The Rising Legend
The sun had barely risen over City Z when whispers began to spread. People gathered in small groups, exchanging hurried, excited words about the mysterious stranger who had appeared out of nowhere. He was a lone warrior, they said, who tore through monsters with ease, leaving only remnants of chaos and destruction in his wake. The stories were embellished with each retelling, painting him as a fearsome figure who showed no mercy, no hesitation, and absolutely no regard for the destruction left behind.
"Did you see him?" a young man asked his friend, eyes wide with excitement. "He took down three monsters at once! Just walked right through them like it was nothing."
"Yeah, and my cousin swears he saw the guy destroy half a block just to kill some monster," another person chimed in. "The guy's ruthless. He has to be S-Class, right?"
Rumors about the stranger were becoming so common that even heroes started to take notice. Some suspected he might be a rogue hero, working outside the Hero Association's rules. Others thought he could be a vigilante, an underground legend rising to match the likes of the S-Class heroes.
But none of that mattered to Azar. He strolled through the streets of City Z, eyes set forward and a faint, confident smile on his face. People stared as he passed, some with awe, others with apprehension. To him, these gazes were little more than background noise, a faint hum that was neither gratifying nor annoying. The only thing on his mind was his next move, his next challenge.
He'd taken to experimenting more with his power. Small monsters and petty criminals barely scratched the surface of what he needed. Each essence he absorbed sharpened his strength and refined his instincts, but he hungered for something greater. The raw, primal strength of monsters gave him a taste, but he wanted a feast.
Still, he didn't mind the rumors. If people wanted to think he was a hero, it was fine by him—if anything, the misconception gave him some leeway. Being mistaken for a hero kept questions and interference to a minimum, and it only added to his rising infamy. He wasn't a hero, and he certainly didn't care about protecting civilians, but if he could use this world's obsession with heroes to his advantage, why not?
A scream echoed from a nearby street, snapping him from his thoughts. Without hesitation, he turned toward the sound, already feeling the Law of Devouring hum within him.
At the end of the street, a grotesque insectoid creature towered over a group of terrified pedestrians. Its long, spindly limbs twitched as it prepared to strike. Azar stepped forward, his gaze cold and unbothered. The monster noticed him, letting out a low hiss as it reared back in challenge.
Azar smirked. "Another snack," he muttered, unsheathing his sword.
He didn't waste any time with pretense or posturing; he moved with a deadly grace, slicing cleanly through the monster's front legs. It screeched, stumbling back as green ichor oozed from the wounds. The civilians scattered, and a few of them, even in their panic, stayed to watch, eyes wide with a mix of fear and admiration.
The monster lunged at him, a desperate, clumsy attack. Azar sidestepped it effortlessly, bringing his sword down in a single, brutal swing. The monster's head hit the ground, its body slumping shortly after. He stepped forward, placing a hand on its carcass as he felt the familiar rush of power flow into him.
He let out a low chuckle as the creature's essence filled him, strengthening his reflexes, bolstering his resilience. The world around him seemed sharper, clearer—each kill made him feel more alive, more capable.
One of the bystanders, a young man with a smartphone out, gasped. "Whoa… that was amazing! I've never seen an S-Class hero fight like that!"
Azar shot him a sidelong glance, a smirk tugging at his lips. "S-Class, huh?"
The man nodded eagerly. "Yeah, you've got to be, right? The way you fight, you're unstoppable! You even took down those other monsters yesterday, didn't you?"
Azar didn't confirm or deny it, simply sheathing his sword and turning to walk away. The spectators whispered among themselves, marveling at his calm, unbothered demeanor. He could hear bits of their conversation as he moved, phrases like "total badass" and "cold-blooded" tossed around like praise.
A few more steps down the street, and he paused, turning his head slightly to address the crowd. "Don't mistake me for a hero," he said, his voice calm and edged with cool indifference. "I just do as I please."
The onlookers fell silent, eyes wide, and then burst into excited whispers as he disappeared around the corner.
As Azar strolled through the city, he mulled over the unexpected benefits of his developing reputation. Civilians admired him, mistaking his ruthless efficiency for heroism, and the lack of questions allowed him to move through City Z without suspicion. The rumors painted him as something intimidating yet alluring, someone who fought monsters but wasn't shackled by heroics. It suited him just fine.
He began to wonder what would happen if he encountered true heroes. He'd heard about the Hero Association ranks from the minds of those he'd devoured, but he'd yet to face anyone who could truly challenge him. If he was lucky, one of these so-called S-Class heroes might show up, giving him a taste of something more substantial.
As he continued down the street, he made his plans. He'd devour every monster in his path, make his name something whispered with awe and fear, and build his power until nothing could stand in his way.
No one knew who he was, or where he came from, and that suited him just fine. He didn't care about heroes or monsters, heroes or ranks. He was on his own path, driven by the thrill of growing stronger, the addictive rush of devouring power. And if the world wanted to label him a hero or a villain, that was their business. He'd carve his way through it all, and they'd remember his name, no matter what side they thought he stood on.
After all, in this world of chaos, he was free to be whatever he wanted. And he had chosen the path of power.