Prologue

  It was nearly seven o'clock in the evening. The sunset, now approaching, reflected off the windows of Tokyo's tall buildings, coloring their lower halves in a rich orange hue. The shadows reached the streets, and the chill from the tumultuous breeze circulating helped to dishevel the man’s apricot hair, letting some strands fall gently over his owner's face.

  As skyscrapers drifted past and building lights flickered in a psychedelic explosion of color, the first stars appeared—dim, distant, and nearly invisible to the naked eye.

  The man walking silently down the street was wrapped in an elaborate, near-black trench coat, a perfect reflection of what was concealed inside.

  He felt homesick, often swapping the metropolitan neon for memories of a crowded riverfront. He missed herons screeching across the sky and catfish darting majestically to escape their predators. He could still feel the dense thicket where he used to wander for hours, eventually finding himself in the quiet company of squirrels and raccoons.

  Scents and fragrances that tantalized his sense of smell came back to him whenever he walked the streets of his small town, Savannah. Not to mention the sound of blues and rock'n'roll music that flooded its every nook and cranny, leading the residents to break out into wild dances, or the warmth and friendliness they extended to anyone who came across them, even strangers.

  The exact opposite of the intricate urban maze known as Tokyo, anything but warm, as were its residents. He felt like a fish out of water there. The Japanese were not known for being friendly toward outsiders, or as they were commonly called, Gaijin.

  He soon left the main street, which was too chaotic and crowded with unwanted individuals, pulling up his black hood and slipping into an adjacent alley. An uneven tunnel, made damp by the rain that fell a few hours earlier and now prey to an almost nauseating smell, typical of the metropolis, rising from one of the other alleys present. An aroma nearly familiar to him.

  There he would certainly find what he was looking for, far from prying eyes.

  Not to mention that the assignments he loved to complete mainly involved undercover operations during which he had to adopt a more stealthy approach, since, in his humble experience, acting in the shadows avoided a lot of trouble.

  He pushed north at a brisk pace, head bowed as he delved into a district where normal people never dared set foot—a place the government had desperately tried to scrub from both maps and memory.

  But he, accustomed as few are to walking those dark streets, didn’t care about the hostile atmosphere around him, nor the quick glances that shady personalities might have given him. Instead he continued to shoot straight ahead, ignored completely by the vagrants and petty criminals who prowled those alleys and carefully watched anyone who approached.

  Maybe it was his menacing glare, or the sinister aura he gave off, or perhaps even because of the sharp arsenal he carried. He couldn’t tell what kept them at bay.

  An acrid smell from the north reached him, pervading his nostrils. It seemed like a mixture of iron and mud, but there was something else almost indecipherable, yet evocative.

  He quickened his pace, turning right soon after. The stench became more and more insistent with each step he took, until it became unbearable.

  He walked a few more yards, fixing his gaze on the peeling facade beside him. There he found the source: a vermilion stain covering the masonry, framed by a massive, matching claw mark tearing straight through the brick.

  Good, he thought. It looks like the beast came through here.

  No one could have guessed what kind of creature that sign might belong to, because it certainly couldn't have been the work of any harmless animal. The man knew full well he was very near his goal, but time was against him.

  In the center of the narrow street, the man looked once more at the clues that his suspect had left behind. The stains were dry, and in many places the blood had begun to scale, leaving a bold outline.

  Too much time had passed since the last transit. The beast had a lead now. Two hours, at least.

  Looking upward, the man noticed fresher traces on the semi-rusted pipes that snaked along the walls of the buildings a little further on, extending about a mile northward.

  If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  Gotcha! The man thought as he resumed his trek. It was conclusive proof he could still track it down.

  As he proceeded down those alleys, he couldn't help but reflect on how the hard training he had been subjected to since childhood was paying off, and that after days spent wandering in circles, he had finally found a trail to follow.

  Many would have deemed this something to celebrate, but he had never been the type for such foolishness ; indeed, he couldn’t even allow himself a moment's respite now that the target seemed close.

  A few yards further along the same path, the young man noticed that the creature's bloody footprints continued for many miles northward, accompanied by a trail of blood. As if something, or someone, had been dragged along.

  An unmistakable sign that it had left the rooftops, in favor of the streets, without the slightest concern of alerting anyone who passed through those alleys.

  It's a bold one, I'll give him that. the man reflected.

  The crimson trace continued for a few blocks, meandering through winding streets capable of disorienting or trapping those who couldn't navigate in the darkness.

  When he emerged, he was further off than he’d realized.

  He stood in a desolate square in Asakusa. On the horizon, just a short distance away, the Tokyo Sky Tree loomed.

  His emerald eyes stopped on a spectacle that to call abominable would have diminished its value. This could horrify even Commander, the Number One U.S. superhero and one of the greatest Pro Heroes who ever lived. But as usual, this sort of thing left him completely unphased.

  Pieces of clothing fluttered on the ground. Women’s, most likely.

  The bodies they once belonged to lay nearby, two of them completely dismembered, submerged in a dark pool of dried blood.

  It looks like the traces end here.

  The young man bent down again to examine the scene, and at that moment heard a noise behind him. The strange sensation he ignored before now spread throughout his body instead, raising every hair on him, so intense that he thought danger was imminent.

  He fought for calm. One mistake would be his last. Slowly, he drew a feather-shaped dagger from his belt. He spun. He lunged. The blade whistled into the dark gap between the alleys—straight at the thing lurking there.

  Out of total darkness a towering wolf-like figure surfaced, whose mighty jaws still soaked with the blood of its victims dripped pools onto the ground, and whose eyes reflected the newly risen full moon.

  It's bigger than I expected. Well, as the saying goes, ‘the bigger they are, the more noise they make when they fall.’ And today I really want to hear a lot of noise, the man observed as he looked at the dark silhouette looming over him.

  Although he was slightly above average in stature, he had to admit, that guy was really impressive

  It stood ten feet tall, a mass of muscle and bristly black fur. Fur that let it vanish into the alley shadows. Its eyes were fiery red, burning with a nature that was nothing short of feral.

  The creature tilted its snout back and let out a frightful howl that echoed through the empty district. It advanced upright, stretching out mighty arms tipped with razor-sharp claws—ready to pounce.

  “I guess you’re Moonchild,” the young man said. “I couldn't help but notice you’re excited. Tell me, are you enjoying yourself?"

  He turned his gaze back to its latest snack, getting only a guttural hiss as an answer, as if the monster understood him at that moment.

  The wind whipped furiously and the tension was palpable, premonitory signs that before long a cataclysm would sweep over the city, swallowing in one gulp what would soon become a battlefield.

  “I guess I have to take that as a yes," he replied nonchalantly, unsheathing the sword he kept behind his back: an ebony katana with a silvery, serrated blade, useful for inflicting as much damage as possible. "May the gods have mercy on you, for I will have none."

  ***

  Having reached this point, you may be wondering who I am and how I got into such a situation. In fact, it may be something beyond your comprehension, or almost....

  So, make yourselves comfortable, for the story I am about to tell you is something you don't see every day and definitely not for the faint of heart:

  I live in a world where 90 percent of the population has power, versus a paltry 10 percent who are completely without it. A world that has completely distorted the conception of the human being as we know it. A world in which those who lack the strength to defend themselves against abuse are unceremoniously crushed or left behind.

  My story isn’t much different from those of many others eager since childhood to follow in the footsteps and deeds of heroes like All Might, Deku and Commander.

  But what makes them so special as to separate them from the masses or their equals? When did we create or decide the moral binary of black or white? Of good and evil, or Hero or Villain? How many can say with absolute certainty that their idols never got their hands dirty or decided to dive into the dark side, just to reach what we unconvincingly call ‘peace’? What is the line that must be crossed before a Hero ceases to be one? And what, on the other hand, is the line for a villain? Where do we draw this line and where are the gray areas within these alignments?

  You may not like the answer, this I sympathize with. After all, I've been there myself. Although I am sure that once it is revealed you will never want to go back, I cannot assure you that you will be able to bear its bitter aftertaste. At least, not all of you.

  In a time when the title ‘Hero’ has lost its original meaning, in a time when those who called themselves such have gone against everything they were meant to stand for and protect, in a time when their primary goal is to try to accumulate status and wealth, it is up to me to sort things out, this I have always known.

  At first I was incapable of understanding the reality of things, I was quite skeptical about the true nature of the world, but they helped open my eyes.

  And if you follow with proper attention, you may do so as well. So, buckle up, for this is the real beginning of my story.