The sky wept with fury.
A storm raged over New Arcadia, the city of heroes. Flashes of lightning illuminated the towering skyscrapers, casting jagged shadows across the battlefield below. Rain poured down in torrents, mixing with the crimson rivers flowing through the streets.
And amidst the chaos, Elias Vance stood victorious.
His breath came in ragged gasps, his black-and-gold hero suit torn and soaked in blood—both his own and his enemies'. His knuckles were raw from the beating he had delivered. At his feet, a villain lay crumpled against the pavement, barely clinging to life.
Gorehound.
The infamous butcher. The man who had turned an entire district into his personal slaughterhouse. And now, he was nothing more than a broken shell.
Elias towered over him, his fist clenched, his entire body trembling with exhaustion. But it was over. He had won.
And yet, something felt wrong.
The streets were empty. No backup. No sirens. No cheering crowds. Just silence—broken only by the rhythmic drumming of the rain.
A shadow moved behind him.
Elias barely had time to react before a blade pierced through his side.
A sharp, burning pain exploded in his stomach. His breath hitched, his vision blurred. His knees buckled beneath him as the sword was yanked free, his blood spilling onto the cold pavement.
That voice.
He turned his head, barely able to register the figure standing over him. The neon glow of the city cast eerie light on the man's face. Daemon Cross.
Elias' closest friend. His partner.
The man who had fought beside him for years.
Daemon looked down at him with cold, unreadable eyes, his violet-glowing blade dripping with fresh blood.
Elias tried to speak, but only blood spilled from his lips. His mind was spinning, unable to comprehend what was happening. "D-Daemon…?"
Daemon's gaze didn't waver. His voice was calm. Too calm.
"You were always weak, Elias."
Weak.
The word echoed in Elias' skull, rattling against his thoughts like a gunshot.
A figure stepped forward from the darkness. A man in a sleek, black suit, his very presence radiating authority. The head of the Aegis Hero Association.
Director Vale.
Elias' breath hitched. "W-Why…?" His voice was barely a whisper, lost beneath the storm.
Vale sighed, as if speaking to a disobedient child. "Elias, you were promising. Strong. But your obsession with protecting the weak has made you soft. It has made you… useless."
Elias clenched his teeth, his vision blurring from pain. "I… fought for them."
A bitter laugh escaped Vale's lips. "And look where that got you."
Another figure was dragged forward. A small, frail body—a girl.
Elias' heart stopped.
Lena.
His little sister. The only family he had left.
Her arms were bound in steel cuffs, her face bruised, her blue eyes filled with terror. She struggled, but the grip of the heroes holding her was unyielding.
"Elias!" Her voice was raw with fear.
His blood turned to ice. "Lena—"
Daemon's blade pressed against Lena's throat.
Elias' body screamed to move. Every fiber of his being demanded action, but the wound in his stomach robbed him of his strength. He couldn't even stand.
Vale crouched beside him, his tone almost sympathetic. "Tell me, Elias. What is a world ruled by power supposed to do with creatures like her?" He gestured to Lena like she was trash.
Elias' breath turned ragged, his hands clawed at the pavement, desperate to push himself up. "Please…"
Vale's expression darkened. "The weak have no place here."
And then Daemon slit Lena's throat.
The world shattered.
Lena gasped, her tiny body jerking violently as blood poured from the gaping wound. Her eyes locked onto Elias—pleading, reaching, fading.
Then, she collapsed.
Motionless. Lifeless.
The scream that tore from Elias' throat was inhuman.
He lunged forward, his body running on pure instinct. Pure rage. Pure agony. But a crushing force slammed into him, knocking the air from his lungs.
Daemon.
Elias was too weak to fight back. His vision was fading. His limbs were giving out.
Vale shook his head. "You could have been great, Elias. But you chose to waste your strength on filth." He glanced at Daemon. "Get rid of him."
Daemon didn't hesitate.
With a brutal kick to Elias' chest, he sent him flying off the rooftop.
Elias felt weightless, the wind roaring past his ears as the city lights blurred above him. His body struck the raging ocean below, the icy water swallowing him whole.
Darkness consumed him.
Pain.
That was the first thing Elias felt when he awoke.
A searing, merciless agony that coursed through his veins like molten steel. His skin burned, his wounds ached. The scent of salt and decay filled his lungs.
He was alive.
Somehow, against all odds, he had survived.
But she hadn't.
Lena was dead.
A howl of pure, unfiltered rage ripped from his throat, echoing into the jungle that loomed beyond the shore. The island was harsh, teeming with monsters and nightmares, but it was nothing compared to the storm inside of him.
For three years, Elias fought. Hunted. Killed. Evolved.
The man who once fought for justice was gone.
Now, there was only vengeance.
When he returned, he wouldn't stop until the Hero Association drowned in blood.