Chapter 42: An Antihero

Chapter 42: An AntiheroChapter 42

Han listened closely to Dr. Matzo, the grim reality settling deep in his bones. This information confirmed one terrifying truth—

the strange dark-green liquid was being distributed globally. It wasn’t a localized issue anymore; the threat could be anywhere,

and anyone could be planning to use it at any moment.

His face returned to a calm mask. Frustration wouldn’t solve this—action would. Without a word, he vanished from the lab.

Dr. Matzo sighed, shaking his head. "He’s agitated," he muttered to himself. "Didn’t even let me tell him the good news about his aunt..."

---

Tryst Guild Headquarters

Nearly 400 guild members stood in formation, all wearing the white and blue uniforms of the Tryst Guild. At the front, Han stood tall and silent.

"What do you think the Guild Master’s called us for?" one young member whispered.

"I don’t know," his partner replied. "The young master rarely gives us missions directly. Whatever it is, we better do it right."



Han stepped forward. Without wasting time on pleasantries, he addressed them.

He told them about the dark-green serum—what it did, and what horrors it unleashed. That it turned ordinary people—

children, mothers, elders—into twisted monsters. The silence that followed was deafening.

"We are not just dealing with beasts anymore," Han said, his voice calm yet piercing. "We’re dealing with something

far more sinister. And we will put an end to it. Not just here—not just in this region—but across the entire world."

Gasps spread through the crowd. But none hesitated. They had pledged allegiance to Han. And what shook them most

was the realization that many of the monsters they had slain might once have been innocent people—turned against their will.

Han continued, "You’ll be divided into four teams. One will remain to guard Serenya. Another will accompany Clara through the Northern Continent.

The third, under Ron, will go to the Southern Continent. The fourth led by Aiden, will handle the East. I’ll take the Western front myself."

Everyone nodded, springing into motion.

Only Aiden remained. He frowned as he approached Han. "What about the Middle Continent?"

"I’ve got someone in mind for that," Han replied.

Aiden blinked. Then his eyes widened. "You’re not... You can’t mean him, right?"

Han nodded. "Yes. I’m releasing him."

Aiden’s voice dropped. "Han, he’s a criminal."

"He’s also strong," Han replied without hesitation.

Aiden held his head, pacing. "Strong or not—he’s rumored to have killed three Class-A heroes. He’s the most wanted man on Earth.

How do you think the Hero Association will react?"

"I understand your concerns," Han said softly. "But this situation... has already gone far worse than we imagined."

---

Flashback – Three Days Ago

Ronan sat in silence, expression blank as ever. Across from him were Han, Aiden, and Ron—looking more like detectives than elite guild members.

"Can I punch this guy in the face?" Aiden grumbled for the third time. Ronan hadn’t flinched once throughout the interrogation. His answers were vague, almost mocking.

"Are you a criminal?" Aiden had asked.

"No," Ronan replied flatly.

"Then why are you called one?"

"Because that’s what they call me."

"That’s not an answer!"

Han stepped in. "Why did you save the girl the other day?"

Ronan met his gaze. "Simple. I wouldn’t let an innocent girl die."

Han narrowed his eyes. "But you’ve killed people."

"Only those who deserved it."

Aiden’s voice rose, sarcastic. "What are you, a damn life reaper now?"

Ronan glanced sideways at him. "If I had my blades, I’d slice that mouth off."

Aiden snorted, unfazed. Han, however, remained wary. There was something undeniably dangerous about Ronan. But he hadn’t seen him do anything that could truly mark him as a villain. That’s why he wanted to give him a chance—even if Ronan didn’t seem to want one.

"So you’re saying those Class-A heroes you killed... they deserved it?"

Ronan nodded, sounding tired of the questioning.

"Why?"

His answer was quiet, but firm. "They used a serum... A dark-green one. It turned them into monsters.

And all monsters—no matter who they were—must die."

"Okay... but what’s your real goal?" Han asked, his voice calm but curious.

He studied Ronan carefully. He had always been intrigued by this man—not because of power, but the lack of it. According to Han’s Analyzer Eyes, Ronan had no skills. The rumors branding him as a B-ranker were false. Yet, despite having no abilities, people—criminals, even heroes—feared him. That alone made him more dangerous than most.

Ronan turned his head slightly, his face still largely expressionless. But Han noticed it—just beneath the surface. A faint flicker of emotion danced across his eyes. Guilt. Anger. Hatred. A storm of darkness hidden behind a calm mask.

"My goal... is to kill a certain man," Ronan finally said, his voice low and cold.

"Here we go again..." Aiden muttered, leaning against the wall, arms crossed. "This guy belongs back in ARC. All he knows is kill, kill, kill. Why are you even wasting time on him, Han?"

Han ignored the jab. He was focused.

"Will you join me?" he asked, voice firm.

Ronan scoffed. "I’m no hero. And I don’t work for one."

---

Back to the present...

Han stood with his arms folded as Aiden’s concern spilled out.

"You’re seriously going to let him handle the middle continent? You know what that means, right?"

Han nodded, expression unwavering. "If he goes rogue, I’ll stop him myself."

Aiden sighed, defeated. "Fine. Just... don’t get yourself in unnecessary trouble." With that, he turned and walked away.

Han vanished.

---

Inside a heavily fortified underground prison, Ronan stood by the window, staring at the distant mountains. His blank expression was ever-present, but the moment Han appeared, he spoke without turning.



"If I had your skills, I would’ve killed him by now."

Han smiled slightly. "Your perception always surprises me." He walked over, plucked a slice of pie from the table, and sat down. "What are you thinking?"

Silence.

Then finally, Ronan muttered, "Adjusting my plans."

"It’s about him again, isn’t it?"

No response.

Han leaned forward. "I need your help."

"No." The reply was immediate. "I told you, I’m not a hero. I’m not working for one." Ronan’s eyes never left the window.

Han sighed, vanishing and appearing beside him. He looked out at the same horizon.

"I don’t know your story. You don’t share it—and maybe you never will. But I’ve seen enough to know this: you’re not evil, Ronan."

He paused.

"If we don’t stop the serum distribution, whatever turned you into this... might happen to countless others. Children. Families. Whole cities."

Han placed a hand on his shoulder.

"You don’t have to be a hero. But you can be an antihero. A lifesaver."

"Make your choice by dawn tomorrow."

With that, he vanished.

Ronan stood in silence. The usual stillness in his face shifted ever so slightly. A softness. A memory.

"Antihero, huh..." he whispered.

The word hero stirred something inside him—someone.

A kid he met back at the middle continent.

A memory.

"Hope you’re safe, kid," he muttered under his breath.

---

Somewhere in the Middle Continent...

The alley reeked of blood, liquor, and rot.

Over fifty gangsters roared with laughter, their shirts open, tattoos sprawling like creeping vines across scarred chests and arms. Gold chains clinked as they downed cheap booze, their stained boots stomping against the cracked pavement of the End Zone—the slums of the city where hope went to die.

Among them sat Sui, his two arms replaced by iron stumps—Ronan had severed them weeks ago. But tonight, he laughed the loudest.

At his side was his older brother Lui, the gang’s brutal leader. Broad-shouldered, face carved with cruel scars, and eyes that burned with vengeance.

"Cheers, boys!" Lui raised a bottle. "To the blood we spilled, and the souls we broke!"

They roared in agreements, laughing in brutal delight.

While the gang roared with laughter, the warehouse doors creaked open with a long, rusty groan.

All heads turned.


A small figure staggered in from the shadows—barely standing, drenched in blood. One of his eyes was missing, an empty socket staring back at the crowd. His left hand was crushed beyond recognition, twisted and mangled like broken glass wrapped in flesh.

If Ronan had been there... he would’ve lost his mind.

Because it was Sam—the very boy Ronan had once saved. Now, barely human, he stood facing the monsters who tore his world apart.

Sui sneered, recognizing him.

"What’s this? The brat wants revenge?" he scoffed, rising from his seat. "Come back another day. Maybe we’ll even give you some toys to play with."

The gang howled in laughter.

But Sam’s one remaining eye glowed a deeper red—bright, raw, and burning with hatred.

"You... bastards," he said, voice trembling with fury. "You killed James..."

"Oh, you mean that potato-headed kid?" one of Lui’s men said lazily, picking his teeth with a blade. "He was stubborn. Deserved to die."

The laughter intensified.

Sam’s breathing grew heavy. His small body trembled—not from fear, but rage.

"I’ll kill you," he hissed. "All of you."

Lui stood, stretching with a smirk.

"You think this is a movie, kid? Go home. Heroes don’t rise from gutters."

More laughter. Boots stomping. Bottles clinking.

Sam reached into his pocket and pulled out a small glass vial. Inside it swirled a thick black liquid, laced with eerie green light.

"A purple-haired man gave me this," Sam said, voice flat, broken. "He said it would give me the strength to kill you all."

Then, without hesitation, he plunged the needle into his neck.

One of the gangsters stepped forward, annoyed. "Enough of this drama." He grabbed a rusted metal pipe and rushed forward, swinging it hard.

CLANG.

The pipe smashed into Sam’s head—but the boy didn’t flinch.

Didn’t even blink.

The gang member froze.

Sam’s veins pulsed black. His body trembled violently. Then... something snapped.

SHLICK.



Blood sprayed across the warehouse. The man’s head flew across the room like a kicked melon, hitting the wall with a wet thud.

Gasps filled the air.

Standing in the center was Sam—his arm no longer human. It had twisted into a grotesque blade of bone and sinew, pulsing with black energy. His skin cracked as more tendrils of mutation crawled across his limbs, twitching and mutating with every second.

He wasn’t a boy anymore.

He was something else.

Something wrong.

"What the... hell...?" one gangster muttered, his voice barely audible.

The others began stepping back, their confidence crumbling. They swallowed hard. Hands trembled. Eyes wide.

"This isn’t a child," someone whispered.

Lui’s face went pale as sweat dripped from his brow.

"No..." he muttered, trembling. "He’s become a monster."

To be continued.....