Plague Doctor Gets Jumped by the Trio

  Plague Doctor had faced legends. He had assassinated heroes. He had slaughtered entire squads without so much as a pause to admire his handiwork. Over the years, his name had become synonymous with terror and ruthless efficiency. Tales of his exploits spread like wildfire among both allies and foes. Yet nothing—absolutely nothing—could have prepared him for the sheer, unadulterated chaos that was about to be unleashed upon him.

  It began in the midst of a sprawling, abandoned urban battlefield—a place that had seen more bloodshed and despair than hope. The ruined city lay like a carcass under a burnt-out sky. Rubble and shattered concrete formed jagged patterns on the ground, and a bitter wind carried with it the whispers of lost souls. In that desolate landscape, Plague Doctor, resplendent in his dark, antiquated attire, moved with a confidence that belied the carnage he had wrought. His mask, with its elongated beak-like structure, concealed a face hardened by years of violence, and his every step exuded the quiet assurance of a man who had, for too long, been feared by the world.

  But today was different.

  Today, fate had conspired to bring him face-to-face with an adversary—or rather, a trio—whose combined fury would prove too much even for him.

  Before Plague Doctor could even register the shifting dynamics of the battlefield, a fist, as massive and relentless as a freight train, came hurtling toward him. It was Krishna—the man whose very name was now a byword for unpredictability and raw, superhuman strength. With every fiber of his being, Krishna embodied speed and power, honed by his Catalyst, a mysterious force that granted him abilities far beyond human limits. In an instant, Krishna’s fist connected with Plague Doctor’s midsection. The impact was cataclysmic.

  Plague Doctor’s stomach buckled under the blow. His ribs shattered inward, splintering like brittle glass under the force of a landslide. The force was so overwhelming that Plague Doctor was violently launched backward, crashing through not one, not two, but three concrete walls. He tumbled through the debris, his body twisting helplessly in the air. The world spun into a dizzying blur as he rolled along the ground like a discarded ragdoll—a once-feared specter now rendered vulnerable by the sheer power of Krishna’s assault.

  The ground itself seemed to shudder with the reverberations of that strike. Dust erupted from the impact site, enveloping everything in a choking, blinding cloud of ruin. For a moment, time appeared to slow down, as if the universe were holding its breath in anticipation of what would come next.

  Before Plague Doctor could recover or even muster a grimace of defiance, another figure emerged from the swirling haze of dust and debris—Remus, the Chimera. Remus was a creature of myth and terror, a fusion of several beasts: part lion, part bear, and part something otherworldly that defied description. His presence was both majestic and horrifying—a beast that walked the line between man and monster.

  With a guttural roar that resonated like thunder, Remus sprang into action. In mid-air, as Plague Doctor’s disoriented body continued its downward spiral, Remus metamorphosed into a fearsome hybrid form. His muscles rippled with raw, primal energy as he lunged forward, snatching the staggering Plague Doctor out of the air. It was as if Remus had been waiting for this exact moment, the perfect opportunity to assert his dominance.

  With inhuman strength, Remus slammed Plague Doctor into the unforgiving ground. The impact shook the very earth beneath them, reverberating like an earthquake that threatened to crack the remnants of the shattered city. Plague Doctor’s body convulsed on impact, his mask splintering slightly as he coughed up a spray of blood. The force of the collision left him sprawled on the battered pavement, his once formidable figure reduced to a pitiful heap of broken bones and seething anger.

  Barely had Remus completed his devastating maneuver when the air grew thick with the acrid scent of burning. In the distance, a figure emerged from the smoke—a man known as Renford, whose very presence signaled a mastery over the element of fire. Renford was a being of incandescent fury, a hero who wielded flames as if they were extensions of his own indomitable will. His eyes glinted with the heat of a thousand infernos, and when he smiled, it was as if the fires of hell itself had been kindled.

  Renford approached with a predatory grace, his steps measured and deliberate. With a smirk that hinted at both satisfaction and cold determination, he raised a single finger toward the prone figure of Plague Doctor. In that moment, the world seemed to hold its breath.

  Then, with the power of his Catalyst igniting his very soul, Renford unleashed his signature move. A column of fire erupted violently from beneath Plague Doctor, engulfing him in a swirling, all-consuming inferno. The flames roared to life, hotter and more relentless than the fires of damnation, as they surged upward, turning the battlefield into a scorched wasteland of charred debris and burning shadows.

  Plague Doctor’s scream of agony pierced the oppressive heat. He writhed within the flames, his armor and coat succumbing to the relentless assault of the inferno. Thick smoke billowed around him, obscuring his features as he struggled in vain against the fury of Renford’s attack. The heat was so intense that the very air shimmered, distorting the surroundings into a surreal nightmare.

  Yet, despite the searing pain and the chaos that reigned around him, Plague Doctor refused to yield. His eyes, hidden behind his fearsome mask, burned with a mixture of anger and defiance. But the fire was merciless. It licked at his flesh, charring his edges and reducing his once-imposing figure to a smoldering, crumpled heap.

  Even as Renford’s flames continued to scorch and consume, Krishna remained an unstoppable force. With the speed that only a superhuman could muster, Krishna blurred into motion once more. In a matter of seconds, he had closed the distance, his body moving faster than the eye could follow. He was above Plague Doctor now, his presence a looming threat that seemed to darken the very air.

  Both of Krishna’s fists were raised in a silent promise of retribution. Then, with a sound that echoed like thunder across the desolate landscape, he swung with all his might. The impact was cataclysmic—a resounding BOOM that sent shockwaves rippling across the battlefield. The ground beneath them crumbled in the wake of the blow, forming deep, jagged craters that testified to the raw, unbridled power behind Krishna’s strike.

  Plague Doctor’s body, already battered and weakened by the combined assaults, was sent hurtling through the air. Like a ragdoll abandoned by fate, he bounced off the ground, his form twisting uncontrollably as if trying to escape the inevitable punishment that was being delivered. In a surreal, almost balletic display of brutality, Remus, ever the efficient executioner, caught Plague Doctor mid-air. With an almost effortless movement, he performed a savage suplex, slamming the beleaguered villain through a massive steel beam that stood as a remnant of the city’s former glory.

  The beam cracked and groaned under the impact, splintering into jagged fragments that rained down upon the combatants below. Plague Doctor’s body was battered beyond recognition, a living testament to the combined might of his attackers. He spat out blood, his voice a low, ragged murmur that barely managed to escape his battered lips.

  "...You guys... are gonna regret—" he managed to choke out, the words barely coherent through the haze of pain.

  Before he could finish, Krishna’s boot crashed into his face with devastating force. The impact obliterated what little dignity he had left, shattering the remnants of his resistance. Remus followed up with a brutal claw strike aimed at his already shattered ribs, the vicious motion eliciting a fresh spray of crimson. Renford, not one to be outdone, delivered a flaming roundhouse kick that sent Plague Doctor soaring through the air like a puppet whose strings had been mercilessly severed.

  The ensuing scene was one of absolute, unadulterated chaos. Plague Doctor, now little more than a tattered, broken husk, was sent flying. He hurtled through a wall, the impact echoing like the final note of a requiem. He crashed through a car, his body mangled by twisted metal and shattered glass. Then he barreled through an entire building, its structure buckling under the force of his passing, before finally, with a final, resounding impact, he crashed into the next city over.

  The sound of his collision reverberated across the barren landscape—a death knell for a once-mighty force of terror. For a long, agonizing moment, silence reigned. The battlefield lay still, as if the world itself had paused to take in the enormity of what had just occurred.

  Krishna, standing amidst the ruins, casually dusted off his hands as if he were simply finishing up a routine chore. "Welp. That’s over," he remarked, his voice as nonchalant as if he had just completed a morning jog.

  Remus, his enormous, beastly form still radiating raw power, grunted in acknowledgment. "Should we check if he's still breathing?" he asked, his tone a mix of genuine curiosity and indifference.

  Renford, ever the pragmatic firebrand, simply shrugged. "Do we care?" he responded, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he surveyed the destruction they had wrought.

  For a brief moment, the trio—Krishna, Remus, and Renford—stood together in silence, the weight of their combined power hanging in the air. It was as if they were savoring the victory, the knowledge that even one of the most feared villains in existence could be reduced to a pile of rubble and regret.

  As the dust slowly settled, the trio began to move away from the scene. The battlefield, now a testament to their might and a monument to Plague Doctor’s downfall, was left behind like a dark, fading memory. The world outside, scarred and broken by conflict, seemed to exhale a collective sigh of relief—a momentary respite in the midst of perpetual chaos.

  They moved to a secluded area, a hidden clearing among the ruins where the echoes of battle were drowned out by the distant cries of a wounded world. Here, beneath a sky that still held the heavy, oppressive clouds of war, the trio gathered around a makeshift fire. The flames danced in the darkness, casting flickering shadows on their faces—a rare moment of calm after the storm of violence.

  Krishna leaned back against a crumbling wall, his eyes distant as he considered the events that had transpired. His mind, usually focused on the next step in the never-ending struggle, now wandered through the myriad battles he’d faced. Yet, there was an unmistakable feeling that lingered—a bittersweet reminder of the cost of power. He was superhuman, yes, imbued with strength and speed that defied comprehension. And yet, despite the glory of his abilities, he could not escape the reality that every victory came at a steep price.

  Remus, his beastly form relaxing slightly in the glow of the fire, broke the silence. "You know," he began, his deep voice rumbling like distant thunder, "there was a time when I thought power was everything. When brute strength and ferocity were the only measures of a warrior." He paused, staring into the flames. "But sometimes… sometimes, it’s not enough. Sometimes, the universe reminds you that even legends can fall."

  Renford, who had been methodically cleaning the soot from his singed jacket, looked up with a wry smile. "Or sometimes, you just get taken apart by a guy who fights with pure, unbridled chaos." His eyes sparkled with a mix of amusement and melancholy. "I mean, here we are, the three of us, and we just beat the shit out of one of the most infamous villains ever. And for what? A fleeting sense of superiority? A moment to remind ourselves that we still matter in this broken world?"

  Krishna offered a slight nod, his gaze fixed on the horizon where the first hints of dawn were beginning to pierce the darkness. "Maybe," he said slowly, "but I’m not one to dwell on regrets. I do what I must. We do what we must. The world is in chaos, and every day we survive, every enemy we defeat, makes a difference—even if just a little."

  The trio fell into a reflective silence. For a while, there were no jokes, no taunts, only the quiet murmur of distant winds and the soft crackling of the fire. The scars of battle were etched deeply not just into their bodies, but into their souls. Each of them bore the marks of countless conflicts, of victories and defeats, of fleeting moments of triumph followed by crushing defeats. And yet, they continued to fight—a testament to the resilience of the human spirit, even in the face of overwhelming darkness.

  Across the ruined landscape, rumors began to spread. Survivors and witnesses whispered of the brutal ambush that had laid waste to one of the most dangerous foes the world had ever seen. The name Plague Doctor, once uttered with reverence and fear, was now spoken with a hint of disbelief—a myth that had been shattered into fragments by the combined might of Krishna, Remus, and Renford.

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  In hushed tones, people recounted the details of the ambush—the thunderous impact of Krishna’s fist, the savage roar of Remus as he morphed into a primal beast, and the searing flames unleashed by Renford. Every word was filled with awe, a reminder that even the most formidable villains were not invincible.

  Yet, as the stories spread, so did whispers of caution. Many began to wonder what new threats might arise from the chaos left in the wake of such a titanic clash. The balance of power in this fractured world was a delicate thing, and every victory, every defeat, rippled outward, affecting countless lives in ways that could never be predicted.

  For Krishna, however, the only thing that mattered was survival. As he rejoined his companions, his mind was already calculating the next move. The battle against Plague Doctor was over, but the war was far from won. New enemies would emerge, new challenges would arise, and the fight for a semblance of order in a disordered world would continue unabated.

  Even as he moved away from the scene, the memory of the ambush lingered in his thoughts. The raw, unyielding violence, the power of the blow that had shattered not only flesh but the very spirit of a man once feared across nations—it was all a reminder of the brutal reality of their existence. Yet, in that brutality, there was also a strange beauty—a perverse sort of poetry that celebrated the indomitable will to live, to fight, and to carve out meaning even in the midst of chaos.

  Remus, ever the silent guardian, continued to muse over the nature of power. "You know," he said at length, "sometimes I wonder if we ever truly understand the forces we command. Every time we use our abilities, every time we strike, there’s a part of us that changes. We become a little less human, a little more… something else. But maybe that’s the price we pay for survival."

  Renford, always the pragmatic one, merely nodded. "We all pay a price. But at least we pay it on our own terms—when we decide to fight. Plague Doctor… he paid his price in full. And now, his name is nothing more than a cautionary tale."

  Krishna listened, his eyes distant as he contemplated the cost of power and the toll of endless battles. "I’d rather live and fight another day," he murmured. "Better to keep moving than to stop and wallow in what’s lost."

  The fire crackled, sending sparks into the cold night air, as if echoing the transient nature of their victories and defeats. In that moment of quiet introspection, the trio reaffirmed their silent pact. They were warriors, bound by fate and the harsh reality of a world gone mad. And no matter how brutal the conflict, no matter how many enemies they defeated, they would continue to fight—driven by a fierce, unyielding desire to create a future where the shattered remnants of the past might one day give way to something better.

  Meanwhile, far beyond the immediate horizon, the echoes of their triumph reverberated across the war-torn lands. The fallen Plague Doctor, hurtling through a wall, a car, a building, and finally into the next city over, became the stuff of legend—a grim reminder that even those who once commanded terror could be brought low by the combined might of determined heroes.

  As dawn finally broke over the scarred earth, the trio prepared to move on. They gathered their gear, checked their wounds, and exchanged a few terse words of camaraderie—a shared understanding that, despite the carnage and the pain, they were still standing. And in that fragile, hard-won moment of unity, there was hope—a hope that one day, the world might find peace, or at least a semblance of order in the chaos.

  Krishna was the first to break the silence. "Let's go," he said, his voice steady and resolute. "There's no time to rest. New enemies will rise, and we have a duty to ensure they never get the upper hand."

  Remus let out a low, rumbling laugh—a sound that was both bitter and triumphant. "Lead the way, brother. I’m right behind you."

  Renford simply adjusted his stance, the fire of vengeance still burning in his eyes, and nodded. "We’ve got a long road ahead of us. And I’d rather face it together than alone."

  With that, they set off into the light of the new day, leaving behind the smoldering wreckage of their recent victory—a stark, unforgettable testament to the price of power and the enduring spirit of those who dared to challenge the darkness.

  In the days that followed, their story became a legend among the people. Whispers in the shadows recounted how three warriors—each with their own unique abilities and haunted pasts—had taken down one of the most feared villains in existence with a force that seemed almost mythical. Tales were told of Krishna’s unstoppable speed, of Remus’s terrifying metamorphosis, and of Renford’s blazing fury. And though the true nature of their victory was shrouded in the mists of time and the ravages of endless conflict, one truth remained indisputable: even the mightiest can fall, and in the end, unity and determination would always triumph over tyranny.

  For Krishna, Remus, and Renford, every battle was a reminder of their fragility and their strength. Every blow struck, every enemy vanquished, was a testament to the relentless will to survive in a world that seemed determined to break them. And as they journeyed onward, they carried with them the memories of their fallen foes and the lessons learned in the heat of battle—a legacy that would shape not only their destiny but the fate of a world desperate for hope.

  They fought not for glory or fame, but for the promise of a future where the echoes of past terrors would be drowned out by the resolute cry of those who refused to surrender. In the midst of blood and fire, they discovered that true power lay not in the might of their abilities alone, but in the unity of their spirits and the unyielding courage to face the unknown, no matter how dark or relentless it might be.

  And so, as the sun climbed higher into a sky that had witnessed too much sorrow and too little peace, the trio pressed forward—each step a defiant challenge to the chaos that reigned around them. Their journey was far from over, and with every breath, they reaffirmed their commitment to the fight. For in the end, even legends must keep moving, and even the darkest night eventually gives way to the dawn.

  Plague Doctor was alive, but barely.

  Six broken bones. Organ damage. A shattered skull.

  His body twitched in protest as he lay amidst the ruins of his own arrogance, his once-pristine coat now soaked in his own blood. Every shallow breath sent waves of agony through his fractured ribs, each movement a cruel reminder of his shattered form. His vision blurred, the world slipping in and out of darkness, edges distorting, faces and figures warping like specters in a fever dream.

  His fingers clawed weakly at the debris beneath him, nails scraping against splintered wood and jagged stone, but even that small motion sent white-hot pain shooting through his limbs. His arms refused to obey him, muscles torn, nerves screaming. Blood—his own—dribbled from his split lips, thick and metallic, coating his tongue with the taste of failure.

  He had thought himself untouchable. A ghost in the shadows. A nightmare lurking in the alleys. He had believed his poisons, his blade, his cunning would keep him one step ahead of death. After all, he had survived worse—ambushes, assassination attempts, desperate men and vengeful families seeking retribution for the lives he had stolen. And yet, here he was, beaten, broken, and brought to his knees by an opponent he had underestimated.

  Death loomed over him like a specter, whispering in his ear, its breath cold against his fevered skin. It beckoned him, promising relief, an end to the suffering, a release from the agony that wracked his body.

  He refused to listen.

  With gritted teeth, he forced his body to move. A searing pain flared up his spine as he dragged himself forward, fingers trembling as they sought purchase against the wreckage around him. His vision swam, darkness licking at the corners of his sight, but he swallowed the bile rising in his throat and pushed onward. His mind screamed for him to stop, to surrender, but surrender was for the weak. For the ones he left rotting in alleyways and ditches.

  Not for him.

  Not for the Plague Doctor.

  Pain was temporary. Bones would heal. Blood could be replaced. But vengeance? That was eternal.

  And he would have his.

  Revenge is a Promise

  At the base, he recovered.

  Slowly. Painfully.

  The sterile scent of antiseptic filled his nostrils, mingling with the metallic tang of blood that still lingered on his tongue. The dim lights overhead flickered, casting elongated shadows across the cracked concrete walls of the underground hideout. He lay on a steel operating table, his body wrapped in bloodied bandages, the remnants of his injuries stitched together with precise, merciless efficiency.

  The painkillers dulled the agony but never truly silenced it. His body, still weak, trembled when he moved, each shift a reminder of his mortality. Broken ribs ached with every breath, and the dull throb in his skull was a constant, pulsing metronome of suffering. His body had been shattered, his pride trampled, but none of that compared to the deeper wound of failure.

  But he was alive. And that was enough.

  His fingers twitched, testing the limits of his strength. They had once been his greatest tools—steady, surgical, precise. Now, they were weak, shaking, unfit for the work ahead. The weakness disgusted him. He had been reckless. Let arrogance cloud his judgment. He had underestimated his enemies, and in turn, he had been left in ruin.

  A shadow moved at the edge of his vision.

  “You should be dead,” a voice remarked coolly.

  Plague Doctor turned his head slightly, ignoring the sharp sting that followed. A figure stood in the dim light—a woman, dressed in a dark tactical coat, arms crossed as she observed him like a scientist evaluating a failed experiment. Her presence carried the weight of something ancient, predatory, and undeniable.

  Mika Regina.

  The Girl. The Apex Predator. Dracula in human flesh.

  He exhaled, slow and measured. “I’ve been dead before,” he rasped, his voice hoarse from disuse.

  Mika smirked, unimpressed. “Then maybe you should stop tempting fate.”

  She stepped forward, the faint scent of blood trailing behind her, as if death itself followed her movements. Plague Doctor watched her closely, scanning for intention. Mika wasn’t here to finish him off—if she wanted him dead, she wouldn’t waste words. But her presence alone meant something.

  "You look awful," she noted, her red eyes glinting in the dim light.

  Plague Doctor let out a breath that might have been a laugh if his ribs weren’t cracked. "I feel worse."

  She crouched beside the operating table, her expression unreadable. "They took you apart. Made an example of you.” Her fingers ghosted over his wrist, feeling the tremors. "And yet, here you are, putting yourself back together again. As stubborn as ever."

  He scoffed, shifting his weight with slow, deliberate effort until he was sitting up. Pain flared up his spine like fire, but he ignored it. His body protested, but weakness was not an option. The longer he stayed here, the further he drifted from the vengeance he sought.

  Mika sighed, standing to her full height. "Rest. You’re in no condition to fight."

  Plague Doctor tilted his head, his masked gaze meeting hers. "Rest is for the dying."

  She studied him for a long moment before shaking her head. “Then I suppose you’ll be leaving soon.”

  There was something unspoken in her tone, something familiar. Not sympathy—Mika was incapable of such a thing. But understanding.

  Plague Doctor knew why.

  She had killed his ex. The one who had betrayed him. The one who had torn out his heart and left it bleeding in the dirt. Mika had sought him out after, not for approval, not for gratitude, but because she knew he would understand.

  And in some twisted way, he respected her for it.

  She had no illusions of morality, no hypocritical pretense of righteousness. She took what she wanted, destroyed what she pleased, and never once hesitated in the face of consequence.

  She had done what he could not.

  Perhaps that was why he tolerated her presence when he would have gutted anyone else for seeing him like this.

  Even in ruin, he would rise again. His purpose had not changed. His enemies still lived. His work was unfinished.

  Plague Doctor had been broken, but he was not beaten. Not yet.

  Plague Doctor recovered and was ready again.

  The pain had dulled to a distant echo, a reminder rather than a hindrance. His body, once frail and broken, had regained its strength through relentless discipline and sheer force of will. He moved with renewed purpose, each step measured, each breath controlled. The scars that marred his flesh were not signs of weakness, but of survival.

  Mika watched from the shadows, arms folded, eyes unreadable. “So, what now?”

  Plague Doctor adjusted his coat, testing the weight of his restored equipment. His fingers flexed, steady and unyielding. He had wasted enough time.

  “Now,” he said, voice cold and resolute, “I hunt.”

  Chained Hero stood at the edge of the training arena, watching the three young warriors from Class K. The metallic clang of weapons echoed in the air as they sparred, their movements sharp and precise. There was a certain energy in the way Remus, Krishna, and Renford fought today—something that caught even his hardened eye.

  Remus, the relentless one, his strikes powerful, fueled by the animalistic power of his Catalyst. There was a raw, untamed ferocity in him, but today, it was controlled, refined. Each punch, each grapple, carried the weight of the lessons he'd learned. He was no longer just a force of nature; he was becoming a tactician, thinking several moves ahead, like an apex predator closing in on its prey.

  Renford, as always, was the embodiment of fire—his every motion igniting the air around him, his flames dancing with an elegance that belied the destruction they could bring. The explosive energy that surged through his Catalyst was being harnessed, not unleashed recklessly. His fight was more measured, less impulsive. It was the mark of someone who was finally mastering their power, channeling it with purpose.

  And then there was Krishna, the one who did not rely on raw strength or overwhelming force. Instead, he moved with a calculated precision, his mind always one step ahead of his opponents. It wasn’t his physical abilities that caught Chained Hero’s attention, but the way he adapted to every situation, every shift in the battle. He wasn’t the strongest, but he was always in control. It was this mastery of the mind that made him dangerous.

  Chained Hero crossed his arms and nodded to himself. It wasn’t often that he saw potential like this, especially in those who didn’t possess overwhelming Catalysts like the others. There was something about Krishna’s ability to read the battlefield, to adapt and manipulate situations to his advantage, that reminded him of his own struggles. He, too, had learned to fight with more than just his chains.

  As the sparring session ended and the three young heroes approached, Chained Hero allowed himself a rare moment of pride.

  “You’ve come a long way,” he said, his voice gravelly yet approving. “Every one of you.”

  Remus, still catching his breath, gave a sly grin. “You think we’ve got what it takes, then?”

  Renford wiped his forehead, his flames flickering low, but there was a quiet confidence in his posture. “I’m ready for whatever comes.”

  Krishna, ever the pragmatic one, simply nodded, his eyes sharp, focused. “We’ll do what’s necessary.”

  Chained Hero’s expression softened slightly, his gaze sweeping over them one last time. “Pride isn’t something I show often. But I’m proud of you three. You’ve shown what it takes to stand on your own two feet, even in the face of power far greater than your own.”

  He paused, the weight of his words settling in the air. “But remember this—strength alone isn’t enough. You must learn to control it, channel it, or it will break you. You’re all getting there, but don’t forget—true power comes from the will to endure, not the ability to destroy.”

  They nodded, understanding the unspoken challenge in his words. Each of them had their own journey, their own path to walk. But for today, Chained Hero could rest easy knowing they were one step closer to becoming the heroes they were meant to be.