MHA: Radahn

The battlefield was eerily silent, save for the distant crackling of flames licking at the ruins of a once-thriving city block. Dust hung thick in the air, mingling with the acrid stench of smoke and charred debris. The bodies of the fallen—both heroes and civilians—lay scattered amidst the wreckage, a grim testament to the catastrophe that had unfolded.

The remaining heroes, battered and broken, gathered themselves slowly. Their bodies ached, their wounds burned, and yet none of it compared to the suffocating weight of failure that pressed down upon them.

Hawks slumped onto a shattered concrete pillar, his golden wings drooping lifelessly behind him. Blood seeped from deep gashes in his arms, staining his tattered jacket. He exhaled shakily, his usually sharp eyes clouded with exhaustion and frustration.

Aegis, the healer, knelt beside him, her hands glowing with soft golden light as she worked to mend his wounds. Her pale face was etched with exhaustion, sweat trickling down her brow.

"Stay still," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "I need to close this cut before—"

"I'm fine," Hawks muttered, though the pain lancing through his body said otherwise. His eyes swept across the battlefield, scanning the wreckage. "Where's everyone else?"

Not far from them, Endeavor was stirring. The No. 2 Hero had been knocked unconscious in the fight's final moments, his flames barely flickering as he pushed himself upright. His once-proud, imposing form looked... diminished. Burn marks covered his arms, his costume was shredded, and his breathing was ragged. Yet, his eyes blazed with something deeper than pain—fury, and shame.

Hawks watched as Endeavor clenched his fists, knuckles turning white. 'He wasn't even trying' the older hero had said before losing consciousness. That truth was sinking in now, gnawing at his pride, at his very identity.

Best Jeanist staggered toward them, his usually pristine uniform torn and bloodied, his coat barely holding together with a few remaining strands of reinforced denim. His fingers twitched, weaving unseen threads together to keep his own injuries from worsening.

"We need a full assessment," he said, voice steady despite the tremor in his hands. "What casualties are we looking at?"

Aegis, still working on Hawks, shook her head. "I—It's not good. We lost heroes… and civilians."

Best Jeanist inhaled sharply, composing himself. "And Radahn?"

Silence.

Endeavor scowled, rubbing his temples. "Gone. Just... disappeared. Left that symbol behind."

The heroes turned their gaze toward the centre of the battlefield, where a massive, glowing mark had been burned into the earth. It pulsed faintly, a haunting reminder of their utter defeat.

"He called it 'Elden Shattering,'" Hawks muttered, his voice laced with disbelief. "What the hell does that mean?"

A heaviness settled over the group, an unspoken realization shared between them—Radahn wasn't just another villain. He wasn't even human.

The distant hum of helicopters grew louder, the telltale signal of the Hero Association's emergency response teams arriving. Spotlights swept across the battlefield, illuminating the destruction in stark, brutal clarity. Agents and medics flooded the scene, tending to the wounded and securing the area.

From one of the helicopters, Director Watanabe stepped down, his normally stoic expression marred by barely contained horror. He scanned the wreckage before locking eyes with Endeavor.

"This is worse than I expected," he muttered, his voice hoarse. "What the hell happened?"

Endeavor's jaw tightened. "We underestimated him." He let the admission settle, the words bitter in his throat. "He's beyond anything we've ever faced."

Watanabe didn't respond right away. His gaze flickered to the glowing symbol, lingering there. "We'll debrief at headquarters," he finally said. "Get the wounded stabilized. We need to figure out what we're dealing with."

------------------------------------------

The conference room at the Hero Association headquarters was tense. The top heroes, analysts, and officials gathered, watching the replayed battle footage on a massive screen. Every devastating attack, every failed counter, every moment leading up to their crushing defeat played over and over again.

Watanabe stood at the head of the table, his hands gripping the edges as if bracing himself. "This changes everything," he said grimly. "Radahn—if that's even his real name—isn't just a villain with an unknown quirk. He's something else entirely."

Hawks, arms crossed, leaned forward. "He didn't even understand what we were. We called ourselves heroes, and he looked at us like we were speaking a foreign language."

Best Jeanist nodded. "And the symbol... it feels alive. There's energy radiating from it. This isn't just some calling card. It means something."

Endeavor slammed his fist on the table, causing a few startled looks. "Enough talking. We need to act. If he's still out there, we can't waste time."

The room fell into a heavy silence before Watanabe spoke. "We'll analyze the symbol and any remaining energy traces. Meanwhile, all top heroes will begin countermeasures immediately."

As the meeting dispersed, Hawks lingered, staring at the paused screen. Radahn stood amidst the carnage, his massive hammer resting on his shoulder, his glowing eyes devoid of emotion.

"We'll find you," Hawks muttered. "And next time, we'll be ready."

Meanwhile,

Far away, beneath a foreign sky, Radahn sat alone in the wilderness, staring into the fire. His massive form cast a looming shadow against the trees. He did not need warmth, nor food. Yet, he remained by the flames, his mind wandering into realms beyond his control.

He closed his eyes , darkness submerged him as he wandered deep in his memories.

'A blood-red sky. An endless desert, where twisted bodies lay scattered across the dunes. Ghostly echoes of warriors cried out in agony, their faces lost to time. And in the distance, atop a warhorse barely able to carry its burden, a towering figure loomed.

Himself.

A broken god, stripped of reason, consumed by madness. His own roars of fury rang in his ears, a cacophony of despair and rage. He saw blades pierce his flesh, felt his bones shatter, his mind torn asunder.

The last thing he saw before waking was the flash of golden light—an overwhelming radiance, banishing the blood-red sky.'

Radahn's eyes snapped open. His hand instinctively gripped the hilt of his sword. The fire before him crackled, indifferent to his torment.

'The forgotten deeds still haunts me'

He exhaled slowly, gazing up at the foreign stars above.

 'The stars here are just dust and echoes and silent unlike mine'