Fracture

Listen to: "Dark Phoenix Suite" - Hans Zimmer

The sky over Kairo looked the same. Same polluted clouds, same fractured skyline. But I wasn't the same.

Walking away from the hero system was supposed to feel like freedom. Like tearing off a weighted uniform and standing taller. Instead, it felt like stepping off the edge of a building and hoping you learned to fly on the way down.

I spent the days following the Kairo Incident in a haze. No patrols. No missions. Just me and the echo of my own thoughts bouncing off the walls of an apartment that had stopped feeling like home.

It wasn't the world that changed. It was me. Or maybe, for the first time, I was seeing it for what it really was.

The city didn't wait for anyone, not even the ones left behind to sweep up the pieces.

The aftermath of the Kairo Incident had left more than just structural damage. The skyline might've looked the same from a distance, but down here at street level? The cracks were everywhere. Cracks in the buildings. Cracks in the streets. Cracks in the people.

It was funny, in a grim sort of way. You could rebuild a city. You could patch walls, replace steel beams, pour fresh concrete. But the human parts? The people left carrying the weight of it all? That damage lingered longer than any rubble.

I watched as crews cordoned off another block. Caution tape flapped in the morning breeze like prayer flags at a funeral. Civilians milled around with the kind of practiced apathy you only developed after living through a hundred "incidents."

"You think they even know the truth?" I muttered aloud, mostly to myself.

Kaito was beside me, his expression unreadable. "Truth's a luxury most people can't afford."

I let out a humorless chuckle. "So we keep feeding them the cheap knockoff instead."

"Sometimes that's kinder."

Was it? I wasn't so sure. The Commission's version of events had been sanitized, buffed until it shone like propaganda gold. Heroes were hailed, villains were condemned, the system marched on unchallenged.

And me? I was erased. A ghost in my own story.

But that was the choice, wasn't it? I'd stepped off the stage. I'd walked away. That was the deal. Heroes played the part or they were written out of the script.

Still, watching the world spin on without me left a sour taste.

"You planning on staying invisible forever?" Kaito asked, his tone more curious than confrontational.

I shrugged. "Haven't decided."

In truth, I didn't know if the world had space for someone like me anymore. Not as a hero. Maybe not even as a person.

The city had moved on. Now it was my turn to figure out if I could too.

I spent the next few days like a ghost, weaving in and out of the cracks the system overlooked.

No costume. No title. Just Kael Arashi — a name without a purpose, drifting along the edges of a city still nursing its wounds.

Everywhere I looked, the world moved on like clockwork. Heroes hit their patrol routes on schedule. The Commission's press releases buried the worst of it under bright headlines and hollow promises. Even the villains, the ones who survived, were already slipping back into the shadows like nothing ever happened.

But the silence under it all? That was what gnawed at me. The quiet that settled in when no one's watching, when the news anchors stop spinning their tales and the crowds disperse.

It was the kind of silence where reality had time to catch up.

I walked past a mural downtown — fresh paint masking the scorch marks that ran halfway up the brick. The artist had gone for something symbolic: two hands, one human and one mechanical, reaching toward each other but never quite touching. Real subtle.

"Poetic," I muttered under my breath, stuffing my hands deeper into my pockets.

The artist's tag at the bottom read "FORGIVE // REBUILD."

Cute idea. Too bad the world didn't work like that.

A vibration in my pocket snapped me out of the moment. I fished out my burner phone, the only piece of tech I still trusted after everything. Kaito's name blinked on the screen.

"Yeah?"

"Turn on channel eight," he said, his voice sharp. "Now."

A minute later I was staring at the nearest shop window, watching a headline crawl across a muted screen: VILLAIN ACTIVITY UPTICK NEAR HOSU DISTRICT. UNKNOWN PERPETRATORS. COMMISSION RESPONSE PENDING.

Of course.

The world never did know how to stay quiet for long.

I didn't waste time.

Hosu. That place had seen more than its fair share of hell over the years. You'd think the scars left behind by the Hero Killer would've been enough for one lifetime, but the universe clearly had other plans.

The train ride there was quiet, unnervingly so. The kind of quiet where your brain starts filling the gaps with what-ifs and worst-case scenarios. I stared at my reflection in the window, the flicker of city lights painting my face in broken patterns. I didn't look like a hero. Not anymore. Maybe I never really did.

When I got off, the air was thick — not just with the usual city grime, but tension. The kind of tension you can feel in your bones, humming low and steady like a wire stretched too thin.

I ducked into the nearest alley, pulling out my old visor from the depths of my jacket. It was scratched to hell, one of the lenses barely holding together after the last fight. Still, it felt right to wear it. Like muscle memory — or maybe just a crutch.

Kaito's voice crackled in my ear. "You see it?"

I scanned the skyline. Smoke. Thin, gray columns rising from somewhere deeper in the district. Not a building fire — too contained. More like controlled blasts.

"Got it. You close?" I asked.

"Two blocks east. Holding pattern until you arrive."

Classic Kaito. Never the type to rush into the unknown without backup, even when the world burned. Smart. I could learn a thing or two from him, if I hadn't already broken the rulebook.

I cut through side streets, sticking to the blind spots between surveillance cams and patrol drones. Old habits. Habits that kept me alive.

As I rounded the last corner, the scene unfolded like a postcard from the apocalypse. Glass scattered across the pavement, storefronts gutted, streetlights bending at impossible angles. And at the center of it all — a figure.

Slender, sharp, wrapped in dark synthetic fabric that clung like a second skin. Their face hidden behind a low-grade respirator and matte goggles. Whoever this was, they didn't scream 'random street thug.'

Kaito was perched on a nearby rooftop, eyes locked on the stranger through his rifle's scope. "They've been standing there for fifteen minutes. Haven't moved an inch."

I narrowed my eyes. "Waiting for something, or someone."

As if on cue, the figure tilted their head slightly — like they'd heard me.

And then the ground beneath us trembled.

This wasn't over. Not even close.

The tremor wasn't natural. Not the kind you'd expect from underground trains or crumbling infrastructure. No, this was calculated. Manufactured. The type of quake born from someone's quirk.

I locked eyes with Kaito, even from across the street his posture stiffened. He'd felt it too.

The figure below didn't even flinch. That was all the confirmation I needed. Whoever they were, they'd been expecting us. Probably counting on it.

"Be ready," I muttered under my breath, triggering the comm line. "They're not alone."

Kaito adjusted his scope. "Multiple heat signatures incoming. Three, maybe four. Coming from the south. Fast."

I swore under my breath. This wasn't just a random attack. This was a coordinated ambush.

The streetlights flickered once, twice—then died altogether, plunging the area into an unnatural darkness. My visor automatically compensated, highlighting the approaching forms in crimson outlines. Humanoid shapes, moving with mechanical precision.

Drones? No. Their gait was too fluid. Quirked humans, or something worse.

The lead figure raised their hand, palm open. An unseen force exploded outward, sending parked cars skidding across the street like toys. I barely managed to brace myself, sliding back across the concrete until my boots hit a curb.

"Tell me you've got a shot," I barked.

"Negative. Wind distortion from the blast is screwing with my aim," Kaito replied. "I need a better angle."

Before I could answer, the attackers reached the outer perimeter, fanning out like trained soldiers. They moved without a word, no wasted motion. This wasn't their first rodeo.

One of them lunged straight for me, a heavy-set guy clad in armored streetwear. His quirk flared the moment he moved — kinetic dampening. The air around his fists warped like heatwaves.

I sidestepped the first swing, letting instinct take over. My Rule snapped into place: 'If I recognize the attack, it can't hit me.' His follow-up blow passed through empty space, my body already shifting out of range before he committed.

But I felt it — the pressure. This wasn't someone I could outpace forever.

I countered with a rule of my own: 'Impact negation on contact.' My fist met his jaw, the energy of the hit dispersing harmlessly on my end but sending him sprawling backwards like a wrecking ball had just introduced itself to his face.

"One down," I whispered, though the confidence tasted bitter. There were still more.

Kaito's voice cut in. "I've got visuals on the others. They're circling. Whoever sent them, they're playing chess — not checkers."

I scanned the rooftops, eyes locking onto the silhouette of the figure who started this. They were still watching. Still waiting. Like this was all just the opening act.

The rules of the game were changing. And for the first time in a long while, I wasn't sure I liked where this was headed.

The ambush wasn't over — not by a long shot.

As the dust from my last exchange settled, two more of the attackers closed in. They moved like they'd rehearsed every step, not even sparing their downed comrade a glance. Cold efficiency. If I wasn't careful, that would be me flat on the pavement.

I clicked the Rulebreaker Drive active — just a flicker, a taste of that domain-level control. My instincts screamed at me not to burn too much power too early. I'd learned that lesson the hard way during the last fight. No do-overs this time.

Rule: 'Momentum rewrites in my favor.'

The moment the taller of the two lunged for me, I shifted just enough to tilt reality. His tackle skidded off like he'd charged headfirst into an oil-slicked floor. Off-balance, vulnerable — exactly the window I needed.

My next step was pure muscle memory. I drove my fist into his gut and tacked on another Rule mid-strike: 'Force doubles upon connection.' His armor cracked, and his breath left him in one violent cough as he hit the ground.

"Two down," I murmured, scanning the darkness for the last two signatures Kaito had spotted earlier.

"Kael, shift west," his voice crackled in my ear. "They're flanking you, fast."

I didn't hesitate. My body kicked into motion, vaulting over a shattered mailbox and landing just as another opponent let loose — this one wielding a quirk that split the air with arcs of static, like jagged lightning born from raw kinetic energy.

Electric quirks were bad news. I'd seen enough in the old Pro-Hero data files to know one stray hit could fry my nervous system before my Rule had a chance to rewrite the outcome.

I whispered another condition into the Drive: 'Electricity dissipates harmlessly within a meter.'

The first bolt snapped toward me, but the air around me shimmered like I'd dropped into a bubble. The lightning fizzled out a foot away, dying with an almost disappointed hiss.

His face twisted. "Rule-type quirk, huh?"

I didn't answer. I let the silence carry its own weight, then surged forward, Rule chaining to another: 'Speed triples for five seconds.'

In the blink of an eye, I closed the gap, sliding past his defenses and planting a solid elbow into his chest. His quirk couldn't save him from close-quarters physics.

Three down.

But even with them on the ground, the unease in my chest didn't ease up. I turned back toward the rooftop — and the silhouette was gone.

Kaito broke the silence. "They're pulling out. Whoever was watching gave the signal."

I exhaled, the adrenaline finally ebbing. Not victory. Not even close. This was recon. A test, if anything.

And something told me we'd failed in ways we couldn't even see yet.