A Hitman's Guide To Becoming A Hero

The sky did not simply break. It detonated.

High above the ruined expanse of St. Jude’s Plaza, the jagged fracture across the purple canopy widened with an ear-splitting, tectonic shriek. The sound reverberated through the marrow of every living thing in the city, like a crystal bell the size of a continent shattering under an iron mallet.

Then, the dome gave way.

Billions of crystalline, violet fragments peeled away from the heavens, raining down in a silent, blinding cascade. The suffocating, artificial twilight of Joan’s narrative dissolved into the crisp, cold darkness of the open night sky, welcoming the brilliant, unfiltered silver rays of the full moon. The lingering rot of the suppression field evaporated in a fraction of a second, leaving the raw atmosphere crackling with unbridled static.

For one suspended heartbeat, the world went dead quiet.

Then came the flood.

It was not a gradual resurgence; it was a violent, catastrophic eruption. The impure power that had been forcibly ripped away, suppressed, and dammed up inside the heroes surged back into their biological circuits like a lightning bolt striking a dormant power grid.

An atmospheric shockwave exploded outward from the grand stage, sweeping a wall of dust, debris, and splintered timber fifty yards into the air.

Beside Nicholas, Eric let out a roar that shook the very foundations of the plaza.

The raw, bleeding wounds along the titan’s wrists sealed under a shifting layer of dark, metallic luster. His skin transformed, hardening into an impenetrable, matte-black kinetic steel that hummed with enough stored shockwave energy to level a skyscraper. His dislocated shoulder snapped violently back into its socket under the contraction of sheer, supernatural muscle density. Eric rose from his knees—no longer a bruised, helpless captive, but an immovable colossus towering nine feet into the air, radiant with indomitable kinetic fury.

To his right, the ground began to groan.

Nectron, who had spent the last two hours slumped like discarded trash in suppression cuffs, opened eyes that burned with a terrifying, deep-space ultraviolet glow.

He didn’t stand up. He simply floated upward, hovering three feet above the platform as gravity inverted in a forty-yard radius around him. Chunks of shattered masonry, iron rebar, and fallen concrete rose weightlessly into the air, orbiting his silhouette like celestial debris. The air pressure plummeted, warping the ambient light and crushing the asphalt below into dense, concave craters under the localized weight of ten gravities.

Across the front perimeter, the night exploded into daylight.

Walküre’s shattered armor dissolved into blazing golden feathers of pure plasma. Giant, radiant wings of light erupted from her shoulder blades, spanning thirty feet across the stage and burning the lingering chemical mist out of existence in a hiss of white-hot steam. Her spear reformed in her hand, crackling with blinding ionic arcs.

Beside her, Mercury’s pale, bruised body turned entirely liquid. Shimmering streams of hyper-dense, reflective quicksilver surged around his limbs, forming razor-sharp tendrils and hovering blades that sliced the air with a supersonic drone.

Every A-rank and S-rank hero who had been chained, beaten, and humiliated upon the Master’s altar stood once more at the absolute apex of their power.

The temperature in the plaza soared. The air hummed with enough latent impure radiation to short-circuit mechanical watches.

On the platform, Nicholas slowly pulled himself up, using the pommel of his chipped carbon blade for balance. He leaned against the broken edge of the podium, his breath coming in shallow, wheezing gasps through cracked ribs. His lone visible eye narrowed slightly as he felt his own void resonance and copying matrix quietly hum to life in the depths of his chest, but he kept his power coiled, watching the board shift from a desperate survival drill into an absolute execution.

The power dynamic had not merely tipped; it had inverted with apocalyptic finality.

Hexi stood frozen at the edge of the stage, his daggers hanging limp at his sides, his breath coming in shallow, terrified pants. His pale face was illuminated by the golden glare of Walküre’s plasma wings and the violet distortion of Nectron’s gravitational singularity.

Behind him, Zayx took an involuntary, trembling step backward, the feral madness in his eyes instantly extinguished by the sheer, suffocating aura radiating from Eric’s steel frame.

Shadow materialized from the gloom beneath the steps, her trench knife shaking in her uninjured hand as her wide, dilated eyes swept across the line of godlike beings towering over them.

The villains were no longer the hunters presiding over a slaughterhouse.

They were four cornered rats trapped in an amphitheater of vengeful titans.

The radiant heat rolling off Walküre’s plasma wings singed the torn hems of the villains’ clothes.

Nectron raised a single, glowing hand, and the atmospheric pressure over the square dropped like a falling anvil. The sheer gravitational density slammed downward, turning the air itself into a suffocating vise that pinned Hexi and Shadow’s boots two inches deep into the buckling asphalt.

Up in the ruined ventilation intake, Julie’s auxiliary lenses struggled to calibrate against the overwhelming luminance. The live stream feed, which had captured every bloody second of the heroes’ desperate, unpowered struggle, now relayed a blinding wall of pure, unadulterated divine wrath.

Across every continent, the two billion viewers who had been weeping into their hands rose to their feet in a deafening, unified uproar.

Eric stepped forward.

Each footfall of his kinetic steel boots rang out with the concussive force of a thunderhead, fracturing the stage beneath him and sending shockwaves rippling through the rubble. The raw, primal vengeance burning behind his glowing white eyes wasn’t just anger—it was the gathered fury of every hero who had been stripped, mocked, and brought to the executioner’s block for the world to see.

"You had your stage, Vance," Eric’s voice boomed, layered with deep, metallic reverberations that rattled the teeth in Hexi’s skull.

He didn’t look at Malik’s cooling corpse. His gaze locked straight onto the trembling lieutenants standing in the shadow of his towering bulk.

"Now," Eric snarled, his iron knuckles grinding together with the sound of crushing granite, "we clear the floor."

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