A Legionnaire in a goat mask sat on worn brown furniture, his headset resting over his ears. The room was quiet—too quiet. Only the ticking of a clock filled the space.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick—
The wall exploded.
The clock shattered with it.
The Legionnaire—Goat Stain—flinched hard, ripping off his headset as debris scattered across the room. His hands shook for only a second before he reached for a strange glove and pulled it on.
Then—
he saw him.
Floating.
Still.
Virus.
His eyes burned red in the dim light as he slowly descended, a faint smile forming on his face.
Goat Stain opened his mouth—
—but the punch came first.
It landed like a blast.
His body tore through the broken wall, sent flying outside, crashing hard against the ground. The impact cracked his mask, exposing part of his forehead.
Before he could recover—
Virus was already there.
Standing over him.
Watching.
"Gregory Matthew," Virus said calmly. "Born November 10th, 1994."
Goat Stain froze.
"You joined the Legion seven years after your parents killed each other," Virus continued. "Repeated stabbing. Rage. Fear. Silence."
A pause.
"And now… you wear a mask and call it purpose."
Goat Stain forced himself up, breathing hard. "How… do you know that?"
Virus's expression didn't change.
"Because I am beyond you," he said. "I am the all-knowing. The chosen god of machines."
His arm shifted—metal forming, stretching—
A blade.
It shot forward, lifting Goat Stain by the neck.
"Tell me where the others are."
Goat Stain winced—but smiled.
"If you're all-knowing…" he rasped, "figure it out."
For a split second—
Virus paused.
That was enough.
Goat Stain slammed both gloves together and grabbed him—
A surge of electricity exploded through Virus's body.
Goat Stain dropped, rolled, and pointed behind him.
"Turn around."
Virus did.
Two massive gear systems activated instantly.
Metal cables shot out—dozens of them, each tipped with blades—piercing into Virus from every direction, pinning him in place.
They lifted him into the air.
Restrained.
Still.
Then—
they came out.
Legion members.
From every direction.
Hidden walls. Underground paths. Shadows.
Thousands.
They formed a line.
Silent.
Waiting.
Then their commander landed.
Young.
Fast.
Different.
A tiger-striped outfit. A mask shaped like a predator. Twin katanas resting at his sides.
Even among killers—
he stood above them.
He stepped forward, eyes locked on Virus.
"You call yourself a god of machines," he said. "We are the slayers."
A pause.
"Today, you die."
Virus looked at him.
Expressionless.
"I am still holding back," he said.
The commander moved.
One motion—
Too fast to follow.
Virus split in half.
His head separated cleanly from his body.
Silence.
The Legion froze—
Then the body moved.
Flesh.
Metal.
Reforming.
Rebuilding.
The head reattached.
The eyes glowed brighter.
"I'm done playing," Virus said.
The cables melted instantly under a burst of red energy.
He dropped.
And moved.
What followed wasn't a battle.
It was a massacre.
Over nine thousand Legion members rushed him—
Fast.
Skilled.
Deadly.
It didn't matter.
Virus tore through them like they weren't there.
Punches crushed bone.
Blades shattered on contact.
Bodies fell faster than they could react.
Screams filled the air—
Then faded.
Minutes later—
Silence.
Only two remained.
Virus.
And the commander.
Virus tilted his head slightly.
"You're young," he said. "Your technique… impressive."
The commander didn't respond.
He attacked.
The clash was violent.
Precise.
Relentless.
The commander's chain sword snapped outward, swinging with deadly speed. Virus formed blades in both hands, meeting every strike head-on.
Metal screamed.
Sparks flew.
The commander shifted—fast.
He trapped Virus's leg, yanked him down, dragged him across the ground—
Then mounted him.
Punch after punch slammed into Virus's face, brass knuckles crushing down again and again.
He wrapped him in chains—
Pinned him—
Electrocuted him—
Burned him.
And finally—
left him there.
Still.
Unmoving.
Dusk.
Graves were dug.
Bodies buried.
Silence returned to the hideout.
The commander walked toward the exit—a massive gate leading through the cave.
Then—
a sound.
Behind him.
He turned.
Virus stood there.
Perfect.
Untouched.
"Impossible…" the commander muttered. "I watched you burn."
Virus stepped forward.
"You disappoint me," he said. "But I'm still impressed."
A pause.
"I wasn't even in my base form."
The commander's eyes narrowed.
"What are you?"
Virus's gaze darkened.
"Someone taking away your burden."
He vanished—
Then reappeared in front of him.
The first punch broke his guard.
The second broke his stance.
The third dropped him.
Virus dragged him back into the hideout, striking him again and again until he couldn't stand.
Then—
he rose into the sky.
Red energy began to pulse across his body—lines glowing, building, charging.
For a moment—
everything stood still.
Then—
impact.
The explosion swallowed the entire area.
Before the blast fully consumed the hideout, the commander crawled—bleeding, broken—into an underground chamber.
He survived.
Barely.
That night—
Jane watched Tim carefully.
Something felt off.
He wasn't telling her everything.
She said nothing.
Just turned and went to shower.
Her phone rang.
She answered.
On the other end—her husband's best friend.
Panicked.
"Tim is in danger," he said, breath shaking. "Someone is coming for him."
High above the city—
Grey Owl sat on the edge of a skyscraper.
Watching.
Waiting.
She had already seen enough.