Tuesday.
Good day. At least for Haeden.
His contract with Cintra had finally been annulled. Three years in that fish-stinking, out-of-form hellhole—gone. Done. Over. And now? Zenith. Back where he belonged.
Long enough to grease the right palms, shake the right hands. Maybe even suck a few dicks if that’s what it took. Whatever. The point was, he wasn’t leaving this time.
No more bottom-feeding backwater villains.
Now it was real work. Otherworlder invasions. Proper high-stakes battles. His name on the Wall of Glory.
“I’ve waited so long for this.” He grinned, stretching out on the mattress. Nice bed. Soft, but firm. One good thing about this city—they made damn good beds.
He was taking it with him. No question.
Then he slept. One last peaceful night, and it’d be all over.
Weeeeee! Weeeeee!
Ear-splitting alarm. His body moved before his brain caught up. Off the bed, feet hitting the floor, breath sharp and awake. He snapped to the wall screen.
Level-39 Villain attack. Code: Yellow.
Haeden groaned. “Oh, for fuck’s sake. Not again.”
.
.
.
Haeden washed his face. Donned the cape. Full black.
No waiting. Not for the call. Neither from management, nor from the cops. They weren’t happy about him leaving.
Not his problem. Should’ve given him the raise when he asked. The merch cut too. Not try to bargain after he’d already checked out. Sucked to be them.
He ran a hand through his hair. Slid on his sunglasses—at night. Trademark’s a trademark. Gotta do it for the sponsors.
He kissed his sleepy pet rabbit. Quick goodbye. Be back soon Honey-Bunny.
A few quick stretches. Then he jumped.
Fell a few feet. Caught the air.
Pushed off. Boom.
Now airborne, Haeden scanned the city. Found the villain fast. To his right. Ward 13.
A fireball lit up the sky. Right over—was that a convenience store?
He sighed. “What more did I expect?”
He shifted course.
Directly hovered over the firelight. Took it all in. Flames roaring. Screams—some dying, some just scared. People running. Chaos.
And right in the middle of it—a guy on fire. Hair. Face. Whole damn head.
Haeden squinted. Recognized that ugly color combo. Black jacket. Blue t-shirt. Red track pants.
Oh, come on.
Code Yellow. Pyromancer class. He was fine with that.
But not the same villain again.
The guy from this evening. From that oil depo at the port. Same annoying bastard.
Haeden rolled his eyes. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Haeden swooped in. Landed hard. Thud.
The crowd froze. Then gasps. Phones came out. Because, of course, they’d rather record than run.
The villain turned—too slow. Haeden’s hand was already on his throat.
Then they were airborne.
Shot up fast. Past the rooftops. Past the cameras.
High enough. He loosened his grip, just enough for the guy to talk.
“I, uh,” the man stammered, “wanted a—”
Haeden cut him off.
“Didn’t I tell you today was my last fucking day in this shithole you call your city?” he roared, right into the guy’s ear. “I let you go because you promised you wouldn’t blow up shit for twenty-four hours. Just until I was gone. And you couldn’t even do that?”
“I tried,” the man said, honest as a puppy. “But I wanted a sandwich.”
Haeden stared. Then, bam, slapped him sideways.
“What kind of sandwich involves blowing up a fucking convenience store?”
This. This was why he hated Cintra.
The villains here had no class. No grand jailbreaks. No assaults on the labs dissecting their own kind. No hostages. No assassinations. No mayor overthrows.
But a boat full of fresh fish? Prime target.
New Pokéemon toys on the shelf? Unacceptable.
A school cafeteria menu update? Time to level half the campus.
What message were they even trying to send?
They weren’t villains. Not real ones.
So why the hell hadn’t Monolith sacked these clowns yet?
“Fuck it.”
Haeden shook his head. Tired. Done.
“You deserve that cell in Igor’s lab,” he said. “You really do. Need to be cut into pieces and stitched back together. Again. And again. Maybe then you’ll understand simple fucking words.”
He snorted. Tightened his grip. Felt the guy’s breath hitch.
Then—
A chuckle.
A snap of fingers.
BOOM.
The air between them exploded.
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Fire roared, bright as the sun. Heat ripped through the air. Haeden's glasses melted. His clothes burned at the edges. But it wasn’t the fire that did the damage.
It was the force.
The shockwave blasted his grip loose. Sent him flying.
He crashed into a tower crane. Metal groaned. The whole damn thing swayed over the half-built apartment below.
Meanwhile, the villain plummeted. Fire didn’t touch him. But the fall?
That was another story.
“Won’t let you get away that easy, you bastard.”
Haeden pushed off the crane. Shot downward. Fast.
Behind him, metal snapped. The crane groaned, then caved, crushing through the first few stories of the building below.
He didn’t look back. Didn’t need to. He heard it. Knew insurance would handle it.
His focus stayed ahead.
Hand outstretched, closing in on the villain.
One word to the media about getting let off by Cintra’s so-called hero, and his sponsors would drop him like a corpse in a canal.
If he had to, he’d drag this guy to Zenith. No risks. Not on his last day.
Fifty feet from the road. Close. Almost had him.
Then the bastard flipped midair. Grinned.
Snap.
BOOM.
The shopping district of Ward 13 vanished in fire.
The shockwave hit Haeden like a wrecking ball, blasting him skyward. He spun. Uncontrolled. Tumbling. Rolling. Stabilized fast—but too late.
The damage was done.
Buildings torn open. Roofs gone. Four stories reduced to rubble.
Fire everywhere.
Screams. Sirens.
At least two dozen dead.
Haeden exhaled. Shoulders slumped.
“Collateral damage. Even on my last day.”
That was gonna leave a dent in his otherwise fairly clean record.
If only he’d just flown the bastard away. Like the SOP said. Instead of hanging around, having a damn conversation.
He snickered. Ran a hand down his face. Come on.
Whatever.
The insurance agents would rebuild Ward 13 good as new. They had hourly snapshots. Build accurate models, feed it to the framework, and voilà—like it never happened.
And the dead?
Well. People reproduce. Two’s the norm. They could crank out a third for a while.
Problem solved.
Then—
BOOM.
More collateral damage.
Sponsors wouldn’t like that. Neither would the association, if this dragged on much longer.
“Let’s contain,” Haeden sighed.
He tapped the air beneath him and shot forward. Target locked—the bastard was sprinting deeper into the crowd.
Haeden reached—
Snap!
He yanked back just in time. Another explosion. More deaths.
Ugh.
He surged forward again—BOOM.
Tried again—BOOM.
And again—BOOM.
Didn’t hurt him. Not physically.
But his stationed at Zenith chances?
Bleeding out by the second.
No one wanted a Hero who couldn’t put down a villain low as Level-39.
For God’s sake, Haeden was Level-69. Literally thirty times stronger.
Enough of this.
He tapped his feet, shot up, locked on target, then dropped—fast.
Like a meteor.
No reflexes could counter that speed. Before the bastard even blinked, Haeden slammed him through the pavement. The guy cratered ten feet deep into the sewers.
Not done.
Haeden dropped in. Snatched him by the neck.
One punch—sent him sky-high.
Followed after him. Closed the gap.
Spotted the canal at the ward’s edge.
One more punch. Hard. Precise.
Straight for the water. Fire’s weakness.
That should calm him down.
But the guy had other plans.
Somehow, some-fucking-how, he twisted midair. Snapped his fingers at just the right moment.
The fire blast shifted his course.
Instead of the canal, he crashed back into the wreck that was Ward 13.
Barely missed a man standing there.
The guy was too shocked to react. Then he did—a little too well.
Jumped. Too far. Too fast. Slammed into a staircase.
Weird.
Haeden focused.
Tall. Lean build. Auburn hair. Blue eyes.
Like his own.
Handsome, too. Like his own.
But that wasn’t what caught his attention.
Mana?
A faint golden glow. Swirling around him.
Haeden narrowed his eyes.
“What element is that…?”
“Try better, you asshole!” the villain screamed, stepping out of the fire completely unharmed.
Interrupted Haeden’s thoughts.
Final straw.
He hadn’t wanted to kill another God-child. The Gods chose them for a reason—gave them a system. But then Monolith got their hands on him. Corrupted him.
No coming back from that.
Not in this life, anyway.
BOOM!
Explosion. Right in his face.
A torrent of fire, ready to swallow him whole.
Haeden snarled. Done. Over it.
He tightened his fist. Gripped the air itself.
The fire roared past. Didn’t budge him. Didn’t touch him.
Nothing could harm him.
He was called Invincible Haeden for a reason.
Time to make that very clear.
Haeden exhaled.
He moved.
A blur.
One hand behind the villain. A fist to his chest.
Crack!
The bastard spat blood. Doubled over.
Haeden grabbed his neck. Could snap it.
Too soon.
Instead, he drove him through the wreckage.
No invincibility there.
That would hurt. A lot.
Haeden smashed him through buildings.
One after another.
Concrete slabs shattered. Rebar tore through flesh. Blood spilled.
But the bastard laughed.
The more pain, the louder he laughed.
Annoying as hell.
“You want more, huh? You want more?!” Haeden snarled.
He drove his fist into the guy’s face.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Each punch sent him crashing through steel bars.
Impaling him.
And still—he laughed.
“Fine.”
Haeden flung him high. Very high.
The momentum peaked. Gravity took hold.
Before the bastard could drop, Haeden was already there.
Above him. Fist cocked back.
“Take this!”
No more laughter.
Panic. Fear. Real fear.
Didn’t matter.
No stopping the death punch.
BAM!
The impact ripped through him.
Instantly.
He exploded downward.
Blood sprayed. Flesh flew. Bone shards scattered like shrapnel.
But then—
It all stopped. Mid-air. Like time itself had slammed the brakes.
Haeden blinked.
Not just the body—all of the damaged Ward 13 had paused.
Frozen mid-destruction.
He glanced back. The rest of the world moved as usual. Cars. People. Sirens. Life went on.
But below him?
Dead stop.
He shook his head. Blinked.
Rubbed his eyes. Hallucination? Some kind of illusion?
No.
This was real.
“What in Leo’s name is this?” Haeden muttered.
He hovered down, slow and careful.
Paused.
Something was there. A layer of energy.
Faint. Golden. Spread over the entire wreckage. A barrier.
Same glow he’d seen around the guy earlier. What element was this?
He reached out.
ZAP!
A jolt so violent, he felt like his soul got yanked out.
“No!”
He ripped his hand back. Flinched. Shot a hundred feet away.
Heart hammering. Breath ragged. Hand on his chest.
“What the fuck?” Haeden muttered, swallowing hard.
That was no ordinary power.
And then—
The ground lurched. Cracks snapped shut like a giant invisible fist had crushed them closed.
The asphalt bubbled, smoothed, hardened. Like fresh pavement laid in seconds.
Buildings rattled. Walls straightened with a snap.
Shattered windows pulled their fragments from the streets, reattaching seamlessly, edges melting together like ice in reverse.
Steel beams groaned as they bent back into shape. Scorch marks peeled away, leaving pristine concrete behind.
A half-collapsed bridge didn’t rise—it unfolded.
Floors slid back into place. Bricks reassembled themselves.
Streetlights snapped upright.
Flipped cars twisted, reshaped. Dents vanished.
Even fire seemed to rewind, its embers flickering backward, then gone.
And then—stillness.
Ward 13 stood pristine.
No debris. No blood.
No proof a battle had ever taken place.
Like Haeden had never touched it.
His stomach twisted. His breath came short.
His fight. His destruction. His kill.
All erased.
He floated there, staring.
And then—it got worse.
A body reformed out of nothing.
First, just a flicker. A shimmer in the air.
Then flesh knitted together, bones reappearing, organs stitching themselves whole. Blood soaked back into skin. Clothing wrapped around muscle and bone.
A man—middle-aged, wide-eyed, wearing a work vest—stood where his corpse had been.
Alive. Breathing.
Haeden jerked back. What the fuck—
More shimmered into existence.
A woman blinked back into reality, mid-stride, as if she'd never been crushed under rubble.
A street vendor wiped his hands on an apron, adjusting his stall, like he hadn’t been incinerated minutes ago.
Children ran laughing across the sidewalk, chasing a ball that had burned to ash in the explosion.
Cars weaved through the roads, honking, drivers none the wiser that they’d died screaming.
The convenience store—the one that had started it all—was open. Shelves fully stocked. Customers shopping, chatting, scanning items like nothing had happened.
Like none of it had ever happened.
Haeden’s pulse slammed in his ears.
This wasn’t healing. This wasn’t revival.
This was reality resetting itself.
And then—the final punch.
The villain—the guy he’d turned into mist and bone fragments—walked out of an alley, stretching his arms like he’d woken from a nap. He glanced around, noted the convenience store, then patted his chest. His very intact, very un-punched-in chest.
Haeden’s mouth hung open. That… That was impossible.
He scanned the street. The buildings. The people.
No one screamed. No one panicked.
Because none of them remembered.
Haeden swallowed hard. He was the only one who knew.
He dropped onto the rooftop. Staggered. Leant against the ledge.
Choking. Breathing too hard. Too fast.
What the fuck just happened?
What hero could do that? No—no human could do that…the impossible.
Gods.
Only the Zodiac Gods had power like that. To rewind reality itself.
But they wouldn’t come here. Not to Cintra.
They barely graced Zenith with their presence, and that was the capital. The heart of the world.
So what the fuck was this?
He looked down at Ward 13. Perfect. Clean. Untouched.
Not a single crack in the pavement.
Not a single drop of blood.
Not a single person questioning why they were alive again.
His chest heaved. No. No, no, no.
Because if this wasn’t a god’s work—
Then who the actual fuck did it?
