The skies above the City of Shibuya were painted in a sinister shade of red.
Sirens screamed, echoing through the skyscrapers. Buildings swayed violently, windows shattered, and crowds of civilians ran in every direction—shouting, sobbing, desperate to escape the chaos. News broadcasts flickered on every screen in sight, reporting what appeared to be a magnitude 10 earthquake... yet it wasn't caused by Mother Nature.
It was caused by one man.
A monstrous figure stomped through the streets with each step shaking the earth. Muscles bulged unnaturally under stretched skin, his eyes wide with manic pride. All around him, the remaining heroes of Shibuya were scattered—defeated, broken, helpless.
He called himself The Quake Devastator.
A twisted bodybuilder turned psychopathic force of nature, he towered above the ruins with a grin that didn't belong on any sane man.
"Finally," he bellowed, veins bulging from his neck. "The years of training... the ridicule... the mockery. It all led to this! Now the world will witness true strength—strength greater than nature itself! I am power incarnate!"
He raised a massive, trembling arm over a young girl huddled beneath rubble. She stared up in frozen terror, unable to scream, moments from death.
Then—like a whisper through the hurricane—a breeze swept through the wreckage.
From the smoke emerged a teen.
Clad in a black jumpsuit, black boots, and disposable gloves. A full black mask covered his head, a respirator strapped across his face—painted crudely with a white, smiling mouth.
"Enough," the teen said in a low, steady voice.
The Quake Devastator halted, glaring at the stranger. "Who the hell are you?!"
The teen cracked his knuckles, tilting his head. "A hero... not after fame or glory. Usually, I don't step in during the day. But that doesn't mean I won't."
With a burst of speed, he was gone from sight.
Appearing instantly in front of the villain.
The Quake Devastator's grin widened. "If you say so... then I'll bring this city straight to hell—with you in it!"
Their fists collided.
A shockwave tore through the city—registering a 23.5 magnitude quake. Windows burst. Skyscrapers leaned. The very ground beneath them fractured like paper.
But the teen recovered first.
With cold focus, he curled his left hand into a tight fist, then launched it directly into the villain's jaw.
CRACK.
One punch was all it took.
The Quake Devastator flew backward and crashed into a building, unconscious.
Silence fell.
Only the soft breeze remained.
The teen didn't celebrate. He didn't pose.
He scattered through the wreckage, searching... and then found her—the trembling girl.
"Knew you'd be okay," he said. "Now run along. Stay safe."
He turned to leave.
But her voice stopped him.
"Mister... what's your name?"
The teen looked over his shoulder.
"I am Kn—"
Before he could finish, a fleet of heroes arrived—too late. They swarmed the area, unaware the threat had already been neutralized. The mysterious teen disappeared without another word, vanishing like smoke in the wind.
The girl stood there, watching the spot where her savior once stood.
The city fell silent.
Two Months Ago...
Henryduc was jobless, lonely, and painfully ordinary.
A foreign teen, stranded in Japan under mysterious circumstances. A Texan citizen now living alone in a small apartment in Shibuya. He had no connections. No family. No future.
But he had a dream:
To become a hero.
On that rainy afternoon, Henryduc walked through the streets, hands stuffed in his pockets, hood up. He stood out—not just because of his height or accent—but because he wasn't from here. His presence felt like a misprint in the world's story.
He turned into an alleyway, trying to avoid attention, until he heard something... off.
A woman was being cornered by a man.
"C'mon now, lady... let me get a piece of that," the man slurred.
Henryduc sighed, turned down the alley, and disappeared into the shadows.
Moments later, he reemerged.
Wearing a mask. Boots. Gloves.
The makeshift outfit of a vigilante.
"No weapons," he murmured. "Just hands."
The man noticed him. "Who the hell are you supposed to be?"
Henryduc stepped forward. "Walk away from the lady," he said in a deeper voice. "Unless you want a concussion."
The thug laughed. "You? You look more like a villain!"
He lunged.
Henryduc caught the punch with one hand—and struck back with his own.
One blow.
The man dropped like dead weight, face-first into the concrete.
Henryduc turned to the woman. "You're safe now. Start walking."
He moved to leave, but she called out behind him.
"Wait... do you have a name?"
Henryduc looked back, eyes hidden behind his mask.
"I do. The name is... Knightmare."
And with that, he vanished—like a ghost swallowed by the mist.