Because Calibur insisted on an outdoor address, Shinobi had no choice but to construct a makeshift stage in record time. Heroes with earth-shaping abilities molded the ground into an elevated platform, while crews scrambled to move spotlights, podiums, and massive PA systems from the auditorium to the clearing.

  Despite the frantic pace, the technical setup was the easy part. The real challenge was enduring Calibur’s insufferable arrogance. Shinobi kept his head down, fueled only by the hope that keeping the S-Rank happy would prevent a catastrophe.

  Titan, however, remained openly defiant. In his sedated haze, he clung to a single, comforting thought: Allen. He fantasized about Allen dropping the same kind of localized cataclysm on Calibur that had ended the Gigax Leo. That thought alone made the physical agony bearable.

  Currently, Titan was being treated by a team of trauma surgeons inside a high-tech ambulance. His right arm was splayed out on a steel table, and the air was thick with the scent of copper as the doctors forcibly extracted his shattered bone fragments.

  "With his metabolic recovery rate, the bones should regrow in a day, perhaps less," the lead surgeon noted, his gloves slick with Titan’s blood. "Until then, he is to avoid all physical exertion and stay as far away from Calibur as humanly possible."

  The doctor wasn't just speaking to Shinobi as a colleague; he was an undercover operative for Crimson Shadow’s guild. In this intimate space, the formal masks of the Federation fell away.

  "Understood," Shinobi replied. "Let’s just hope we have a city left to stand in by tomorrow."

  "It is vital he doesn't try to use that arm," the doctor added, glancing at the limp limb. "Without the skeletal structure, it has the functional strength of a newborn."

  "How is he?"

  The voice came from the ambulance door. Allen stood there, his knuckles white as he gripped his wooden staff. The veins in his forearms stood out like cordage.

  "He’ll live. He just needs rest," Shinobi said, omitting the part about Calibur’s overwhelming superiority. "His regeneration is high-tier, and his strength is in a league of its own... usually."

  Allen exhaled a sharp, jagged breath and turned away without a word. Shinobi watched him go, feeling the weight of the coming storm. To Shinobi, Allen wasn't just a hero anymore—he was a ticking time bomb, and the countdown was reaching zero.

  A short time later, Titan sat in the front row with his arm in a sling, flanked by Shinobi and the rest of the local hero corps. They all stared up at the earthen stage where Calibur stood.

  Calibur scanned the crowd. A predatory glint flickered in his eyes—a look that anyone who knew him would have recognized as a death sentence.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  "Good afternoon, citizens of City F," Calibur began, his voice amplified by the massive speakers.

  The crowd erupted in cheers and applause. The public loved a winner, and Calibur was the ultimate celebrity. Titan and Shinobi remained stone-faced, their eyes scanning the perimeter for a certain teenager who was nowhere to be seen.

  "As many of you know, I am Calibur: S-Rank hero and candidate for the Presidency of the Heroic Federation. I came here today to ask for your support, for your votes..."

  Calibur paused. The warm, practiced smile on his face began to rot into something dark and jagged.

  "But on the other hand... City F is, quite frankly, a bottom-tier dump. Its heroes are pathetic, the monsters that spawn here are unworthy of scientific study, and your tax revenue is a joke."

  The crowd went silent. The cheering stopped as if a throat had been slit. Calibur’s eyes bulged with a manic, unhinged light.

  "The only interesting thing to ever happen here was the appearance of the Gigax Leo. And even then, we couldn't finish the experiment because of that meddling meteorite. Or should I say, because of her? It doesn't matter. The dead don't testify."

  Murmurs of confusion and fear rippled through the audience. Titan and Shinobi tensed, their hands moving to their weapons.

  "Don't worry, nothing 'bad' is going to happen," Calibur sneered, his voice dripping with irony. "It’s just that the Federation has decided this city isn't worth the maintenance costs. I’ve been tasked with its decommission. I am to raze City F to its foundations... leaving no survivors. Not the heroes, not the villains, and certainly not the civilians."

  Calibur snapped his fingers.

  On the horizon, a massive wall of solid iron erupted from the earth, encircling the city in a heartbeat. The "Iron Cage" was complete. Panic exploded instantly. Thousands of people began to scream, trampling each other in a desperate, futile rush for the exits.

  Shinobi, Titan, and the remaining heroes lunged toward the stage, but Calibur just laughed. "Is this a rebellion, then?"

  As he spoke, a massive pillar of fire erupted several yards away, lighting up the darkening sky. Calibur’s grin widened. "Level 1.5... your evolution is fascinating, boy."

  With a casual flick of his wrist, Calibur released a wave of purple energy. It felt like a gentle breeze, but it cut with the precision of a monomolecular wire. The shockwave shredded the reinforced hero suits of everyone nearby. Shinobi was thrown back, gasping as blood soaked his uniform. Titan, already weakened, collapsed as multiple deep lacerations opened across his chest, his blood staining the ground crimson.

  The pillar of fire died down as a figure emerged from the embers.

  Allen stepped onto the bloody ground. He was no longer in his white suit. He wore a deep, vibrant red armor, and in his right hand, he gripped a heavy, obsidian-edged battle axe.

  "I don't think I need to tell you what I'm thinking, Calibur."

  "Oh, I'd love to hear your opinion, Allen," Calibur replied, his eyes fixed on the red suit, eager to test the power that had slain Seira.

  "In my humble opinion," Allen said, his voice cold and steady, "a hero should be the modern equivalent of a knight. And a knight's first vow is never to threaten the weak."

  Calibur stared at him for a beat, then burst into a fit of hysterical, mocking laughter. He pointed a gloved finger at Allen.

  "And who the hell are you to lecture me? You're just a boy playing dress-up. At your age, you're not just a virgin—you're a broken toy with very interesting scars on your wrists. That’s not a knight, Allen. That’s a pathetic brat who still believes in fairy tales."

  Allen didn't move. He stood perfectly still, but the air around him began to shimmer with heat. His grip tightened on the axe until the metal groaned, and his eyes burned with the same intense, murderous red as his armor.