Mateo couldn't feel his legs.
Smoke curled past the filter of his mask, scratching at his throat like broken glass. A heartbeat pounded somewhere—his own, maybe, or someone else's. The world felt wrapped in cotton, muffled and distant.
"Are you all okay?"
The voice came from far away, through layers of haze and ringing ears. Mateo blinked, trying to focus. His vision swam, dust particles dancing in the orange light that filtered through the smoke.
"Definitely been better." Someone coughed—Maya, he recognized dimly as her bat swept through the air, clearing their field of vision with sharp, precise movements.
The pain hit him then. Not all at once, but in waves, each one worse than the last. His ribs felt like shattered glass grinding against his lungs. Every breath was a battle. A sneeze built in his throat, and he knew—knew—it would destroy him, but his body betrayed him anyway.
The sneeze tore through him like a volcano erupting. Blood sprayed against the inside of his respirator, warm and metallic. A rib fragment stabbed somewhere deep, and for a terrifying moment he thought it had punctured his heart. More blood leaked from his nose, dripping to the ground in steady drops.
"You are not doing good," Inferno said, looking down at him.
Looking down. Mateo's stomach lurched as he realized—he was being carried. Cradled like a child in Inferno's arms, helpless and broken. The red-hot fire in Inferno's eyes was dimming, exhaustion taking its toll even on their strongest fighter.
"No... shit," Mateo slurred, his tongue thick and uncooperative. The pain was turning his thoughts to static.
Even Marina looked concerned, and she never looked concerned about anything. "We're exhausted. We can't fight whoever just set off that explosion." Her voice was steady, but Mateo caught the tremor underneath. "And we need to get Mateo to the base for treatment. Inferno, do you have a plan?"
Treatment. The word felt like a joke. The City Hall base had basic first aid—bandages and antiseptic. What he needed was surgery, real doctors, equipment that could put him back together. His only hope was reaching a hospital in the Capital, or finding someone with a healing quirk.
If he lived that long.
If their new enemy let them leave at all.
Alex dusted debris from her jacket, checking everyone with quick, efficient glances. "Seraphina, Inferno, Maya, Marina, Switch, Mateo." She paused, her expression darkening. "Where are Akira and Henrik?"
The silence stretched like a held breath. Akira had gone to check on Henrik before the explosion. They'd been somewhere in the building when it came down.
"Maybe they got out," Maya said quietly.
"No way anyone survived that," Alex said, spitting blood. A tooth clinked against the pavement.
The weight of those words settled over them like a burial shroud. Two of their classmates, gone. Just like that.
Mateo's whole life had been building toward this—becoming a hero, hunting down villains, making them pay. And here he was, broken and useless, watching his friends prepare to die.
Switch spoke up, his voice hoarse: "What the hell hit us? There was no warning. The building just—"
BOOM.
Another explosion shattered the air, closer this time. Then came a sound that made Mateo's skin crawl—a shrill, sharp whistle laugh cutting through the smoke above them.
They all looked up, instinctively flinching.
Mateo had always imagined villains as intimidating adults—scarred, powerful, radiating menace. So when he forced his gaze upward, what he saw made his blood run cold for entirely different reasons.
On the roof of a three-story building, silhouetted against the orange sky, stood a boy. Twelve, maybe thirteen years old. He wore an oversized blue jacket and black shorts, hands tucked casually in his pockets.
He could have been any kid from any neighborhood. Except for the smile.
It was wrong. Too wide, too knowing. The kind of smile that said he'd seen things no child should see, done things no child should do.
"I honestly thought King was stupid for sending me as backup for this easy task," the boy called out, his voice high and clear. "But you guys actually managed to beat those indestructible goons! Ha!"
He slapped his knee like he'd just told the world's funniest joke. The sound echoed through the empty streets.
"Who the fuck are you?" Alex snarled, baring her teeth.
The boy's expression shifted, childish amusement twisting into something uglier. "Don't think you can get away talking to me like that, you bitch!" His voice cracked on the curse word, making it sound even more disturbing. "As for who I am—you can call me the Slave."
Slave?
"Alex," Inferno whispered, "keep him talking. Get information." Alex's jaw clenched, but she nodded.
"Why the hell would you want to be called the Slave?" she asked, genuine confusion cutting through her anger.
While she spoke, Inferno gathered the others close. "Marina, can you create a water platform? Seraphina, freeze it solid. Switch—" He looked at their teleporter. "Can you swap with him from this distance?"
"As long as I can see him," Switch confirmed, gripping his dagger.
Above them, the boy's laughter turned sharp as broken glass. "Don't think that means I'm everyone's slave! I'm your master! I'm a god compared to all of you!"
The sound made Mateo's teeth ache. Something was deeply wrong with this kid—not just the villain thing, but something broken inside him. Like he'd been twisted into this shape by forces beyond his control.
"There's only one person I serve," the boy continued, his voice taking on an almost reverent tone. "The King. Only he is worthy of my devotion. And by obeying him, we'll bring this world back to its true glory."
King. The name sent ice through Mateo's veins. Whatever puppet master was pulling the strings behind these attacks, this child was just another victim in his hands.
"And who is this King?" Alex demanded. "Where is he?"
Maya winced beside her—too obvious, too desperate.
The boy's grin widened impossibly. "You really think I'll go spilling secrets? I'm not that stupid!"
Marina finished creating a circular platform of water, and Seraphina froze it solid with a touch. Six of them could fit—barely. All except Switch.
"Anyway," the boy said, like they were discussing the weather, "I've been sent here to kill some heroes." His lips curled back, revealing teeth too sharp for a child's mouth. "Are you guys heroes?"
The question hung in the air like a blade.
If they said no, maybe he'd leave them alone. Maybe. But denying it would mean abandoning everything they'd fought for, everything they'd sacrificed to become.
Alex's mouth twisted into her own predatory grin—the same one Mateo had seen on their first day at the academy. Pride blazed in her eyes, unbreakable despite everything they'd endured.
"Yes," she said. "We're heroes."
The boy held up one finger, and something red and pulsing appeared on its tip. Behind the childish glee, Mateo glimpsed something else—a deep, hollow anger that had been eating at him for far too long.
"Good," the boy said softly. "I love killing heroes."
The red orb shot forward like a bullet.
Inferno shoved his palm against the ice platform and triggered an explosion, launching them away from the blast zone. All of them except Switch, who stood perfectly still as the deadly orb approached.
At the last possible second, he whispered: "Switch."
The boy appeared where Switch had been standing, directly in the path of his own attack. Switch materialized on the rooftop, safe.
The orb hit the boy dead-on. He exploded in a shower of blood and bone fragments.
Mateo's ears popped from the shockwave. The stench of burning flesh filled the air. He fought back bile, watching pieces of what had been a living person scatter across the concrete.
Then something made his stomach turn inside out.
The pieces began moving. Crawling back together. Flesh reformed, bones snapped into place with wet, organic clicks. The boy was regenerating, faster than even the previous villains.
They'd planned to run once he was down, but he was already half-reformed. Ten seconds, maybe less, and he'd be back.
Inferno dropped Mateo and lunged forward, driving a fire-enhanced punch into the boy's reforming head. The skull charred and cracked.
Maya's telekinetic knives followed, slicing through regenerating tissue before it could solidify. Seraphina dropped the temperature, freezing him mid-reformation. Alex joined the assault with her brass knuckles, using her push factor to slam him face-first into the pavement.
But with every hit, every slice, every brutal burn, the boy kept coming back. Faster each time.
Marina raised the grenade launcher Reeves had given them. "Eat shit!" she screamed, her voice raw with desperation.
The weapon kicked against her shoulder, sending her stumbling. The grenade struck the boy's newly reformed face and detonated in a flash of light and heat.
An inhuman shriek tore through the air—pure rage and agony mixed together.
Mateo's blood turned to ice. He knew that sound. Knew it.
Suddenly he was falling again, seven years old and helpless as his world burned around him. That night when the explosion took everything—his mother, his home, his brother. He'd been plummeting through smoke and flame when he'd heard that exact same scream.
He'd always wondered how he'd recognize the villain who destroyed his life, since he'd never seen the bastard's face. But that ear-splitting shriek was burned into his memory forever.
This was him. This broken child was the monster who'd murdered his family.
Alex noticed something was wrong. "Mateo—"
He couldn't move. His body was shattered, useless. But that didn't matter anymore. Nothing mattered except the thing standing twenty feet away, wearing the face of a child.
A slime tendril shot from his shoulder, anchoring to the concrete. Then another, and another, attaching to walls and debris. His conscious mind wasn't driving this—it was pure instinct, seven years of rage and grief finally finding its target.
More tendrils wrapped around his broken arm. Instead of commanding his muscles, he commanded the slime to move his limbs. His body was failing him, but his quirk wouldn't.
He launched himself forward, tension building in each cable as he swung through the air. The boy raised himself up, fully healed now, and lifted one finger.
A red orb pulsed at its tip.
That was the last thing Mateo saw before light consumed everything, pain exploded through every nerve, and the world went blank.