— The Broadcast —
The auditorium fell perfectly still as K20, the world's number-one hero, stepped forward. Cameras clicked; reporters leaned in. The audience held its breath. K20 opened his mouth — and the giant screen behind him flickered.
Static. A face bloomed out of the noise: Dr. Anthony, grinning like a man who'd already won.
"Hello, heroes of the world, and future losers of tomorrow," his voice purred over the speakers.
A ripple of murmurs ran through the crowd. Confusion. Fear.
Dr. Anthony's grin widened. Maps exploded across the screen, red dots puncturing cities around the globe. "I'm bored," he announced. "So let's not wait a month for the Global Shock Tournament. Let's spice things up. I want to see every school, every so-called hero academy, fight my babies."
He leaned toward the camera, eyes glinting. "Monsters from my portals will invade those locations. And if any hero interferes with my experiment—boom. Atomic device. Across each city."
A gasp. A dozen hands flew to mouths. Reporters shouted; someone smashed a control panel. The room became a thunder of noise.
— Portals Open —
Outside, the world answered. Swirling rifts unleashed shapes that weren't meant to exist. Screams shredded streets. Heroes vaulted into motion.
K20 cannoned out of the building — a blue streak ripping the sky — and carved a path across the city. For a heartbeat it looked like hope itself had taken flight.
Then the event hall locked shut. A shimmering dome snapped into place, clamping around the structure. Every hero who tried to follow slammed into invisible resistance, staggered, and skidded back.
"Force field?!" someone shouted.
"It's disabling our powers!" another cried.
Glass tinkled. Footsteps clattered. The crowd's breath hitched — a thousand tiny panics, amplified.
— Bunny's Frustration —
Inside the dome, Bunny—who'd been lounging with an air of utter boredom—cracked her knuckles and scowled. "I just wanted to go to bed and dream about him," she muttered, voice low and raw. Her fists curled once. Twice. The sound was small, but it cut the panic like a blade.
— K20 and Celestial —
Above the ruined skyline, K20 tore through rents of shadow and flesh, dropping monsters with surgical strikes. Districts that had been caving in were suddenly carved clear by his momentum and will.
A colossus lunged at him — a maw of teeth and thunder. K20 pivoted to meet it and then, without warning, a streak of golden light slammed into the beast. It shattered into frozen shards that glittered in the air.
"You owe me one," Celestial said, drifting beside him, quiet and precise. Her voice was a cool wind. K20 exhaled, relieved. "Thanks."
"Don't mention it. Let's mop this up."
Their teamwork was a machine: Celestial's ice, K20's speed, rescue teams everywhere pulling survivors from wreckage like miracles.
— Ascenders' Response —
Back at Ascenders High, portals vomited monsters into training fields and courtyards. The students didn't panic. They grinned.
"Thirty-one down!" someone yelled, adrenaline sparking.
"Still going!" another added.
They moved like scholars of violence — coordinated, efficient, almost playful. Where civilians screamed and heroes strained, these students treated the onslaught like the ultimate exam. Swords flashed, gadgets screamed, elemental sigils bloomed. The monsters fell.
— The Lair —
Far from the lights and the cameras, Dr. Anthony watched his plan unravel on a wall of monitors. His manic grin snapped into a snarl.
"No!" he howled as a hacker's progress bar jumped to complete. "NO!" He smashed the console with both fists, sparks scattering like angry fireflies.
With systems compromised and the atomic trigger neutralized by a desperate group of tech heroes, Anthony yanked the main power and vanished into the nether of his lair. The portals flickered and began to close.
— Global Aftershock —
News feeds exploded. Headlines spat shock and awe: Ascenders High eliminates monsters in their zone. Hero 30th rescues seventy civilians. Cities counted their losses; emergency frequencies screamed for medics; millions watched with trembling hands.
Some channels played replays frame by frame: icy projectiles, speed-blur, a child being lifted to safety. The world clicked and scrolled and reposted until the sky itself seemed to contain a million echoes of the day's terror.
— CODE's Order —
In a secure CODE room, Gunther leaned against a steel table. He watched the world burn on the screen — the same cold amusement in his eyes as always.
"We've got a new assignment," he said, voice flat. "Find Dr. Anthony. Kill him. Use whatever it takes. Even if a few civilians die in the process."
Silence swallowed the room. A nail-hard pause.
Gunther smiled, razor-thin. "Let's show them what real monsters look like."
A chair scraped. Boots tapped—soft, measured footsteps. Outside, the city's pulse kept thudding: alarms, sirens, the distant rumble of falling masonry. Beneath all that, in every chest, a soft, frantic heartbeat.