In the display window of an electronics store, a large screen dominated the attention of passersby. The broadcast showed images of a devastated city: buildings reduced to rubble, deserted streets, and a gray sky that seemed to reflect the hopelessness of its inhabitants. The newscaster's voice, steady but laden with emotion, tried to convey more than just information.
—After the tragic loss of the hero Ergos, City Home has faced one of the greatest crises in its history. Yet in the midst of darkness, it seems the gods have heard our prayers. A new hero has emerged.
The screen switched to footage of the city rebuilding. Workers raised steel beams, trucks hauled away debris, and hospitals—once overwhelmed—now operated normally. On the streets, the tentative smiles of citizens were beginning to reappear.
—Since his arrival, crime has dropped by 71%, medical services have stabilized, and City Home's economy shows signs of recovery. Though his identity and motives remain a mystery, one thing is clear: he is our new savior.
The camera returned to the studio, where the newscaster continued with solemn gravity.
—But not all questions have answers. Who is this hero? Where does he come from? And most importantly—why has he chosen to help us? These questions remain unanswered.
Suddenly, the broadcast was interrupted by a breaking news alert. A red graphic flashed in the upper corner of the screen, accompanied by a warning tone. The newscaster touched her earpiece, her expression shifting to surprise and urgency.
—We interrupt this program with breaking news. Just minutes ago, the new hero revealed his name in a brief statement. According to witnesses, when asked who he was, he responded with a single word: "Champion."
The screen showed a short video clip. A tall figure with dark hair and blue eyes, shrouded in shadows, turned toward the camera. His voice, deep and resonant, spoke calmly:
—My name is Champion.
The video froze on a close-up of his partially obscured face, leaving the public with more questions than answers. The broadcast returned to the studio, where the newscaster struggled to maintain composure.
—Champion. That is the name of our new hero. What does it mean? A message? A warning? We'll continue reporting as more details emerge.
The screen showed the city again, now bathed in sunlight, with hopeful music swelling in the background. But among the spectators watching from the storefront, the name "Champion" carried an odd weight—as if it concealed something deeper.
In an underground laboratory, a remote control turned off a wall-mounted TV. The room was vast and cold, filled with high-tech equipment: blinking monitors, test tubes bubbling with strange-colored liquids, and the faint hum of electricity in the air. Cigarette smoke curled lazily toward the ceiling from the lips of a small, round man in a stained lab coat. He exhaled with a frustrated sigh.
—Champion, champion, champion... he muttered disdainfully, stubbing out his cigarette in an overflowing ashtray. They won't stop talking about him.
The buzz of automatic doors interrupted his complaint. They slid open with a mechanical hiss, revealing a man of imposing stature. Tall, with sharp features and a perfectly tailored dark suit, his black hair was combed with meticulous precision. Every step echoed with authority on the metal floor.
—Mr. Yerner, said the scientist with a strained smile, hastily extinguishing his cigarette. What brings you here?
Yerner regarded him with contempt, pulling out a silk handkerchief to cover his nose.
—No need to hide it, Cris. The smells linger down here, he said coldly, his sharp gaze sweeping the room. He stopped before a cluttered worktable and slammed his fist down, making beakers rattle. Two months since that self-proclaimed hero appeared. They worship him like some damned messiah. His voice rose with fury. Does no one see the danger he represents? He's a walking time bomb!
Cris slowly rose from his worn leather chair, exhaling the last of his cigarette smoke calmly. A crooked smile twisted his lips.
—I agree. If we couldn't contain the villains, we stand no chance against him. His eyes gleamed with something dark. We need our own weapon. Something truly ours—something human.
Yerner eyed him skeptically, brow furrowed.
—What have you discovered? he asked, voice thick with doubt.
Cris didn't answer immediately. Instead, he walked toward a reinforced door at the back of the room. With deliberate movements, he typed a code into the security panel. Locks disengaged with a metallic click, and the door slid open, revealing a hallway bathed in sterile white light.
—This research has cost over a hundred lives, sir, Cris said as they advanced. The sick, the weak, the physically or mentally impaired... All failures. The purple crystals—extracted from what appear to be ancient civilizations—though they enhance natural organisms or fungal colonies, horribly deform organic creatures before abilities can manifest. He let out a short, cynical laugh. But among all my attempts, I found one exception.
Yerner followed in silence, his expression hardening with each word. At the end of the hallway, Cris pushed open another door and activated the lights with two claps. The room revealed was cold and clinical, almost surgical. At its center stood a large glass capsule.
Yerner froze, his eyes widening with horror and disbelief. Inside the capsule, a young woman floated in greenish fluid, connected to multiple wires and tubes. Her once-golden hair had turned ashen and brittle. Her skin, once smooth and radiant, now looked parched and lifeless. On her right cheekbone, a code was tattooed: P.12.
Yerner's breath hitched as he recognized the face behind the glass. In a burst of rage, he grabbed Cris by the lab coat and slammed him against the wall with terrifying force.
—WHAT IS MY DAUGHTER DOING IN THAT CAPSULE?! he roared, voice trembling between fury and despair.
Cris, far from afraid, smiled with unsettling calm.
—Sir, she's the only survivor. Her body accepted the purple stones without deformation. What you see before you is the ultimate lifeform. His smile widened, almost proud. Her strength, speed, and endurance are unmatched. She's perfect.
Yerner's grip slackened, his gaze lost on his daughter's form. Something inside him shattered. The image of his little girl—the child he used to tuck in at night—now seemed so distant, so unrecognizable.
—You think she's the one? he asked faintly, barely a whisper.
—I know she is, Cris affirmed, placing a hand on his shoulder. Don't see her as a weapon. See her as the savior the world needs. His smile twisted darker. We can't trust a hero who isn't human.
Yerner turned back to the capsule, fists clenched. But before he could respond, a sharp pain lanced through him. He looked down to see a needle embedded in his abdomen. His body began to paralyze, an unbearable burning spreading through his veins.
—What... What are you doing? he managed to whisper.
Cris watched with satisfaction as Yerner collapsed to his knees. His skin began to crack, a white liquid oozing from his body and evaporating on contact with air. As Yerner writhed on the floor, Cris circled him, smile widening with each step.
—You see, the purple stones have been a fascinating gift to humanity. He pulled a small stone from his pocket, holding it up. Efficient energy, even agricultural advances. But... He paused, turning the stone in the light. When shattered and exposed to air, they release something else. Something that doesn't belong in this world—and vanishes instantly.
With a sharp motion, Cris split the stone in two. A faint, nearly imperceptible smoke rose from the fragments before dissipating.
—My research has allowed me to harness that "something" to create marvels. But there's a slight drawback... He leaned over Yerner, who could barely twitch, body wracked with tremors. When it interacts with the human body, the results are... unpredictable.
Yerner tried to speak, but his voice drowned in a gurgle. His flesh began to swell grotesquely, veins blackening beneath his skin. A wet, repulsive sound filled the room. With a visceral burst, his torso exploded into a shapeless mass of blood and viscera. What remained was a hollow shell—skin clinging to bone like a desiccated corpse.
Cris observed the results with fascinated disdain. He wiped his coat calmly, unfazed by the spectacle. Then he approached the capsule, pressing a hand to the glass as he admired the young woman with sick delight.
—Seems you weren't family after all... he whispered maliciously.
His eyes gleamed with demonic light as his smile stretched wider.
—Now then, little one. Eggface will use you very well.
The laboratory fell silent save for the bubbling fluid in the capsule and the echo of his laughter in the gloom.