The sky above Japan was a blanket of smoke and blood-red clouds, torn apart by missiles and quirk blasts. Fires bloomed like twisted flowers from collapsed buildings. Screams echoed through the streets, and the ground itself trembled with every monstrous footfall.
And yet, amid the chaos, we stepped forward.
Team X. Twenty vigilantes. Students. Survivors. Warriors.
Cloaked and masked, our insignias glinting beneath obsidian armor, we moved through the burning city like phantoms. These weren't pro heroes. These weren't legends. They were kids—young, raw, but hardened by what they'd endured under the guidance of Shira and the Vigilante Academy.
And I was their commander.
"Move out!" I ordered, my voice cutting through the air via comms.
No hesitation. They scattered into formation.
I stood at the center, cape fluttering behind me as I surveyed the field. Civilians were still trapped beneath debris. Fires blocked the eastern districts. Nomu shrieks rattled the broken glass in nearby ruins.
The heroes of Japan were fighting—but barely holding the line.
Class 1-A. 2-B. My friends… they were here somewhere.
But they didn't know I was.
To them, I was just another masked leader in the chaos. The ghost of a forgotten brother. And for now, that was exactly who I needed to be.
"This is Phantom," I spoke into the comm, my voice distorted. "Code split. Operatives, go loud."
I pointed to different sectors.
"Zero, River, Reign—clear District 4. Civilians trapped under transport wreckage. Prioritize extraction."
"Shadowline, Breaker, Echo—reinforce the south. Pro heroes are being overrun. Use concussive force only. Don't get drawn in."
The team moved with precision—silent, swift, lethal. For students, they executed like seasoned soldiers.
I exhaled and scanned the area. My visor's HUD blinked to life, highlighting threats in red.
And then I saw them.
Six Nomu. Mutated. Fast. Massive.
Towering bodies cloaked in black muscle and chitin, snarling with new, evolved features—razor tendrils, jagged plating, and what looked like implanted tech. Their movements were sharper. Smarter. Adaptive.
They were guarding something. Or waiting.
I knelt on a rooftop above their position, sliding open the side of my utility belt.
Twelve black syringes. Labeled in red.
VX-NX-9. The Anti-Nomu Serum.
I stared at them. So small. So quiet. But these were the only things capable of stopping them at the core—no matter how strong their regeneration was.
They had to be injected directly. Into the bloodstream.
I did the math. Six Nomu. Two doses each.
Perfect.
But only if I lived long enough to land the hits.
I closed the compartment and adjusted my gloves.
"Phantom to Team X—six Nomu located, Zone C-8. Initiating Phase Ghost. Solo recon and engage."
A pause. Then the voice of Reign, the squad's field medic, crackled in my ear. "You're taking them alone?"
"They're clustered. Hit one, the rest follow. I'll draw them out. You stay on evac and support."
"You sure, sir?"
"Positive."
Silence. Then: "Yes, Phantom. We'll hold the line."
I smirked beneath my hood. They were young—but they trusted me.
I stood slowly, eyes locked on the beasts below.
My heart thundered in my chest—not from fear.
But from the feeling that everything had led to this moment.
I cracked my knuckles.
Let the war begin.