Kryptonians: Man of Steel

Chapter 1500 This is Hachiman Hikigaya
A powerful, nauseating sense of fatalism gripped him. It was as if that dark alley was the blank space cut out of that photograph, and the woman crying for help was falling into that boundless nothingness.

"Tsk..."

A low, hoarse click of the tongue, almost carried away by the night wind, escaped through his clenched teeth. It was neither a complaint nor a sign of hesitation.

It's more like a confirmation that the dust has settled, a final judgment on this incurable "inherent flaw" in one's bones, a resignation filled with self-mockery and a complete abandonment of the struggle...

He abruptly released the brake he was gripping tightly—not to twist the accelerator and escape—but with all his might, he roughly shoved the car onto the cold, damp sidewalk!
"Clang—crash!"

The old blue electric scooter let out a series of painful groans and metallic scraping sounds, then heavily overturned to the ground, its headlight cover shattering instantly, and its rearview mirror tilting at a distorted angle.

He didn't even glance down at it, as if it were just a piece of trash that had nothing to do with him anymore.

The cold air, mixed with the smells of rust, damp mold, and a faint, unsettling, rotten sweetness, rushed into his tense, spasming lungs, bringing a sharp pain.

Hachiman Hikigaya straightened up.

He was like a lone wolf, emaciated yet unwilling to yield, cornered on the edge of a cliff. All hesitation and pretense had vanished, leaving only a frozen calm on his face, or rather, a utter indifference to fear. He took a step.

Instead of running towards the relatively safe light source on the street behind them.

Instead, step by step, heavily, with an almost martyr-like resolve, they walked toward the entrance of that dark alleyway that had just swallowed a life's desperate cries.

His back straightened instantly, as if to support some invisible burden.

However, upon closer inspection in the dim light, the straight spine was trembling slightly at an extremely subtle, yet uncontrollable frequency.

Every step I took on the wet, cold ground felt like stepping on my own pounding heart. With each step, I could clearly hear my long-held "energy-saving" principles shattering beneath my feet.

He clenched his fists so tightly that his nails dug deep into the flesh of his palms.

That tiny, self-destructive pain became his only weapon against the immense fear sweeping through his body, threatening to freeze him again and drag him into the abyss of escape.

"I'm such a... hopeless idiot."

In his heart, he made his final judgment on himself in a tone that was a mixture of self-mockery, exhaustion, and ultimate relief.

Then, his figure, along with the last slender, twisted shadow dragged by the broken streetlight behind him, completely disappeared into the thick, inky darkness at the alley entrance.

It was as if I was being silently and completely devoured by a giant beast lurking in the depths of darkness.

The moment Hachiman Hikigaya's figure was completely swallowed by the darkness of the alley, it seemed as if even the faint red light behind him, like a flickering candle, was isolated in another world.

Thick, moldy, and damp darkness enveloped him instantly, like a tangible tide.

Each step he took on the slippery, possibly littered with trash and unidentified slime ground produced a slight yet unusually jarring "thud," amplified infinitely in the absolute silence, pounding against his taut nerves.

He almost held his breath, forcibly pushing his senses to their limits.

His ears strained to catch any subtle sound—the wind howled like a mournful whistle in the narrow alley, and the occasional faint sound of a car passing by in the distance, but deep within the alley, apart from his own heartbeat and footsteps, there was only deathly silence. That cry for help, along with the person who uttered it, seemed to have truly been completely dissolved by the darkness.

Vision is almost completely lost.

The alley was too narrow, with towering, crumbling walls on both sides pressing down on the space, and an even deeper darkness overhead, preventing even a sliver of starlight from penetrating. Only from the alley entrance, a sickly red light, like a distant, malevolent spy, barely outlined the blurry silhouette a few steps behind him, making the darkness ahead seem even more unfathomable and malevolent.

helmet.

Almost subconsciously, he thought of the cheap plastic helmet on his head, which bore the logo of a food delivery company.

This thing might not be of much use in a car accident, but at this moment, it became the only "weapon" he could rely on.

He ripped it off his head with a violent and resolute motion.

The cold plastic shell felt heavy enough to be held in the hand; the edges weren't particularly sharp.

He gripped the helmet with his other hand, with the thicker, cushioned side facing outwards, as if holding a clumsy and ridiculous round shield to protect his chest.

The muscles in my arm were slightly spasming from overexertion.

"Hello…!"

His voice was dry and hoarse, suddenly bursting out in the deathly silent alley, startling even himself.

He cleared his throat, suppressing the metallic taste and fear churning within, and spoke again, his voice slightly higher but trembling uncontrollably, "Is...is anyone there? Who was calling for help just now? Speak!"

The sound collided and echoed between the narrow walls, carrying a hollow echo that added to the eeriness.

He listened intently, his heart pounding in his chest as if it would shatter his ribs.

One second. Two seconds. Three seconds.

Just when he was almost convinced that it was all a hallucination, or worse—that it was all over—

"Waaaaah... Help... Help me..."

A faint female voice, filled with heavy breathing and painful sobs, drifted from the darkness ahead. The voice sounded very close, seemingly not far from around the corner of the alley.

Hachiman's body stiffened abruptly, and the arm gripping his helmet instantly tightened like iron.

That voice... was full of weakness and helplessness, exactly the voice he imagined a victim should have.

However, just as this glimmer of "hope" appeared, an even colder and more viscous chill coiled around his spine like a venomous snake and rushed straight to the top of his head!
wrong!

His dead fish eyes opened in vain in the darkness, trying to pierce through the inky blackness.

A primal alarm system, stemming from biological instinct, screamed wildly in his mind!
Disorientation?
That piercing scream, so sharp it was almost distorted, clearly came from near the alley entrance; it was incredibly penetrating.

But this weak female voice sounds like it's coming from somewhere deeper, further inside? This speed of movement... or rather, the way the sound travels... seems a bit... illogical?

A response after the deathly silence?

(End of this chapter)