Chapter Text

City Z’s commercial district bustled beneath a bright sun and cloudless sky. Towering buildings gleamed, their windows reflecting sharp rays, and signs and massive billboards advertised everything from beauty and self-care to food.

Sidewalks teemed with pedestrians navigating rows of shops, restaurants, arcades, and street vendors. Cars of all types shared the streets, weaving alongside trees, bushes, and patches of greenery.

Pickup trucks, semis, SUVs, and vans carried energetic families through the roads, adding to the hum of city life. The traffic moved in tandem with the planted greenery, creating a surprisingly picturesque scene amid the chaos.

The air buzzed with horns, chatter, music, and construction, layered over an undercurrent of tension. Still, the district pressed on, laughing, moving, and functioning in its chaotic rhythm.

It was a day like any other, completely ordinary, with nothing remarkable.

At a neat corner of the intersection stood a one-story building, brightly painted with vivid colors and two large front windows. The overhead sign read “Gamer’s Paradise,” and a neon “OPEN” glowed above the door—a small local gaming shop among many in the district.

But the store itself was not what mattered. Rather, it was the person who had just exited it at that very moment.

He was a figure of tall stature, standing over six feet and one inch. His muscular frame was covered in a black sweater layered beneath a white jacket with the hood up. Dark blue jeans covered his legs, and red and white sneakers rested on his feet. The figure wore a medical face mask, and coupled with the hood, it was difficult to make out his features.

He pulled a rectangular object wrapped in thin plastic from a simple white bag and gave it a look.

It was a video game case, its front reflecting clearly in the blue eyes of the person holding it. The title bore the name “Monster Hunter! King’s Edition,” and the illustration showed a dramatic, epic monster-slaying scene of a half-naked blonde-haired figure with three intimidating scars across his face. In one hand he held a sword, in the other a fireball, as he fought wolf-like monsters attacking him from all sides. Blood coated the figure as he posed heroically. Beneath it was a tagline that read, “Unleash Your Ultimate Power!”

The person let out a deep sigh, akin to an old man watching the downfall of the future generation, as recognition flashed vividly in his eyes. It was not out of the ordinary for anyone to know who that person was.

In fact, not knowing who he was would be an incomprehensible notion in itself.

‘Why do they always make me look like this…? They always make it seem like I'm a badass, emotionless monster-slaying machine.’

With another tired sigh, the person put the game case back into the plastic bag and adjusted his facemask and hood as he went on his way, weaving through foot traffic while his mind wandered far off and his feet instinctively carried him toward home.

The person was busy daydreaming about the game he would play soon, and why wouldn’t he be? Ever since he was a young boy, as early as he could remember, video games had been a staple part of his life. He spent countless late hours gaming, browsing forums, completing online challenges, and reading up on strategies and tactics.

It had reached the point where he was now considered a pro at games regardless of their genre, fighting games, RPGs, MMORPGs, fast-paced FPS titles, and many more.

And he had proof to back up his claims, as he had participated in countless tournaments of all sizes and managed to win most, if not all of them, going home with wallets full of yen prize money that would inevitably end up empty again as he spent it all on gaming.

And this particular game series, he knew it like the back of his hand, having played and finished every previous entry, even completing them blindfolded.

‘Hmmm, should I do my first playthrough with a blindfold, or just chill and play on the hardest difficulty instead? Ahh, whatever the case is, I heard they added a dating system to the game. I can’t wait to try that!’

Just from his thoughts alone, one could tell how impatient he was to play the game. And he would not let a single thing stand in his way.

Not even a sudden monster attack would stop him—

BOOM!

A sudden rumble resounded. It was a loud boom that dwarfed the usual background noise of the hustle and bustle of the city. Screams from the civilian population erupted as people fell to the ground, and vehicles that had been driving were suddenly thrown out of control, crashing into each other.

The reason for this sudden turn of events was what lay ahead. The asphalt was visibly bulging outward, like a balloon being filled with more air than it could handle.

BOOM!

BOOM!

There was a second boom, then a third, each one sending minor tremors that made people’s bones quake in place. Cracks and fissures erupted from the point of origin as the ground bulged more and more. Those cracks traveled far outward, reaching into nearby structures and damaging them.

BOOM!

The ground finally broke through with the fourth hit. A mountain of asphalt, gravel, and rubble flew high into the air, filling it with the scent of asphalt and concrete and briefly blocking out the sky, before the larger chunks came crashing back down like raining arrows across a massive area.

Those who had been near it were the most unfortunate, as the falling debris injured many and killed just as many. And that was not even mentioning the staggering property damage that came with it.

But all of this paled in comparison to the creature that had caused this destruction as it climbed its way out of the hole.

It was not as big as some monsters tended to be, like the giant monster that destroyed City B, which stood at a staggering eight hundred feet and more. This one was merely around twenty feet tall, but as had been proven time and time again, size did not solely represent a monster’s destructive capability.

And the monster’s visage clearly reflected the destruction it had brought.

A massive, wide body adorned with big, bulging muscles, covered in iridescent black scales that seemed to shimmer like oil slicks. Massive arms that ended in hands with four claws, each claw nearly a quarter of its body length and thick enough to resemble curved blades. Two powerful hind legs that ended with three clawed toes similar to its fingers. Massive black wings that seemed to blot out the sun itself. Jagged horns that curled like arrogant crowns. And a face that looked straight out of a horror flick, a grotesque visage forever twisted into a maddening snarl beneath a deeply furrowed brow and sunken yellowish-orange eye sockets with black pupils.

Seeing this beast of destruction, people reacted in kind.

“Oh my god!”

“It’s a monster!”

“Run! Run!”

“Please eat my wife and not me! I only married her for her money anyway!”

A heartbeat later, panic fully consumed the crowd. Pedestrians turned tail and ran, dropping whatever items hindered them in their flight.  A few children were unlucky enough to be abandoned, forgotten by frightened parents, left behind to face their fate. Cars skidded and collided in chaos, piling up as drivers lost all control in a desperate bid to survive.

The appearance of the monster quite literally turned the entire area into a warzone.

As the monster fully exited the hole, it straightened its body before letting out a loud, thunderous roar, its twisted face tilted toward the sky itself. The sheer volume made the air crack from the pressure as a faint shockwave slammed into everything nearby, widening already existing cracks in structures and bursting the eardrums of anybody unfortunate to be near it.

“Crittering Insects!” the monster bellowed, its deep voice rolling like thunder, thick with smug superiority. “Run! Hide! Beg! It changes nothing! Before Zorgath the Imperious, your struggles are meaningless! My power will erase you! My strength will drag you screaming into oblivion!”

The monster’s hand blurred as it swiped at the building nearest to it, a three story high-class restaurant that instantly became another victim of Zorgath’s rampage. The thick claws carved through marble and cement like a hot knife through butter, immediately crumbling the structure to the horror and screams of the restaurant-goers inside.

But the destruction did not stop there.

The tips of the monster’s claws were so razor-sharp that they gleamed in the sunlight. Coupled with the sheer speed of the swing, they generated three diagonal lines of pure destructive wind that traveled far and wide, tearing through everything in their path.

Buildings, cars, buses, people, signs, plants. Anything and everything became a victim as the radius of destruction stretched for miles, filling the air with the horrifying sound of collapsing structures, and, mercifully, drowning out the screams that would have haunted any survivors’ psyche.

“Behold my Shadow Claws! Forged by the very will of the world itself! My talons can tear through reality!”

Beneath the iridescent black scales, the brown skin between them began turning on a vibrant blue color. It started from the monster’s midsection and rapidly traveled upward to its chest, then its throat, until it finally reached its mouth.

Zorgath turned his head toward the opposite direction of his earlier slash and opened his maw wide. Immediately afterward, a massive torrent of blue flames surged forth like a raging tsunami.

It was a terrifying spectacle. The blue flames burned even hotter than molten lava itself. They struck the roads, igniting cars and filling the air with the scent of burnt metal and rubber. Plants and people alike were not spared as they were incinerated in an instant, while buildings were set ablaze and thick smoke rose high into the sky, visible from miles away.

“And my Inferno Breath! A flame that incinerates all in its path! Mighty empires have fallen to their knees before a single breath of mine!”

After showcasing his power, which the self-proclaimed Zorgath did with complete arrogance as if he owned the entire world and more, he began his rampage in earnest. Attacking indiscriminately at anything in sight, living or nonliving. A swipe of his claws here, a breath of fire there, a single beat of his massive wings sending violent gusts of wind that hurled debris through the air.

Zorgath rampaged with clear pleasure and satisfaction fully apparent on his grotesque face.

His rampage was racking up so much destruction that insurance companies would have been driven into an obsolete business model, if they had not already reached that point long ago.

But such devastation would not go unnoticed for long. 

“Attention all City-Z Citizens.” A loud voice boomed over the chaotic mix of clamoring citizens and the rampaging monster. “This is an evacuation warning, a tiger-level threat monster has appeared at the center of the Commercial district. All residents in the area and its surrounding, please evacuate immediately to the nearest shelter. I repeat, this is an evac—“

The reinforced metal pole, which housed the multiple speakers that had just issued the evacuation warning, was violently slashed to pieces by an enraged Zorgath.

“How impudent! How insolent! How disrespectful!” he seethed, his twisted snarl deepening.

“How dare they?! How dare they call me a mere Tiger-level threat?! Tiger?! How arrogant of this so-called ‘Hero Association’ to label me a weakling! The mighty Zorgath is nothing less than a God-level threat! How dare they look down on me! Did they not see the destruction I have wrought? Or the might of my strength?!”

To Zorgath, being labeled as a mere Tiger was the greatest of blows to his arrogance. And while one might dismiss his raging and misgivings as nothing more than the wounded pride of an overinflated ego of a monster, there was still some legitimate reason for his displeasure.

Around three years ago, an organization dedicated to combating mysterious beings—commonly called monsters—was founded. Its creator, multi-millionaire Agoni, had been inspired after his grandson was saved from a monster by someone he would later call a hero.

Thus, the Hero Association was established as humanity’s official protector, standing on the front lines against monster attacks. In just three years, it had grown into the foremost fighting force, with hundreds of heroes across classes C to S, dispatching threats with near-constant efficiency.

The ranking of its heroes depended largely on their strength and the level of monster threat they could handle.

Monsters were similarly classified by destructive power, physical strength, or special abilities capable of widespread devastation. Their threat levels were, from lowest to highest: Wolf, Tiger, Demon, Dragon, and God.

Excluding Wolf and Tiger, Demon level and above were what truly earned the name “monster.” Not that the lower tiers posed no danger, but their destructive scope was far smaller than the top three categories.

And how did all of this relate to Zorgath?

Well, the classification system humanity used did not go unnoticed by monsters themselves, at least the intelligent ones. Not the mindless beasts driven purely by instinct, but those capable of thought and pride.

As a result, many monsters had come to accept, or even adopt, these classifications as a measure of their own deadliness and as proof of how dangerous their prey perceived them to be.

Strength and lethality were everything to monsters. It determined how they lived, how they dominated, and where they stood on the food chain. The stronger they were, the easier it was for them to rule over others.

So for Zorgath the Imperious, The king and strongest of the Fire Gargoyle clan, to be classified by humanity’s greatest defenders as nothing more than a weak Tiger level monster,

It was the worst insult one could possibly commit against the ancient king.

And the arrogant ruler had no intention of letting that insult stand.

“So they want a demonstration? Fine! I will show them! I will show your precious ‘Hero Association’ why underestimating me, Zorgath the Imperious, is their gravest mistake! And I will savor their despair as I burn them all to ash!”

His wings fully extended behind him, slamming into the already crumbling structures at his sides and reducing them further to rubble. They were enormous, nearly twice his own size, and unlike the rest of his body, the iridescent scales were absent there, exposing the thin brown skin that formed the wing membranes.

With a single powerful flutter, he prepared to take to the sky and rain destruction upon the city using his Inferno Breath, like dropping waves of napalm and burning everything below to the ground.

But he did not.

Because something nearby caught his attention, causing a wicked smile to spread across his face, revealing rows of sharp teeth.

“Yes… you. You will do nicely as my first among many.”

On the now deserted street near him lay a silver-colored SUV, overturned onto its side. Its windows were shattered, and its exterior was badly wrecked from a massive piece of debris that had slammed into it.

Pinned beneath it was a middle-aged man, his legs trapped under the crushed frame. His face was twisted in agony, and the blood pooling around his lower body made it painfully clear what condition his legs were in.

Beside him was a small boy, perhaps twelve years old, desperately trying to push the vehicle off his father. His tearful face and flushed expression showed just how futile his efforts were.

Then another emotion took over his features. Fear.

Looking up, he shrieked in terror at the massive shadow that had fallen over them both, and the wide, toothy grin the monster gave him as it stared directly down at him.

No. Not just at him.

The boy felt as though the monster was staring straight into his soul.

Everything went silent for him. His vision tunneled onto the approaching hand, and he could not even hear his father screaming at him to run as the enormous clawed hand descended toward him and— 

Rumble!

The clawed hand froze mid-descent, stopping mere inches away from the boy’s head. The boy himself was snapped out of his tunnel vision as his mind finally registered the sound.

Rumble!

It was a sound that was… difficult to describe. Not because there were no words for it, but because no description could truly do it justice. The closest comparison would be an industrial turbine struggling to contain a continuous miniature explosion happening every second.

Despite all of the destruction around it, from people screaming for their lives, to the ear-grinding noise of buildings crumbling, to the crackling of flames devouring everything in their path, was heard clearly by everyone in the area.

Rumble!

The monster slowly turned its head away from the human it was about to crush like a snack and looked toward the direction of the sound. The boy did the same, his trembling body twisting as he stared toward the source.

Rumble!

As if drawn by instinct, people who had been hiding behind overturned cars, people who had been fleeing in panic, and even those too injured to move had all stopped what they were doing and turned toward the thunderous sound.

Rumble!

Standing in the middle of the road was a golden-haired figure, arms folded across his chest. His face was sculpted, the very definition of stoicism, utterly void of emotion. His blue eyes—the so-called windows of the soul—held nothing. Three scars ran vertically across his left eye, giving his cold expression an even sharper, more menacing edge.

Not a single movement could be seen. Not a blink, not a twitch, not even the slightest shift of muscle. He stood so perfectly still one might mistake him for a flawlessly carved statue.

Rumble! Rumble! Rumble! Rumble!

The rumbling sound grew faster, louder, more intense, as more and more attention was drawn toward him. The rising roar, combined with his unmoving presence, created an aura so heavy it seemed to thicken the air itself with tension.

He looked like death manifested just by standing there.

Rumble! Rumble! Rumble! Rumble!

But to the civilians, his presence would never be compared to something like that.

A storm of emotions surged through the crowd. Some felt excitement. Others felt shock. Many felt awe, admiration even. But all of them shared one single feeling, one that calmed their beating hearts and brought relieved smiles to their faces.

Hope.

Rumble! Rumble! Rumble! Rumble! Rumble! Rumble! Rumble! Rumble!

Because the man standing before them—

Rumble! Rumble! Rumble! Rumble! Rumble! Rumble! Rumble! Rumble! Rumble! Rumble! Rumble! Rumble!

Was none other than—

Rumble! Rumble! Rumble! Rumble! Rumble! Rumble! Rumble! Rumble! Rumble! Rumble! Rumble! Rumble! Rumble! Rumble! Rumble! Rumble!

“““King!”””

The name spread through the trembling crowd like a wave.

Some spoke it in reverence. Others in disbelief. Many simply whispered it under their breath, as though afraid the moment might vanish if spoken too loudly.

But regardless of how it was said, one truth remained the same.

Everyone knew that name.

Because as the premier and foremost defenders of humanity, it was only natural that the highly successful Hero Association as a whole garnered worldwide recognition and popularity—especially for the heroes it employed.

However, not all heroes shared the same degree of fame.

As previously mentioned, heroes within the Association were categorized into classes, starting from the lowest, Class C, to the highest, Class S.

While these classifications primarily indicated a hero’s combat ability and the level of disaster they could handle, they also influenced public recognition and rank within their class.

Class C heroes were largely unknown. The class had a high turnover rate due to the requirement that each member perform at least one registered heroic act per week or face removal.

Those who endured—particularly higher-ranked individuals—did earn modest recognition through persistence alone.

Class B heroes were generally known and somewhat popular, occasionally even forming small fan clubs. Class A heroes, by contrast, enjoyed near-celebrity status, comparable to prominent public figures.

Those two do not come close to Class S.

As for the reason why that is the case…

“““KING!””” “““KING!””” “““KING!”””

From all over the destruction, people who had stuck around after escaping, and those who were drawn in by the rumbling noise, were all chanting the name of the hero with a fervor and ferocity that seemed to shake the entire district.

It was only natural there would be an uproar among the civilians upon seeing the Class S hero. Not only because they were saved from the terrifying monster, but because these heroes were akin to worldwide superstars.

Rank is irrelevant among Class S in terms of recognition. From Class S Rank 1 Blast to Class S Rank 17 Puri Puri Prisoner, these heroes are all equally recognized and acknowledged.

“I can’t believe my eyes… King?! THE King is here!”

“We’re saved! We’re actually saved!”

“Hooray! Let’s go, King!”

“I love you, King!”

“You’re my hero!”

“Look at him, standing with his arms folded like that, you’re so cool, king!”

But not all Class S heroes shared the same amount of popularity.

And disregarding Amai Mask, the Class A Rank 1 hero who is a fully fledged hero, singer, actor, and model all in one, King is by far the most famous hero in the world, period.

His looks and his presence were also major contributing factors to his renown. He looked just like the kind of badass hero who saves the day in action movies and stories, and he was quite pleasing to the eye.

His feats were legendary. His track record of monster hunting was stellar in itself, with no recorded losses and minimal loss of life. In fact, there were several instances where monsters simply gave up when they faced him.

And what skyrocketed him into the stratosphere were two important factors.

First was the mystery behind King’s fighting ability.

Up to date, there has not been a single recorded or documented showcase of King’s actual fighting abilities. In fact, each enemy King has come across was either already dead once witnesses arrived, or, as previously mentioned, had simply given up.

And then the second factor, which people theorize and attribute to his fighting capabilities, is…

Rumble! Rumble! Rumble! Rumble! Rumble! Rumble! Rumble! Rumble! 

“Oh my… oh my god. I never thought I’d see that before. I actually got to witness…”

“King’s Engine!”

“Wow. Is that the King’s Engine? It sure sounds terrifying…”

“Of course it is. You only hear the King’s Engine when King gets serious!”

“When will he get serious? But it’s just a Tiger level monster. I mean, why waste it on an insect like him?”

“Are you an idiot?! So what if it’s just a Tiger level monster? It still killed a lot of people! I bet King is pissed off, so that’s why he’s getting serious!”

The King’s Engine, a sound resembling miniature explosions going off every moment, is the closest people have ever come to seeing him in combat. To the average civilian, it is a mighty, overwhelming sound that forces any foe to collapse to their knees and beg for their lives before the hero.

These aspects, coupled with all the media shows, talks, games, and books that have King involved in one way or another, have led to King becoming the most famous hero on Earth.

Oh, and the strongest as well.

After all, one does not simply maintain a stellar record of defeating Dragon level monsters with no injuries or even a hint of being winded, while leaving their bodies in such a state that it leaves one to imagine what exactly happened to them.

Hence, King has been nicknamed The Strongest Man on Earth, the Heroes’ Hero, and many more.

And said popularity is not exclusive to humans alone.

Amidst the cheering, Zorgath the Imperious, the King and Strongest of the Fire Gargoyle Clan… 

was tense.

His figure was stiff, rigid. 20 feet of muscle and claws stood as unmoving as a statue. His mouth was shut stiffly, his clawed hands clenched at his sides, iridescent black scales shining under the light as a thin coat of sweat covered them. His chest barely rose, as if he feared what would happen should he breathe a little too quickly.

Fear…

Fear was what Zorgath was feeling, even if the arrogant monster denied it with all his might. The telltale signs were there for all to see.

And fear was an appropriate reaction from the monster’s perspective.

King’s mere presence demanded the full attention of Zorgath’s senses, senses that could not help but comply with the hero.

To Zorgath, the sound of the King’s Engine was like a physical weight, a tectonic pressure that seemed to thicken the very air he was breathing. Every beat was like a hammer striking an anvil, a relentless and frightening tempo that suggested a furnace about to explode.

Explode into unadulterated, incomprehensible killing intent and bloodlust.

His eyes tunneled onto King, everything else blocked out. Sound, vision, feeling. All that remained was Zorgath, the Class S hero, and an empty blackness all around them.

Then, it happened.

The shadows morphed. As if the world itself was complying with a force of nature, they twisted and coalesced behind King’s figure, forming a giant, shadowy shape that mirrored the man it stood behind.

Its dark red eyes bore into him, staring deep into his soul as it towered over him, looking down as if he were nothing more than an ant.

Zorgath knew instinctively what he was seeing;

ゴゴゴ  ゴゴゴ  

 ゴゴゴ   Ｍ ＥＮＡＣＩＮ Ｇ  ゴゴゴ

ゴ （ 殺 気 ） ゴ

ゴゴゴ  ゴゴゴ

King’s hidden bloodlust.

Locked deep within the hero like a furnace ready to erupt at any moment. At that instant, Zorgath understood that the King’s Engine was merely a warning sign for what was about to come.

Zorgath’s body began to shake, trembling slightly.

His instincts, the gut feeling he had trusted throughout millions of years of life, which had saved him from countless dangers and injuries in his youth, were screaming at him, blaring danger signals.

Run or beg. Fighting will only lead to one outcome.

Death.

It was only through stubbornness, delusion, arrogance, or perhaps all three that Zorgath did not comply and remained rooted in place.

But his body betrayed his inner feelings, something quickly noticed by the “chittering insects” he had been crushing moments ago.

“Hey, hey, look! The monster’s scared!”

“Oh yeah, you’re right! I’d be shivering in its place too!”

“Aww, poor thing. Cowering now that an S Class hero showed up. Serves you right, asshole!”

“You’re going down, buddy! This is King we’re talking about. You are DEAD!”

‘Hmm… so this must be the King’s Engine. I can say it certainly lives up to the rumors.’

Unlike the cheering peanut gallery, this comment was not made with excitement or cheerfulness. It was spoken in a dull, analytical tone, as the speaker was not among the crowd.

Perched on the roof of a half destroyed gym that provided a clear view of the street stood a figure whose appearance was far from ordinary. He was a man in his mid to late twenties, his skin pale like the winter moon, a pigment that made the raw red intensity of his eyes burn like embers in the dark.

A heavy ash gray trench coat hung from his shoulders, the kind seen in old detective movies. But it was not for aesthetics. Beneath it was a network of leather straps and tactical holsters binding melee weapons, tactical knives, and high caliber firearms. A single cigarette dangled from his lips, smoke drifting past a mouth set in a stoic scowl, while a modified military grade grenade launcher rested against his shoulder as he knelt near the edge.

This was none other than the Class S Rank 8 hero, Zombieman.

Zombieman had been in the area conducting undercover work, following a trail left by a band of criminals when the monster, Zorgath, began its rampage.

He arrived as quickly as possible, all while radioing the Hero Association about the sudden attack and assuring them he would handle it.

Taking a vantage point, he prepared to use his newly developed grenade launcher, capable of collapsing buildings with a well placed shot, intending to fire just as the monster was about to kill the child.

But he had been beaten to the punch, and even more unexpectedly, it was none other than King.

‘No point looking a gift horse in the mouth. If nothing else, King showing up saved me the trouble of getting my hands dirty,’

Since King had already taken over fighting the monster, Zombieman simply resigned himself to sitting back and letting him handle it, all while observing the confrontation and collecting combat data.

Yes, collecting combat data. King’s specifically. Because as far as he knew, nobody actually understood how King fought, and this was his first time hearing the King’s Engine in person. It was as good an opportunity as any.

Strapping his weapon to his back beneath the coat, Zombieman sauntered over to a toppled air conditioner unit and sat down, pulling out his lighter and a pack of cigarettes.

‘Alright, King… let’s see what you can do.’

Back on the ground, the crowd’s fervor had reached its tipping point, and they made it very clear.

“Come on, King, fight it! Kill it!”

“Yeah, show that big bad monster how strong you are!”

“You can do it, King! I believe in you! I even bought all of your merchandise and signed up for all of your fan clubs!”

Zorgath, whether from the crowd mocking him and egging King on or not, had finally snapped out of the frightening tunnel vision he was trapped in and brought himself back to reality, forcing the dread he was feeling deep within.

“Hoh? What is this? Is that King I see with my own two eyes? The Strongest Man on Earth? Has the Association recognized the mightiest of monsters, Zorgath the Imperious?!” Zorgath bellowed, though his voice lacked the arrogance it once carried.

And so, the S Class hero King found himself in this following situation. Surrounded by a cheering crowd that seemed to forget that five minutes earlier they were being slaughtered by the very same monster standing a couple hundred feet away, and facing a monster that was neither running in fear nor begging for its life.

So, what might be running through the strongest human’s head at this very moment?

What strategies? What calculations? What overwhelming technique was he preparing to unleash upon the monster before him?

Surely the gears of a supreme warrior were turning behind that stoic gaze.

Surely—

Ohshitohshitohshitohshitohshitohshitohshitohshitohshitohshitohshitohshitohshitohshitohshitohshitohshit!!!!’

…

‘This is bad! This is really bad! Why do I always find myself in these situations?!’

King’s thoughts spiraled wildly beneath his frozen exterior.

‘I should’ve run away when I had the chance, but I froze! I couldn’t move my feet— I couldn’t move at all!’

His face remained stoic.

His arms stayed folded.

Not a single muscle betrayed him.

‘King’s Engine?! What a joke! That’s just my heart beating louder than normal! It’s just me being a coward!’

The deep rumbling echoed outward, vibrating through the cracked streets.

To the civilians, it sounded like restrained power.

To King, it sounded like a cardiac arrest in the making.

‘And cool?! They called me cool?! There is nothing cool about the way I’m standing! I was just trying to block the dust from getting in my eyes!’

He couldn’t move.

His body had completely locked up in fear. Even his expression had stiffened beyond his control, trapped in that severe, intimidating stoicism.

‘Ahh, this is the worst! I shouldn’t be here! I’m not supposed to be here! I should’ve been playing video games or reading manga! Not this! Why do I always end up in these situations?!’

Zorgath stared back at him, his unblinking eyes focused on the hero in front of him.

The monster saw a warrior radiating potent killing intent.

King saw a towering gargoyle seconds away from chewing him up like a snack.

‘Why is it looking at me like that?! Does he know I’m bluffing? Has he figured it out? Crap, I’m dead!’

The crowd’s cheers continued. Every second of silence deepened the illusion. Every heartbeat intensified the myth.

And King, the man at the center of it all, was frozen stiff.

As the civilians cheered and chanted for King, one of them would start what would become the culmination of this situation.

“You got this, King! Show us your ultimate attack!”

King heard that clearly above the cacophony of cheers. How, he did not know, but he did. And he could not even turn his head toward the source as his body was stiff as a board.

‘Ultimate attack? What ultimate attack?! I don’t have anything like that! It was a bluff just to get the monster to back off! Man, where are the other heroes?!’

“…Hopeless,” King whispered under his breath, the mumble lost within the sea of noise.

But it had not been. 

Somehow, through sheer misfortune alone, King’s mumble was audible enough to be picked up by some of the peanut gallery surrounding him.

“Hopeless…?” one of them repeated, his face contorted into deep contemplation as his mind deciphered the hidden meaning of that word.

If the strongest human on Earth said this against the monster… then that could only mean one thing.

“Hopeless... He’s saying it’s hopeless to use his final attack against the monster because it’s about to die anyway!”

Had King’s expression not been frozen stiff, he would have shifted from stoic to a stuttering mess at the conclusion the fan had reached.

‘Wh—what?! How the hell did they even reach that conclusion?! Why does everyone always misinterpret whatever I say? How did he even hear me anyway?! I couldn’t even hear myself!’

“Ohhhhh, you’re right!”

“That makes so much sense!”

“Yeah, why would King use his final attack on a Tiger level? Only a God level threat is worthy of facing him at his best!”

“Well said!”

The crowd began to cheer and shower King with praise for his ruthlessness, viewing the way he was belittling the monster as an example of true heroism.

Zorgath was the only one not amused, as the fire bubbling at his throat was any indication.

“KING!” he roared, shooting a pillar of fire high into the sky, illuminating the world with intense blue flames. The display forced the crowd into silence and caused Zombieman to lean forward slightly as the inevitable showdown was about to begin.

‘Here we go. Show me how you fight, King,’ he thought, lighting up another cigarette.

“What makes you think you have the right to look down on ME?!” Zorgath growled, his tone tinged with fury. “I am Zorgath the Imperious! The mightiest king of the Fire Gargoyle Clan! I have fought rival clans! Killed beasts that would make every single one of you shake in your boots!”

Zorgath’s expression twisted even further than before, rage and infuriation warping his already monstrous features. How dare that hero look down on him? How dare he frighten him like that? First the Association labelled him a Tiger level, and now this?

His wrath would only be extinguished when the entire human race was extinct.

And he would be the architect of it.

Leaning down, Zorgath dropped onto all fours, claws digging into the asphalt as his massive frame coiled and tensed, twisting into the posture of a beast about to lunge. His enormous wings flapped audibly behind him.

“If you are not going to fight me seriously, then I will force your hand! Prepare to face my wrath!”

Then the monster shot forward at speeds that would put rockets to shame. The sheer force of his movement created a shockwave that blasted anything in its path aside.

The civilians scrambled the moment they saw the monster preparing to pounce. The sound and force of his charge made them scream in fright.

As for the main man, he could only stand there, unblinking, as it came closer and closer.

‘OH SHIT IT’S COMING THAT’S IT I’M DONE FOR I’M GOING TO DIE I’M GOING TO DIE!’

RUMBLE!RUMBLE!RUMBLE!RUMBLE!RUMBLE!RUMBLE!RUMBLE!RUMBLE!RUMBLE!RUMBLE!RUMBLE!RUMBLE!RUMBLE!RUMBLE!RUMBLE!RUMBLE!RUMBLE!RUMBLE!RUMBLE!RUMBLE!RUMBLE!RUMBLE!RUMBLE!RUMBLE!

The King’s Engine increased in tempo and intensity, so much that it forced everyone to watch with bated breath. The civilians waited to see King decimate the monster. Zombieman watched to see what King would do. And Zorgath, further enraged, pushed his speed even higher.

And King felt like he was about to have a heart attack.

But luckily for him, fate would not allow him to die from cardiac arrest, nor be turned into paste beneath the monster.

Because just ahead, a delivery truck hauling a shipment of bananas had tipped sideways at the start of the chaos. The driver had abandoned it, and the cargo had spilled across the street like a minefield.

A minefield Zorgath was about to step into.

So laser focused on King was he that he did not notice his clawed hands slam down onto the asphalt with a—

SQUELCH!

—and instantly lose traction, his massive body slipping forward as his face smashed into the ground, legs flailing wildly in the air like a cartoon character.

“Wha—?!”

Startled by the sudden loss of balance, Zorgath reflexively flapped his wings in an attempt to right himself.

This backfired horribly.

The angle of the wings and the force applied were just wrong enough to send him airborne, soaring helplessly past King in a large, graceless arc, bellowing loudly all the while.

The sudden gust from his unintended flight blasted across the rooftops like a gale. Zombieman shielded his face with his coat, but in doing so lost his grip on his lighter, sending it tumbling into the air.

Carried by the chaotic updraft, and by sheer absurd luck, the lighter snagged tightly on one of Zorgath’s iridescent scales as the beast hurtled past.

But he wouldn’t be airborne for long, because all things must come down.

Zorgath’s less than graceful flight ended when he crashed directly onto a gas station. Fuel pumps ruptured, the building collapsed, and cars were crushed beneath his enormous weight.

Gasoline flooded the station, pooling beneath him. Within moments, a small lake of highly flammable liquid formed under his battered body.

All it needed was a spark.

Which came in the form of a lighter that slipped free from his scales and dropped directly into the gasoline.

Directly on the ignition.

There also happened to be a convoy of trucks carrying natural gas refueling nearby. The impact had ruptured their tanks, leaking gas into the air around the pooling gasoline.

It was rather obvious what would happen next.

BOOM!

The station erupted in a massive explosion. A towering fireball shot into the sky, the sound echoing for miles. The force of the blast launched the twenty foot monster upward like a ragdoll, smoke and flames trailing behind him.

King, the crowd, and Zombieman could only stare upward in stunned silence as the monster disappeared over the horizon.

King’s jaw slackened, dropping open.

He was more stunned than anyone.

‘…W—what just happened? Wasn’t it about to run me over? Why is it flying now? I didn’t do anything!’

As for Zorgath, for the second time that day, he plummeted from the sky.

The force carried him far into a residential district of City Z, more precisely crashing through the roof of Joe’s Happy Deals supermarket near the infamous Ghost Town.

He smashed through the ceiling, his weight shuddering through the structure, shelves toppling over as customers screamed and fled. He landed squarely in the seafood section, burying lobsters and crabs beneath his massive frame.

“Ughh… Wh—What the hell happened…?” he groaned, voice dazed, black eyes rolling unfocused.

With a rumbling grunt, the monster shoved debris off his body and shakily tried to stand.

Tried being the key word.

He was forced onto all fours by the agony coursing through him.

The damage was evident. His iridescent black scales had lost their gleam, covered in ash and soot. Most were cracked, blood seeping through the fractures. His brown flesh was charred and burned in multiple places, and his wings, made of thin fleshy membrane, were nearly burned away entirely, still smoldering with lingering flames.

Hissing deeply, he flailed what remained of his wings to extinguish the fire.

Turning around slowly, Zorgath finally registered where he was.

“Ughhhh… What monstrous power…” he rumbled. “To injure me like this… and send me flying into some unknown place. I didn’t even see him attack. He didn’t even move, yet he sent me soaring away!”

Shaking his head to clear the daze, Zorgath glowered. He may have been burned and battered, but his arrogance and rage burned even brighter.

“How dare he injure and humiliate me like this! I’ll make him pay! Nobody humiliates Zorgath the Imperi—”

He froze as he noticed two figures standing just inches away from him. One was dressed in a Hawaiian themed button up shirt, opened to reveal a white shirt underneath, paired with grey shorts. He was casually holding a shopping cart in his hand as if a monster had not just crashed directly in front of him.

The other figure was a blonde youth with glowing yellow irises set in a sea of black. Dressed in a sleeveless zipped up blue jacket and navy blue jeans alongside black sneakers. His metallic arms were fully visible, polished steel reflecting the dim supermarket lights. He was glaring at the monster so heatedly that the air around his figure shimmered.

Literally.

But it was not the audacity of these bipedal insects standing near him that made him freeze.

“Bwahahahaha!” Zorgath roared in laughter as he pointed at the source of it. “Hah! Look at that bald head! I have never seen such baldness in my life! It is so bald and shiny, I can see my magnificent reflection on it! Hahahahaha!”

The bald man did not react to the blatant disrespect toward his most standout feature. He did not even look at the monster. His face was shadowed and unreadable as he stared down at the ruined produce beneath his feet.

Crushed lobster shells. Split crab legs. Discount signs soaked in brine and blood.

“No… the buy two get two free lobster crab combo special… is ruined now. It was high quality graded as well.”

His voice was small. Quiet. Yet it carried such pure despair that it could have made even a gooey yellow gelatin monster feel bad.

The blonde figure was glaring daggers at the monster. The air grew hotter by several degrees as his arms visibly heated up, faint flames flickering beneath the metal plating, turning the moisture in the air into steam.

“Saitama-sensei,” he began, his tone filled with rage at the despair his master was going through, “please give me the word and I will incinerate this filth—”

“Nah, it’s fine, Genos. I got this one.”

The bald man, Saitama, said plainly as he raised his head. The darkness that once covered his face receded, revealing a calm, sharp expression.

Zorgath wasn't even listening to them as he was busy laughing his stomach off. “Hahahaha! You know, if I ever needed a mirror, I could use your bald head as a—”

“Man, this guy talks way too much.”

POW!

Zorgath’s upper body was obliterated in an instant, wings included. The only remains were a gruesome red splatter of innards and bone fragments that decorated the supermarket floor and walls. The shockwave of the punch blasted everything behind the monster apart, shelves and debris flying backward as if struck by a hurricane.

Its legs remained standing for a brief second.

Then they collapsed slowly.

Saitama lowered his smoking fist before turning to his companion. His expression even sharper than before

“Come on, Genos. I know another supermarket running the same sale. Let’s hurry before it sells out!”

“Hai, sensei!”

The two of them immediately dashed off.

Saitama paused briefly at the counter, casually dropping the correct amount of cash into the register before leaving.

Then they were gone.

Back with King, who was still trying to decipher what the hell had just happened and had finally begun to relax, along with his King’s Engine. He felt his body jump in its skin as an object landed mere inches away from him.

‘Eeeeehhhh?!’

It was by sheer will that he did not shout like a highschool girl. Not that it mattered, as his eyes nearly bulged from their sockets at the sight.

Laid in front of him was the monster’s head. Clearly decapitated, its eyes forced out of their sockets from the sheer power. Its jaw hung open and blood began to pour onto the asphalt near his boots, mixing with the rain that had suddenly begun to fall.

Oh, and by sheer coincidence, it started to rain. The downpour doused the remaining fires started by the monster, formally ending his rampage and stopping the destruction.

“…”

There was silence as the scene settled in.

And then—

“He did it! King defeated the monster without touching it!”

From all corners, the crowd flocked back to King like vultures eyeing a corpse, instantly swarming the hero from all sides and leaving no exit for him to escape.

“What a legend! Only King is capable of this!”

“Thank you so much, King! You’re our hero!”

“Are you going to take the head as a trophy? Ooh! Can I sign it? Can I?! Can I?!”

“Thank you so much for saving us, King! Now how dare you deceive me like this?! Marrying me just for my wealth?! I’ll kill you!”

“Wait, honey, you got it wrong! It was just a slip of the tongue in the heat of the moment! I love—Ow ow stop—”

King started backing away slowly, his face stoic as if he was not bothered at all by the crowd, which inwardly could not have been further from the truth.

‘Please leave me alone! I just wanna go home!’

On the rooftop, Zombieman had a look of genuine shock on his face, his red eyes solely focused on the hero trying to escape the crowd.

‘How outrageous. King defeated the monster and obtained its head… all without touching it, or even moving from his spot. What sort of power is this?’

Slowly, Zombieman stood from his makeshift seat, adjusted his trench coat, and stepped off the rooftop—dropping straight to the street below without hesitation.

‘How did I think Tatsumaki was a monster… When people like King exist.’ He wondered if there were other people strong like King, people who were hidden from the world as he became one with the pavement.

<————>

With the click of the knob, King finally exhaled in relief, leaning against the door and almost sliding down.

‘Phew… Finally… I’m home.’

It had been painstakingly difficult getting there. He had to dodge the crowd that swarmed him while also navigating the chaos left behind and the cleanup process. 

Thankfully, a bluff about being busy was enough to make them back off, and the Association was more than willing to airlift him to his new apartment.

Indeed, a new apartment—his old one had been destroyed by a monster, though thankfully he was saved by his new friend. This one was more modern and sleeker than his old place; you could even say it was a penthouse from how luxurious it was.

It was way over the top for a hero, as he preferred his modest abode, but these types were available, so he hesitantly agreed.

Kicking off his shoes, King went to the tiny living room. Thankfully, he still had the copy of Monster Hunter: King Edition in his pocket from just before the monster attacked, so he inserted it into the console and plopped down on the couch.

‘Finally, peace. I can relax while doing what I love, gaming!’ Popping a pill from a prescription bottle and stuffing it in his pocket, King leaned back into the comfy couch, took the controller, and booted up the console.

‘At least when I’m at home, nothing bad can possibly happen.’

But as the screen flickered to life, a blinding white light engulfed the room, overwhelming the hero.

“What the—?!” King raised his hands to shield his eyes from the piercing glare. It was like staring at the sun itself.

And just as quickly as it came, the light vanished, and he blinked his eyes open.

What he found was that he was no longer in his comfy apartment. Instead, he was sitting on something round and rough. The clean white walls had been replaced with stalls and stands carrying various products—from silks to fruits.

At his feet, instead of the beautifully decorated marble floor, was rough, uneven cobblestone…

And a monster lay at his feet, glaring up at him.

"..."

"..."

Rumble! Rumble! Rumble! Rumble!

End Of Prologue