Heroes aren't saints.
Not all of them shine in pure white against the villains' stark black.
Plenty fall into the gray, motivations tangled in self-interest or worse—some were even darker than the monsters they hunt, cloaked in capes and cheers.
I've seen it up close, too many times.
Sticking to the truth I witness, the facts I gather, it earns you enemies in high places.
Some of those caped figures develop a real grudge, the kind that simmers until it boils over.
"You've got the wrong person," I shot back, voice steady despite the rubble digging into my palms. "What happened to you is unfortunate, but it is sure as hell—not related to me…!"
There she was, stepped from the haze, blocking my path like a wall of polished malice.
One of those who hated me, alright.
Caligula.
Height 220 centimeters, age 32, measurements 102-64-98. Charismatic and innately beautiful, more than any supermodels. Black hair cropped sharp to her jawline, crimson eyes that were sharp and domineering as conqueror's swords, with a single mole below her left eye.
Born to the noble Ebonhart family, longstanding pillars in the Heroes of the World's elite circles. Graduated top of her class from Alexander Academy, ranked third among the world's premier Hero institutions.
Her hero costume evoked imperial command. And since she never change it, it was quite iconic—a tailored military greatcoat in midnight blue, edged with gold piping that traced epaulets heavy with heroic badges—silver stars for Surge-level takedowns, enamel shields for civilian saves, and a crimson laurel for academy honors.
Brass buttons gleamed down the front, cinched at the waist by a broad belt slung low on her hips, holstered with spatial anchors. Trousers tucked into knee-high boots reinforced with alloy plating, practical for flight or fray.
A single cape draped from her left shoulder, hemmed in scarlet silk that billowed like a banner, clasped by a lion's-head brooch symbolizing unyielding valor.
"I'm not mistaken, One-Eyed Messenger From Hell," she said, her tone smooth as oiled steel.
Reinforcements. I'd hoped for them.
But Caligula? Out of every Hero in the registry?
Heh, to think that I'm this low on luck.
I planted my feet, ignoring the tremor in my legs. "I was just a rookie back then. Green as they come. You know what they say about how the young preacher can't sin because they know nothing, right?"
Her lips curved into a smirk, slow and venomous.
"Doesn't change the fact that you're the perpetrator for the punishment I received, you nerdy fucker."
Around a year ago, I'd been embedded in a hot zone. Like all of my adventures that got me the epithet of the One-Eyed Messenger From Hell, this one was also as dangerous and absurd.
Basically, cybernetically enhanced terrorists holding a high-rise, dozens of hostages packed into the upper floors.
Caligula arrived like a storm, the golden celebrity of the Hero world. At the time, endorsements stacking up, fans chanting her name from billboards to broadcasts.
She stormed in, and defeated the villains like any competent hero.
She came out triumphant, celebrated like a trophy.
And from her report, the terrorists had already killed all of the hostages before she arrived, marking a great tragedy with Caligula herself giving an official apology of not arriving at the site fast enough.
This sparked a lot of internet debate from her fanatic fans, mocking other heroes who didn't even arrive at the site, and that she shouldn't be the only one who gives a public apology.
However, Caligula didn't know that I managed to slip past into the terrorist site before her, and stayed there long enough until I found a gap to exit the place without being known.
Yes, I was that good at infiltration, even for a non Ego-wielder.
If I had any powerful Ego or fighting capability, I would had saved the hostages and beat those terrorist myself!
Back to the topic, Caligula proclaimed that the hostages were already dead when she arrived, but it was the opposite.
After killing all of the terrorists, Caligula murdered all of the hostages for no particular reason, all with a giant grin on her eyes as blood scattered the floor and walls.
This was not the Hero I wanted to represent humanity.
I was quite naive and hotheaded back then, so I was too focused on bringing justice to this sadistic wolf wearing sheep clothing—unwise to the consequence.
Two days later, my piece alongside the picture and recording I took, was showcased on every possible feed and media I could get my hands on—"Hero or Sadistic Executioner? Caligula's Hidden Grin."
The backlash crashed like a wave. Heroic factions dragging her to court, the Heroes of the World and their departments scrambling to contain the PR bleed.
In the end, she was subjected to a punishment but nobody knows outside of the top dogs of the Heroes of the World.
And that fact that she was here, her family must've been pulling the string this whole time.
"That article," she murmured, eyes narrowing to slits, "One little piece from an unfounded moron, and it nearly torched everything I'd built over years… Accolades, alliances, the legacy of my bloodline—all took a massive setback because of you~!
"I waited, you know. Dug through the bylines until I pinned the puppet master~ and who pulls the strings? The One-Eyed Messenger From Hell, an Egoless hack who doesn't know where to draw the line."
This was bad.
I had a feeling that she would be freed from whatever punishment that she got, but not this fast and so sudden.
It didn't help the fact that I had been very busy the entire time to think and plan for a countermeasure in case that Caligula encountered me out of nowhere.
So much for a textbook genius.
Her hand shot out, fingers clamping my throat like iron.
"Urgh!"
The world lurched—up, away, the district shrinking below in a blur.
Rain lashed my face, thunder cracking through bruised skies, typhoons howling in my ears as wind clawed at my coat.
Caligula's Ego—Spatial Perspective, lets her warp and bend the folds of space relative to her target and herself respectively.
She bends space to the eyes, the senses—twisting the canvas while maintaining the relativity between affected and the environments,
We're probably hovering inches off the shattered pavement of Wheel-Forged still, but to me, it's a maelstrom, oceans raging under lightning-veined clouds.
"As a journalist, you should have known how my Ego works."
"I—I sure did…!"
She smirked wider, drifting forward at a leisurely pace.
The storm's fury twisted into a blistering inferno that clawed at my lungs with every ragged breath, the ground buckling beneath me as molten rivers hissed and spat, their radiant fury searing my exposed arms like a blacksmith's forge gone mad—while the acrid ash coated my tongue, forcing me to gasp through a veil of unrelenting fire.
Then came the desert's wrath, a howling maelstrom of sand that flayed my face raw, the relentless barrage of grit embedding itself in my eyes like a thousand invisible needles.
And as if it wasn't enough, she sent me to somewhere extremely cold, as the chill immediately crept into my skin and coating my pores with ice.
Before long, we were back to the district in a nauseating snap, rubble and smoke reasserting around us.
"Hmm, to think that a normal human can be this resilient~"
Well, it was more like my clothing was on the same quality as the one Heroes used for their costumes—it was quite a solid investment.
Just when I thought that it was over, I saw her devilish smile widening.
I twisted in her grip, stealing a glance over my shoulder despite the firm grip on my neck.
From my behind, the mercury villain lunged, a tendril of liquid gold spearing straight—puncturing clean through my stomach, agony blooming hot and wet.
"Oops," Caligula purred, her face nearly touching mine. "Not me who hurt you, though. A villain did that~"
The entity coiled for another strike, viscous arm rearing high.
Then, space folded again—snap—and we rematerialized beside a gutted tower, its facade sheared away like paper.
Caligula hurled me, my back slamming the wall with bone-rattling force.
I slid down, clutching the wound, blood slicking my fingers as pain clawed up my spine.
It was painful, it was horrifying, it was debilitating, it was agonizing—I wanted everything to end and return to my humble abode, geeking about the Heroes I like, and watching funny cat videos while my laying on my comfy hotel bed!
But no one would save me, not even the very heroes I adore.
Yet, somewhere deep within my fool's gold heart, there was this great source of defiance that pushed me to move forward.
"You don't befit the title of Hero," I gasped, forcing myself upright on trembling legs.
"So are you," she countered, looming over me. "You hackless journalist—" Her words came sharp, laced with contempt, "Parading 'truth' to the world changes nothing, you know? It sows doubt, fractures the line we hold...
"Heroes might stray, push too far, but we stand between humanity and the enemies—the villains who'd burn it all without a second glance. You? You just scribble from the shadows, eroding what keeps us alive, all in the name of selfish justice, even though you barely enact one!
"Worthless piece of trash, that's what you are."
I pushed to my feet, grin splitting my face despite the fire in my gut.
"And this is it, folks—this is the true face of Caligula!" I announced, as if dictating to an invisible mic, "The false Hero unmasked once again. Who would have thought that one of the esteemed Ebonhart that got herself caught in a heroic court be this hideous!?
"Article 47 of the Heroic Conduct Codex—Heroes shall not endanger civilians outside VTAP designations without Bureau sanction.
"I'm no Echo-level pest or even a suspect. Just a reporter with a byline, You used your Ego on me, and even used me as a shield to block that Villain's attack! That's a federal breach, Caligula, straight to the HOB docket!
"And don't get me started on Section 12—personal justice is off-limits without court-approved cause. No vendettas, no off-book executions, no settling scores without a well documented and justified cause. You think this is act of your is righteous?"
Her eyes widened, panic flickering.
"The fuck are you doing?"
"Recording the truth," I bluffed, voice steady like a confident host of a broadcast news. There was no such thing as a hidden recorder, of course. "Visual, audio, all sort of shenanigans connected to my private network—tucked somewhere in this mess of clothes, you see...!
"And don't think about mincing my flesh in the hopes of destroying it. The second it breaks? The whole recording will be uploaded to every outlet from here to the global feeds and connections that I'm apart of!
"And before you say that you want to strip me naked here, I have already set a timer on it the moment I see you your face. If I'm not alive by the next day, the footage will still get uploaded...
"However, I will gladly remove the footage if you leave me alive, or at the least, leave me alone," My ragged breath became heavier as time went on. I couldn't keep this facade up for much longer. "Now that you know how I look like and where I am, I don't want to make an enemy out of you, so you can hold onto the pact that you can torture the heck out of me, if I fail to deliver my promise, heh…"
Caligula, as mighty and scary she could be, should still be cautious on whether I'm telling the truth or not, especially if she learned about my history.
But this whole deception was built around Caligula still caring about her own reputation!
Thus, I prayed to whatever gods and deities exist within the expanse of this world's religions.
Her expressionless face was getting closer.
Caligula's hand wrapped around my throat again, lifting me like a ragdoll.
A big grin spread across her face, wild and unhinged.
"I don't fucking care~?"