ung merely huffed in response, his eyes sharp as steel. Without a word, he shoved Enji aside, making his way to the back seat of the limo. His cold, dismissive attitude was typical, but there was something off tonight. Normally, this would terrify Enji, but he wasn't feeling the same dread. Not today. Today, he had the odd sense that Lung wouldn't incinerate him.
He quickly scrambled into the driver's seat, his heart still racing.
"Drive," Lung growled from the back, his voice gravelly as ever. "Dinner. Now."
Enji swallowed and started the engine, pulling out onto the street. As the limo cruised toward The Golden Feast, he couldn't shake the creeping sense that something was different. Lung wasn't acting like himself lately. The man who was always drinking, always indulging in his vices, had... stopped. He hadn't touched a drop in days. No wild parties, no reckless behavior.
As Enji's thoughts swirled, he dared to glance in the rearview mirror, catching a glimpse of Lung staring out the window, silent, brooding.
Something had changed, and Enji didn't know if that was a good thing—or the calm before the storm.
Enji had long grown used to Lung's excessive nature, to the way the man indulged in his every whim, especially when it came to women. It had become routine, to the point where Enji could anticipate each encounter—the way women would slip into the backseat of the limo as he drove, performing their duties as if the vehicle were an extension of Lung's twisted empire. Enji had never approved of it, but then again, his approval wasn't required.
But tonight was different. Tonight, there were no women, no bottles of expensive liquor on hand. Lung sat in the back, silent and composed, and it unnerved Enji. He knew Lung as a man of excess, volatile on the best of days, and this uncharacteristic restraint made Enji's skin crawl.
When they pulled up to The Golden Feast, Lung's usual haunt, Enji saw the familiar lineup of goons awaiting their boss. They stood in two perfectly parallel lines, heads bowed low, reverent as ever. Their respect bordered on fear, and for good reason. Lung ruled with an iron fist, his temper as deadly as his reputation.
Enji got out to open the door for Lung.
Lung stepped out without a word, his heavy, deliberate steps echoing in the quiet night air. He walked past his men, who dared not lift their eyes, their reverence bordering on worship.
Enji returned in the driver's seat. His job was to wait, to drive wherever Lung ordered next. Yet tonight, that familiar role felt different. There was an unease gnawing at him, a tension that had him gripping the steering wheel a little tighter. Something about Lung's behavior tonight was off, and the unknown of what was happening inside the club made Enji's nerves hum with dread.
Part 1
January 16, 2011.
I'd be lying if I said I wasn't nervous. You wouldn't expect reincarnation, let alone reincarnation as the most violent man Brockton Bay had to offer. Lung, the dragon, the boss of ABB. I had to be honest with myself—I knew next to nothing about this Wormverse, except that it was depressing and tragic as hell. I'd skimmed a few fanfics here and there, enough to give me some context, but not enough to turn this into any sort of advantage. In a word, my meta-knowledge was rusty.
So who was Lung, really? He was a recurring villain in Worm, and more often than not, the cannon fodder of most fanfics out there. Violent. Unlikable. A hedonistic bastard. And now…he was me.
The owner of The Golden Feast came running up, his face plastered with an insincere smile, flattery dripping from every word as he tried to keep pace with my long strides. I barely spared him a glance, my mind preoccupied with a thousand questions. What was I supposed to do? Act like the brutal tyrant Lung had always been? Or try to change things, alter this narrative I barely understood?
I felt the suit tight against my skin, unnatural for Lung, who typically wore as little as possible to showcase his dragon tattoos. But today, I needed something different, something to ground me in this strange reality. The silence from my subordinates, the deferential bows—they unnerved me in a way they never would have bothered the old Lung. I could feel their fear, almost taste it in the air, but it didn't give me the same rush I imagined it used to. In fact, it just made me uncomfortable.
I entered The Golden Feast, the familiar opulence assaulting my senses. The heavy scent of incense, the low murmur of business deals and whispered secrets. This place had always been Lung's playground, a reflection of his greed, lust, and violent excess. And now it was mine. The weight of that realization hit me harder than I wanted to admit.
I kept walking, my eyes scanning the room, my thoughts a chaotic mess. In the back of my mind, I knew I had to play this right. Lung's reputation was everything—without it, I'd be torn apart by enemies and so-called allies alike. But the problem was, I wasn't Lung. Not really.
I could feel the dragon stirring within, the raw power simmering just beneath the surface. It was familiar, in a way, but also frightening. Because I knew, deep down, that I wasn't in control. Not yet.
The owner of The Golden Feast led me through the dimly lit hallways to a VIP room, his hands clasped nervously as he walked ahead. I noticed a few men trailing behind me, clearly higher-ups in the organization. Their stiff postures and tense expressions told me they considered it a privilege to eat with the boss, but it only added to my growing unease.
When the owner pushed the door open, I scanned the room. It was lavish, decked out in golden hues and rich fabrics, with a dining table that looked fit for royalty. The table was laid out with a decadent feast, enough to satisfy any of Lung's indulgences. I headed for the most important spot, a seiza cushion near the head of the table, and lowered myself onto it, my legs folded under me in a kneeling position.
That's when it hit me—this wasn't right. I am Lung. This formal seating felt all wrong.
My subordinates were standing there, stiff and silent, waiting for my next move. Their gazes were a mix of fear and anticipation, and it suddenly dawned on me that they were waiting for permission to sit. Lung had trained them well—too well, perhaps.
Trying to regain some semblance of control, I shifted my posture, crossing my legs casually instead. "Sit," I said, my voice steady but lacking the natural menace I knew they expected.
There was a collective sigh of relief as they moved into position, sitting down in rows on either side of me. The tension in the room remained thick, though, and I could feel their eyes on me, waiting for some sign of the Lung they knew.
As I stared at the food laid out before me, I realized I wasn't just playing a role. I was walking a dangerous line between who I was now and who I was supposed to be. And as much as I wanted to relax, I knew that even the smallest mistake could be the end of me.
But then again… I was Lung. I had powers—Lung's powers—and there was no way I'd be easily dethroned, not with the raw strength coursing through me. I could feel it, bubbling beneath the surface like molten lava. The dragon inside me, always simmering, always ready to explode at the slightest provocation. As unsettling as this new reality was, I couldn't afford to appear weak. I had to lean into this role. Play it right. Otherwise, I'd be swallowed whole by the world I barely understood.
The spread before me was luxurious, as expected. There was tempura, the batter fried to a golden crisp, each piece arranged with precision. Fine noodles glistened in a delicate broth, their aroma warm and inviting. Bowls of miso soup steamed gently, the scent of seaweed and tofu filling the room. Everything was meticulously prepared, fit for a man like Lung, a man who commanded respect through fear and raw power.
I picked up my chopsticks, my movements slow and deliberate, trying to channel Lung's sense of entitlement. I could feel the weight of their gazes, my subordinates watching my every move, silently analyzing whether I'd changed, whether this was still the Lung they feared. I wasn't. But they didn't know that, and as long as I kept the facade, maybe they never would.
I took a bite of the tempura, letting the crunch of it fill the silence. The flavors were rich and decadent, but it tasted almost hollow to me. This life, Lung's life, was one of indulgence and excess—yet here I was, trying to navigate a role I never wanted, a life that didn't feel like mine. And even though the food was exquisite, it left a strange bitterness on my tongue.
Still, I had to keep going. The room was silent, save for the faint clinking of utensils as my subordinates followed suit. Each man ate with careful precision as if their very existence was dependent on staying in my good graces. I could feel the tension still thick in the air, even though they were seated. It reminded me that power wasn't just in strength—it was in perception. And right now, I had to be Lung, fully and without hesitation.
Slowly, women in risqué clothes began to enter the room, their movements deliberate, almost predatory. Two of them stood over the rest— they were stunning, the kind of beauty that turned heads wherever they went— dark hair, stacked, and obviously of oriental descent.
They made their way toward me, one pouring sake into a glass with practiced grace, while the other leaned in far too close, her hands gliding over me in sensitive places, teasing in a way that was probably exactly how Lung liked it.
Around the room, I noticed more women approaching my men, weaving through the tables as they served food and draped themselves over their chosen targets, their presence clearly meant to please. Some of my subordinates barely acknowledged them, others seemed more interested, but they all kept a careful eye on me, trying to gauge my reaction.
In my head, I was screaming. The disgust, the realization of how much of a savage Lung had been—it was all crashing down on me at once. This wasn't just a lifestyle. It was a culture of depravity, and I was expected to embrace it, to revel in it. But I couldn't. I wasn't Lung.
I dropped my utensils with a sharp clatter, my chopsticks hitting the lacquered table with enough force to echo through the room. The sound felt like a gunshot in the sudden silence. All eyes snapped to me. The women froze... the air thickening with tension.
Without thinking, I slammed my palm on the table, hard. The plates rattled, the sake bottle nearly tipping over. There was a chilling quiet in the room, the kind that stretched out and made every breath feel louder than it should.
I glared at the women closest to me, my voice colder than I expected when I finally spoke. "Enough."
They hesitated, their confusion clear. This wasn't the response they were used to from Lung. One of them dared to reach for me again as if thinking this was part of some twisted game.
I snapped.
"I said, enough!" My voice boomed, the dragon inside me flaring. I could feel my skin heat up, and for a moment, I wondered if my anger would trigger a transformation. The dragon was always there, lurking just beneath the surface, eager for a fight.
The woman backed away, her eyes wide with fear. The others followed suit, retreating to the edges of the room. My men shifted nervously, glancing at each other, unsure of what was happening. They were used to Lung's indulgence, his approval of this debauchery. But I wasn't Lung, and I didn't need to play his game.
"OUTSIDE!" I demanded, my voice sharp and filled with authority. The words echoed through the room, but the women and my men still stared at me like they couldn't comprehend what I'd just said. My patience snapped, and I repeated myself, louder this time.
"OUTSIDE!"
Finally, they started moving, the women scrambling to the door, while my subordinates followed suit, glancing nervously at each other. Their confusion was palpable, and I could see them questioning my motives, wondering why I wasn't indulging in the hedonistic feast laid out before me. Once the room was cleared, I sat back down and clenched my fists, breathing heavily.
I needed time to think. I couldn't just back off from this position of power, not without consequences. That would be both stupid and highly irresponsible. If I made the wrong move, I knew I'd be torn apart, either by Lung's enemies or by the people who followed him. But at the same time, I couldn't allow this depravity to continue unchecked. There had to be a balance, a way to assert myself without embracing the worst of Lung's nature.
I could feel the dragon within me stirring, restless, feeding off my frustration. My fists trembled, and before I knew it, I lashed out at the table, slamming my hand down hard enough to shatter a plate. Flames erupted from my skin, the heat intense and uncontrollable. The surge of power was overwhelming, and I found myself throwing a full-blown tantrum, like a child unable to contain their anger.
The furniture around me burst into flames, the edges of the luxurious curtains catching fire, and I barely noticed as my suit began to smolder. In seconds, I was topless, my clothes reduced to cinders. I stood there, breathing heavily, flames licking the air around me, but not enough to bring the whole building down—just enough to make my point.
The fire reflected in the scattered shards of glass and porcelain was casting an eerie glow across the room. The destruction felt satisfying, but it wasn't enough. I hadn't solved anything. I was just another tyrant throwing a fit, and the people outside—the men who feared me and the women who catered to Lung's every whim—they were all part of a system I didn't want to perpetuate.
But this was the reality I'd been thrown into, and I had to figure out how to navigate it. I couldn't let myself lose control like that again. I couldn't afford to be the Lung they expected, nor could I afford to be weak. This balance, this tightrope I was walking, was going to determine everything.
"Fuck… I hate my life…"Last edited: Sep 18, 2024725AlfirSep 15, 2024View discussionThreadmarks 2 Lung's Been Weird II View contentAlfirSep 16, 2024#16Oni Lee
Oni Lee arrived at The Golden Feast a little later than usual, his expression masked by the ever-present Oni mask that hid his face. He had just returned from one of his errands, taking care of a certain businessman who had conveniently "forgotten" to pay his protection fees. Normally, a job like this would've been handed to lower-ranking ABB members. But this businessman was high-profile, someone too important to leave to just anyone. So, Oni Lee handled it personally, making sure the message was delivered—permanently.
He entered the building, the familiar scent of incense and lavish excess assaulting his senses. Despite the opulence around him, his mind was sharp and focused.
It wasn't long before he noticed something was off. The usual activity was subdued. Whispers of nervous conversation filled the air, and many of the goons were gathered outside the VIP room, their expressions tense.
"Where's Lung?" Oni Lee asked, his voice low and calm, though it carried an undertone of authority. He didn't need to speak loudly for the men to hear the weight in his words.
One of the men, hesitant but obedient, stepped forward. "Boss threw a fit… walked away. Something about the women and—" he trailed off, unsure how to phrase the rest, his eyes darting between Oni Lee and the others.
Oni Lee's gaze swept over the group. They were looking at him for guidance, for answers.
Normally, they wouldn't have questioned Lung's actions, but tonight was different. The mood was heavy, almost suffocating. It was clear they were uncertain of what to do next.
The assassin said nothing at first. He stood there. His hands rested at his sides, unmoving, unreadable.
"Stay here," Oni Lee instructed, his tone clipped, giving nothing away. "I'll find him."
Without waiting for a response, he turned and moved toward the hallway leading out of the VIP section. His footsteps were quiet and deliberate. He didn't need to ask any more questions. Lung's temper was infamous, but this?
The cold night air hit him as he exited the building, scanning the dimly lit streets. His instincts were sharp, honed by years of working in the shadows. It didn't take long for him to find Lung—standing alone by the small pond adjacent to the Golden Feast, his shirt scorched, his chest bare, flames still dancing around his fingers. Lung's back was to Oni Lee, but the air around him was thick with barely contained fury.
Oni Lee approached cautiously, his body language neutral, though always prepared for violence. "Boss," he said quietly, stopping a few feet away.
Lung didn't turn immediately, his broad shoulders tense, the faint glow of embers on his skin still visible. Finally, without looking back, he growled, "What do you want, Lee?"
Oni Lee hesitated for a moment, choosing his words carefully. "…Nothing."
Oni Lee was a monster. Not by choice, but by circumstance—a product of violence and bloodshed. He was a weapon in Lung's vast arsenal. He functioned on instinct, driven by impulses that weren't entirely his own, but dictated by the fragmented memories left after years of using his powers.
Each time he teleported and each time he created a duplicate, a piece of him would be lost. Small fragments of who he had been chipped away until only this hollow, violent shell remained.
Choice. Free Will. They were difficult for him.
But… he had chosen Lung. Of all the choices he could have made, that one was deliberate.
Lung had been the last anchor to a life Oni Lee barely remembered. A figure of authority, power, and ruthlessness—everything Oni Lee respected and understood. Loyalty was all that was left, and he clung to it with an intensity that defied reason. Serving Lung was the only constant, a purpose that kept him from spiraling into total oblivion.
As Oni Lee stood by the pond, watching Lung's back as the man's rage simmered just beneath the surface, he felt no fear. He had seen Lung in every state imaginable—raging, burning, tearing apart enemies without hesitation. Tonight was no different, yet something subtle had shifted. Oni Lee couldn't put his finger on it, but the tension in the air wasn't just Lung's typical anger. It was something deeper, more personal.
The night sky reflected on the still water of the pond, casting faint ripples as the occasional breeze drifted by. It was peaceful in a way that felt alien to both of them—two monsters standing in the quiet, surrounded by tranquility neither could appreciate.
Oni Lee didn't enjoy violence. It was simply part of him, ingrained in his existence. He functioned and thrived on it, but that didn't make it any easier. Not that he knew or cared. His perception of reality had been warped long ago, memories eroded until only the present mattered. And yet, despite this, there were still things he remembered about Lung. Things that connected them as more than just a boss and his enforcer.
In this particular time of the day, every month, Lung would toast a glass of sake for his mother. Oni Lee knew this because he had stood by Lung's side during countless such moments. It was a ritual of sorts, one Lung never spoke about but always observed. No matter how brutal or monstrous they had become, there were traces of humanity left in them—small, fleeting things that could never fully be erased.
That was why Oni Lee said nothing now. He simply stood there, waiting, watching the flames flicker on Lung's fingertips, the silence between them heavy with unspoken understanding.
Part 2
Hell. That's where I was, or at least where I thought I was. Maybe it wasn't literal, but it felt like it—standing there, staring into the dark water of a pond, reflecting on the mess of choices I'd made. Was this it? Had I accumulated so much bad karma that I was stuck in this endless cycle of destruction, anger, and blood? I sighed, feeling the heat radiate from my skin as flames still danced on my fingers.
The koi fish swam in the pond so carefree.
I wished I was that Koi
"I got carried away."
I shouldn't have thrown a tantrum like a child.
That's when I heard footsteps. Oni Lee.
I saw him from my peripheral vision.
He was quiet. The man was a ghost. A shadow. I didn't even have to turn around to know it was him. I could feel his presence before he even opened his mouth.
"What do you want, Lee?" I asked, my voice low and rough, trying to shake off the thoughts in my head.
"Nothing," he replied, flatly, like it was the most natural thing in the world. Nothing. He had that dead-eyed, detached way of talking. Sociopath, pure and simple. He stood there, his red Oni mask grinning that wide, fanged grin. The black bodysuit clung to his form while the bandolier of knives and grenades wrapped around his shoulder to his waist.
I narrowed my eyes, even though he couldn't see it. "What do you need from me, Lee?" I asked again, trying to make it clear I didn't have time for games.
He answered calmly, almost too calmly. "I've finished cleaning up the Ri Family."
I blinked. Wait. What? The Ri Family?
I turned fully to face him now, eyes locked on his mask. "Go on," I muttered, not sure if I was going to be pleased or pissed off at whatever came next.
Lee spoke without hesitation. "I bombed a significant portion of their business properties, as per your orders. Took out a good number of them. No one will dare work for the Ri anymore."
I could feel the fire in my chest flare up. I was about to snap, ready to denounce whatever reckless action he'd taken in my name when he added, "I did as you instructed, Lung."
Motherfucker.
I sighed. Self-inserting as Lung was definitely not God's brightest idea. The more I thought about it, the worse it got. Kaiser, Jack Slash, Piggot, Greg... and Taylor. Yeah, I wouldn't want to step into any of their shoes. Hell, I'd take Lung or Trainwreck any day over that mess. Then again, maybe not Trainwreck either. That guy had it rough.
But enough whining. I had bigger things to worry about, like making headway into reforming the ABB.
I looked at Oni Lee, still standing there, stoic as ever. "I'll call for you when I have need of you," I said, dismissing him with a wave. No more words were needed. He gave a small barely noticeable nod and vanished into the night like the shadow he was.
I turned and walked back to The Golden Feast, slipping into my waiting limo. Enji was asleep in the driver's seat, snoring lightly. I paused, considering whether to nudge him awake or kick the back of his seat. I decided on the latter because it was more in Lung's character... maybe. My foot connected with the seat, and Enji jolted awake, his eyes wide.
"Drive home," I said, my voice gruff.
He mumbled something, rubbing his eyes, but quickly got the car moving. I leaned back, staring out the window at the city as we drove. There was so much work ahead, but I'd handle it. Like I always did.
The problem was… how was a high school teacher supposed to run a criminal ring?
I returned to my palace—well, his palace—a sprawling mansion decorated like a shogun's fortress. Dark wood, gold accents, and intricate oriental designs covered every inch of the place. It was ostentatious, to say the least. I walked past the throne room without a glance and skipped the bedroom entirely. The memory of the first time I woke up here, with women literally draped over me, still made me cringe. Lung had been a different beast, one I was still coming to terms with.
Instead of heading anywhere luxurious, I made my way to the office—a room the old Lung had rarely used, if at all. The guards standing by the door saluted as I approached. It was awkward, because… a salute? I ignored them, pushing the heavy door open and stepping inside. The air smelled faintly of incense and dust, the kind of scent that hinted this room had been left undisturbed for too long.
I moved to the desk, cluttered with papers: financial records, property deals, and names of people I didn't recognize. It was a mess. This was the ABB's business? No wonder they were more feared than respected. I began rummaging through the papers, trying to get a feel for what this organization actually did besides causing chaos.
After a few minutes, I realized I needed more than just paperwork to make sense of this mess. I stepped back from the desk and called out, "Guards!"
The two men outside peeked in, eyes wide, unsure what to expect. "Bring me yarn, pins, a map of Brockton Bay, and a laptop."
They exchanged confused glances, clearly not understanding why their boss would need such things. I rolled my eyes, not in the mood to explain myself. "You'd better get your asses moving or I'll eat you alive," I growled, letting a bit of Lung's fury seep into my voice.
That got them moving. They scrambled like their lives depended on it, and judging by the frantic looks on their faces, I figured the old Lung must have made similar threats often enough that they believed it.
A detailed map of Brockton Bay had been brought to me, still smelling like the musty backroom it had been pulled from. I wasted no time. The katana display on the far wall—an absurdly decorative piece—was cleared with a single, deliberate motion. It clattered to the floor as I nailed a large piece of plywood in its place and carefully pinned the map up.
This was where the real work would begin.
With the map set up, I started marking locations. Every pin I placed represented ABB-controlled territory: businesses, warehouses, and the places we had strong-armed into submission. But as I stood back to look at it, one thing became clear—the ABB was scattered. Our holdings were spread out haphazardly across the city, loosely held together by one common factor: Lung's reputation.
That was it. No careful strategy, no well-maintained borders. The ABB didn't need a network of lieutenants or complex management because Lung's presence alone kept everyone in line. Fear was his currency, and it bought him more territory than any calculated takeover ever could.
It was a strange contradiction. The ABB ran strict operations, but at the same time, it was disorganized. Our grip on the city was fragile, held together by intimidation and the ever-looming threat of Lung's wrath. And now, with me in control—or at least, trying to be—I realized this was the foundation I had to work with.
But I wasn't Lung. I didn't just want fear. I wanted legitimacy. There was a difference between ruling through terror and building an empire that could last. If I was going to do this, it wouldn't be through brute force alone.
As I finished pinning our locations, I noticed something that stood out immediately: there were sections of the docks that weren't owned by the ABB. Small pockets of territory, but important ones, nonetheless. The docks had always been contested ground, and missing out on even a few key spots could be a weakness.
I continued reviewing my assets, going over the disorganized mess left in Lung's wake. It appeared I had exactly fifty-four official members within the gang. Not an impressive number, especially when you considered how many of them were little more than foot soldiers—fodder for the fights ahead. We didn't have a proper count on our lowest-level grunts, and that bothered me.
They should be officially hired, even if just for appearances. This was more than just an organizational quirk—it was essential for proper planning. If I didn't know exactly how many people were under my control, how could I efficiently direct them? I needed to build something that ran like a machine, not just a brute-force gang.
As I sat back and thought about it, the laptop I requested finally arrived, gleaming with the promise of modern efficiency. I flipped it open, ready to dive into the current state of affairs. But then, it hit me.
There was no internet. No Wi-Fi. No connection to the outside world.
Of course.
The old Lung had been a brute in every sense of the word, operating under the idea that muscle and terror were enough to keep control. Technology? Information? Completely unnecessary in his eyes. I sighed, feeling a surge of frustration. For a gang leader in this day and age to have no internet plan was borderline comical, but here I was, stuck in this mess.
But then I remembered— it was 2011.
Internet's popularity was very recent, especially for Lung.
I leaned back and called one of my goons. "Get us an internet plan. Whatever the fastest, most reliable option is—order it now. And get it done today."
He nodded and ran off, probably wondering why the hell Lung cared so much about Wi-Fi. But in my mind, this was non-negotiable. I couldn't run an organization blindly. I needed data. I needed information. What if Alexandria decided to visit Brockton because of a butterfly effect? The news might tell a story about it, but what were the chances I'd learn it the first second the news went on air?
I should invest in Information Technology more… It seemed we already had an existing IT department, but I think we could do better.
For now, though, I turned my attention back to what I could control: reading through ABB's resources and familiarizing myself with the gang's operations. It wasn't pretty—there were gaps in almost every area. But with a little more time and, more importantly, the right strategy, I knew I could turn this wreck into a finely tuned operation.
One I wouldn't be as morally disinclined as it currently stood?
Still, the nagging thought lingered: why didn't I just smash everything and let it burn like the old Lung would have?