The warehouse groaned as if reacting to the sudden violence. Metal screamed. Sparks flashed. Then came the surge—a deep, resonant rush of water that cut through the chaos like a blade.
The agent advancing on Lucas was yanked backward, feet torn off the ground by a high-pressure column of water that cracked like a whip and slammed him into a stack of crates with bone-rattling force. The rest of Echo froze, weapons half-raised, movement arrested in pure tactical confusion.
That was all the opening the room needed.
From the shadows above, Aqualad descended like a thunderbolt, landing in the midst of chaos with water blades extending from his arms. His fists glowed with bioluminescent fury, and each movement was honed—not showy, but devastating. He swept through the first two agents like a tide cutting through sand, disarming one with a whip of water that coiled around the weapon, and knocking another into a concrete pillar with the blunt edge of a summoned blade.
He didn't slow. Aqualad spun, summoning a ring of moisture from the ambient humidity, condensing it into a rotating shield that absorbed an incoming burst of sonic rounds. With a flick of his wrist, the shield splintered into spears, launching outward and pinning two Echo operatives to the floor.
Another soldier lunged with a baton crackling with stun current. Aqualad stepped inside the arc of the swing, grabbed the soldier's forearm, and used the momentum to redirect the agent into the path of his own squadmate's fire. Then, with calm precision, he sent a column of water upward, disrupting the line of sight from the higher catwalks.
He wasn't just fighting. He was dictating the tempo of the battlefield—redirecting attention, shielding vulnerable allies, and disrupting formations. His presence turned the terrain itself into a weapon.
The chaos didn't stop—it focused.
More Echo agents converged on him, but he was already on the move, deflecting stun rounds with compact shields formed from surrounding moisture. The air grew thicker, damper, charged.
Lucas, still grounded from the net, blinked against the blur of motion. What struck him wasn't just the force Aqualad brought—it was the precision. Everything had a purpose. Every movement accounted for the next. And it was working.
"Fall back! Defensive line!" one of the Echo commanders barked—but it was too late. Aqualad had already breached their formation, slicing through their ranks with ruthless efficiency. He moved like water—fluid, unrelenting, and precise. Each strike with his hydro-blades left an agent disarmed, grounded, or gasping for breath.
Batgirl followed moments later, descending in a blur of black and crimson. Her boots hit the catwalk like a whisper, but the moment she touched down, she was a blur of motion. She used the rail as a pivot point, rolling into a low, spinning kick that clipped the legs of an Echo soldier aiming at Alice. The weapon clattered to the floor.
Without pause, Batgirl pivoted into a follow-up—using her momentum to launch a knee into the soldier's midsection before transitioning into a precise palm strike to the neck that dropped him instantly. She moved like she was reading the battle two steps ahead—anticipating responses before they came.
Another Echo operative turned toward her with a baton raised. Batgirl ducked beneath the swing, hooked her leg behind his knee, and slammed him backward over the railing. A grapnel bolt flashed out from her gauntlet, catching a collapsing scaffold before it could fall on Maya.
"Watch your six," she called, never breaking stride as she rolled forward, drawing twin collapsible batons from her utility belt and charging the next cluster of agents without hesitation.
Lucas tore the remnants of the shock net from his arms, the golden hum of energy rising around him like heat off asphalt. He locked eyes with Batgirl—just for a second—and they moved together without a word, back-to-back as they faced the advancing agents.
Alice staggered to her feet, eyes glowing dimly as her fingers flexed. Her breathing ragged but her will focused, she summoned her magic again. This time it came out in measured bursts—arcing tendrils of violet energy that danced between attackers, cracking the air and forcing Echo into retreat.
Maya crouched behind a collapsed beam, sliding a fresh mag into her rifle. She sighted down the scope, tracking movement. "Didn't realize we called in backup," she muttered, lining up a shot that dropped a target approaching Lucas's flank.
"Didn't," Lucas replied, slamming an Echo agent into a steel crate with a bone-jarring crunch. "They came anyway."
Aqualad met him at the center of the room, their backs almost touching as another wave of Echo moved in. They moved as if they'd trained together, ducking and pivoting in sync. Kaldur's voice was low, unshaken.
"Keep your team tight," he said. "They're regrouping."
"Copy that," Lucas answered, turning just in time to absorb a kinetic baton strike. He grunted, redirecting the energy outward in a golden shockwave that knocked the assailant off his feet.
Batgirl, reading the shift in pace, darted across the corridor like a phantom. Her strikes were too fast to follow, her batons snapping down onto pressure points and disarming a pair of Echo agents before they could react. She ducked under a wild swing, swept her attacker's legs, and left them gasping on the floor.
Above them, another operative tried to aim down with a scoped sidearm—but Kaldur raised a hand, and a narrow bolt of high-pressure water sliced through the rifle, dismantling it mid-shot.
With their command rhythm disrupted and formation broken, the Echo agents began to slip. The floor belonged to Lucas's team now. Not by numbers—but by rhythm.
The battlefield had turned against Echo. Their strength was order—and now they were drowning in chaos.
Then it came—a high-pitched tone buzzing through every operative's earpiece. Uniform, synthetic, final.
Echo's formations faltered. Movements became rote, rehearsed.
"Retreat order," Kaldur murmured, narrowing his eyes as he watched their tactics dissolve.
Batgirl nodded from the far end, twirling a baton before holstering it. "They're being called back."
Lucas stepped forward as the remaining Echo agents melted into the shadows, retreating with clinical speed.
Silence fell. Shaky breaths. Blood dripping.
Aqualad's eyes never left the exit path.
"That was a recon strike," he said. "They'll be back. And next time, they won't underestimate you."
Lucas turned, eyes narrowing. "Then next time, we make sure we're ready."
They moved deeper into the warehouse to regroup, following the lingering traces of K-09's last known path. As they stepped over broken beams and scorched ground, Aqualad's voice cut through the quiet.
"You sure had experience fighting," he said to Lucas. "A little rough on your power but not bad. That kind of control doesn't come easy."
Lucas grunted but didn't respond.
Batgirl, walking parallel on a ledge above, tilted her head slightly. "Not bad for someone off the grid. You ever think about signing up for something a little more official? League-adjacent, even? We have a lot of people that can help you harness it"
Alice let out a dry laugh behind Lucas, her voice cracking from the recent strain. "Oh, please. Can you picture him in tights and a cape?"
Lucas stopped walking.
He didn't turn around.
"Don't call me a hero," he said.
Maya slowed beside him, watching his profile tighten like a wire pulled too taut.
Batgirl raised an eyebrow, stepping down to the lower level. "Didn't mean to offend."
Lucas finally looked up. Not at them—but at the empty hallway ahead.
"I was just a kid," he said. "Crayons on the floor. Drawing my family by the door. I didn't even turn the TV on. Didn't have to. The monsters were already coming."
His voice was steady, but something under it cracked—quiet and raw.
"They tore through my home like it was paper. Heroes showed up. Powers blazing. Capes in the wind. But it didn't matter. My dad tried to fight—got one punch in before something with talons opened him up like he was nothing. My mom… she met the same fate right after…"
He glanced back at the others. "And me? I hid. Under the bed. Counting every scream. Every crash. Waiting to be next. But nothing came. Just silence. And the blood."
Lucas looked away again, jaw locked. "They called it a win on the news. Said the city was safe. Never said anything about us. Never came back to see who was left."
He scoffed under his breath.
"So no. I'm not a hero. I'm what you get when the heroes fail. When they forget there were people behind those windows. When the ones they couldn't save crawl out from under the wreckage and learn to stand on their own."
The silence after stretched cold and thin, like a wire just shy of snapping.
"I don't wear a symbol," Lucas said finally, voice low but carrying weight. "I don't fight for ideals. I fight because if I don't, someone else ends up under the bed. Like I did."
He clenched his fists, knuckles paling. "You grow up seeing the gods fall from the sky, punch through buildings, set the skies on fire—and still not reach the ones screaming underneath it all."
His voice dropped further. "People think capes mean hope. But for me? It meant false promises. Flashy entrances. Loud exits. And a kid left in a blood-soaked room with no one to pick up the pieces."
Batgirl didn't reply. Her eyes softened beneath the cowl, but she said nothing.
Aqualad gave a quiet nod, gaze dropping with unspoken understanding.
Lucas took a breath, not to calm down—but to cool the burn. "So no. I'm not your brand of hero. I don't do speeches. I don't save the world. I survive it."
Alice moved beside him, not touching—but closer than she'd ever stood. Quiet support. Shared history.
A buzz cut through the tension like a razor.
"Got something," Finch called from further down the corridor. "Movement—residual energy signature. Might be K-09."
The moment cracked, the weight of it scattering like ash.
Lucas exhaled slowly, then squared his shoulders.
"Then let's catch up before Cadmus does."
Author's Note:
If you're enjoying the story and want to read ahead or support my work, you can check out my P@treon at [email protected]/LordCampione. But don't worry—all chapters will eventually be public. Just being here and reading means the world to me. Thank you for your time and support.