You'd think with all the godlike speed, regeneration, and reality-warping quirks I've stacked in my genetic bingo card, I'd learn how to take a break.
Nope. Rest is for people without black hole-powered assassins on their tail.
The moment Rai was stable enough to sit upright without coughing up a lung, I was already moving. He knew the drill. I stay, we both die. I run, I can make sure the person responsible for this mess doesn't turn the entire city into a crater.
...Again.
Let's be clear here. I didn't start this war. I escaped the Bureau, torched a few files, broke some bones, and trashed a few black sites, sure. But I've been minding my own business ever since. Hiding out, only punching faces when the universe refuses to leave me alone.
But Omega Draft? That walking science experiment with the social skills of a lawnmower? He's not here for casual homicide.
No, this is something bigger.
I bolt across the rooftops, letting the night wind slap some oxygen back into my brain. Overclock's doing its usual overachieving — perception dialed so far up that even the flicker of neon signs feels like they last a year.
Muscle Augmentation's pulsing under the surface. Springlike Limbs soaking up kinetic tension like a coiled spring wired straight to my skeleton.
And Fa Jin? Already juiced, waiting for me to pick the moment to go full meteor.
It doesn't take long for the answer to find me.
A shudder runs through the ground, strong enough to rattle windows two blocks deep. Not just any quake — this one's artificial. Like a giant slapping the city awake.
And at the epicenter?
The End, standing dead-center in an intersection like he owns the zip code.
"Round two, Arashi." His voice warps the air around it, deep and jagged.
I step out from behind a tilted light pole, cracking my neck to the side and flexing my fingers, letting the faint hum of my quirks fill the silence.
"You know, most people buy me dinner first," I quip, rolling my shoulders. "But sure, let's skip to the violence."
I barely finish the sentence before the street folds.
Not explodes. Not shatters. Folds.
Like someone pressed 'Ctrl+Z' on reality's texture map. Asphalt buckles inward, space itself warps, and I feel the force try to crush me before I even see his hand move.
Good thing I'm not a 'wait and see' kind of guy.
Gearshift slams me sideways at hypersonic speed, the world stretching into a smear as I twist midair, bouncing off a fire escape, launching again with Jet's blast, ricocheting like a bullet in an alleyway until I get clean of the gravity zone.
The End is already turning, arm outstretched, finger lazily tracking me like I'm a target in some old arcade shooter.
But he's too slow.
Or rather, I'm too fast.
New Order flares through my brain, and I whisper the rule.
"My reaction speed ignores momentum."
Boom. Locked.
Instant freedom. Doesn't matter how hard I move, how fast I shift — I can react like I'm standing still.
And that's when the real fun starts.
I dart forward, Fa Jin roaring in my limbs, Springlike Limbs contracting, kinetic tension snapping loose with enough force to turn my next punch into a moving natural disaster.
The End barely lifts his hand before my fist meets his chest.
The impact isn't just physical. The shockwave turns the surrounding windows into glitter, cracks the pavement like an egg under a sledgehammer, and kicks a visible shock front through the fog-heavy night.
But The End doesn't move.
His feet drag half an inch. That's it.
Quirk fusion, reinforced frame, some kind of dampening field — the whole package. Just like me.
Except I've got more than just brute force. I've got snark-fueled determination and way worse childhood trauma.
He swings — fast, sure, but not fast enough. I drop, slide under the blow, palm the street, and twist my torso, turning all that ducked momentum into a spinning back-kick, Fa Jin detonating in my leg like a coiled nuke.
This time he does move.
Launched. Straight through two street lamps, a parked car, and half the wall of an apartment complex.
I stand, breathing light and easy, flexing my knuckles.
"End of momentum, huh?" I mutter. "Looks like you've still got some left to burn."
And just like that, the real fight starts.
The apartment complex groans like it's rethinking its life choices, chunks of brick and plaster sliding down onto the sidewalk like sad confetti. Somewhere under all that debris, The End's still breathing. Figures.
Guy's built like a blacksite test dummy and twice as hard to kill.
I don't waste time waiting for the "boss emerges from rubble" cutscene, though. I've played this game before.
Jet flares along my spine, and I launch toward the wreckage — boots skimming the cracked asphalt, Overclock slowing the world to a sleepy crawl.
Through the haze, I spot the telltale twitch of his fingers. Right arm. Ready to counter. Probably trying to catch me mid-charge like an amateur playing peekaboo with a landmine.
Cute.
I twist my trajectory mid-flight, letting Gearshift rip away my forward momentum, flipping sideways into a rolling dive. My elbow brushes the air just inches above where his hand slices through, fingers missing my throat by the length of a bad decision.
Before his brain can even catch up, I'm already shifting position, slamming both feet into the crater wall behind me, Springlike Limbs soaking the rebound, Fa Jin primed to the max.
"Reset."
One word. One rule. One cheat code.
New Order locks the command into reality — the stored kinetic force in my body resets to max every time I release it.
So the second I kick off the wall? Infinite stored power on repeat.
The first hit craters his shoulder.
The second spins him like a human pinwheel.
The third? That one sends him through three more floors, each level coughing up concrete dust and broken furniture like some demolition-themed reverse vending machine.
I land light, brushing my knuckles against my palm, adrenaline drowning out everything except the drumbeat in my ears.
But even as I step forward, the air thickens.
Not from smoke. Not from dust.
From him.
The End crawls out of the final pile of rubble, posture crooked but stable. His grin is stitched together from equal parts malice and admiration.
"Not bad," he rasps. "But I'm not the one ending tonight."
The ground beneath me shifts. No quake this time. No flashy hand gestures or cool supervillain lines. Just gravity deciding it doesn't want to follow the rules anymore.
He's manipulating localized mass.
I can feel it — my feet anchoring to the street, the weight stacking layer after layer, like the world's leaning a little too close.
Fine. I can play that game too.
"My body rejects external mass alterations."
New Order slides the rule into place like a puzzle piece, and the crushing sensation vanishes like a bad memory.
I move. Faster. Cleaner. Deadlier.
And The End? He's still playing by physics' rules. Sucker.
In less time than it takes to blink, I'm on him again, Fa Jin, Jet, and Springlike Limbs creating a self-feeding loop of motion. My fists blur, Overclock turning the space between punches into an eternity.
Every hit is a meteor.
Every block he manages is another nail in his coffin.
But then, like the world flipping a page, his eyes light up — and the space behind me tears open.
A second signature.
Another quirk. Another threat.
And this one?
Void Chain.
My stomach drops through the floor of reality.
Of all the people in this godforsaken city — the one person I didn't want showing up — the one person I can't outpace...
He's here.
The End lunges, more of a feint than an attack, drawing my attention for half a second. Enough for Void Chain's presence to fully unfold behind me, space itself starting to buckle inward, mass and motion bleeding away.
A trap. Perfectly timed. Perfectly placed.
And I fell right into it.
The air behind me is wrong.
You ever feel your instincts yell before your brain figures out why? Yeah, that's what it's like when Void Chain enters the picture. Every molecule of air feels like it forgot how to exist — like the world hit a lag spike in real-time.
And me?
I'm the unlucky idiot standing in the middle of it.
The moment I shift to counter, I feel my quirk stack shudder. Like someone just flipped the "off" switch on every power in my body. My muscles, my reflexes, my speed — all the things that make me more than human — start flickering.
Void Chain's quirk isn't flashy. No lasers, no explosions, no dramatic anime energy crackles. Just one effect: "The space around me eats quirks."
And it's working.
Hardening slips first, like my skin's gone soft and vulnerable. Jet fails to ignite, cutting off any last-second burst. Overclock slows back to human tempo. Fa Jin? Still there. But burning out fast without the rest of the stack.
I pivot, pure muscle memory guiding me as I lunge sideways, trying to outrun the collapsing reality bubble behind me.
But Void Chain isn't in a hurry.
"You don't outrun me," he calls, voice as smooth as a guillotine. "You know the rules, Kael."
And I do.
His range isn't massive, but the second you're inside it, your quirks start shutting down one by one. Like dominos falling, and I'm always too slow to stop the last one.
Except this time?
I'm not feeling heroic. I'm feeling spiteful.
I let the last embers of Fa Jin and Springlike Limbs push me forward, every muscle screaming, the air distorting around my shoulders as I hit top human speed for the first time in years. No quirks. No cheats. Just raw willpower.
The street flashes past in a blur of crumbling glass and twisted metal.
Void Chain doesn't chase. He doesn't have to. His trap did its job: split me from The End, kill my momentum, and remind me why he's the final boss of every room he steps into.
But I'm not about to hand him the kill shot.
My foot clips a bent street sign, launching me into a low arc. At the top of the jump, I suck in air and snap the rule into place.
"Quirk nullification has no effect on me."
The moment New Order locks the statement, the static rippling across my quirk stack smooths out. Overclock hums back to life, the world dripping back into syrupy slow-mo. My body, still bruised, still battered, but operational.
Void Chain looks up, expression flicking from boredom to something worse: interest.
"You finally learned to cheat."
"Always did," I shoot back, landing on cracked pavement, kinetic energy pooling in my bones.
The End's voice buzzes from the far side of the battlefield, dragging himself up from his impact grave.
"Kael."
I glance his way, just long enough to register the glint of metal in his hand.
A detonator.
Void Chain's plan wasn't to kill me outright. He wanted me pinned long enough for The End to finish the job.
The sound of the trigger click hits me like an alarm bell.
But the blast doesn't come.
Because in the instant between cause and effect, I issue the next rule:
"Any explosions targeting me will fizzle out."
A soft pop, like a balloon giving up on life, replaces the boom that should've split the street in half.
Void Chain exhales, not angry. Just... amused.
"Not bad. But you're still two moves behind."
His hand lifts, fingers curling as space folds around me, not just erasing quirks this time — but erasing the space I'm standing in.
A spatial crush. A one-hit delete command.
And honestly? I've got nothing left to block it. My stack's overworked, New Order is already pushing the limit, and if I push the next rule too fast, I'll fry my brain before the effect lands.
So I gamble.
I stop moving.
And for the first time in a long time, I let someone else make the first move.
Time slows.
Or maybe that's just me, clinging to the last threads of Overclock as the space around me starts to compress. Reality folds like cheap origami, bending at the seams under Void Chain's quirk. My body's still locked in place, brain fighting not to black out from the pressure of a thousand micro-adjustments in physics trying to tear me apart.
And you know the worst part?
I've been here before.
This exact trick, this exact kill zone — it's the same way Void Chain dropped half the black-budget roster back during Project Tyrant's meltdown.
Half my squad never walked away from this move. I almost didn't.
But here's the thing about repeating the past: I've had time to learn the rules. And now, I write the rules.
I let the pressure peak, every cell in my body screaming for oxygen, for relief, for escape. My vision narrows until it's just the outline of Void Chain's silhouette.
And then I whisper the only thing that matters.
"I survive this."
The rule clicks into place a heartbeat before the crush effect fully closes. Reality clamps down like a bear trap — and stops. Like the universe just hit an invisible wall it wasn't expecting.
Void Chain tilts his head, studying me like I'm a particularly annoying math problem.
"You're getting faster with that cheat code," he muses, voice flat but not without respect. "But you'll burn out. You always do."
And he's right.
New Order isn't infinite. The mental strain is already coiling through my skull like barbed wire. You don't bend reality without paying for it — and the price is stacking higher with every second.
But I've got one more play.
I shift my stance, spring-tension coiled in my legs, muscles still swollen from Impact Recoil and Fierce Gains. The air around me hums as Jet stutters back to life, finally slipping free of Void Chain's dead zone.
He starts to move, hand twitching toward me, but I'm already in motion.
Gearshift slams my momentum from zero to max in an eyeblink. Fa Jin unleashes in tandem, every ounce of stored energy blasting through my frame like a missile launch.
And as I move — I rewrite one last rule:
"My attacks cannot miss."
The space between us vanishes. One moment I'm yards away, the next my fist is colliding with Void Chain's chest.
The impact isn't normal.
It isn't fair.
It isn't human.
The kinetic chain reaction from Springlike Limbs, Fa Jin, Muscle Augmentation, and Impact Recoil all detonating at once sends out a pressure wave that shatters windows two blocks over.
Void Chain flies backward, his quirk bubble collapsing midair, the laws of space finally snapping back into place around me.
I don't chase. Not yet.
I've learned by now: you never assume it's over.
My earpiece crackles, cutting through the ringing in my skull.
Rai Kurosawa's voice.
"Kael. Status."
I let out a breath, tasting copper. My legs are shaking, my vision tunneling, but I'm still standing.
"Banged up. Conscious. Reality mostly intact. You?"
"On approach. ETA: 30 seconds. Hold him off."
Hold him off. Like I've got a choice.
Void Chain's silhouette is already moving, slow but steady, like gravity hasn't fully remembered it owns him. He doesn't look angry. Doesn't look hurt.
Just focused.
"One day," he says, voice low and sharp, "your tricks won't save you."
I wipe blood from my mouth and grin back, teeth pink.
"Yeah? Guess today's not that day."
The moment Void Chain starts walking toward me again, I know this fight's not over. Not even close.
Blood's already drying on my gloves, breath sharp in my throat like broken glass, and New Order's last command is flickering at the edge of collapse. Reality's rules want to snap back, and when they do? I'm gonna feel every second I stole. That's the price for cheating physics.
But giving up? Nah. Not my style.
I tense my legs, shifting my weight, Fa Jin automatically banking the micro-movements. My muscles are trembling under the strain — Fierce Gains and Muscle Augmentation might let me stack raw output, but even my supercharged body has limits. I'm toeing the edge right now.
Void Chain stops barely ten feet away. Close enough that the air distorts, his black hole quirk subtly bending light around him like a star about to die.
"You've improved," he says, voice like an executioner complimenting the condemned. "But you still hesitate."
I blink sweat from my eyes, pulse slamming in my ears, brain burning like someone swapped it for a hot coal.
"Not hesitation," I breathe. "Calculation."
And the second the words leave my mouth, Rai's voice hits my earpiece, sharp and urgent:
"Kael — move. NOW."
Instinct takes over. Overclock's perception explodes to full tilt, time stretching long enough for me to see the shadows ripple behind Void Chain, like the whole world just exhaled in reverse.
Something's coming.
Something big.
I launch backward, Jet firing in bursts, Gearshift flipping my momentum like a flipped coin. Void Chain doesn't flinch. He just... vanishes. Space bends inward, and a split-second later —
KRAKOOM.
A shockwave like the sky caving in tears through the rooftop I was standing on. The entire building groans, concrete twisting, rebar snapping like twigs. I spiral midair, limbs locking into Springlike Limbs' coiled tension, catching myself on a half-shattered wall.
And then I see it.
Above the skyline, silhouetted against the clouds, descending like a goddamn executioner's blade:
A second figure.
Not a hero. Not backup. Definitely not friendly.
A new player. Wrapped in the same void distortion as Void Chain — but worse. Like the vacuum was hungry.
Void Chain glances up at them, then back at me.
"You've been a fun test case, Kael. But the real hunt starts now."
The figure lands, shattering asphalt like glass, and the ground under me shudders from the impact. Their voice is cold. Detached.
"TARGET ACQUIRED: FRAMEBREAKER. INITIATING CONTAINMENT."
Rai's voice in my earpiece cuts in again — but this time it's tight, nearly panicked:
"Abort. Kael, it's not just Void Chain anymore. That's Omega Null."
And my stomach drops.
Because even I've heard the name.
Quirk erasure. Reality lock. No escape.
A living Game Over.
I tighten my gloves, resetting every quirk I've got left, even as the mental strain from New Order eats away at the edges of my focus.
One last thought flickers through my head, dry and bitter:
"Guess the warm-up's over."