CHAPTER 146: THE FIERY CROSS

The Ninth Department’s office was quiet except for the steady scratch of pens. Hermes hunched at his desk, frowning down at paperwork that seemed endless.

He had fought monsters, Voidborn, and cultists, but the mundane paperwork felt like it was killing him one signature at a time.

Across from him, Aphrodite was immaculate as always. His handwriting was perfectly neat, every line of ink an elegant curl. He hummed faintly as he wrote, a little melody only he could hear, like he was treating the forms as sheet music.

Hermes finally dropped his pen with a sigh. "This feels like punishment."

Aphrodite didn’t look up. "It is punishment. Eris gave you desk duty so the public stops seeing your face for a while. Consider it damage control."

"I get that, but it feels like I’m back to being an intern again. Everyone else is out there being heroes, and I’m here making sure the printer doesn’t jam."

Hermes rubbed his forehead. "That interview... it dragged me back to those days when I didn’t even know what my power was. When nobody thought I was worth anything."

Aphrodite finally raised his eyes, calm as always. "You’re not the boy you were back then. You’re Copy Cat. You’ve proven yourself over and over."

"Doesn’t feel like it. Just when I was starting to feel confident, this happened. The interview, the questions, the comparisons... It’s like I can’t escape being seen as a second-rate."

"Then stop listening to how they see you. Define yourself instead." Aphrodite’s voice was firm, steady. "That’s the part the public forgets. Heroes aren’t built by headlines."

Hermes let out a quiet breath and managed a small smile. "Thanks. I needed that."

Before Aphrodite could answer, the comms unit on the desk crackled violently.

Eris’ voice came through, ragged, sharp. "Copy Cat! Aphrodite! Report! Dammit, where are you? We’re drowning out here!"

Hermes lurched to his feet. "What’s happening?"

The main monitor flickered to life, the live feed coming through shaky and grainy. Smoke plumed into the sky. Cars burned in the streets. Glass rained from skyscrapers.

And in the center of it all was a warlord.

Black iron armor wrapped his massive frame, thick plates scarred with battle. A jagged steel muzzle covered his jaw, every word amplified by the loudspeaker grafted into it. An axe the size of a man rested in his grip, pulsing with a red core that hummed with power.

Warmonger.

He didn’t just fight. He commanded.

"Forward!" His voice boomed across the battlefield, metallic and terrible. "Break their lines! For every soldier that falls, ten more will take their place! This city belongs to war!"

His troops surged at his command. Dozens of armored mercenaries in tactical gear, moving with military precision. Shields locked, rifles raised, their formation sweeping like a tide.

Eris’ voice cut back in. "S-Class threat calling himself Warmonger. And he’s not alone—he brought an army!"

On the monitor, Cloud Nine struggled to hold the line.

Somner stood at the front, sweat streaming down his temples. He unleashed a blast of commands, the air itself rippling as the front wave of mercenaries flew back. His throat was raw, his voice breaking, but he didn’t stop.

Warmonger raised his axe and laughed. "Do you think sound alone can break war-forged steel?"

"Watch out, Som!" Fiero tried to create an iron cage using one of his tiny lunchboxes again.

The villain slammed the weapon into the asphalt, releasing a shockwave that ripped through Fiero’s barrier and hurled him off his feet.

Cam blinked across the battlefield, freezing squads of enemies into snapshots of slowed time. He moved with desperate speed, pulling soldiers off Vera, buying seconds for Victorina’s undead to form.

But his power flickered, and when the effect broke, the mercenaries swarmed again.

Warmonger pointed at him, commanding like a general. "Target the sprinter! Break his rhythm, leave him in the mud!"

Gunfire rained. Cam dove, rolling behind a wrecked taxi as bullets chipped at the metal.

Eris yelled for the soldiers to fight among themselves. At first it seemed like it was working, as steel clang against steel. But then...

Warmonger sneered. "You think you can cause discord among our troops? Hold your formation!"

Victorina’s hands moved furiously, summoning skeletal defenders from the ground. They clawed their way out of asphalt and concrete, brittle yet vicious, clawing at mercenaries.

Warmonger swung his axe, cleaving through them like paper. Skulls shattered, ribs split, corpses scattered in pieces. "I have fought legions across nations. The dead are no threat to me!"

Vera met him head-on, her nightmare-forged armor gleaming, blade clashing against his axe in sparks while riding a dark unicorn full of spikes.

"You won’t take our city, warfreak!" she snarled.

Warmonger shoved her back, his sheer strength overwhelming. "I won’t take it. I will own it. You’ll be the first to kneel."

The screen shook as a building collapsed in the background. Civilians screamed behind barricades. Police shouted, trying to maintain order, but they were just as terrified.

Hermes’ fists curled tight as he watched. "They can’t hold much longer."

Onscreen, Eris fought savagely, her blade splitting armor with precision.

But even she looked ragged, panting, her voice cutting back over comms. "We need backup now! Call teams from other departments!"

Hermes turned, already moving. "Let’s go—"

Aphrodite caught his wrist. His eyes were calm but firm. "You can’t. Not now. You step into the field, the press will tear you apart all over again. Eris knows it. That’s why she benched you. Don’t make this worse."

Hermes swallowed hard, trembling with frustration. "So we just sit here?"

Aphrodite didn’t answer. He instead dialed the Sixth Department’s line.

Warmonger raised his axe again, rallying his forces. "Push forward! Drown these so-called heroes in blood and ash! War never loses!"

And then, before the next wave could strike, the sky split.

A familiar bird’s cry echoed. A shadow streaked through the smoke.

"Fear not, citizens!" a voice thundered. "The Fiery Cross has come to deliver you!"

The first impact hit like a thunderclap. Eaglette dove from the sky, talons raking through mercenaries, her wings slicing like blades.

Her costume bristled with brown spikes, her white hair wild as she tore through the battlefield, every motion punctuated by a shriek that shattered windows.

Bison followed, charging through a column of soldiers. His horns gored through shields, his massive bulk tossing armored men like dolls. Every stomp cracked asphalt. Vehicles flipped as if they were toys in his path.

And then....

He floated down, feet never touching the ground. Sunlight seemed to follow him, even through the smoke. His cape shimmered, gold gloves gleamed, and his blinding smile sent the crowd into a frenzy.

He caught a missile midair with casual ease and crushed it between his hands.

His eyes flared. Twin beams of searing light shot down, carving through Warmonger’s tanks and vaporizing an entire squad in a blaze of golden fire.

The crowd that had been screaming moments ago now erupted into cheers. "Paragon! It’s Paragon!"

Hermes stared, bile rising in his throat.

On the field, Eris cursed. "Damn Fiery Cross vultures! They’re here to steal the credit!"

But her squad was too busy surviving to push them away.

Warmonger staggered back, shielding his face from the beams. "What... What is this?"

Paragon floated above him, voice bright and clear. "Your war ends here, Warmonger. The sun does not shine on tyrants like you."

Warmonger roared, swinging his axe. Paragon didn’t flinch. The blade struck him dead in the chest and bounced off, the impact harmless. Paragon smiled wider.

"Impossible..." Warmonger growled.

Paragon’s eyes glowed. The next blast stripped the axe from his hands, melting the weapon into slag. Warmonger fell to one knee, armor cracked, smoke hissing from the seams.

The Fiery Cross team advanced without hesitation. Eaglette’s wings cut down the retreating soldiers. Bison crushed the last vehicle with a single stomp. And Paragon stood radiant above it all, invincible.

Hermes gritted his teeth until his jaw ached.

Aphrodite finally spoke, quiet. "He applied for the Golden Apple, you know. Interviewed by Dante Quasar himself."

Hermes blinked, snapping his gaze to him. "What?"

"He was rejected." Aphrodite continued, still calm. "Despite being an S-Class. So now he’s with the Fiery Cross guild..."

Hermes knew what that name meant.

"The Golden Apple’s biggest rival."