The silence that followed the Blaze Vortex was a physical thing, thick and heavy, broken only by the sizzle of cooling, vitrified earth. Hakai stood at the edge of the colossal trench he had carved, the scent of ozone and vaporized alien metal sharp in his nostrils. The four S-Class heroes behind him were statues, their earlier confidence shattered into stunned silence. He paid them no more mind than the scorched rubble at his feet. Their part in his spectacle was over.
His entire focus was above.
A cataclysmic surge of energy flared from the heart of the ship, a pressure that dwarfed even his own display. It was a roaring tide of crimson and gold, a power so vast it seemed to warp the very fabric of the sky. For a fleeting instant, it pulsed, coiling like a galactic serpent, before peaking with an intensity that made the air itself scream. Hakai felt it—a slight, thrilling pressure against his senses, a whisper of a threat that was more intoxicating than any promise of safety. Through the shattered hull, he saw a flash of white, a counter-presence of absolute nullity, meeting the crimson tide head-on.
The main event.
A wide, predatory grin stretched across Hakai's sharp features. The warm-up was over. The connoisseur had finished his aperitif.
"Hehe... time for a tasting," he mused, his red pupils narrowing with anticipation. His muscles coiled, energy gathering in his legs to launch him toward that glorious, raging conflict.
The intention was a spark in his mind. The reaction was instantaneous.
A spike of energy—different from Boros's all-consuming rage, but sharp, concentrated, and utterly furious—registered at the edge of his perception. It wasn't a warning; it was an arrival. His body moved before his mind fully processed the source, his arms crossing into a solid, energy-reinforced block just as the world turned green.
CRAAAAAASH!
A chunk of rubble the size of a ten-story building, sheared from the ruins of City A and wreathed in a crackling, sickly green aura, slammed into him. The force was monumental, utterly different from Melzargard's brute strength. It was a focused, telekinetic hammer blow that shattered the ground beneath his feet and launched him bodily into the air, a black speck hurled backward by an emerald comet.
For a normal being, it would have been the end. For Hakai, it was a surprise, not a defeat.
His body, trained through two years of brutal conditioning, snapped into a controlled spin mid-flight. The world became a dizzying blur of grey ruins and green sky. With a flick of his wrist, almost dismissive, he unleashed En. A near-invisible horizontal slash cleaved the massive projectile in two with a sound like a giant's canvas being torn. The two halves of the building-sized rock passed harmlessly on either side of him, their malevolent green aura winking out as they tumbled away.
He landed in a low crouch, his shoes scraping against the broken asphalt. Slowly, he rose to his full height, one hand coming up to casually brush a strand of hair from his face. His white-sclera eyes, burning with intrigued crimson, lifted to find his assailant.
"Heh," he chuckled, a low, dangerous sound that vibrated with genuine amusement. "This is gonna be fun."
Floating above him was a small figure silhouetted against the hellish glow of the alien ship. A simple black dress. Curling green hair. And an aura of psychic power so dense it made the air shimmer like a heat haze. Her eyes, narrowed to slits, blazed with pure, unadulterated fury. The very rubble around her began to levitate, rising with a grinding, groaning chorus of stone and steel, each piece wreathed in that same deadly green light.
Tatsumaki, the Tornado of Terror, glared down at the unknown variable who had dared to carve his own path of destruction through her battlefield.
"Another bug," her voice was laced with a contempt so absolute it could freeze blood. "Who gave you permission to destroy my city?"