I’m off the couch in a heartbeat. Breakfast—half-eaten—and coffee—barely touched—go right into storage alongside Ell’s. With the balcony door sealed and curtains drawn tight, I make a beeline for my room.
I pull on something a little more... practical. The white t-shirt stays, but I swap in trousers, a jacket, and the mask I keep stashed precisely for days like this. Last thing I need is some nosy news camera snapping a pic and turning Ell’s life into media fodder.
Out of my room, I make the rounds. Gas? Off. Lights, AC? Off. TV? I give it a quick side-eye just for the location, then—off. Finally, I make sure the doors are locked tight, testing each handle with a firm tug.
Satisfied, I take a breath. All set. I snap my fingers, and the world blurs, smearing into motion like wet paint.
One blink, and I’m in the thick of it—a war zone so real it puts the news coverage to shame.
The sky’s bruised and swollen, choked with smoke, and streaked with jagged embers that rain down like meteors as buildings buckle on the horizon. Shattered concrete, twisted metal, searing debris—all strewn across the ground. The air is heavy, every breath sharp with the bite of scorched metal and ash.
Up ahead, a fresh batch of heroes is going all out against the dragon. The thing looms above them, a hulking mass of scales and muscle, eyes glowing like molten coals. It inhales, deep and slow, a rumbling breath that makes the ground shiver. Their attacks barely graze it, just sparks against its hide, though they’re definitely doing a great job widening the disaster zone.
“Right, exactly why the city hires you,” I shake my head, watching as another building takes a hit. “Bloody brilliant.” At this rate, they’ll reduce the city to a rubble pile before the hour’s up.
I roll my neck, crack my knuckles, and step forward, just about ready to put an end to this whole circus—when the dragon, a good kilometer off, freezes. Its massive head swings toward me, those slitted red eyes narrowing like it’s locked onto something it didn’t expect. Its nostrils flare, and a low rumble builds in its chest, humming through the air like a warning shot.
Of course it sensed me. Can’t say I’m surprised with an S-class monster.
The dragon bares its fangs, and lets out a roar that slams straight through my chest. In the next instant, it’s charging, smashing through charred wreckage, tail slicing through metal and stone like paper. Flames start flickering at the edges of its mouth, each thunderous step rattling the ground harder than the last.
I let out a breath, loose my shoulders back, and shake out my arms.
“All right, you bastard,” I murmur, planting my feet as it barrels closer. “Let’s do this—for Prison Mike.”
I close my eyes, tuning out the chaos around me as I raise one hand, focusing everything into a single point. The air around me thickens, pulses—then shifts, blasting back as golden lightning crackles down my arms, coiling around my legs, pooling in a bright, sparking haze. A low hum fills the air, growing to a roar as energy gathers, ready.
I open my eyes, locking onto the dragon, the world blurring around me as I step forward. And then, in an instant, I’m right there—hovering inches from its snout. Its eyes widen, nostrils flaring, but I don’t give it a chance to react. My fist is already moving, the lightning surging with everything I’ve got.
BOOM!
The impact detonates, a shockwave of pure light and raw force tearing across the battlefield. The ground splits open, jagged fissures spreading out, like the earth itself is buckling under the hit. The dragon hurtles backward, a shattered mass of scales and claws, smashing into the ground and leaving craters in its wake. Each impact ripples out, shuddering through the remains of the battlefield until it finally comes to a stop—smoke rising off its beaten, barely moving body.
Silence settles, the dust hanging like a curtain as everything stills. I exhale, the crackling energy around me fading back to a soft static buzz.
Just like that, it’s over.
With a quick tap in midair, I shoot up another hundred feet, getting a better look at the damage. Half the city’s turned into a wasteland of craters, fires, broken-up streets, and twisted metal. Fixing all this… yeah, that’s gonna be a serious headache. At least three months, a few hundred billion in expenses. But hey, it’s all government property, so they’ll handle the bill. Bit of a pain for the locals, though. Lucky for me, my place is untouched. I could just head home and finish Prison Mike. Tempting.
…Except, yeah, those billions could probably be put to better use. New hospitals? That’d be nice. Or maybe a few more metro lines to shave off commute times. More schools wouldn’t hurt, either. Or hey—how about actually finishing that solar plant they keep hyping up? Might finally cut something off my electric bill.
The residents, they’ll need homes ASAP. Kids have school, parents have jobs… and they’re not exactly paid to level the city, unlike some people I know.
I sigh, hands on my hips. “Guess we're doing cleanup.” I tell the system, “Initiate damage evaluation,” when… something shiny catches my eye. There, near the dragon’s smoking remains, a quick glint in the rubble. Just a flash, but before I can blink, a jagged rock shard is already shooting for my head.
“Whoa!” I jerk back, feeling the heat slice past my face.
And right then, the air shifts—a presence behind me. A fist, cocked and ready, coming in hot for the back of my head.
“Alright,” I twist around, hand snapping out to catch the very human fist coming my way.
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BOOM! The impact sends a shockwave blasting through the air, flapping my unzipped jacket and scattering the clouds behind me like they’re made of tissue paper.
The guy’s red eyes flicker with a twitch, a hint of surprise breaking through his scaly face—complete with two stubby, black horns jutting from his forehead. I give him a once-over, tilting my head.
“Well, would you look at that,” I snicker. “A humanoid dragon. Don’t see many of you stomping around town. What happened, clan kicked you to the curb?”
His eyes flash, and he lets out a low growl. “Yeah,” he snarls. “And I’ll kill you to earn my place back!” With that, he swings his other fist, hard, straight into my waiting palm.
Another shockwave explodes outward—jacket flaps, air blasts, same old routine. He’s clearly giving it everything he’s got—face twisted, veins popping, huffing like he’s about to combust… but nothing changes.
I give him a bored look, raising a brow. “That it?” And his frustration bubbles over.
He pushes harder, but all it accomplishes is pushing his breathing from dramatic to downright desperate. It’s obvious he’s going nowhere, and I won’t be either if we let this little scene drag on.
I grip his fists tight, twisting them in the wrong direction—crack! Immediately, his bones give, scales splitting open along his arms as blood sprays. He grunts, his face twisting in pain, and with just a bit more pressure, folding his hands further, he drops to his knees.
A pitiful whimper escapes him, and I can’t help but snort. “Some mighty dragon you are.”
I pull back my knee, lining up for a knockout shot, when he grits out, “They said you’d be strong… you don’t disappoint,” his voice strangled and dripping with resentment.
“Yeah, I know.” I drive my knee straight into his head, yanking him close as I force his hands out.
BOOM! The impact blasts half the scales off his face, and one of his horns snaps clean off, spiraling away. His head droops back, out cold, blood streaming from his crushed nose like a faucet. Yep, that did it.
I spot the group of heroes huddling near the dragon’s massive carcass, which, true to form, is already disintegrating into a pile of dust. I pop in front of them, and they all yelp and flinch back. Situational awareness, people, really?
I drop the dragon-man’s unconscious body right at their feet and turn to the one who seems like the leader—an A-class, judging by his mana signature. “Lock him up, hold a trial, and make his clan cover the damages,” I say, keeping my tone sharp. “You’ve got one minute to leave. Get out, quick.”
They hesitate, but one annoyed glare from me and they’re scrambling. Works every time. Watching them back off, I shoot up into the sky.
“Initiate damage evaluation,” I mutter, and the system screen flickers to life. A pulse of light fans out, washing over every scorched street, shattered building, charred rooftop, crumpled car, and whatever else is buried in this mess. Nothing escapes the scan.
[Rapid Damage Evaluation in progress. . . 20%]
Barely ten seconds in, and it’s done. A sharp pang stabs through my head as a full 3D simulation reconstructs the city piece by piece, down to every building, every room—even the toilet paper rolls. Streets fill with cars, buses, people, like everything’s just rewinding back to normal.
The cost projection flashes, and I wince as the final figure tallies up.
[Simulation complete. Initiate Restoration at Mana 3000/Sec?]
Figures, of course. I look down over the wasteland below, utterly lifeless, then snap my fingers. “Go ahead.”
A familiar tightness clamps around my chest as mana surges from my core, flooding outward. The whole world shifts; a golden light swells at the horizon, sweeping forward in a flash, covering everything in a blinding glow.
I blink, and it's gone. Just like that, everything's back. Where scorched earth and rubble were, now stand perfectly intact buildings. Craters are smooth streets again, and where the dragon’s massive form had sprawled, there’s... a shiny new school?
“Job’s done,” I say, feeling the drain slow as the mana flow finally cuts off. I roll my shoulders, letting the last of the pressure fade. “Not that I’ll see a dime out of it…”
[Ding! Damage Control System has reached level 217!]
“Oh, a level up. Fantastic,” I sigh, swiping the screen away. “Maybe that’ll pay Ell’s tuition. In…spirit, I guess.”
The thought sinks in, hollow and depressing. Nothing a quick dose of Prison Mike can’t fix.
I twist, and the world blurs, and the next second I’m in the alley behind our apartment building. Nice and shadowy—no wandering eyes here. I slip the mask into my pocket, run a hand through my hair, and head straight for the elevator.
How long was that skirmish? Ten minutes? Tops. Should be enough time for the egg and toast to still be warm. I can eat them.
The elevator dings open on the 11th floor. I walk down to the third door on the left, punch in the code, and step inside.
It’s cold and quiet—just as I left it. No sign of Ell yet. Out with friends, probably, making the most of her day off. Good. She’s earned it.
I drop my jacket over the chair, wash my hands, and grab the plate from the kitchen counter. Settling onto the couch, I flip on the TV, grinning. I’m about to dig into my egg when the anchor’s voice catches me off guard.
Frowning, I reach for the remote and hit the source button, aiming for Prison Mike. But for some bloody reason, it won’t change. I give the remote a shake, press the button again—still nothing. I change angles, holding it up like some sacred talisman. Nada. I jab the button a few more times, a little more aggressively with each attempt, but the screen just stares back at me, stubbornly unchanged.
It’s like it knows exactly how much I need this.
“Come on!” I throw up my hands, sinking deeper into the couch in full grump mode. I glare at the screen, just as the anchor starts droning on about the “Ultimate Restorer”—yep, that’s supposed to be me, only not me. Because some other poser—dressed exactly as me—gets to take the credit. The Hero Association eats up every ounce of glory they can get their hands on, and apparently, they’re still starving.
“Pathetic,” I mutter, staring up at the ceiling, remote in one hand, and absolutely nothing else to do.
Maybe it’s a sign—I should finally clean this place. It’s been… what, a month? Probably.
“Yeah,” I exhale, hauling myself off the couch. “Let’s do that.”
I give one last look at the TV, hoping it might miraculously shift to Prison Mike as a peace offering. No dice. Fine. I head for the closet to grab the dust rag and vacuum, already bargaining with myself to at least hit the big stuff—the dishes, maybe the laundry, if I'm feeling ambitious.
This… is exactly why I hate heroes.