BOOM!
The sky split with fire. Smoke billowed like black rivers against the afternoon sun, curling into strange, twisting shapes that almost seemed alive. The ground shook violently, and the walls of the Black Haws fortress trembled as if the building itself were screaming in pain.
From the chaos, figures ran, staggered, and fell. Some scrambled to escape the inferno, their faces pale with terror, while others tried, hopelessly, to defend the base they had spent years building. Screams echoed and then vanished, swallowed by the roar of explosions and the crackle of falling debris.
And at the center of it all, the five heroes descended.
They were like gods in armor, moving with impossible speed and precision. Each step left scorch marks on the stone, each swing of their weapons shredded the air. Energy beams, glowing swords, and otherworldly powers cut through walls and halls like knives through paper. The villain bosses the ones who had ruled with fear, the ones who had commanded armies that made entire cities tremble — tried to fight. They barked orders, unleashed waves of dark energy, and roared defiance.
And then they were gone. Obliterated in a single, blinding strike that left nothing but ash and smoke where they had stood.
Tony, a low-ranking grunt whose name barely appeared on any roster, crawled out from under a fallen slab of metal. His chest heaved with coughing, and his lungs were filled with a mix of dust, ash, and the unmistakable metallic scent of burning steel.
He looked around. The once-proud fortress of the Black Haws lay in ruins. Burnt banners hung limply from broken poles. Craters marked where walls had once stood. Fires still flickered in some corners, consuming what remained of the commander's hall. And above it all, the sky glowed red with the aftermath of destruction.
Tony's eyes scanned the carnage. His bosses gone. The army annihilated. The heroes already gone, like gods who had passed and left nothing but silence.
A few other survivors crawled out from the rubble. Their movements were slow and uncoordinated. Some limped, others leaned against walls for support, and a few simply sat in the ashes, staring blankly at what had once been their home.
Tony stumbled to his feet, brushing ash and blood from his armor. He tried to square his shoulders and summon what little dignity remained. "Listen! We can rebuild!" he shouted, voice cracking. "We can rise again! The Black Haws can—no, we can—take back what's ours! And I… I will—"
He paused, gulping in the acrid smoke. "I will kill those heroes! One by one!"
Silence.
And then, laughter.
It started quietly, with one of the survivors, the medic, pale-faced and shaking her head letting out a snort that quickly became a chuckle. Tony turned to see the cook, clutching what was left of a ruined pot, trying unsuccessfully to stifle his own laughter. The young recruit, still smeared with dust and soot, joined in, leaning against a broken wall and cackling.
"Kill the heroes? You? You're joking, right?" the medic said, tears streaming down her face from laughter and exhaustion. "You couldn't even swing a sword without tripping over it!"
"They'll eat you for breakfast," the cook added, shaking his head in disbelief. "We all saw it. You're hopeless."
The recruit smirked. "Yeah… go ahead. Make them regret leaving you alive. They'll probably thank you for trying."
Tony's fists clenched, his knuckles whitening. He opened his mouth to argue, but the laughter was relentless, echoing through the ruins and bouncing off shattered walls. He felt a flush of anger, humiliation, and something else a stubborn, unyielding determination that refused to let him crumble.
"Fine!" he shouted, raising his arms to the heavens, which were now streaked with smoke and ash. "Laugh all you want! You may have given up, but I… I'm not done. I refuse to surrender! I will find a way! I will kill those heroes, one by one, and I won't stop until I do!"
The survivors shook their heads and walked away, their laughter fading into the distance. They had families to return to, lives to rebuild, and they had no desire to die chasing a dream that was already ash.
Tony watched them go, alone atop a small mound of rubble. The world beyond the fortress glowed with the lights of distant cities, celebrating the heroes' victory. His chest burned with something fierce and absurd: a mix of rage, despair, and determination so pure it felt ridiculous.
He had no power. He had no skills. He was useless in combat. Every scrap of training, every lesson in swordplay, every drop of sweat he had ever shed it meant nothing. And yet, he refused to surrender.
He kicked a chunk of rubble and it skittered down the slope, clattering loudly. He flopped onto his knees and then rose again, brushing dust from his face. "I don't care if I die trying. I will survive. I will get stronger. I will somehow find a way to take them down. Even if I have no chance."
Tony's gaze swept over the ruined fortress one last time. The Black Haws were gone. Their empire had collapsed. Everyone who had laughed, cried, or fought beside him was gone or gone home.
He took a deep breath, lifted his cracked helmet, and shouted into the smoke-choked air:
"Heroes! You may have destroyed everything! You may have made me nothing! But I… Tony… will survive! And I will make you pay… one by one!"
He turned his back on the rubble, shoulders squared against the cold wind, and began walking toward the horizon, where the lights of the city gleamed like stars stolen from the sky.
Behind him, the fortress lay in ashes. The world had celebrated the heroes' victory. Tony carried nothing but his stubbornness, his anger, and a ridiculous hope that even a grunt like him could survive… and maybe, just maybe, change the story.