Chapter Text
He remembered him sometimes. When he looked in the mirror and saw the three scars, it would sometimes bring back memories of laughter, the man’s broad smile between streaks of his own blood. He would remember the hero triumphant, standing with the sun at his back.
But only sometimes.
—
“The newly formed Villains Association was spotted again in downtown City Q, looting and destroying property after citizens evacuated. B-rank criminals Dark Bunny and Snake Charmer were caught on surveillance breaking into a locally owned antique store. It’s suspected the monster was lured in by S-ranked villain Cloaked Baldy to cause a distraction and for his own amusement…”
King stared blankly at the news footage as he waited in line, cap pulled down low over his eyes and face covered by a medical mask. He rarely watched the news, and wasn’t happy to be doing it now, but it was better than staring at the back of some guy’s head.
He’d heard of the Villains Association once or twice, but this was the first time hearing any of their names. Dark Bunny… Cloaked Baldy… didn’t they want to be taken seriously…?
The guy in front of him moved forward half a step and King inched ahead with him. He wished he’d grabbed a basket. The various snacks and instant meals were starting to weigh on his arms.
“...the leader has yet to be identified. In other news, Amai Mask is performing in an upcoming drama which aims to educate on proper evacuation measures. Here today is…”
Finally it was his turn. King tuned the last of it out, stepping forward to dump his purchases on the counter.
He stepped outside to the calm of the autumn air, the bell on the door jingling as he left the convenience store. With the oncoming chill the streets were less busy, and people passed by with their scarfs high on their necks or their hoods up over their ears.
King pulled his hat down a bit lower. With his bag hanging from his wrist, he turned towards his apartment.
It mattered little if he kept his head down or covered his face. Few people were as tall as he was, no matter how low he hunched his shoulders. But he worried more that people would notice the scars across his left eye, a trait that had become a symbol against his will.
A lot of him had become symbolic in the public eye, ever since he became a “hero.”
S-Class, Rank 7: King, the strongest man alive. Known for his rumbling heartbeat and his impossible strength.
What a joke.
As he passed someone on the sidewalk, he reached up to hide the glimpse of his scar, pretending to scratch his face.
He was just an overgrown geek, spending S-Class money on video games and hiding in his apartment.
But S-Class money was pretty good, and whoever beat the monsters he got credit for, they hadn’t said anything yet. Might as well enjoy the misunderstanding.
His thoughts trailed from hero work to the night of gaming he had planned, and his feet moved on autopilot down the path to his apartment. The crowds became sparser but he paid it no mind, until he suddenly realized he was nearly entirely alone, the only people left all running in the opposite direction.
‘Follow running people. Always follow running people.’ King spun on his heel and dashed after the escaping citizens, picking up speed when he heard a distant crash.
And then another one, closer this time. King grit his teeth and ran faster as a shrill whine eked its way out of his throat. ‘Oh man oh no oh man I haven’t even started that game yet—’
Another crash. It was so loud he didn’t even know where it was from. At least until the building beside him started to crumble.
The building seemed to fall in slow motion. Bits of concrete cracked out of place. Windows shattered. King could see a potted plant fall from an upper story window as the building gave in to gravity, its many bits and pieces aiming for King’s head.
Despite himself, he froze; the bag dropped from his fingers, and he heard a soda bottle break when it hit the ground.
King watched his death approach, unable to move, unable to blink, unable to breathe.
Something hit him square in the chest and he went flying backwards, the last of his air shoved from his lungs as he got knocked into the road.
He wheezed as pain caught up with him. The road had scraped across his back and likely torn through his jacket. His hat had flown off, and pain pulsed through the back of his skull. He didn’t even remember hitting his head.
King shoved himself upright with a hand at the back of his head, gaping at the sight in front of him.
A single hand held the building upright.
It cracked in the outline of the slim, gloved fingers, not giving but creaking ominously. A gust of wind sent the stranger’s cloak billowing, and King saw a slim silhouette that didn’t match the strength of the person attached.
A man with his face shrouded by a black cloak, with long black boots and long black gloves, in a suit of faded purple that clung too tight. No one King knew, but he had to be a hero or something close, and a strong one, strain completely absent from his every muscle even with a three-story building weighing down on him.
It felt like the weight was transferred over when the man turned his head. King shivered under those sharp eyes, glinting in the dim light they caught in the shadow of the hood.
“The hell are you doing?” the man said, his voice unexpectedly monotone. “Get out of the way.”
King certainly wanted to, but he still couldn’t seem to move. “I… I-I…”
Another chunk of building crashed to the ground and the man scoffed, pulling his hand away from the building. King immediately screamed.
“Shut the hell up!”
With a sharp gasp King realized he still wasn’t dead. At some point he’d been snatched up in the man’s arms, and now he watched from a safe distance as the building collapsed into the asphalt.
‘When did he…?’
Before he could finish the thought he was tossed to ground, which he now saw was actually the roof of a neighboring building. The man turned without a word. Another gust of wind rustled his cape.
With a determined push, the wind shoved at the man’s hood, revealing a smooth bald head that gleamed in the afternoon sun.
King sputtered in astonishment. “C-Cloaked Baldy?!”
The man flinched hard and whipped back around. “That’s not my name!”
A stammered apology died behind King’s mask when the rooftop was suddenly encased in shadow. Looming above them was… honestly a pretty stupid looking monster; something like a giant turtle with teeth; but it was four stories tall, and it looked hungry.
Presumably-Cloaked Baldy muttered a curse and raised his fist. The monster snarled through dripping fangs and reached out with an enormous hand.
Just like when he’d been grabbed, it happened before King could see it; the monster exploded, sending splatters of gore in all directions, including every inch of King.
And when he finally got the last of the blood wiped from his eyes, the stranger was gone.
King sat frozen in the gorey mess for many minutes, eyes caught on the empty space where the man had been. The eventual descent down the building stairwell was slow and half spaced out.
He was still in a daze when he reached the exit. Bloody footprints marked his path behind him. A crowd surrounded him as he left, and King didn’t bother to correct reporters asking about his victory.
There were heroes all around. He’d seen strong people before, and more giant monsters than he’d ever wanted to see.
But something felt different about this.
That night in his apartment, King laid in bed and stared at the ceiling, his gaming consoles untouched.