistinguishable from the rest lacked. The amateur couldn't even hide the desperation in his voice or the fear in his eyes.

"Hey, calm down. He's just one villain. Why are you so worked up?" Asked a muffled feminine voice from outside the van.

"That one villain drove off Leviathan singlehandedly in Kyushu," the man snapped.

"Seriously? I never read anything like that on his PHO page."

"We don't advertise the accomplishments of villains and by the time he scaled to drive back Leviathan, not many were around to see it," he explained. The male guard's voice grew fainter the further he moved until Lung could no longer hear the prattling of the insignificant.

With the annoyances gone, he once again closed his eyes and rested his ears to the singing of the feathered critters, only to be interrupted once more by an exasperated voice at his side.

"What the fuck was that? Why the hell didn't you take the offer?"

Lung sighed in annoyance at the brazen rudeness of his lieutenant. The birds were far better company than her.

If he wasn't bound with containment foam while locked away with a multitude of chains, he would have left her with a broken bone or two. Perhaps even a burn to teach her the consequences of disrespect.

Instead, he was forced to settle with a glare. Usually, she would not dare show such insolence, but his bindings had given her courage.

"That could've been our way out and you blew it!"

"Endbringers are natural disasters. There is no victory in fighting them, nor is there any reason to," he tersely replied. The fools thought that he had defeated Leviathan in Kyushu. That was no victory.

This city was done for. Whatever happened out there must have ended in a disaster. It was the only reason the PRT would be transporting them ahead of schedule without a parahuman escort rather than keeping them in prison.

While he could care less about the city, he would be lying if he said the destruction of his gang and the probable death of its members didn't bother him.

It did.

Far more than he would ever admit.

Bakuda growled in indignation. "Oh, I am surrounded by literal retards."

"Watch your tongue before I rip it out!" Lung snarled.

"Oh? And how will you do that from there? You didn't actually have to fight Leviathan. You could have just pretended to agree and broken us out once you were free!"

"Deceit is the hallmark of the weak. I have no need for it."

"Yet you lost twice to some teenage bitch," she mocked.

Lung lunged forward, snapping at the woman like a viper. His black eyes changed to a molten yellow as his pupils became that of a snake's. The air grew uncomfortably hot as his body began to glow with the flicker of orange flames. To his satisfaction, the wench flinched.

But his fury dissipated almost immediately as if it was an illusion.

He laughed. "And if I remember correctly, so have you."

Bakuda flushed as fear gave way to resentment and humiliation. "She was just lucky! Once I get us out of here, I'm going to kill that bitch, her friends, and their fucking dogs!"

But she would not.

Despite his little spiel about deceit, he had not been sincere.

The Protectorate and the PRT were in shambles due to the Endbringer attacking weeks ahead of schedule. This convoy was hastily put together, and whatever countermeasures they had prepared were premature.

He was confident in his ability to escape.

But most importantly, he had no intention of allowing his lieutenant to live past the next hour.

She had failed him miserably. Whatever kinship he had felt with her due to her mixed race was trivial to the catastrophe she had brought him.

Bakuda had proposed that he break her out after taking their deal. But even the revolving door known as the PRT was not that stupid. They would have kept him in bonds until there was a considerable distance between him and the prison convoy to thwart such a possible breakout.

By the time he was free, Bakuda would be long gone and safe from his claws.

A faint voice moaned from the end of the van.

"Oh look, the birdy is awake," Bakuda noted snidely.

"What?" The feathered woman groggily mumbled in response.

The bomb tinker rolled her eyes in annoyance. "Don't tell me you have a bird brain as well."

The singer, whose fame turned to infamy, stared at her bindings as if she couldn't understand why they were there. She then turned to look at him and Bakuda in disbelief. Her visage rapidly morphed into sadness and grief as if she were about to burst into tears.

"Ugh… Please don't. The last thing I need right now is waterworks. You better not-," Bakuda paused as she pondered. "Actually… Do cry. Cry as much as you can. I could really use the electrolytes to build some bombs. But try to collect the fluids in that little dent over here.

Canary sobbed as the tears began to flow. "I thought it was all a nightmare. I hoped it was just a dream and that I would be fine once I woke up."

"That potassium better be worth listening to your life story," Bakuda muttered. "Look, you obviously don't belong here, so why the hell are you here?"

The crying woman sniffled as she wiped away her tears. "My ex said he deserved half of my earnings even though he cheated and told me I would never be anything. I was so angry that I told him to fuck himself and he… fucked himself."

Bakuda laughed. "Okay, that's pretty funny. So, you have a master power huh? Anything else? I could use all the help I can get in breaking out."

"Break out? Is that a good idea?" Canary asked in wariness.

"Bitch, do not question my ideas. Your little pea brain can't possibly comprehend what I am capable of," seethed the tinker as her face morphed into a murderous rage. "And did I tell you to stop crying? Get those tears flowing before I give you another reason to cry about."

Canary reeled back in fear at the sudden change, futilely pressing herself to the corner to create distance from the mad bomber.

Suddenly, a cacophony of chittering and beating of wings echoed outside the van, interrupting whatever words that went unsaid as the chorus overwhelmed both the sounds of the rain and the engine.

Lung frowned, his body tensing at the strange development.

Birds relied on miniature air packets between their feathers to remain warm. Like a wet jacket, wet feathers were prone to causing chills and especially hypothermia in creatures with a low volume-to-surface area ratio such as birds.

To hear so many of them when they should be taking shelter during the heavy rain… This was no ordinary occurrence.

Now that he thought about it, hadn't the critters constantly been around his premises?

"Huh, looks like birdbrain here can control birds. Who would have thought?" Bakuda chuckled.

No… If it was Canary, their escort would have activated her collar by now.

As if on cue, the van accelerated, throwing the prisoners to the side, and only held back by their chains from the rapid change in velocity.

The prison convoy is under attack… But from whom?

He was not aware of any parahuman capable of controlling birds, meaning the attack was orchestrated by a third party. His stomach clenched…

Is it the Yangban?

Lung closed his eyes and concentrated whatever power he could muster on his hearing. But all he could hear was the sound-

With a deafening crash, a force slammed into the side of the van, sending it cartwheeling two… four… nine times over the road and into the sidewalk. The constant acceleration and deceleration sent anything loose flying in the air. The van came to a halt upon hitting something solid, most likely the wall of a building.

"Fuck…" Bakuda cursed. "How many times did I hit my head?"

Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

Not enough, considering she was still talking, thought Lung as the ringing in his ears faded. His power swelled at the thought of a possible threat, muscles tensing as his flames simmered to life. Thankfully the van had stopped upright, or they would have been dangling from their restraints.

"Do you think it's Lee?" Bakuda asked as she groaned.

She could certainly act stupid for someone who took so much pride in her intelligence. As a bomb tinker, he would have thought she would recognize the sound of an explosive… Or the lack of any.

This was not Oni Lee's work.

The panicked stomping of a dozen pairs of feet vibrated the floor as the PRT officers surrounded the van. Angry voices and commands filled the air as they prepared for combat. Even imprisoned in an enclosed space, Lung could smell the palpable tension and taste the fear lingering in the air.

Silence ensued as if the world had held its breath.

And the screams began.

Gunshots crackled in the air as entire magazines were emptied in seconds. But after each moment, there was one less active gun… and one less screaming voice. In their replacement came the smell of blood and shit, the scent becoming more potent the quieter the world became until nothing could be heard seconds later.

"Wha- what's going on?" Canary asked, her voice trembling with every syllable as she tightly gripped the fabric on her leg in fear. While the screams had faded, the silence was just as uncanny.

Bakuda, who often lacked common sense, was wise enough to keep quiet.

After a minute, the doors to the van opened, revealing the same PRT officer who had the gall to threaten him. Except for this time, he seemed far less angry and far more afraid.

Accompanying the man was a red-haired woman, the type he enjoyed taking to his bed and most likely the assailant that had attacked this convoy.

Without a word, she tilted her head in their direction, giving the PRT Officer a silent command. Without hesitation, the man moved to obey, almost in desperation as his hand trembled in fear. Lung would not have been surprised if he had shat himself right there. The man constantly glanced at his back as he worked to free his prisoners, as if afraid he would be stabbed in the back at any moment.

After an agonizing twenty minutes, made longer by the man's shaking, Lung was finally free.

"C-can I go now?"

The red-haired woman gazed at him with a gentle smile, the kind reserved only for angels. "Yes."

The nameless man sighed in relief as he let out a sobbing breath. "Oh, thank you, thank you so much, I pro-"

The man died as he had lived, nameless and forgotten. His body disappeared from head to hip in a vibrant fog of scarlet red. With a thud, the legs toppled to the ground.

"Lung, was it?" She calmly asked as if she had not murdered a man moments ago.

The man in question warily stared at the questioner as he cautiously stepped out of the van accompanied by his two fellow prisoners.

Bakuda whistled, gazing at her surroundings. "Damn."

Surrounding them was carnage.

Lung eyed the bodies and limbs that littered the floor as blood pooled with the rain. Their owners were killed in a variety of ways. Some were missing heads, and some had no legs. Some were cut in half from head to groin, while others were cut from the waist. A couple was just a puddle of blood, as if a hammer had mashed them to the ground, leaving behind nothing but their bloodied clothing. Lung showed nothing, not even a hint of fear or disgust.

In contrast, Canary turned green and rushed to the side to empty whatever remained in her stomach.

Bakuda scrunched her nose in disgust before turning to their rescuer. "No mask or suit? You're either suicidally brave or suicidally stupid."

The red-haired woman did not respond, much less turn her gaze and allowed the words to go ignored.

The bomb tinker snarled in anger, "Hey, I'm talk-."

Lung raised his hand, silencing her. Unlike in the van, the rest of her words died before they even reached her lips. While the woman's attire was strange in this world of supervillains and superheroes, it was not the time to address it.

Her lack of a mask however, was worrying. Memories of a similar unmasked woman wearing a fedora passed his mind. Those who did not need to hide were those who were not concerned about being seen. As for what that meant… He would soon find out.

"Thank you for releasing us. I am in your debt. May I ask who you are?" He asked, far politer than usual. Part of it was gratitude, and the other was caution. Just the mere sight of this woman sent his instincts screaming into overdrive. Over the years as a villain, he had learned to trust his sixth sense. It kept him alive until his power grew strong enough to bulldoze whatever stood in his way.

To his surprise, the woman replied in Japanese. "My name is Makima."

Now that he scrutinized her, he could make out some Asian features.

"Why is it that you are here Makima-san? Why have you helped me," he asked in the same language. He was not crazy enough to believe he was saved out of goodwill. But she had saved him the trouble of breaking out and for that, he would listen to what she had to say.

But she would die nonetheless if the Yangban sent her

Makima met his slit pupils with her yellow ringlets.

"Did your mother ever tell you the tale of the country and town mouse Mr. Lung?"

"What?" He asked, baffled by the unexpected question.

"Or did your father? If not, it doesn't matter. The town mouse chooses to risk danger for fulfillment and excitement. On the other hand, the country mouse lives a meager and poor life in exchange for peace."

Was she mocking him?

"Get to the point," he snapped, anger beginning to boil.

"Neither path is wrong. Both have their pros and cons… But what if there was a dog out to kill both?" She continued, ignoring his scaling fury. "To the town mouse, the dog is just one of many threats to its life. But to the country mouse? The peace that it treasured most has been shattered."

Makima moved closer, stepping over a corpse until their eyes were only a foot apart.

"You became a small-time gang leader ruling a tiny piece of a backwater city when you could have been so much more. You chose to live in the country when you will die just the same when the dogs called Endbringers come snapping at your heels. If you are going to die regardless, would it not be better to be of the town? It's laughable… endearing even. As if tucking yourself under the blanket will hide you from the monsters outside."

Lung struck with a fist covered in flames. His anger had reached a boiling point at this whore's nonsense. When his rage sang, his power answered. He could feel his bones twist, snapping and realigning as his muscles grew and tore to become something superior. The fiery fist flew at her face, intending to break it, just like the many women in his brothels.

But he stumbled, having hit nothing. Where his arm once was now but a stump wriggling flesh. The humanoid dragon barely had enough time to raise his remaining hand in defense as a leg crashed into his flank, snapping and shattering his arm before doing the same to every bone at his side.

With a grunt, he was sent careening through the air, tumbling through the road and grass as every landing carved away his flesh in a bloody mess. But his broken bones burned with a fire that expanded to his skin, spreading warmth throughout every muscle and dulling the pain that would have crippled any other man.

"Stand, Mr. Lung. It would not do for a dragon to die lying on the dirt."

Despite having been sent a hundred feet, the woman stood beside his head as if she had teleported, staring down at him with her amber-yellow eyes. While her lips wore a kind smile, he saw nothing but contempt.

That, more than anything, struck him to the core.

For Lung, every second was a constant challenge. His flames were always hungry, constantly seeking to devour, and only held back by his self-discipline. The slightest weakness would result in a scourge of ash and smoke.

Against this witch, he let it all go.

"I'll kill you… I'LL KILU YU!" He roared in rage as flames engulfed his body, rapidly burning away his decency. Explosive rage paved the way for an explosive escalation in power. In a second's worth of time, he had grown by a meter. He could feel the scales bursting from underneath his skin as his teeth turned into fangs. Bone penetrated his flesh as it grew from his spine, turning into nubs that would become wings, and his mouth became narrow and daggered, becoming the snout of a dragon.

His sudden transformation would have had even the hardiest of souls flinching, but the woman's eyes spoke of nothing but fascination.

Instead of standing, he fell to his fours and lunged, teeth snapping at her throat but received nothing but an elbow through the nose for the trouble. His shattered nasal bone plunged deeply into his brain, and for a moment, he blacked out.

He awakened just in time to see a fist shooting toward his right shoulder.

If this punch was anything like her last kick, blocking was impossible as he was now. When force met force, the weaker would be defeated. But no amount of power could cut the fluidity of water.

Lung pivoted around his dominant foot and turned so that his body's line was perpendicular to his opponent's. As he twisted, he lashed with an arm of his own, briefly locking his forearm with that of the woman's before pushing to the side and deflecting the punch.

"Oh?" Makima mused in surprise. "It seems you have some skill, after all."

"You're daed bitsch." At ten feet in height, he towered over her, casting a vast looming shadow that enveloped her lithe form. He scrutinized her visage, searching for any signs of fear, whether it was the trembling of the lips or pallor in her complexion. But all he could see were her eyes that shined as brightly as any flame in the darkness.

Adopting a boxer's guard, he feinted right before hooking a left at her temple.

Unbothered by his ruse, she raised both arms in a cross-arm block that stopped his punch dead in its tracks. She grabbed his arm and twisted it painfully to the side so that his elbow faced the sky. With her free arm, Makima struck down in a hammer strike at the elbow, intending to shatter it at the joint.

But before her strike could land, a pale blue flower budded in the palm of his immobilized arm. It was a small miserable flame that quickly bloomed into a massive inferno, submerging both within the configuration. The blaze was scorching enough to boil stone, but it was just a comfortable warmth to his skin. When the heat finally died, there was nothing but smoke and steam.

As he opened his mouth to gloat, a leg too fast for his vision to track sliced through his own, cutting through them like a blade. Even as he was brought down, a fist slammed down onto his cheek, shattering his teeth and scale as the other side of his face pounded into the dirt.

Coughing, Lung spat out his broken, and bloodied fangs as his regeneration immediately replaced what was lost.

But despite having face-planted into the ground, he laughed.

Her damnable smile was finally gone.

Makima frowned as she closely examined the singed corners of her suit. "You burned my cuffs."

Lung froze mid-laughter in disbelief.

You burned my cuffs?

I burned your fucking cuffs?!

He was Lung, the Dragon of Kyushu. He had fought the entire Brockton Bay Protectorate and had won. He had fought Leviathan singlehandedly and survived.

That was whom she was fighting…

Yet she was worried about her FUCKING CLOTHES?!??

His newly grown teeth cracked as he clenched his jaw in rage. Flames burning white in an almost mad frenzy, he stood to his feet, growing taller by the feet as he did so. Silver scales that had only covered his limbs now burst from every inch of his body like a blossoming field as he became more beast than man. Something alien replaced the face as his gait and stance were filled with a savagery that even the most bestial of animals could not match, a brutality that inspired terror.

But the woman's frown had melted away and all he saw upon her face was amusement.

Eyes red with rage, he charged, and the dance of Beauty and the Beast began. The beauty was nimble, and the beast was slow. She flew across the floor while he stumbled on his feet. His flesh was stripped from the bone, and his marrow turned to paste as he missed his steps while she landed hers. Despite his apocalyptic anger, the beast roared a deep laughter that could be heard for miles on end. With every tap, he became stronger. With every twirl, he was faster.

Within minutes, Lung stood twenty feet tall and brimming with power. The same power that had simultaneously broken the Protectorate and the Empire.

The Dragon crouched, bending his knees as he positioned his claws behind him. As he leaped, an inferno burst from both palms, preparing to accelerate himself like a rocket at speeds faster than sound.

There was no need for claws to tear.

There was no need for fangs to bite or fire to set aflame.

His mass and momentum would be more than enough to flatten her.

Makima raised her palm.

Lung broke.

Far faster than his regeneration could heal, his eyes were crushed, his wings snapped, his limbs twisted, his organs pulped, his spine bent, and his flesh shredded. When he cried out in agony, only blood and viscera flowed from his gullet in a soundless scream.

In moments, the Dragon, once tall and mighty, was a sad sack of meat and bone trembling in the gusts.

"I had pegged you for a country mouse, but you are not even that, are you? You played the big fish in a small pond but got eaten by sardines," she laughed. "All that effort and you end up as… This..."

Memories flashed across his mind.

She tore through them, every movement precisely calculated to disable, to crush, blind, stun and stagger. They were driven to stumble into one another, their weapons knocked from their hands. She wasn't any faster than any of them, not a martial artist, though there was a degree of elegance to what she did. No movements wasted.

He could not move, for his muscles were torn.

He could not see, for he had no eyes.

He was dying despite his regeneration. Only his hearing remained untouched, left alone so that he could hear her mockery. This was a terrible time and place to be lost in memories. But he could not help but remember.

The fedoraed woman who had torn apart Daichi's gang.

The one who haunted him even now in his dreams.

His Nightmare.

He could feel the same helplessness he had felt back then. Defenseless… Powerless…

Was that not why he had stayed in Brockton Bay? Making himself the King of a downtrodden, worthless, and unwanted part of the city that no one would want? So that he would never have to taste that bitter sensation of defeat?

Then what the fuck had he been doing?

He had lost, not once, but twice. By the same slip of a girl and her sad pack of thieves, leaving a gaping wound in his pride that his power could never heal regardless of whether he avenged himself.

And he was on the brink of losing a third time.

He was fucking tired of it.

He was tired of running, having no power, and being defeated.

Never again, Lung swore.

The world knew light.

In a brilliance that could blot out the stars, he shined.

In a radiance that could outshine the sun, he burned.

From the sweltering inferno stood a monster taller than any Endbringer. Silver scales glinted as they rippled in a wave as his muscles flexed with power. Four wings, bat-like in nature, unlike the feathered ones of the Simurgh, extended from his back like the four arms from his torso.

Never had he felt such strength. What he had in Kyushu was paltry compared to this.

Lung was invincible. He was an Endbringer. No… He could kill Endbringers.

But for now, he would satisfy himself by killing that bitch.

He breathed, intaking the air that served as the fuel for the conflagration that burned within.

With a roar, hot white flames so dense that they resembled plasma burst from his gullet, burning and incinerating every atom within a hundred-foot radius. Stone became gas as his flames rocketed to the red-haired woman, intent on doing the same to her flesh.

She did not attempt to dodge.

Calmly staring at the incoming flames, she raised her right hand, cupped underneath by her left, and pointed a finger.

"Bang."

The flames vanished, and so did his body.

Lung tumbled to the ground, a bodiless head that rolled like a leaf in the wind. He tried to move, but he had no limbs. He tried to speak, but he had no lungs.

Even when he was imprisoned by the CUI, even when he was losing against that bug girl, he had never once lost certainty in his eventual victory. But for the first time in decades since he had faced Leviathan, a thought flashed across his mind.

I cannot win.

With that realization, his will to fight disappeared, and with it, his power.

While he healed, his skin was no longer scales that could withstand bullets, his nails were no longer talons that could bisect a man, and he was no longer a behemoth that towered over Endbringers.

He was just a naked man.

Kenta fled.

As fast as he could even as his bare feet were torn to shreds from the jagged rocks underneath. Even as he stumbled and fell, gashing his calves and arms, all he could think about was getting away from that freak of nature.

That Endbringer. There was no point fighting what could not be defeated.

A hand grabbed him by the hair.

And his head was shoved into the filthy waters of a flooded street.

Kenta struggled all he could. He kicked, punched, and was ashamed to say even begged.

But there was no mercy.

When his eyes darkened and his movements weakened, the hand dragged him out, leaving him heaving and huffing greedily for air.

"Why…" He gasped, his voice clattering with his teeth. "Why do this to me? Did I hurt you? Kill your family? Just why?"

The Endbringer chuckled. "Nothing like that. Before today, I didn't even know you existed."

"Then why?!" He asked, voice rising into a crescendo in desperation.

"Why you ask? Well… It's nothing complicated. I just enjoy killing the country mouse."

The fedoraed woman planted one hand on the back of his head as he winced from the blow, then pushed him face-first into the ground. Kenta tried to rise, but she stepped on the back of his head, driving him into the brick a second time, hard. The weight of the bodyguard was on his head, holding him there, suffocating.

Once again, his face was shoved back into the water as he squirmed, suffocating.

"The town mouse risks death for contentment. Killing someone like that isn't satisfying, his life is but a secondary concern," calmly continued the Endbringer in a manner that was incongruous with her action. "But to a country mouse, there is nothing more valuable."

"Taking away that feeling of peace is… calming."

Daichi, dead, suffocated, eyes bulging. Ren lay there, eyes rolled up into his skull, his nose rammed into his brain. Hisoka, suffocated on power, as Kenta almost had. Arata, gasping for air he couldn't seem to pull into his lungs. Ryo's head had a dent in it. Jirou's airways had been blocked. Both Takeo and Shuji lay dead with no apparent wounds.

For something like that? He was going to die because of something like that?!

As his strength left him, he struggled as black spots formed in his eyes.

He didn't want to die. Not like this. Not like them.

His mind lost reason, and terror engulfed his thoughts as he fell into a complete panic. He called upon his power, even knowing it would be a useless endeavor. But no flame answered his call and no strength embraced his body. His power would not be beckoned by someone who had no wish to fight.

As the fear solidified into a physical construct that sickened and gnawed at his insides, he puked. Thrashing, he struggled against the hand keeping him down, not to fight but to escape.

As the air keeping him alive ran out, his flails became a whimper, and the pain in his lungs was the only thing keeping him conscious. But even that faded as death approached.

Kenta, the man who sought to escape defeat, having never pursued victory, die-

-The two entities danced, communicating as they moved, folding and expanding realities on a whim. Revealing two worlds and from there, an infinite plane of kaleidoscopic stars. They sang, in thoughts and ideas through mediums he could not comprehend-

Trajectory

Alignment

Agree- CONTROL

The Endbringer reeled back as if struck, releasing hold of his hair as her eyes glazed and dilated as if staring at something impossibly far.

"Marvelous," she gasped, her amber pupils shining in wonder.

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