Humanity always needed heroes.
Villains—whether twisted Ego users gone rogue or straight-up monsters from the cracks in reality—chip away at the fragile stability we've scraped together.
Districts crumble, supply lines snap, and before you know it, the whole damn structure teeters.
But what is an ark without a destination to chart forward?
That's where the Heroic Oversight Bureau comes in, or the HOB as everyone calls it—the watchdogs keeping the capes in line while they punch back the evil, the popular division of the Global Defense Department, the very backbone of the Heroes of the World.
The reason they were mentioned was thanks to their achievement.
They cooked up the Villainous Threat Assessment Protocol in their reign, VTAP for short.
This system categorizes dangers posed by villains drawn from diverse origins—rogue Ego-wielders, ancient eldritch entities, cybernetic warlords, interdimensional invaders, corporate overlords, and even mundane terrorists amplified by forbidden tech.
It was something that a journalist learned early in their career, one way or another.
"I wonder what level this invasion will be."
VTAP levels range from 0 to 5, determined by factors like scale of impact, villain motivation, power escalation potential, and collateral risk to civilian populations.
Heroes are then alerted via all sorts of media, relative to what they possess such as neural implants, gadgets, official app, and with response teams scaled accordingly.
Not only that, the numerical threat level also has another designation for each level respectively.
Echo, Ripple, Swell, Surge, Tempest, and then Eclipse.
Echo level threat for the small fry that any cop or righteous Ego-wielder can squash without breaking a sweat; Ripple for the ones that endanger crowds, off-limits to civilians even if they've got superhuman power under their skin.
Then it climbs—Swell level threat for district-wreckers, the kind that turns neighborhoods and large buildings to rubble.
Surge is for continent-spanning nightmares that could wipe out swathes of people.
Tempest is for global gut-punches, the sort that unravels civilizations overnight.
And at the peak, Eclipse level threat—pure apocalypse, the end-of-days stuff where the world's clock runs out.
Surely, living in the era where an Eclipse level threat wreaks havoc must be a nightmare.
"Well, isn't it a nice sign that I haven't got my hands on any Eclipse level threat in my career."
My mind spun through the old records as I stood there, as I forgot to hunt for a taxi, and the whirlpool churning like a bad omen overhead.
Invasions weren't new, history's littered with them, patterns repeating like stubborn stains.
"Mmm, portal signatures match the '89 breach—upside-down spiral, something that can be described as etheric bleed. Not a natural rift that can be done by natural converging of natural energies, that's for sure."
Then I spotted them.
Plasma-like formations coiling through the vortex, sleek and predatory, mimicking a shark pack slicing water.
That should be the sign of Demonic Essence.
No mistaking that oily shimmer.
This meant that Demons were definitely behind this invasion.
"Tch, out of all kinds of villains…"
Demons, they were those supernatural, often sapient bastards who wield Ego just like Heroes does.
There were many hypotheses behind their origin and reasoning as to why they were hostile to humans and often sought chaos and destruction, but the truth remains unconfirmed.
"If I'm not wrong, they have been targeting highly populated large-sized districts lately."
It was on the mark with the current incident.
The one where I'm at, the Wheel-Forged District, was a teeming hive, with factories and tenements stacked like kindling amongst many resorts and shopping center.
I yanked out my holographic typewriter, the slim device humming to life in my palm, keys flickering virtual blue.
Still, glee bubbled up despite the dread—finally, a real story, not some puff piece on the heroic noble family's politics that I was forced to cover last week..
Fingers flew across the projection, words spilling into my draft.
"Hmm, the evacuation process should start by now."
I glanced up, the maelstrom pulsing, and wrapped it tight.
Before I knew it, I was already performing my job as a journalist.
"Swell-Level invasion, targeting Wheel-Forged District core. Considering the reaction time of the Security Enforcer to evacuate the masses, there seems to be a hint of downplaying the safety of civilians…
"With the District Lord caught in a major scandal not a week before, a prevalent issue in the management of the Wheel-Forged District might lead to a diminishing quality of stability for those who want to consider the district as a place to live."
Mmm, I got my first topic too, the draft could be edited later.
I retracted the tool with a satisfied snap, slipping it back into my coat.
Journalists ought to be honest, fair, and courageous—gathering facts, reporting them straight, interpreting without spin.
In crises like this, when governing suits cozy up to heroes or bury threats to keep the masses stupid, that truth becomes gold.
Easy access to unfiltered info is a lifeline, alerting everyday folks to duck or fight, ensuring they don't get steamrolled by lies or half-measures from needless political fights done by those that possess power.
That's my style, anyway—raw edges and all.
But the interview—
God, the interview!
"Urgh, choosing between a juicy hands-on news material and the interview of a lifetime huh."
Regardless, I still needed to survive before anything else.
I bolted north, legs pumping, skirt hiking awkwardly as I aimed for the fringe—ensuring that I'm not dead under that gaping maw, but close enough to witness the fallout.
The air thickened with sirens already, distant shouts echoing off steel girders.
They would definitely seal the district before the crisis ended, and there would be no way for me to get to the interview on time unless the invasion was taken care of in less than an hour.
The civilians should had been evacuated to the underground bunkers except those that were crazy enough to stay on the surface.
Like me.
"Oh well, sometimes, life took back the lemon they gave. Might as well settle for an apple."
Right on cue, the whirlpool belched.
Demons poured out—imp-like creatures make-up a nasty swarm, their leathery wings blotting the gray sky, and claws glinting like obsidian.
And at their heart, a headless feminine silhouette, forged from mercury-slick liquid laced with gold veins, viscosities shifting in hypnotic waves—thick as syrup in the limbs, fluid as quicksilver in the core.
It undulated, voiceless but commanding, the imps orbiting like frenzied satellites.
"That one is new," I wryly chuckled. "Now I'm scared."
My mind flicked through the patrol logs I'd memorized like scripture, a journalist's habit to know who's holding the line when chaos hits.
Wheel-Forged District, sprawling and dense, always had four licensed Heroes on rotation, and today's roster was no mystery.
Whippersnap, Fallen Crux, Re-Bell, and Violence Tamer.
They'd be out there now, boots on the ground, tasked with containing this villainous incursion until the big guns rolled in—at least that was the standard protocol for a breach this loud.
Whippersnap's Ego—Psycho Tendrils, allowed him to conjure psychic plasma, viscous and violet, lashing from his palms like living serpents.
It's a crowd-control dream, perfect for herding those winged imps into choke points, keeping the swarm from spilling past the district's core. Not to mention, it also deal a psychic damage that wear out mental strength.
He'd surprisingly play support when being a part of a team, no question—his style's more about precision than brute force.
"Though, he got caught smuggling illegal drugs around five months ago. The fact that he still has a license after the prohibition period is quite astounding."
The second hero was Fallen Crux.
Her Ego seemed to tie her immense healing factor to her emotions—great anger or willpower would make her stitches her wound faster than most Heroes can blink, for example.
Not only that, her combat skills were sharp enough to outclass the average Heroes.
Maybe she could hold that swarm at bay, shredding through the invasion for a solid hour, maybe two, before mental exhaustion crept in.
Though, her firepower was quite lacking.
Then again, she never confirmed what her Ego was, nor was there any official name for it.
"She is also a part time fashion model with not a single scandal to her name."
Re-Bell should be the third licensed hero.
His Ego, Reactive Dissonance, scrambles minds with a psychic static that leaves targets dazed, swinging at shadows.
Problem is, it's unreliable against anything with a brain wired for speed—Demons with high processing power shrug it off like a bad headache.
I'd seen reports of him flubbing critical moments, leaving teammates exposed.
"Wait, isn't he still an undergraduate at Siegfried Academy?""
Then there's Violence Tamer, the heavy hitter.
His Ego was basically his heroic epithet.
No violence can spark within his line of sight, an invisible field that smothers aggression like a wet blanket.
Overpowered? Absolutely! But the man's not known for sharp decisions—in which he tends to fumble his strategy when the stakes climb.
Still, his presence alone could stall the liquid queen and her horde, at least for a while.
"He also possessed a good sense of justice. We need more heroes like him."
This was a Swell-Level threat, no doubt—Level Two on the VTAP's scale.
A district-wide phenomenon, a swarm of hostile imp-like monstrosity, and that mercury-gold figure at the center screamed coordinated assault from the Demon side.
It astound me to know how there were all kinds of intelligent and sapient monsters from the Demon's side.
"This might be doable."
Wheel-Forged's size meant it could eat 30% structural damage before the heavy response teams arrived, and these four were the first line, meant to hold fast or die trying.
"And if there happen to be any out-of-duty Heroes nearby, the threat will be fended off faster."
My place was here, on the edge of the firestorm, where the truth lived—raw and unfiltered, ready to be carved into words for those who'd never see the frontlines.
"I should deploy my tools for now."
In hell, I waited.
Four hours later, I crouched beneath a jagged chunk of collapsed overpass, my stealth camo—a ruinously expensive investment—cloaking me in a shimmer that bent light and sound.
"Why…" Agitation started to swell in my veins. "How come that no reinforcement has arrived yet!?"
Wheel-Forged was a warzone now, 30% reduced to twisted metal and smoldering craters, the skyline warped like a fever dream.
I saw some battles here and there, but I saw no sign of help coming from outside.
And instead of writing the victorious deeds of our Heroes, here I am jotting about the defeats of some Ego-wielders that were on the side of humanity.
I even saw Whippersnap get splitted into two by that mercury-like villain.
"Yikes…"
The rest of the heroes were stretched thin—maybe broken, maybe dead, lost in the haze beyond my sight.
This couldn't go on.
Seeing how the field of destruction started to expanse, I retracted my stealth camo gadget and then wrapped myself with it, before carefully running to a different rubble.
I could still hear the sound of battles, so maybe the other three were still alive and fighting.
"This is not my first time in this kind of situation, heh."
Right, I always survived in the end.
This should just be another day on the field.
As long as I survive, I could plan for another day.
But hope dwindled faster than the sinking start under the starry night, the moment I saw her.
"Looks like I found the same rat that attempted to bite me a year ago."