The Enigmatic Powerhouse

Azar's presence in City Z was quickly becoming something of a local legend. Wherever he went, people would point and whisper, their voices filled with awe, confusion, and a hint of fear. Word of his power had spread faster than he anticipated, though he found the attention more amusing than anything else. He hadn't planned on drawing a crowd, but there was no denying that the rumors were convenient, keeping anyone curious about him at a respectful distance.

It wasn't long before the Hero Association took note of him. Patrols of lower-ranking heroes started to keep an eye out, their curiosity piqued by stories of the "mysterious powerhouse." Although they initially mistook him for an S-Class hero working off the books, the heroes who approached him quickly realized he wasn't affiliated with the Association at all.

Azar was wandering down a bustling street one afternoon when a voice called out to him. "Hey, you! Are you… the one they call 'Phantom Slayer'?"

Azar turned to see a pair of C-Class heroes staring at him, looking both excited and nervous. The taller of the two, wearing a blue-and-white suit, took a step closer, clutching his staff with a mix of caution and admiration.

Azar raised an eyebrow, folding his arms. Phantom Slayer? The nickname sounded as ridiculous as it was flattering. "Maybe. Depends who's asking."

The hero straightened, attempting to look confident. "I'm Mirage Man, C-Class Rank 86. My friend here is Breeze Kick. We've been hearing all sorts of stories about you… Are you really as powerful as people say?"

Azar's eyes narrowed, a smirk forming on his lips. "I don't care what people say," he replied, his voice calm but carrying an edge that made the heroes take a step back. "I just do what I want."

The shorter hero, Breeze Kick, leaned in and whispered to Mirage Man, "Told you he's got that lone-wolf vibe. I heard he even took down a whole group of monsters on his own last week without so much as a scratch."

Azar waved a dismissive hand, clearly uninterested in their chatter. He turned to continue down the street, leaving the heroes gawking in his wake.

As he walked, he could feel their stares follow him, but he paid them no mind. Encounters with heroes had started to blur together, all the same mix of fascination, suspicion, and bewilderment. They wanted answers, explanations, or even just a glimpse into his motivations. But Azar wasn't here to indulge anyone's curiosity. The only thing that mattered to him was the path to strength.

It wasn't long before he encountered something more interesting. In the darker alleys of City Z, whispers had reached the ears of local monsters as well. Rumor had it that a rogue human was tearing through monster territory, picking off stragglers with brutal efficiency. Some monsters were unnerved by his reputation, while others saw him as a challenge, a potential threat to their own power.

As he moved through the city, Azar came upon a group of such monsters gathered in a crumbling warehouse. A low-level mutant with mottled skin, fangs, and claws snarled as Azar entered, the creature's eyes gleaming with malice.

"Well, well," the monster growled, its companions backing it up with grunts and snarls of agreement. "You're that human, aren't you? The one who's been stomping through our turf like he owns it."

Azar shrugged, his face devoid of concern. "Didn't know this was monster territory," he replied, his tone as nonchalant as ever. "But thanks for letting me know."

The monster sneered. "You think you can just walk away? You're the one all the monsters are talking about. 'Phantom Slayer,' they're calling you. 'Death's Shadow.' Think you're a real big shot, huh?"

Azar didn't even dignify the comment with a response. He'd heard enough. The monsters' eyes narrowed as they lunged forward, hoping to overwhelm him with brute force. But Azar's movements were swift, calculated. He sidestepped their attacks effortlessly, drawing his sword in a single, smooth motion.

One by one, the monsters fell, each cut more precise than the last. With each death, Azar placed his hand on their bodies, absorbing their essence. Their strength and skills—meager as they were—added to his own, leaving him with a pleasant hum of energy coursing through his veins.

When the last monster lay motionless at his feet, Azar allowed himself a faint, satisfied smile. This was what drove him—this steady accumulation of power, this relentless climb toward something greater. The rumors, the gossip, the nicknames—they were irrelevant.

He sheathed his sword and turned to leave, stepping over the fallen bodies without a second glance. As he emerged from the warehouse, a small crowd of civilians had gathered outside, their eyes wide with awe. They had seen the flashes of light and heard the sounds of battle, and now they whispered among themselves, faces lighting up with admiration and wonder.

"Did he just… take down a whole group of monsters by himself?" a woman asked, her voice barely a whisper.

"He's amazing," someone else muttered, their gaze fixed on Azar's retreating figure. "Not like any of the heroes I've seen. He's so… fearless."

Azar caught fragments of their words as he passed, but he didn't bother responding. If people wanted to think he was a hero, so be it. If they feared him, that worked too. It didn't matter what they believed as long as he was left to his own devices.

By evening, word of his latest feat had spread throughout City Z. The Hero Association even dispatched a few mid-ranked heroes to investigate the reports, but Azar was long gone by the time they arrived. His name, or at least his rumored nickname, had started to carry weight in the underbelly of the city, and as his reputation grew, so did the curiosity surrounding him.

Even the higher-ranked heroes couldn't ignore the rumors for much longer. Whispers reached the ears of those at the top, tales of an enigmatic powerhouse who moved through City Z like a shadow, defeating monsters with ease and displaying an attitude that was both awe-inspiring and chillingly indifferent.

The Hero Association held a meeting, discussing potential candidates to approach the "Phantom Slayer" and determine whether he was an ally or a threat. But even as plans were drawn up, Azar was already one step ahead, carving his own path through the ranks of monsters and heroes alike, indifferent to the labels they tried to place on him.

To the people, he was a mystery—a powerful, seemingly carefree enigma whose motivations were as murky as the depths of City Z. But to Azar, this world was simply his proving ground, and nothing would deter him from his pursuit of ultimate power.

And if the world wanted to watch and wonder? He'd let them.