The monsters didn't know the meaning of pity. Whether they were blocking Fubuki in the street or lurking inside the flanking buildings, they drooled like starving alley cats.
"Kill her…"
"She looks delicious…"
"Heh heh—let's begin the slaughter. We'll start by carving up this hero!"
With a chorus of jeers, four commuter trains hurtled in from the sky.
Fubuki's lip curled. Appetizers?
A tiny flex of will—metal screamed. The four airborne trains froze mid-arc, reversed, and came crashing down into the horde. A dozen monsters were flattened to paste in an instant; the rest reeled in chaos.
Fubuki's eyes sharpened. Beneath the noise, she felt something strong rushing closer. She glanced up—
Not a hulking monster.
A… rag?
At least that's what it looked like: a torn strip of fabric, the sort you'd rip off a coat.
While Fubuki watched, the "rag" swelled and billowed. Ten monsters underneath it braced and then—like scaffold-bearers—propped the cloak upright. A figure over three meters tall stood revealed, face swallowed by a mantle of stitched-together shreds. Only two pitch-black arms protruded, each studded from shoulder to wrist with crowded yellow eyes.
It was… disturbing.
"My, my. I heard the Hero Association would send someone powerful," the cloaked thing chuckled, voice scraping like sand. "But just a woman? Barely enough to pick my teeth."
The surrounding creatures howled with laughter, apparently unbothered by how Fubuki had casually parried their trains. "Yeah, yeah! Only one of her—won't be enough to share!"
"No need to share," the cloak hissed. "This woman is mine—Fubuki."
That voice made Fubuki's expression harden.
"Wait… that voice—"
"Gah-hah-hah… You recognized me? I used to be a C-Class hero. Too weak to join the Blizzard Group—you rejected me. I admired your body for so long… but you turned me down. Now… there's no running."
Snap.
The monster's two hands cracked their fingers at once. Buildings on both sides didn't crumble—they rose, wrenched straight up from their foundations as if levitated by invisible cranes.
This time, it wasn't four trains in the air.
It was four twenty-story towers.
"Psychic power…?" Fubuki remembered: a C-Class once tried to join her group—a fellow esper, but pitifully weak. That was just how it was. Psychic talent split cleanly: strong or weak. Before her recent boost, Fubuki's telekinesis already ranked among the Association's best—yet compared to her sister Tatsumaki, the gap was a world apart.
Could someone that feeble surpass her now?
"You don't know what I've endured," the cloak rasped. "I was remade by Gyoro Gyoro. The eyes of fallen monsters were implanted into my body. With their sight, my power eclipses Tatsumaki. Even S-Class heroes are insects to me! Tremble, Fubuki! Don't worry—I'll implant your eyes and your sister's into me as well. Then I'll be unstoppable!"
Fubuki sighed. "After all that bluster, I thought you found a real path to strength. You just piled up ant-power. Then let me clarify the gap between us. I'll use power on par with my sister… and kill you."
She snapped her fingers.
"W-wait—how—no, impossible—!"
Air bucked. Currents twisted into a single helical maw around the cloak—becoming a roiling, light-eating spiral.
Kuro Tatsumaki (Black Tornado).
Inside the storm, the monster couldn't even struggle. "I don't accept this! I don't—!"
Acceptance didn't matter. Minutes later, it burned away to ash.
The four suspended towers lost their leash and began to fall.
Fubuki flicked her wrist. Stone and steel slid sideways like chess pieces and crashed down into the remaining monsters instead.
Boom!!!!!
She exhaled. "Oops. I used a tiny bit more than my sister's level. Next time, be more precise."
Leaving the scattered groans behind, Fubuki strode for the entry point.
Elsewhere, Saitama had—by complete accident—wandered into the Monster Association's domain. Unfortunately, he was a little directionally challenged and ended up roaming aimlessly.
"Huh? Why is nobody here?" he wondered. If this was the enemy's main base, shouldn't it be packed?
No enemies. Not even a hint of presence.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
"What's that?" He crouched to listen. The floorplate he touched must have been a trigger; as soon as he leaned on it, the entire slab dropped away.
Saitama blinked, baffled all the way down.
Below, in a cavernous corridor, Flashy Flash was locked in a fierce fight. The two opponents before him moved at blistering speed—mirroring his own swordwork and steps. He knew exactly what that meant.
(End of Chapter)
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