This is an unpublished fragment from the previous chapter. Please don't judge too harshly. ---
The unknown has always frightened and attracted people with its mystery. The fearful and philosophers were afraid to look into the abyss, while fools and daredevils explored it in pursuit of glory. No one guessed what lurked in the mysterious mist, where monsters invented by people in their vivid imaginations hid. The fear of the unknown has always frightened people, causing them to tremble and shudder; it hid everywhere, even where it did not exist. Even in the depths of the ocean, people invented monsters capable of killing with a single snap. Where there was fear, myths and scary stories associated with these places followed. Many media outlets often manipulated fears of the unknown, danger, and loneliness, turning them into a source of income from fearful and gullible people.
The sewer system has always been the subject of myths and scary stories. For the squeamish and clean-freaks, this place would be a real hell: germs and human waste mixing in the sewage would make you vomit with their smell. Pop culture has never ignored society's fears and has come up with hundreds of horror stories about foul-smelling tunnels. Rumors spread among workers about reptiles and crocodiles, which were often just scare tactics for inexperienced sewer workers. Social media never ignored such places, and there were daredevils who refuted theories about humanoid reptiles, despite their irrelevance in quirk era or evil geniuses creating madness underground.
Opening the sewer hatch, three brave men went inside. They were all young, athletic, and had brought a bat and chains for protection. Courage was the most valuable trait they valued most. The first, the tallest of the group, took out a camera and began adjusting it for nighttime use. They downloaded the device for exploring sewers from the internet, and the plans for such premises were publicly available, but the new and modern shafts were kept secret. The city administration of Mustafu was expanding the roads for modernization, adapting them to the growth of the population.
The old sewer shafts, which could not be reconstructed, were left as a reminder that there were dark rumors about monsters on the internet. In fact, the answer was obvious: renovating the old shafts was an expensive undertaking, and the percentage of usefulness raised more questions than answers.
"We have Akutagawa, Shinomori, and our irreplaceable cameraman Hori with us," Hori showed himself to the camera, raising his finger up. All three daredevils wore filter masks so as not to breathe in toxic methane vapors and other harmful substances.
"We are myth busters. Today, in our episode, we will explore old sewer shafts and debunk myths associated with this place," Shinomori concluded. They had explored many mysterious places throughout Mustafa, and such foul-smelling places caused more headaches than fear. He smiled when the camera focused on him.
"Many people know what we do. We've wandered through abandoned hospitals, construction sites, libraries, and even climbed around an abandoned factory. For safety reasons, we brought with us..." With a deft movement, he took a bat with the inscription "Smile" out of his backpack, along with a couple of pepper spray cans and a stun gun for subduing particularly violent people. Shinomori and Akutagawa led the way, exploring new territory with bright flashlights. Hori followed behind, filming them for the blog. After greeting each other, they checked all their equipment before setting off on their adventure. The damp, old sewer tunnels were sticky, with moss growing on the old bricks. Wearing gloves, they touched the walls and, frankly, made a lot of noise. Their voices echoed throughout the tunnel.
Shinomori and Akutagawa joked about demons, not taking them seriously, considering them childish nonsense. There were many photos circulating on the internet where people found creatures with unnaturally long limbs and empty pupils in the sewers, capable of opening their mouths wide enough to fit a human head inside.
The light from the lanterns illuminated the arched vaults covered with centuries of layers of slime and mineral deposits. The air was thick, stale, saturated with the smell of dampness and decay, and even their masks could not filter it.
"Look, Akutagawa, here's your reptile," Shinomori joked, poking his flashlight at a cluster of moss that formed something vaguely resembling a lizard.
"Probably the older brother of that crocodile from yesterday's story."
Akutagawa snorted, but his eyes darted restlessly around the dark corners where the beam of light did not reach. Hori walked behind, trying to hold the camera steady, but his hands were shaking slightly. The sound of dripping water somewhere in the distance echoed hollowly and alarmingly.
"Guys," Hori said quietly, stopping filming for a second. "Do you hear that?"
Everyone froze. Apart from the constant dripping and their own breathing, a new sound cut through the silence. It was quiet, a grinding sound, as if something heavy and rough was dragging across the bricks. It wasn't coming from the front or the back. It was coming from... above. Shinomori raised his lantern sharply. The beam of light hit the ceiling of the tunnel, flooded with thick shadows. Nothing. Only old pipes and strange, root-like formations hanging from them.
"Probably big rats," Akutagawa said uncertainly, gripping his bat tighter.
"Or... there's water leaking somewhere."
"It doesn't sound like water," Shinomori whispered, his voice sounding alarmed for the first time since they had started exploring the abandoned buildings. They moved on, but now they walked more slowly, listening. The jokes were over. The scraping sound came and went, changing direction. It seemed to be moving parallel to them, along some other, hidden path.
"Maybe we should call it a day?" Hori suggested, his voice trembling. "There's enough light for the video. It really is... unsettling here."
"Don't be a coward, Hori," Shinomori dismissed, but he himself looked paler than usual. "Just a little further, to the fork. According to the plan, there should be an old pump room there. We'll film it and leave."
They came to the promised fork. Three tunnels diverged in different directions. One, the widest, went to the right and down. The other two were narrower, their arches almost closing over their heads. In the center, there was indeed an opening leading to a small round room — the very same pump room. The door had long since been torn off, and inside, there was complete darkness.
"Here it is!" Shinomori tried to sound cheerful. "Hori, shine your light here. Akutagawa, you stay behind, just in case..."
He didn't finish his sentence. From the narrowest and darkest tunnel on the left came the same grinding sound, but now it was louder and closer. And it was joined by another sound—a quiet, intermittent rustling, like the rustling of many dry leaves.
Akutagawa stepped back, raising his bat. Hori raised his camera, but the lens was shaking noticeably. Shinomori pointed the flashlight into the black void of the tunnel.
The beam caught the edge of something in the darkness. Something pale, almost white, slid across the brick and disappeared.
"Who's there?" Shinomori shouted, his voice trembling. "Show yourself! We won't hurt you!"
There was silence in response. For a couple of seconds. Then a sound came from the darkness. Not a creak. Not a rustle. It was... a clicking. Dry, abrupt, as if someone were tapping with long fingernails or... teeth.
And then it crawled out of the tunnel.
"AAAAAAAAAAH!!!" Shinomori screamed when he saw the huge shadow of a rat, slipped in fear, and fell on his back. Shining his flashlight in the direction of the huge shadow and the gnashing sounds, Hori saw only a standard rat.
"Ahahahaha!!!" Akutagawa and Hori laughed loudly and hysterically. Shinomori screamed hysterically, as if he had seen a ghost for the first time. Hori almost dropped his camera into the sewage from his hysterical laughter, but fortunately, he was able to pull himself together.
"I'd love to see that again," said Akutagawa, wiping away tears of laughter. Shinomori looked unhappy and humiliated in front of his friends, but such behavior, like hysterical laughter from fear, seemed normal among close friends.
"It's not funny," he snapped, continuing on his way. The paths ahead became smaller and smaller, and the forks never ended, like a maze. It was all quickly becoming tiresome, because the only mysticism promised was rats. There were no reptiles or ghosts here. Disappointed by this turn of events, the adventurers walked on, cursing the waste of time.
"I told you it was a waste of time. We wasted our time for nothing, and now we'll have to spend a week washing the clothes to get rid of this filth," complained Hori, turning off the camera and walking in the middle of the row. Flashlights lit their way, but on the way back, they saw a mysterious figure running ahead of them into one of the tunnel's forks. Akutagawa instinctively grabbed his bat, ready to fight, while Hori took a stun gun out of his pocket.
"Forget it. We need to capture it on camera," said Hori, taking the lead in the chase. Shinomori was shocked by such a thirst for fame, but trusting his friends, he followed them. Their exploits had only garnered a couple thousand views, and, disregarding safety, they rushed after him, wanting to capture the mysterious figure that lived in the old sewer mines. With adrenaline rushing through their veins, they didn't even notice that they had lost the trail they were following.
"We seem to be lost, guys?" Panting, they looked back in horror, realizing one thing: they were lost in the catacombs of the old sewer system, compounded by the fact that their cell phones didn't work underground. The atmosphere of the dark tunnels became increasingly oppressive, and with each new fork in the road, the terrible fact was compounded by the distant sound of bare feet walking on the ground.
"Don't panic, we'll find a way out. We couldn't catch that weirdo, but we need to get out of here before he traps us." They stopped to catch their breath; it was a huge relief to be able to breathe deeply in such a foul-smelling place. Their masks were sweating, and the humidity at each new fork in the road grew, sucking the last of the strength from the three adventurers. All their clothes were soaked from physical exertion and tension. Ignoring the mysterious figure, they turned the camera back on, now recording themselves.
"Want to know how deep the rabbit hole goes?" The fourth figure appeared behind them. A scruffy-looking man with red hair and very strange yellow eyes that vaguely resembled human ones. Torn, dirty pants with black oil stains and dirty bare feet, but surprisingly, his face was clean. Shinomori frowned at the sight of him; he stank, despite the oxygen mask on his face, and his hair was disheveled, dirty, and matted. Examining his appearance, Shinomori made a judgment about where he lived.
"Hey, man, were you running away from us?" His eyes widened, and his pupils looked in different directions, like a frog's. He smiled quietly, revealing sharp, disgusting teeth with gaps between them. Hori and Shinomori tensed, pulling out their non-lethal equipment. He continued to smile at them as his yellow pupils filled with madness and his pulse quickened at the smell of their sweat.
"FOOD!!!"
****
Serious clashes never remain without consequences. In a society of heroes, it is difficult to imagine their line of work without injuries and scars. Combat heroes had their own fun with scars — they symbolized successfully completed battles. No one in their right mind bragged about them, especially in public. A special law was devised for such scarred heroes, prohibiting them from showing their ugly scars to the public. For such cases, there were agents of the Heroes' Commissions who monitored the mental and physical condition of heroes. As in any other industry, heroes had their own supervisory body to which they were required to report.
Heroes who had survived many battles were required to change the design of their heroic costumes to hide scars and damage. Changes to heroic uniforms were strictly controlled by the heroic commission to preserve copyright and commerce. There is no smoke without fire, and therefore interns from hero academies have to make their heroic uniforms within the law. Overly revealing or aggressive costumes were strictly prohibited, but there were special cases when the prohibited could be available due to exceptional circumstances.
Almost every hero obeyed a set of rules. It was not for nothing that people working in this profession, whether heroes or accountants in an agency, were not allowed to disclose information to the press or the media. Such leaks, discrediting the heroic commission, were quickly removed, and the individual who leaked the information faced a long process of lawsuits and exorbitant fines.
Walking through the corridors, the sound of men's shoes could be heard. With perfect posture, he walked to the right ward as soon as he heard rumors of a monster that had easily defeated Hawk. No villain had ever managed to cripple Hawk, sending him to intensive care. Only a select few knew about this incident, as they had managed to shield the media from the Silent Ghost. The clean hospital corridors calmed his pragmatic nature; everything was perfect, without any inaccuracies. Knowing everything in advance, his quirk became both a gift and a curse.
The dim light seeped through the windows, illuminating the path except for the last door in the corridor where Hawks was located. Something heavy could be felt in front of the entrance to his ward. All the heroes were informed about his injuries: the vigilante managed to tear off his wings and cripple Mirko to the point of requiring intensive care. The door swung open before him, and he saw Keigo, bandaged, with a cast on his leg and his right cheek bandaged. The life support machine showed a stable pulse and heart rhythm. Keigo opened his unbandaged eye and was not surprised by the visit.
"I'm not surprised you came here, old man," wit and irony were the hero's calling card, and the public loved him for it. His absent-mindedness was often criticized, but the public appreciated him more for his contribution to the rescue.
"How are you feeling?" asked Night Eye, adjusting his glasses. Keigo's absent-mindedness vanished instantly when he saw Night Eye's serious intentions. In the narrow circles of heroes, there were rumors that Night Eye was obsessed with the Silent Phantom.
"I think you'd be more interested in hearing about him than about my health," he said, the smile and mockery disappearing from his face, returning to the seriousness he had shown during the fight. Night Eye said nothing, looking forward to the information to come.
"He couldn't have defeated you alone. Someone helped him," Night Eye concluded with cold precision. He had to search for information and make assumptions about his unusual nature for a long time. Contradictions and inconsistencies hindered the solution to the problem.
"He was alone and managed to catch me off guard. The main mistake of everyone who fights him is underestimating him," Night Eye wrote down the observations that Hawk had told him, recognizing the importance of the information. Hawk was a highly respected hero, and to question his words was to question the truth. He was cruel and unceremonious with villains, but he respected his colleagues, albeit in his own way.
"His combat skills and adaptability to conditions are top-notch. It's as if he can read and know weaknesses in advance, adapting to the style of combat... that's what's troubling," Keigo finished, leaning back on the pillows. The pain from the movement made him wince.
"His movements and strikes are aimed at our blind spots. If he fought like a normal villain, he would have been caught the first time he met Ingenium." Night Eye stopped writing. His sharp gaze seemed to pierce through the bandages and plaster, seeing not only physical injuries but also the psychological shock hidden behind Hawk's bravado.
"Now hand me the juice tube. My mouth is dry from talking about him in such flattering terms," Yastreb closed his only open eye for a second, remembering. The jerky movements in the darkness gave way to a sudden, measured stance. The chaotic tentacles turned into deadly, precise whips. And just when it seemed that victory was already in his hands...
"There are two options," Keigo said hoarsely, drinking juice from a tube. The monster's blow was so strong that it damaged his stomach and throat, forcing him to drink only liquids.
"Either he's a self-taught genius who learns from every fight. Unlike us, he's not bound by paperwork and takes bold steps." Night Eye stopped writing and looked directly at Keigo, who was thinking about something. Injuries in heroic work were a constant occurrence and never became the subject of public adoration. It was not uncommon for heroes with model looks to resort to plastic surgery to avoid prying eyes. Each hero was different, with unique opinions and approaches to their work, and all operations were hidden from the public eye.
"And what did you notice?" Night Eye asked dryly. Information about the lyncher was changing, which added even more to the headache. Many heroes had grown accustomed to stability, which had become commonplace. Once a respected profession, it had come to resemble the routine faced by almost anyone with a personal life. He corrected the information about him as a rebel opposing an already established system that had been built over decades.
"He's getting better. In that fight, I noticed armor. Gloves with claws, like a cat's, and boots, apparently special ones. Before that, he was dressed in everyday clothes. It made me think: he wants to deal with his opponents more effectively." During the meeting of heroes with Tsukauchi, he remembered the Silent Phantom is quirkless. This inconsistency was infuriating, creating an unsolvable mystery about the impossibility of his existence. Strangeness was the norm in quirk society, but when his blood tests show no strangeness, he has the ability to use black whips. How did he manage to defeat high-ranking heroes with such an inexpressive quirk?
I admit the possibility of using equipment. In his first fight with Mirko, he ran away from her, but this time he was able to defeat her and you, while running away and hiding like the wind. The Hawk snorted at the humiliating 37 seconds it took him to neutralize him and Mirko. Years of experience and brutal training were enough for 37 seconds, and even their professional endurance couldn't take that much damage.
"It's not that simple, Mirai. He had a trump card up his sleeve, and we were the first to see it. Before they injected me with the paralyzing drug, I was able to sketch what he looked like. Look at what he looked like." Despite his recklessness and carelessness, Hawk as a person could not accept humiliation; he remembered how, as an orphan, he was taken from his foster parents' home and subjected to humiliation in training. Hawk turned his head away from Night Eye and looked out the window.
As a hero of the highest caliber, Hawks had a photographic memory, and remembering the faces of his opponents was an easy task for him. Night Eye had no doubt about that. Something repelled him from this idea, and his intuition did not fail him. On paper, he saw those same sharp white lenses and a monstrous mass resembling Noma during the battle with All for One. Black whips, a huge mouth, and a long pink tongue with sharp teeth that could easily bite through flesh. The body was covered with sharp angles, like protruding bones, sharp elbows, and legs resembling those of a kangaroo, but massive and black, and instead of toes, there were two huge fingers with bony nails at the ends. White veins were drawn in detail across its body, and the claws had long fingers.
Night Eye lost his voice, covering his mouth with his hand. His hands trembled with panic, and his mind refused to accept reality. His greatest fear, which he had seen thanks to his quirk, had been confirmed: the very creature that would end the era of heroes, tearing off their heads without regret. The very killer of the idol of millions of people and the All might . A terrifying creature, bringing only death with its color and repulsive appearance, reminiscent of Nomu. The first glance at such a repulsive creature reminded him of Nomu from the last battle on Fuji. After that terrible and bloody battle, Mirai woke up in a cold sweat. His nightmares led him to become obsessed with searching for traces of Nomu and All for One. Day turned into night, and night turned into day, but the future remained unchanged, no matter what he did. The future was like an ocean that could not be crossed, and his fate, like the fate of others, was doomed to death at the hands of the monster.
"Didn't you notice how much he looks like Nomu? Ten or twelve years have passed since then." Keigo only grunted at the mention of ugly creatures like All for One. The Endeavor and the All might managed to defeat him with difficulty and joint efforts. The commission searched for traces of All for One for a long time, but found only charred remains from the Endeavor's fire.
"I noticed. At the time, I thought it was his project, but then I thought it was just another crazy person's delusion. There's been no news from him for twelve years. I'll have time to see my grandchildren in that time," Keigo finished, but his joke hung in the air, crashing against Night Eye's stony face.
Mirai looked at the drawing, and his world, built on logic, predictions, and impeccable control, cracked. Nomu. All for One. Not just a street thug, not a meta-freak resentful of society. It was the legacy of the darkest era of heroes, a ghost that should have remained in the past. And now, after a long time, he had reappeared with an unexpected gift. In a new form, but with the same essence: absolute, all-consuming violence.
"He saves ordinary people. He's against us, no doubt about it, but he has his moral qualities," he summed up, adjusting his glasses. Keigo wanted to laugh at his conclusions and throw something heavy at him.
"Don't make me laugh, your brain has atrophied from the future. The vigilanties are psychos in masks. I don't know what's going on in their heads, but their desire to prove themselves is just a circus with horses."
"And a circus with horses," Night Eye parried coldly, without taking his eyes off the drawing.
"He defeated you in a short time and disappeared. And 'disappeared' is the mildest word." He finally looked up from the paper and looked directly at Hawks. There was no panic or obsession in his gaze. It was cold, calculated down to the micron.
"He's not just 'against us'. He's become something else. Before, he was a local problem, a street phenomenon. Now he's confirmation of my worst fears. This isn't a rebellion. It's a legacy. And if it's really connected to Nomu or the ideas of All for One..." Mirai didn't finish. He didn't need to. Keigo, despite all his bravado, understood. He had seen this monster with his own eyes. He had felt its hunger, its otherness. It wasn't human. Even the most vicious villains retained a spark of something recognizable—greed, vanity, resentment. In what had burst forth from the fire, there was nothing but an ancient, all-consuming instinct to consume and destroy.
"Your quirk," Keigo said hoarsely, changing the subject but essentially continuing the same thought. "Does it show you anything? Now that you've seen it?" Night Eye closed his eyes for a second. As always, probabilities floated before his inner vision, branching paths of the future. But now they were blurred, shrouded in a black, viscous fog. It was as if the very existence of this creature distorted the predictability of reality. He saw flashes: collapsing buildings, panic in the streets, the faces of heroes in horror... and at the center of it all, a blurred but recognizable silhouette with white slits for eyes. The future was scripted, according to Night Eye.
"So we need to act outside the script," Keigo said sharply. He tried to sit up, but the pain pinned him to the bed. Night Eye nodded. The strategist in him was already calculating the first steps.
"The commission must not find out about the drawing," he said, carefully folding the sheet and putting it in his inside pocket. "They'll start to panic or, worse, try to compromise with him. That's my job now. And yours, as soon as you're up."
"Mine?" Keigo smiled, but there was no joy in it. "What can I do? Wings don't grow back in a week."
"You saw him. You're the only one who fought him face to face in this... new form. You know his scent, his tactics, his pressure. That information is more valuable than any wings." Night Eye walked to the door. "Recover. Think. Remember every detail. About what happened before the explosion. Every valuable detail."
He left, leaving Keigo alone with his pain, humiliating memories, and a new, difficult mission. The circus with horses was over. A quiet, underground war was beginning against a shadow from the past that threatened to engulf the future. And Night Eye walked down the sterile corridor, clutching a crumpled drawing in his pocket that was not just a picture of a monster. It was an alarm signal. And he, Sasaki Mirai, was perhaps the only one who heard it in time.