King took a heavy, deliberate breath as he locked his apartment door behind him. The air tasted different today, charged with a new purpose. This wasn't another clandestine trek into the ruins to scavenge for BP. This was a patrol. He was a hero, stepping out into his city, and he would act like one.
His goal was twofold, a perfect synthesis of his needs and his newfound resolve: find monsters to eliminate for their BP, and be seen doing it by the civilians, whose belief would then fuel him further. It was a self-sustaining cycle of heroism and power.
With a thought, he activated Royal Acceleration. The world once again blurred at the edges, the city becoming a river of color and sound flowing past him. He wasn't running recklessly; he was a surveyor, his King's Eyes scanning the urban landscape, filtering the mundane from the malevolent. He moved with a purpose that was both thrilling and daunting—he was no longer just a predator, but a shepherd.
It didn't take long. His enhanced hearing, sharpened by his overall heightened senses, picked it out from the city's hum: sharp, piercing screams of terror, not just surprise. He altered his course in an instant, the golden blur cutting down a side street and into a small, sun-drenched public square.
The scene was both absurd and terrifying. In the center of the square, a monster stood about twelve feet tall. It had a grotesque humanoid form, but its skin was a mottled, waxy green, covered in a dense forest of sharp, needle-like spines. Its head was a distorted, screaming cactus flower, and its hands were clusters of brutal, wooden claws. A Tiger-level threat, without a doubt.
It had cornered a small group of civilians—a mother clutching two children, an elderly couple, a few terrified office workers—against the wall of a fountain. With a clawed hand, it gestured to the pots of decorative cacti lining the square, now smashed.
"DO YOU SEE?!" the monster shrieked, its voice a dry, rustling sound. "Do you see how they are treated?! Discarded! Broken! I was once a man who saw their perfect, silent beauty! I devoted my life to them! And when fools like you destroyed my collection... I understood! To be truly one with them, to demand respect, I had to shed my weak human skin!"
It was a classic, tragic origin story—a human obsession curdling into monstrosity. The monster raised a claw, ready to strike the cowering mother. "You will learn to appreciate their pain!"
This was the moment. King didn't need to blitz in. He didn't need to fire a Kinetic Blast. He needed to make a statement.
He deactivated Royal Acceleration, allowing his form to snap into visible existence at the square's entrance. He didn't shout. He didn't roar. He simply stood there, a mountain of scarred muscle and silent authority.
The shift in the atmosphere was instantaneous. The civilians' screams of terror turned into gasps of recognition and desperate hope.
"King! It's King!"
"We're saved!"
The cactus monster froze, its claw hovering in the air. Its flower-head swiveled towards the new presence.
King took a single, slow step forward. Then, he called upon the most fundamental weapon in his arsenal, the very heart of his legend. He activated the King Engine, but not at its full, battlefield-shaking intensity. He dialed it to a lower, more intimate frequency. It wasn't a roar; it was a deep, resonant DOOM... DOOM... DOOM... that vibrated through the cobblestones, a rhythm that spoke of inevitable, crushing finality.
The effect on the monster was catastrophic. Its bravado, its rage, its entire monstrous persona, shattered like a clay pot. The stories it had heard, the rumors of the man who could kill with a heartbeat, crashed down upon its simple, deranged mind. It saw its own death in King's impassive, golden-eyed gaze.
"K-K-King...!" it stammered, its dry voice cracking with primal fear. The raised claw began to tremble violently. Its spiny body quaked. The pressure was too much; its legs buckled, and it crashed to its knees on the pavement, the impact sending a shower of spines skittering across the ground.
"Mercy!" it begged, its voice a reedy whimper. "Please! I... I didn't mean... I just wanted them to understand...!"
King didn't even look at the monster. His gaze swept over the terrified civilians. "Go," he commanded, his voice a low rumble that cut cleanly through the King Engine's beat. "Now."
They didn't need to be told twice. They scrambled past him, weeping with relief, their eyes wide with awe. He heard their whispers as they fled.
"He didn't even have to move!"
"The monster just... collapsed!"
"The King Engine... it's real..."
With the civilians safe, King finally turned his attention back to the prostrate monster. It was weeping now, a strange, sap-like fluid leaking from its flower-eyes. The fight was utterly gone from it. It was just a pitiful, twisted thing, paralyzed by a legend it believed was absolute.
King felt no triumph. Only a cold, grim satisfaction. This was efficient. This was clean. No collateral damage, no risk to innocents, minimal energy expenditure. He had controlled the situation with presence alone.
He raised his right hand, palm open. A Kinetic Blast was overkill. A single, focused pulse of his King's Aura would be enough. He unleashed a controlled, invisible wave of pure psychic pressure.
The cactus monster didn't explode. It simply stiffened, its internal structure turning to dust, and then collapsed into a heap of desiccated plant matter and spines. It was over.
The system chimes echoed in his mind.
[Tiger-level Threat: Cactoid - DEFEATED]
[BP Awarded: +2,200]
[BP from Awe/Relief of Civilians: +1,850]
[Total BP: 14,550]
He stood in the suddenly silent square, the late afternoon sun casting his long shadow over the remains of the monster. The King Engine slowed its beat, settling into a steady, powerful rhythm of accomplishment.
He had done it. Not in the ruins, but in the heart of the city. He had saved people, ended a threat, and been witnessed. The BP was a welcome reward, but the true value was in the act itself. He had taken a step towards becoming the hero everyone believed him to be.
He turned and walked away, not as a blur, but as a man, allowing the city to see its protector departing the scene of another victory. The path was clear. This was just the beginning.
The resolve that had solidified in the public square became the rhythm of King's days. He became a ghost in the machine of the city, a golden blur that manifested only at the points of its breaking. He was no longer a myth whispered about in connection to distant, unexplained cataclysms in Z-City. He was a present, active, and terrifyingly efficient force.
His Royal Acceleration allowed him to patrol vast swathes of urban territory, his King's Eyes a perpetual scanner for the red blips of malevolence. When he found them, his response was swift and absolute.
A Wolf-level "Swarm-Type" monster, a horde of giant, aggressive rats pouring from the sewers? A single, controlled Seismic Clap at the manhole cover sealed the entrance and pulverized the lead creatures, the concussive force stunning the rest long enough for authorities to arrive. The civilians watching from their windows saw only King clap his hands once, and the tide of filth was halted.
A Tiger-level "Mysterious Being" made of sentient, corrosive sludge, threatening to dissolve a bus full of people? A series of pinpoint Kinetic Blasts from his fingertips, fired while he stood perfectly still two blocks away, pierced its core again and again, dispersing its form without a single drop of acid touching the vehicle. To the onlookers, the sludge monster just… came apart, and then they saw King, lowering his hand as if he'd just dismissed a minor annoyance.
And always, there was the King Engine. He used it as a tool of control. Against weaker threats, its low, ominous thrum was enough to send them fleeing in panic or freeze them in place for a clean, effortless finish. He wasn't just fighting monsters; he was performing. Every victory was clean, decisive, and—most importantly—visible.
The BP rolled in at a steady, satisfying pace. The chimes became a constant, pleasant background noise to his new life.
[Wolf-level Threat: Razor-Fin Pigeon Swarm - DEFEATED]
[BP +450]
[BP from Civilians: +300]
[Tiger-level Threat: Asphalt Gator - DEFEATED]
[BP +1,900]
[BP from Civilians: +1,100]
But the real change wasn't just in his system ledger. It was in the air, in the digital ether of the city. First, it was blurry, shaky phone videos posted on social media. A golden streak. A monster disintegrating. The distant, imposing figure of King standing amidst the aftermath.
Then came the clearer footage from security cameras and news helicopters. The videos of the Cactoid crumbling to its knees before him. The slow-motion replays of the sludge monster being snipped apart by invisible force. The audio clips, enhanced and cleaned, of the dread-inducing King Engine that preceded every victory.
The internet exploded. For years, King's reputation had been built on second-hand accounts, on the word of other heroes, and on the sheer scale of destruction left in his wake. That was awe-inspiring, but distant. This was different. This was evidence.
#KingInAction trended globally. Forum threads titled "Analyzing King's Combat Style" popped up, with users meticulously—and hilariously incorrectly—dissecting his every move. They theorized that his heartbeat was a form of sonar, that his golden eyes fired particle beams, that his mere presence created a localized gravity field that crushed his foes. The public wasn't just believing the legend anymore; they were actively, enthusiastically building upon it with their own eyes.
The belief was no longer abstract. It was a tidal wave.
This wave inevitably crashed upon the shores of the Hero Association's headquarters. In a high-level briefing room, executives and analysts sat around a table, their faces illuminated by a large screen showing a compiled reel of King's recent public appearances.
"This is unprecedented," a senior director stated, adjusting his glasses. "In all the years of his S-Class tenure, King has never engaged in public patrols of this nature. His modus operandi was always to appear at the climax of a major disaster, resolve it, and vanish. This... this is systematic. He's clearing entire districts of monster activity with an efficiency we've never seen."
Another official, a woman with a stern face, leaned forward. "The public response is off the charts. Morale in the cities he's patrolled has skyrocketed. Donations are up fifteen percent this week alone. He's single-handedly restoring faith in the entire system."
"The question is," the first director said, pausing the video on a frame of King staring down a monstrous, cowering jackal, "why now? What has prompted the 'Strongest Man on Earth' to finally step out of the shadows and perform his duties so... publicly?"
The room was silent. There was no answer. They could only observe the effect. The legend of King, once a nebulous, terrifying rumor, was now being forged in the harsh, undeniable light of day. And with every monster that fell without him even breaking a sweat, that legend grew stronger, heavier, and more real than ever before. The Hero Association, and the world, was watching. And King, for the first time, was giving them a show.
The steady, satisfying chime of the system had become the soundtrack to King's new life. He sat in his apartment, mentally reviewing the past few days. The public patrols, the swift eliminations, the awe-struck faces of the civilians—it had all coalesced into a river of belief, and the BP total reflected that in staggering fashion.
[Total BP: 64,840]
A slow, genuine smile touched his lips. A whooping sixty-four thousand. He had earned a similar sum from his near-death struggle with the Behemoth-Cyclops, but the methods could not be more different. That had been a desperate, bloody gamble in the ruins. This? This was a sustainable, controlled harvest. He was being rewarded not just for killing monsters, but for being seen, for being the symbol everyone needed him to be. It was safer, more efficient, and far less likely to result in him being splattered across a city block.
'No,' he thought, his strategist's mind taking over. 'I won't spend it yet.' The high-cost abilities he had glimpsed in the shop—the ones costing 75,000, 100,000, even more—were no longer distant fantasies. They were achievable goals. Spending now on incremental upgrades would only delay that ultimate power spike. He would save. He would amass a war chest that would allow him to purchase a true game-changer.
His thoughts were interrupted by the vibration of his Hero Association-issued phone. The caller ID showed it was from the main dispatch office, likely a high-ranking director given the specific line. He took a steadying breath, the low thrum of the King Engine shifting from contentment to a more focused, authoritative rhythm. He answered.
"King speaking."
"King! Sir!" The voice on the other end was the same overly earnest, slightly nervous one from before, though now it was layered with a new, profound respect. "I hope this isn't an interruption. On behalf of the entire Association, I just wanted to call and... well, first, thank you! Your recent public activities have been a massive morale boost for the entire citizenry!"
"I am merely performing my duty," King rumbled, keeping his tone flat and neutral, the epitome of stoic professionalism.
"Of course, of course! It's just... if I may be so bold, sir... this is a new pattern of behavior for you. We've received reports of your presence in over a dozen incidents in the last 72 hours alone. Our analysts were just... curious if there was a specific reason for this increased level of engagement?"
King's mind raced. He couldn't say, 'I'm farming you all for Belief Points.' He needed the legend. He needed the mystique. He fell back on the oldest, most reliable tactic for someone in his position: vague, ominous portent.
"My activities are my own," he stated, his voice dropping an octave, becoming graver. "I have merely been... resting. Preparing. But my instincts warn me. The balance is shifting. Something lingers on the horizon. A coordinated threat, perhaps. To the cities themselves."
He let the words hang in the air, amplified by the deliberate, powerful DOOM... DOOM... of the King Engine he pulsed down the line.
The effect was instantaneous. The dispatcher's voice became a hushed, reverent whisper. "A... a threat? To multiple cities? I... I see! Of course! It makes perfect sense now. Only you could perceive a danger of that scale so far in advance. Your heightened activity is a form of pre-emptive reinforcement! Thank you, King, sir! We will take your warning to heart immediately! We'll increase surveillance, alert all city branches... your foresight is, as always, invaluable!"
"See that you do," King said, his tone final. "The peace is fragile. Do not grow complacent."
"We won't, sir! Thank you again for your work and your guidance!"
The line went dead.
King let out a long, slow exhale he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He placed the phone on the table. A slight, wry smirk played on his lips. 'That was easier than expected,' he thought. 'They'll now be looking for shadows, thinking I have some divine insight into the monster's plans. Little do they know, I just needed a good excuse.'
He shook his head, almost amused at the sheer power of his own reputation. He had fabricated a threat out of whole cloth to cover for his BP-grinding activities, and the Hero Association had not only bought it, they were treating it like a prophecy. It was the perfect cover. He could continue his public work, and they would see it not as a sudden change of heart, but as the prudent preparations of a master strategist.
He looked out his window at the glittering, peaceful city skyline. His excuse was a complete fiction. A convenient lie.
-------------------------------
Deep beneath the earth, in a labyrinthine lair pulsing with malignant energy, a council of monsters was gathering. The air was thick with the scents of ozone, rot, and raw power.
"The reports are confirmed," hissed a sleek, panther-like creature with too many eyes. "The hero, King, is active. He is no longer a recluse. He patrols the cities, cleansing them of our weaker brethren with terrifying efficiency."
A hulking brute made of molten rock slammed a fist, splattering hot stone. "He interferes with the Great Plan! Our simultaneous attacks will mean nothing if he is in one of the target cities!"
From the shadows, a voice, calm, intelligent, and utterly cold, spoke. It was the strategist, Psykos, her form obscured. "This changes nothing. In fact, it confirms the necessity of our strategy. The abductions will proceed. The heroes will be scattered and confused."
She paused, a cruel smile in her voice. "And if the legendary King himself chooses to step onto the board... then we shall simply have to remove him from play. The cities will fall into chaos. The child will be ours. Let the heroes come. Let King come. They will find that the shadows they so confidently stroll through... are now filled with teeth."
King's convenient lie, spoken into a phone, was hurtling towards a collision with a very real, very organized, and very deadly truth. The storm he had unknowingly predicted was already gathering on the horizon.