Cutting his losses through a beating, the smaller grunt manages to drag himself to his feet and run quite lopsidedly back towards his vehicle. Loyalties cast aside, the larger figure moans lowly before making his own retreat into the night.

Now it is just himself and the aptly named victor of the fight.

Lionel's eyes never leave Ozymandias, ignoring one of his attackers entirely as they flee directly past him. They are, after all, unremarkable and fleeting mites in the spectrum. This man-- he was substantially more. He slowly steps away from the wall, moving only one or two steps closer to the other man, remaining mindful of his distance as not to appear as a threat. The knife is held loosely in one hand weighted down to his leg. He isn't about to let it go just yet. Not until he's sure of this particular man's role here.

"That was...remarkable," his voice cracks in a rare loss of composure. As if suddenly aware, he clears his throat and dusts some residue from his jacket.

"...Thank you."