Chapter 2

A month had passed since the world's last superhero stronghold crumbled.

Now, the air reeked of decay.

Deep beneath a shattered city, in a sewer tunnel where shadows clung like damp rot, five figures moved in silence. Their boots splashed through shallow, rancid water, their presence swallowed by the dripping void of the underground.

The room they entered was a forgotten cavity—a tomb disguised as a shelter. Slime coated the walls, the ceiling sagged with filth, and the stench struck first: a nauseating stew of mold, sewage, and old blood baked into grime.

A single, flickering bulb dangled from a frayed wire, casting jagged, uneven light over the survivors.

They were the last of the high-ranking heroes.

Once, their names had been etched into history. Once, they had stood as legends.

Now?

Now they were filthy, starving, hunted. Their costumes were reduced to patched rags, their eyes hollowed by sleepless nights, their breaths shallow in the choking air.

The tallest among them, Kellan, once the powerhouse known as Titanfist, leaned against a rusted pipe. His knuckles were scarred and raw, his once-indomitable frame weighed down by exhaustion.

Beside him stood Lira, a former A-class speedster. Her cracked goggles hung loosely around her neck, her jittery fingers betraying her frayed nerves.

Dax, an A-class telepath, sat apart from them, hood drawn low over haunted eyes. Once, his mind had unraveled enemy plans before they even began. Now? He barely spoke.

The fourth, Soren, clutched a jagged blade, her frost-kissed hair damp with the filth of the tunnels. Her ice powers had dulled in hiding—but her glare remained sharp.

And in the center, a figure cloaked in shadow.

Silent. Still. Their presence heavy with unspoken pain.

Kellan was the first to break the silence. His voice was a gravelly rasp, bouncing off the damp walls.

"The headquarters fell a month ago."

He spat the words like they burned his tongue.

"Those bastards didn't just take it—they razed it. Built their own towers on the ashes. Everywhere."

Lira nodded, her pacing restless. "New structures, gleaming and ugly, popping up like tumors. Each villain has their own empire now, carving out pieces of our world like it's their birthright."

"Or death," Soren muttered, her grip tightening on her blade. "They don't take prisoners. It's kill or be killed. That's their new order."

Dax, slumped against the wall, spoke barely above a whisper.

"The bases are gone. Every last one of them. We're all that's left."

His voice trembled—not with fear, but something worse.

Kellan's jaw clenched. "And the others? The ones who survived?"

Dax's haunted eyes flickered toward him. "They're either in hiding like us… or hunting civilians with them."

Silence.

A cold, suffocating weight settled over the room.

Lira exhaled sharply. "How many from our branch are left? Ten? Five?"

Soren gave a bitter laugh. "If we're lucky? A dozen. Scattered in ruins, starving, praying to ghosts."

"I can't reach them," Dax admitted. He ran a shaking hand over his temple. "Their minds are either shut off or—" He hesitated.

"Or gone," Kellan finished.

His fist slammed into the rusted pipe, sending a hollow clang echoing through the space.

No one spoke.

They all knew the truth—they were drowning.

Lira stopped pacing, her cracked goggles reflecting the flickering bulb. "Even if we found every last survivor… could we even take one of their bosses?"

The hooded figure in the center shifted.

The room stilled.

Lira's eyes darted to them, then back to Kellan.

"We wouldn't even scratch them," she admitted, voice thin.

"They're not just stronger," Soren added. "They're organized."

Dax exhaled shakily, his voice quieter than before. "I felt it when headquarters fell. The villains' minds—they changed. The chaos turned to glee, then to structure. They're building something… something worse than we imagined."

Kellan's scarred knuckles whitened as he clenched his fists.

"So we're what—five against the world?"

Lira's voice cracked. "We've got no intel, no weapons, no supplies—half of us can barely fight anymore."

Soren's blade stilled in her hand. Her voice was flat. "I've seen what they do to survivors. We'd be better off dead."

Dax slumped lower, his hood shadowing his face entirely. "Maybe we should have joined them."

The air shifted.

Kellan turned on him, his fury sparking like a match in gasoline.

"Say that again."

Dax didn't flinch. His voice was calm, cold. "It's not betrayal if there's nothing left to save."

The words cut deeper than any wound.

For a long moment, no one spoke.

Then—

The hooded figure stepped forward.

Their movement was slow, deliberate, and it silenced the room instantly.

With trembling fingers, they pulled back their hood.

Scars.

Burns.

A face half-ruined by fire.

Their left cheek was a twisted landscape of flesh and agony. Their right eye—once sharp, commanding—was now clouded, a ghost of its former self.

Bruises mottled their throat, a fading reminder of hands that had tried to silence them.

Their uniform, once pristine, was now a shroud of tattered fabric, clinging to a frame too thin from weeks of starvation.

Elena Voss.

Iron Pulse.

She had survived. Barely.

The others stared.

No words came.

She exhaled, her voice hoarse but unshaken.

"We're broken, yes. The world is in ruins. But we're not dead yet."

Kellan swallowed, his gaze flicking to her ruined face. "You've got a plan, Voss?"

Elena's good eye locked onto his, fierce despite the pain etched into her skin.

"One chance," she said, her voice steady as steel.

Lira hesitated. "What chance? We've got nothing. No army. No weapons."

Elena flexed her burned hand, testing its strength.

"There's someone I can call."

Soren frowned. "Call? Who the hell would—"

Elena cut her off. "Someone powerful. Someone who could end this."

Dax leaned forward, his telepathic senses pricking despite his exhaustion. "I can't sense them. Whoever they are, they're a void. That's rare."

Elena's lips pressed into a thin line.

"They threatened to kill me if I ever disturbed them. Swore it."

The sewer fell silent.

Kellan exhaled slowly.

"And you're willing to risk that?"

Elena's bruised fingers curled around a small, dented communicator.

An old relic. A device from a time when heroes still stood a chance.

She hesitated.

The memory of that warning echoed in her skull.

"Disturb me, and you're ash, Voss."

The others watched, breaths held.

Desperate times.

She pressed the button.

The sound of her heartbeat drowned out the dripping water.