Kryptonians: Man of Steel

Chapter 1527 Reaction
The key lies in the hand that holds the knife, and in the will that drives the power.

At this moment, this "sword," stained with blood and filth, is his only reliance for protecting the faint yet incredibly precious light behind him! It is the sole reason for his existence!
This "gratitude" was so heavy that he could hardly breathe; every heartbeat pulled at the wound under his ribs, bringing sharp pain.

It was like carrying an invisible mountain on his back, reminding him of how cruel the price of gaining power was and how dark the road ahead was.

However, this gratitude was like molten lava surging deep within the earth, radiating astonishing heat, temporarily dispelling the ever-present, almost freezing chill of death.

He tightened his grip slightly on the cold, filthy metal.

The viscous monster fluid mixed with his own blood made the grip slippery.

The knuckles cracked slightly from the exertion, and the blood vessels beneath the skin bulged. It wasn't for the thrill of killing, nor to vent a destructive urge.

It is for protection.

This tight grip is a silent warning of the threat, a steadfast promise to his family. This blood-stained weapon now carries the weight of his bloodied existence—he, Hachiman Hikigaya, is no longer the self-absorbed,颓废 (颓废 is a difficult word to translate directly, but it implies a state of being listless, decadent, and disillusioned) high school student. He is the last barrier between his loved ones and the abyss.

The cost is enormous: physical trauma, psychological scars, and endless troubles and dangers in the future. The road ahead is pitch black, filled with even more powerful monsters and unpredictable mutations.

But for the sake of those three pairs of eyes behind him, still shaken and filled with tears yet still shining with the light of life—the composure his father forced in, the endless fear and concern in his mother's eyes, and the pure dependence and dread in Komachi's eyes—he had to hold onto this "sword" tightly.

In this desperate era of utter chaos and collapse, known as the "Great Cataclysm," twisted monsters roam like a plague in the shadows and ruins of the city. Disasters and bizarre mutations are no longer horrifying headlines, but rather, like the daily sunrise and sunset, they have become commonplace, accepted with numbness.

The old legal, moral, and social structures are as fragile as paper under the impact of supernatural forces and inhuman terror. Human life is cheap, and despair is as ubiquitous as the air.

In such a world, mediocrity itself is a sin. Without power, even the humblest survival is a luxury, let alone protection.

Hachiman Hikigaya, a high school student who once believed in "self-cultivation" and pursued "authenticity" but was always mocked by reality, has now undergone a transformation at an almost cruel speed.

He looked down at his hands, stained with filth and blood, at the two pools of "former monsters" on the ground that were rapidly decaying and would eventually leave only a foul stench, and finally, his gaze was once again deeply imprinted on the faces of his family members.

"……never mind."

His voice was hoarse and dry, trembling with the shock of surviving a disaster, yet unusually clear: "For now... we're safe."

Then, with an almost pious gesture, facing the air, facing this chaotic, monster-infested world, facing that nameless, indifferent being who had brutally bestowed power upon him, he uttered two words in a low, yet incredibly clear voice:

"Thanks……"

He didn't know if his gratitude would be heard, nor whether the being that gave him power would be happy to accept this blood-stained thanks. But at this moment, the gratitude was real, the only pillar supporting him.

In this despairing world where order has collapsed, countless twisted monsters roam, and disasters and mutations occur as commonplace, Hachiman Hikigaya clearly understands that he needs this power, this bloody and cold power, to protect the last remaining glimmer of light that he cherishes as his life.

For this, he was willing to embrace the curse, to bear this burden, until the very last moment of his life. Almost immediately after the two pools of monster remains had completely decomposed into unrecognizable, foul-smelling stains, the sharp sound of police sirens grew louder as they approached, finally stopping on the street shrouded in the shadow of death, near the Hachiman residence.

The officers who arrived were not ordinary police officers, but an action team belonging to the "Special Situation Countermeasures Headquarters" (referred to as "Special Countermeasures").

Three specially modified armored vehicles, painted in matte black and bearing the prominent "SPT" logo, rudely blocked the alley entrance.

The car door opened, and seven or eight fully armed personnel jumped out.

They were well-equipped, far surpassing ordinary military and police personnel. The black combat suits covering their entire bodies were made of a special material, faintly shimmering with energy, clearly a psionic fabric with a certain degree of protective capability.

The helmet integrates a multispectral scanner, and the eyes beneath the visor are sharp as an eagle, coldly scanning the surroundings without any extraneous emotion.

The weapons in his hands were not ordinary firearms, but pulse rifles with a unique design and barrels flashing with a ghostly blue energy arc, as well as shotguns equipped with special ammunition.

Their movements were swift and professional, with a detached efficiency that handled "everyday troubles."

An energy warning line, shimmering with a ghostly blue light, was quickly erected, completely sealing off the Hikigaya family's residence and several neighboring dilapidated houses.

The perimeter team members vigilantly monitored every corner that might be hiding danger, their guns steadily pointed into the shadows.

The squad leader, accompanied by two team members, ignored the crumbling wreckage at the entrance and stepped directly into the Hachiman family's living room.

The intense, almost tangible stench of blood and the putrid stench of rotting monsters assaulted the senses, causing even these seasoned team members, accustomed to "special situations," to furrow their brows almost imperceptibly beneath their masks.

His gaze swept over the two stinking, sticky stains on the ground, the strange fragments embedded in the floor, and the large splattered dark red bloodstains on the walls and furniture. His body stiffened abruptly, his throat bobbed violently, and he suppressed the urge to vomit, his face turning deathly pale under his helmet.

“Conduct on-site investigation and record the peak levels of psionic residue and contamination levels. Sample all suspicious substances, especially these… residues.”

The squad leader's voice came through his mask, cold and flat, as if he were directing the cleaning of a pile of industrial waste. His sharp gaze, like a searchlight, swept across the messy living room, finally settling on the Hachiman family.

Almost instinctively, Hachiman's parents shielded Komachi behind them, with the mother holding her daughter tightly, her body still trembling slightly.

The father stepped forward, trying to block the team members' gaze from scrutinizing Hachiman—his son was pale, covered in blood and filth, and although the wound under his ribs was hastily bandaged with strips of torn cloth, the seeping blood was still shocking.

His heart was pounding in his chest as he forced himself to meet the squad leader's cold gaze.

"Name, identity. What happened? Report in detail."

The squad leader's question was concise and direct, carrying an unquestionable commanding tone.

(End of this chapter)