Tokyo, Sector 3 – 18 Minutes After Broadcast
The city burned.
Smoke curled into the sky like screaming souls. Flames danced across buildings like they were alive, feeding on steel and bone. The Nomu came in waves now—smarter, faster, more vicious than before.
I was running out of time.
Running out of air.
Running out of injections.
But I wasn't done.
Not yet.
I ducked a hammer-fist the size of a car, countered with a blast of heat vision that cut the creature in half. Another Nomu lunged from the left—needle-fangs wide—and I spun, cracked its jaw with a snap-kick, and drove my last toxin vial straight through its eye.
Six more took its place.
I blurred forward, cloak slicing through ash. A Nomu with wings swooped overhead—I caught its ankle mid-flight and slammed it down into the pavement like a meteor.
Behind me, my team was scattered—holding the flanks, fighting in blood-soaked streets. River shouted orders. Thorn screamed in rage. Ghost was gone. Probably dead.
"Dark Phantom," Echo's voice snapped in my earpiece. "Three more Nomu portals just opened—Korea, Cairo, and Greece. The Dragons are falling back—Obsidian's gone dark."
Then another voice crackled in.
"Anos!" It was Stormz, voice strained. "We've got villains from ancient files—ones that shouldn't even be alive. I just saw Bloodvein tearing through a hospital in Paris! What the hell is happening?"
I didn't have an answer.
Because I didn't know.
But I heard the laugh before I saw him.
High. Twisted. Soaked in madness.
Then—
"BOOM, baby!"
A building across the square erupted in a purple mushroom cloud of smoke and teeth.
And from it walked the devil in a painted grin.
Joker.
He wore a tattered coat soaked in black sludge, bones hanging from his belt, and a smile carved into the corners of his face like it was stitched there.
"Oh Phantom," he cooed, arms wide. "You're just as dramatic as your daddy used to be."
I stepped forward, jaw tight. "You should've stayed in the grave."
Joker grinned wider. "But then who would deliver act two?"
He snapped his fingers.
A dozen new Nomu dropped from a portal above—these were different. Warped. Covered in ritual marks. Some held weapons. Spears. Chains. Guns fused into their arms.
Ancient.
Engineered.
And worst of all?
They were coordinated.
They moved in formation.
And charged.
I flew into the heart of the chaos.
I was fire. I was shadow. I was wrath.
Fists cracked bone. Heat beams sliced limbs. I screamed through my teeth as claws scraped my armor and Nomu blood splattered my visor. One almost took my leg—another slammed into me so hard I crashed through two buildings before I stopped.
I stood.
Bleeding. Bruised.
But alive.
Joker laughed from above. "You're breaking, Phantom. Your little ghost show is losing flavor."
I didn't respond.
Because then…
The comm lit up again.
Shira.
Her voice was strained. Rough.
"Anos… status?"
"Still breathing."
"You're about to get worse news."
"…Talk to me."
She hesitated.
"We've lost contact with the teams in Thailand, France, and Kenya. Reinforcements from Korea were intercepted—more villains from ancient records. Ones I can't explain."
There was a silence.
Then the question.
"…What's the call, Phantom? Fall back? Regroup? Or keep pushing?"
I didn't answer.
Not yet.
Because I turned.
And what I saw—
It cracked something in me.
Class 1-A.
Mina Ashido—limping, face bloodied, still melting the earth around her into acid traps.
Sero—swinging with broken arms, using his mouth to rip tape out and yank down a flying Nomu.
Iida—dragging two unconscious civilians to safety, his armor shattered.
Shinsou—barely standing, voice gone hoarse from overuse of his Quirk. Still fighting.
My friends—Eliza. Marcus. Ryan. Alex. Anix.
All of them.
Battered.
But still standing.
Still protecting.
They didn't run.
Even knowing this war might kill them.
Even without knowing who I was.
I closed my eyes for a second.
Breathed.
Then I opened my comm again.
"…Shira."
"I'm here."
"Order all non-critical support teams to defensive fallback. Civilians come first. Leave ghost units behind to shield retreats."
"What about your team?"
"We stay."
"…All of you?"
"All of us."
Another voice cut in.
Aizawa.
Flat. Controlled. But there was something under it now. Worry.
"Anos," he said, "this isn't about glory. You'll die out there."
I looked around.
At the flames.
At the chaos.
At Diamond—her lightning flaring with fury and desperation as she pushed back three Nomu with one hand and covered Sero with the other.
"No," I said quietly. "Not today."
I stepped toward Joker.
And I said one word into the comm:
"We fight."