The city slept under a fragile veil of order, unaware that chaos had already taken root. Neon lights flickered across cracked streets, illuminating graffiti-scarred walls and puddles reflecting a world teetering on the edge. Somewhere in the distance, sirens screamed, a faint echo of law struggling to hold its grip. But law and order were illusions tonight, and they would be shattered.
High above, on the edge of a crumbling rooftop, Ares stood alone. His weapons hovered around him in a delicate orbit, each blade faintly glowing with energy that pulsed like a heartbeat. He didn't look down at the chaos below-not yet. He didn't need to. The street gangs fighting over scraps of turf, the thugs squabbling in alleys, the corrupt officials counting their money-it was all part of the game. And Ares had no interest in fairness. He only cared about power.
Then came a streak of color, a flash of motion, and a crackling sound that split the night. Jinx appeared, skidding across the rooftops, gadgets strapped to her arms and back sparking like miniature fireworks. One toss, and a grenade-like device erupted into a wall of fire, sending shards of debris spinning into the street. Civilians screamed, diving for cover, their shadows stretching and twisting in the light of burning neon signs. To them, it wasn't chaos-it was terror. To Jinx, it was art. She laughed, a sharp, musical sound, as though destruction itself amused her.
From the darkness between buildings, Shade moved silently. He didn't run; he didn't leap. Shadows bent toward him, creeping like liquid from walls and lampposts. His eyes glowed faintly beneath the hood of his coat as a single figure, a lone patrol officer, stumbled into the darkened alley. One thought, one gesture, and a shadow detached itself from the walls, wrapping around the officer like a suffocating tide. Then nothing. No scream, no struggle-only fear lingering in the empty alley, a whisper of death that left the officer's comrades trembling.
For now, the city still stood, but its heart was shaken. Fear had taken root, like a poisonous vine crawling across stone and steel. And somewhere in that chaos, the three of them-Ares, Jinx, Shade-noticed each other. Not consciously, not yet, but instinctively. There was a resonance, a shared pulse of darkness. Each felt it, and each knew that the others were not heroes, not defenders of order. They were predators, and the city was their hunting ground.
By dawn, the streets would be quiet again, but nothing would ever be the same. Windows lay broken, fires burned in forgotten corners, and every shadow carried the memory of what had passed. The anti-heroes had emerged-not to save, not to protect, but to conquer, to terrify, to bend the world toward their own dark will. And as the first rays of morning touched the jagged skyline, the city learned its first lesson: peace was an illusion, and the age of the anti-heroes had begun.