The tension in ABB territory had reached a boiling point.
The Undersiders had been wreaking havoc over the past two weeks. Vandalizing properties, robbing fronts, and leaving mocking tags on ABB-controlled walls like they were untouchable. It was a direct challenge, and Lung was not a man who tolerated disrespect.
The order came down with the weight of thunder:
"Crush them. Root to branch. No mercy."
Ashura received the command with a slow nod, swirling his drink as he sat behind his dark, lacquered desk — camera feeds flickering across his laptop. His half-mask was on the table beside him, the faint red sheen of its Asura smile catching the light.
He tapped a button on his burner phone.
"Send Hanzo to the main office. I want him briefed personally."
-----
Hanzo arrived fifteen minutes later, a quiet shadow in motion, dressed in his sharp combat coat, the dragon-sigil glinting under his collar. He bowed slightly in respect before stepping into the spacious office.
Ashura didn't look up from the monitor. "Your branch is in good hands?"
Hanzo nodded. "Mariko's taken over for the day. She's making rounds."
"Good." He gestured for him to approach. "I've got a job for you. Priority."
Hanzo's eyes narrowed. "Who's the target?"
Ashura slid a folder across the desk. It was thin — just a photo and a few typed pages.
On the cover: Ruby Dreams.
"A casino, just outside the city," Ashura explained. "Got hit by the Undersiders a week back. Lost big. They've got no solid protection left, and more importantly... they're scared."
Hanzo's eyes scanned the photo. It was upscale, discreet, and high-roller friendly. "You want it under ABB control?"
"Exactly. They're vulnerable. We offer protection. In return, they operate under our banner — taxes, intel, laundering, the usual. But if they hesitate..." He gave Hanzo a cold glance. "Remind them what happens to people who ignore lifelines."
Hanzo smirked. "Understood."
-----
Later that day, Ashura personally invited Bakuda to the main branch headquarters, her arrival escorted by two lieutenants and a pair of black SUVs. She wore her usual outfit, but her eyes scanned the compound with mild jealousy.
"Damn," she muttered. "Why the hell does your place look like a villain's penthouse, and I'm stuck in a bombed-out tech hole?"
Ashura smirked, saying nothing as he led her toward the back gate. They passed security checkpoints, low-level ABB foot soldiers watching silently as the pair moved through the shadows of the compound.
They came to a private storage yard near the shipping containers at the docks. A massive red one had already been pried open.
Inside: crates, machinery, wiring spools, deconstructed processors, salvaged Tinker-tech from half a dozen black-market deals—a wonderland of gear.
Bakuda's jaw dropped. "No way—"
"You've been working out of a scrap room. Unacceptable." He turned around and walked away, raising one hand casually as he spoke over his shoulder.
"Welcome to the ABB."
Bakuda stood in stunned silence before breaking into a gleeful squeal. She practically skipped into the container, muttering plans to herself already.
She barely noticed Ashura disappear into the misting rain, half-mask now back on as his cape swept behind him.
For the first time, she didn't just feel like Lung's pet project.
She felt like a lieutenant of the ABB.
-----
The dull clink of chips and low murmur of gamblers filled the air. The Ruby Dreams casino was still nursing its wounds — half the staff paranoid, the other half sleep-deprived. Tension clung to the walls like smoke.
Then Hanzo walked in.
He didn't speak. He didn't need to. Dressed in his field gear — black armored coat, red sigils hidden under his collar, twin tantos on his back — he strode toward the VIP management floor with unbroken focus.
"Sir, you can't go—"
One guard stepped into his path.
Hanzo's hand blurred.
The man dropped with a choking gasp, pressure point crushed. The second tried to draw a baton, only to find himself slammed into the casino carpet, disarmed, and out cold. The onlookers — patrons and staff alike — froze in silent awe.
Flickers of energy pulsed off Hanzo's frame, amber tendrils like heatwaves rising from his arms. A whisper of his ability — not full release, but enough to promise death if provoked.
From above, the Casino Manager, a tall man with graying hair and a wrinkled suit, came rushing down the steps, hands raised. "P-please! We're not looking for trouble!"
Hanzo turned, calm as ever.
"You've already had trouble," he said flatly. "We're here to ensure you never have it again."
He pulled a tablet from his coat and set it down on the bar counter. A digital contract glowed on the screen — the ABB crest marked in the corner like a seal.
Terms:
Full protection provided by ABB personnel.
One assigned cape on standby for high-risk nights.
40/60 split in earnings for security and laundering.
In exchange: no interference, no betrayal.
The Manager looked over the contract with shaking fingers. He'd seen what happened to businesses that said no.
He signed.
Hanzo took the tablet, nodded once, and left as silently as he arrived — a ghost of war.
-----
Ashura leaned back in his high-backed leather chair, sipping from a crystal glass, the muted glow of his monitors flickering over his half-masked face.
One screen showed Bakuda.
The young Tinker, full of energy and chaos, barked orders at ABB grunts as they began organizing and repacking supplies from the container he had gifted her. A van had been backed up to the container discreetly — less attention, fewer questions. As she rattled off instructions about capacitor arrays and high-frequency destabilizers, Ashura smirked slightly.
A handful of her men seemed intimidated, but she worked with ruthless enthusiasm. She was starting to understand her value, and more importantly, her place.
A soft knock. The door slid open.
Himiko stepped in, tablet in hand, hair pulled back in a loose braid. She wore her usual leather jacket, modified slightly to match the ABB colors.
"Hanzo just uploaded the signed agreement," she said, smiling as she passed the tablet to him. "Casino's ours."
Ashura read over the digital document, then tapped once to save it in their encrypted vault.
"Good work," he murmured.
She didn't need to say anything more — the look they shared was enough. Another foothold. Another piece in play.
-----
Ashura stood barefoot in the center of the darkened dojo. The lights above were low, casting long shadows across the polished wood floor.
With a slow exhale, he summoned glowing twin blades forming from red-black energy in each hand. They shimmered like molten obsidian, alive with crackling motion.
He moved.
Each strike flowed into the next, blade-to-blade transitions, one weapon vanishing as another appeared — scimitars, sabers, short daggers, nodachi. His cape ability allowed him to conjure and shape weapons instantly — and use them with near-supernatural skill.
It wasn't just training. It was art.
His body moved with the rhythm of a storm, his blades singing through the air. Every pivot, slash, and feint was honed from years of real combat — a fusion of modern martial technique and old-world slaughter.
At the entrance, Himiko stood silently, watching.
She didn't announce herself. She didn't interrupt. She knew better.
She simply observed — the fluidity, the precision, the pressure that radiated from each strike. He was beautiful and terrifying. And it reminded her why the PRT once called him a living weapon, why Lung had gone out of his way to recruit him, and why rumors still lingered of how he dismantled an entire Wards squad in a failed sting operation.
This was Asura.
Her boss.
And if war was coming with the Undersiders… she pitied them.