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[20,000 Feet Above Ground — Private Jet]
The hum of engines reverberated through the cabin, steady and low. The man stood just outside the cockpit room, his gloved finger tapping a control on the sleek digital interface embedded into his wristband.
"I'll relay the message. Await further instructions," he said calmly.
A sharp beep confirmed transmission.
Without a word, he turned and strode down the aisle, the soft lighting within the jet casting gold-tinted shadows along the lacquered walls and polished floor. The windows on either side showed only the pitch of the night sky, fractured occasionally by the glow of blinking signal lights on the wing.
He paused before a door at the rear end of the aircraft—no markings, no identifier. Just a panel.
He adjusted his tie with a crisp motion and pressed the button beside it. A soft whirring sound followed. Then a beep—confirmation.
The door slid open silently.
He stepped in with lowered eyes.
The room was dim—smaller than the rest of the aircraft but suffused in deliberate darkness. Only the faint glow of a desk lamp illuminated the interior, casting angular shadows along the walls. The scent of old parchment and ozone clung subtly to the air.
He didn't need to look up to know he was being watched. In form of recognition and authority, he leaned forward and bowed his head.
"What news do you bring?" asked the voice within.
It was young—smooth, tempered, but layered with authority.
"The item retrieved from Solomon Island is en route to the Uluru base," the man reported. "Final clearance protocols are under way. Awaiting further orders upon delivery."
There was a moment's pause.
"Hand it to the base manager. Instruct them to lock it in the lower vault."
"It shall be done, Your Grace."
He heard the subtle shift of weight—footsteps crossing the carpeted floor, the whisper of fabric. A soft thump followed. The figure must've seated himself. Still unseen, yet undeniably present.
A breath later, another question came, low and precise:
"Any word about the Rankers stationed at the castle?"
"The latest intel confirms engagement. That thing is now facing three of the rankers."
A scoff, quiet and amused, echoed faintly in the small room.
"And tell me…" the voice murmured, "do you believe my children will succeed?"
A brief silence.
"They've reported it wounded. Cornered. Its escape odds are slim," the man answered. "By current estimation, the chances of capture are in their favor."
Silence again.
Then, the sound of fingertips slowly drumming against wood.
"…I see," came the response. The tone lingered with quiet intrigue—half-pleased, half-curious.
"Dismissed."
The man bowed deeper. "Your Grace."
He stood, turned, and left without another word. The door slid shut behind him.
Now alone, the figure remained seated at the small desk, the warm light casting only the lower half of his face in gold—lips curved into a slow, faint smile.
From the shadows, he hummed in thought.
"Makes me wonder, why now? Emilian..."
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[The southern forest, 1:35 AM]
Rain hammered through the canopy, a relentless downpour turning the earth beneath into muck. Kazuhiro stood amidst a swirling fog that clung unnaturally to his form. But this wasn't mist—this was denser, heavier, smoke with a sinister weight.
'This isn't natural…' he thought. 'I can barely view what's in front of me. Is it possible to outrun them even in this state? It's unlikely.'
Then, gentle—almost playful—fingers brushed beneath his chin.
"Care to share what's on your mind?" came a sultry voice, smooth and teasing.
Kazuhiro didn't hesitate.
He struck.
His claw arced violently through the space before him, targeting the vague silhouette—but there was no resistance. The figure vanished like vapor.
"Fufu... how rude of me," her voice now echoed from above, flirtatious and unbothered. "I was only being curious. I should've asked first before touching you."
Another voice joined her—gruff, colder.
"Now's not the time to mess around." He heard a metallic click in the distance unsure on what it could be. "Ready."
Kazuhiro didn't waste a second longer. He turned and bolted forward into the dark, hand extended ahead to guide him through the invisible maze of smoke and trees. His long limbs launched him forward, using slick stone and root for leverage. Finding a place to summon a gate to the market.
Then—
BANG!
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Xxxx
+5 CON: took heavy damage (2051/4720)
Xxxx
He collapsed mid-leap, his massive body plowing into the dirt as something tore straight through his knee. His legs refused to respond—mobility was now compromised.
Still, he tried to lift himself—an arm pressed into the mud, claws digging in—
BANG!
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Xxxx
+5 CON: took heavy damage (978/4920)
Xxxx
This time the impact struck his right shoulder, spinning his body before he dropped hard again.
Mud clung to his figure, mixing with fragmented debris and rainwater as his limbs lay scattered in awkward angles. Still, he strained—forcing his remaining strength into his left arm, claws digging into the soil as he attempted to rise.
BANG.
The third round found its mark—striking just below the clavicle of his only working arm.
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Xxxx
+5 CON: Took heavy damage (76/5100)
WARNING! You are below 100 HP. Seek immediate shelter and recover!
Xxxx
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Kazuhiro's vision briefly flickered with static.
His limbs spasmed, locking up.
Only one leg—the right—remained responsive, twitching weakly as he attempted to push himself upright. The rest of his body refused to obey.
His fingers flexed, twitching uselessly. Not enough grip to support weight. Not enough strength to resist.
'I can't fight. I can't even crawl. And escape is…futile.'
Above him, the rain continued to fall, indifferent. The trees creaked in the wind. Footsteps approached from the smoke.
A voice called out over the wind. Cold and familiar.
"Stop. Don't kill it. Father wants it alive."
It was him—the 8th. Takeshi Hanamura.
As the smoke began to disperse, two figures emerged from the veil.
Eloise Durand—tall, elegant, yet seductive. Her form was wrapped in a long obsidian trench coat draped loosely over her shoulders like a cape, the sleeves empty, the collar high and turned. Beneath it, a form-fitting burgundy dress with a deep slit trailed against her thighs, the fabric catching the glimmer of moonlight through the rain. Golden earrings shaped like tiny crescent blades shimmered as she walked.
She exhaled calmly from a long, gold-plated cigar—its smoke swirling about her unnaturally, the rain passing harmlessly through her body as if she weren't entirely tangible.
Her lips curled with delight at the sight of Kazuhiro lying broken in the mud.
"My, my…" she said, voice like warm velvet, "and here I was told you were supposed to be a nightmare given form." She took a puff, exhaled slowly, and tilted her head. "How disappointing… but still, such a beautiful specimen. I can see why Father wants you intact."
"Lucky for us, it's alive," came a gruffer voice from behind the trees.
Selim Aslan emerged next. He was older, late forties at a glance, rugged and composed. A thick scarf hung loosely from his neck, soaked and dark, while the rest of him wore a minimal tactical ensemble—fitted black shirt, dark cargo pants, heavy gloves. The long-barreled sniper slung over his shoulder still smoked from the chamber. As he stepped beside Eloise, he adjusted his brace of ammunition and offered her a respectful nod to both her and Takeshi.
"I apologize for the abrupt method," Selim said coolly, adjusting the scope on his shoulder. "But given the target's resistance probability, softening it was essential."
The 8th grunted in mild approval. "fine then. Sir Aslan I want you to escort it to the departure site. Prepare and assemble your men."
He turned to Eloise. "Madam Durand. Confiscate its belongings and send your men to the castle's underground lab. I want them assess and find any footage on what occured."
Eloise raised a brow, an arm folding beneath her bust while the other rest on her palm. "And you? What's your task?"
"I'll remain behind. I made a miscalculation. I expected the creature to arrive alone…" He looked out into the forest, eyes sharp. "But someone's been assisting it—discreetly. While I was busy observing the main intruder, something slipped past me."
With that, he turned and began walking, tapping his wrist as he went.
"Min. Message the departure site. Confirm the capture of the target, have them be prepared. Surya, report your status."
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[Elsewhere in the Forest]
A silhouette emerged through the trees.
Shirtless, rain cascading down his muscular frame, stood Aarav Surya. His skin glistened like bronze under the moonlight, long black hair tied loosely back, water dripping from the end of his anchor like goatee. Twin metallic discs floated inches from his wrists—spinning in slow, deliberate motion.
With a smug expression on his face, He stood before the three captives. Akemi, Asahi, and Denji with Pochita at their side.
His presence alone felt like gravity had shifted.
"Found you," he grinned.
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(Bonus segement)
[World: One punch man]
[Z-city, 3:10 PM]
Black vehicles lined the cracked pavement like armored beetles, forming a perimeter around a scorched crater that steamed in the afternoon haze. Dozens of cables snaked out from vans and monitoring stations, feeding into terminals and floating drones suspended above the anomaly.
At the center of the cordon stood a door.
Nothing else. Just a lone upright structure standing in defiance of physics—frame humming softly, its surface etched with an unfamiliar symbol of balanced scales. No walls. No hinges. No shadows cast beneath it. Just a door...
Metal Bat stood near the checkpoint, visibly irritated. His black shirt was unbuttoned halfway, exposing the muscle underneath, and his signature metal bat rested lazily across his shoulder. Strapped to his chest was a small hexagonal device with similary other small gadgets on his body with different shapes and sizes,
"What the hell is this thing supposed to do again?" he muttered, tapping the gadget.
Child Emperor didn't even look up from his portable control desk—spread across the back of a van, its screen awash in diagnostic feeds and magnetic readouts. "It monitors your heart rate," he said flatly, fingers dancing across the holographic interface.
"Tch. Ain't like I'm plannin' on dying. If you just need visuals, the camera should be enough."
Child Emperor glanced up, narrowing his eyes behind his goggles. "Visuals is not enough, and based on what we saw with the drones we've sent, we couldn't gain anything out of it."
"And you think sending a person would help with your project?"
"You are not an ordinary person, S Rank hero." Child Emperor muttered under his breath with a bit of mockery tone at the end.
A suited official walked briskly up to them, his earpiece flashing blue. "Status?"
"He's synced and equipped," the boy genius replied.
The agent nodded, then turned to Metal Bat. " Shall we?"
Metal Bat sighed, twisting his neck until it popped. "This better not be another overblown drill," he grumbled, stepping forward, his boots crunching over loose gravel. "I ain't in the mood for cosmic bullshit."
The closer he got, the quieter everything became. As if the space around the door swallowed ambient sound. Even the wind seemed to hesitate.
He stopped just a few feet from the anomaly. Up close, the door looked even more ordinary—worn wood grain, brass handle, not a scratch on it despite the blast zone around it. But that emblem… those scales glowed faintly.
"Looks like a haunted closet," he muttered.
"Just go in already!" Child Emperor's voice crackled through his earpiece.
With a grunt, Metal Bat raised his weapon onto his shoulder, squared his stance, and reached for the handle.
The door creaked open revealing a dark void.
Metal Bat stepped through.
The door closed behind him without a sound.
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The moment Metal Bat stepped through the door, everything snapped to black.
There was no ground, no sky, no sound—just a swallowing nothing that wrapped around him. He froze in place, his grip tightening instinctively on his bat.
"The hell kinda freaky place is this?" he muttered, voice echoing strangely despite the lack of walls.
He turned around.
The door was gone.
"Oi, Kid. You readin' me?" he said, tapping the communicator strapped to his shirt collar.
There was a long pause, then a crackle of static—followed by the familiar, precise voice of Child Emperor.
"I hear you, barely. Your signal dropped the moment you passed through. Audio is patchy, visuals are blind,."
Metal Bat scanned the endless dark. The blinking monitor on his chest was still glowing faint green. "Yeah, no kiddin'. I can't see squat. Feels like I'm walkin' through a black hole."
"Can you feel anything? Weight? Sound? Temperature?"
"I feel pissed off, that count?"
"…Just keep moving forward."
Metal Bat grunted he was not enjoying this in the slightest. He did as he was told and moved.
Time passed. Or maybe it didn't. He couldn't tell.
Just as he was about to turn around and start shouting, something blinked into existence ahead.
A dim, white light shimmered in the distance. Barely noticeable at first, but it grew steadily
The oppressive black began to recede. Depth returned and his form now struck with dimmed colors.
The golden light gathered into a single spot, forming a vertical shape, resembling that of a door. A gateway it seems.
"…You seein' this now, kid?" Metal Bat asked tapping on the device.
"Affirmative. Visuals have returned, however the image returned grainy. Anyways, see if you can get close to it."
Metal bat tried to squint his eyes to get a clear picture on what it is. "Looks like a door to me."
"Then that's your way forward. Proceed with caution."
Metal Bat stared at the gate.
"…Tch. You say it like i'd stay in place or somethin'." He muttered
Bat in hand, he stepped toward the illuminated gate.
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