Yohiko’s powers, amplified by the trauma of his soul, would allow him to wipe out entire civilizations with ease. His very presence could warp the environment around him, causing mass death as cities and populations fall victim to his aura of destruction. The victims would die in various agonizing ways—decay setting in rapidly, their bodies rotting in real-time as if time itself had betrayed them. Entire races, cultures, or even species could be wiped out at his whim. This act of genocide wouldn’t be confined to physical destruction; Yohiko would leave behind the psychological scars of survivors, haunted by the memories of watching their loved ones perish in grotesque ways. His destruction would be both swift and methodical, reducing entire populations to dust and causing cultural and demographic collapse.
Yohiko's thirst for chaos would drive him to commit mass murder on a horrific scale. His black tendrils would lash out indiscriminately, slaughtering thousands in an instant, while his dark aura decays everything it touches. People would be caught in the throes of fear and panic, unable to comprehend the magnitude of the threat until it's too late. The mass murder would be conducted with sadistic glee, as Yohiko would derive a twisted satisfaction from watching lives extinguished by his power. Survivors would be left to witness their loved ones disintegrate, their memories of safety shattered in a moment. The death toll would be so high that entire regions could be permanently altered by the psychological and societal trauma it caused.
Yohiko would push the boundaries of human suffering, using his dark tendrils to manipulate the very bodies of his victims. He would turn them into grotesque, nightmarish abominations, stretching and twisting flesh beyond recognition, forcing them to endure pain that no human should ever experience. Victims could be forcibly transformed, limbs contorted into unnatural shapes, organs exposed, and bodies merged with other tortured souls. Yohiko’s sadism would go beyond just physical torture; he would revel in the psychological torment of his victims, drawing out their deepest fears before mutilating them. His touch would infect people with decay, causing flesh to rot, muscles to wither, and skin to slough away. His twisted mind would view each victim’s suffering as a work of art—each body a canvas for his cruelty.
Given Yohiko’s mastery over darkness and decay, he would not only destroy lives but would actively corrupt the powers of those who stand against him. He could infiltrate the ranks of heroes, bending their Catalysts to his will, turning their abilities into burdens or liabilities. Heroes and governments would be rendered powerless, unable to fight back against his overwhelming strength. He would turn their powers against them, turning once-protective abilities into instruments of torture. Yohiko would even infiltrate organizations and corrupt their leadership, twisting their ideals and using their resources to further his chaotic goals. Through his corrupting influence, he would destabilize the world, creating a power vacuum where only chaos reigns, and his dark presence is the only constant.
Yohiko’s contempt for life and meaning would extend to the erasure of cultural and spiritual history. Sacred temples, monuments, and heritage sites would be reduced to rubble in the blink of an eye. Historical relics, ancient manuscripts, and artworks would be destroyed by his aura of decay, as if they never existed. His attack on these sites wouldn’t be random—it would be a deliberate assault on humanity’s shared history, wiping away the legacies of countless generations. The destruction would not only be physical but symbolic—by erasing these sites, Yohiko would be sending a message that nothing, not even humanity’s most sacred symbols, is safe from his malevolent power. Survivors would be left bereft of culture and identity, having lost the very things that bound them together as a people.
Yohiko’s ability to manipulate decay would make him a master of contamination, capable of poisoning entire populations without them even knowing it. He could taint food supplies, water sources, and air, releasing toxins so powerful that entire cities would fall ill or die within days. Victims would experience excruciating agony as their bodies withered away from within, breaking down at an accelerated rate. The contamination would be difficult to trace, causing widespread panic as people struggled to understand the cause of their suffering. Medical systems would be overwhelmed as hospitals filled with victims of his attacks, but even the most advanced treatments would be useless against the power of decay. This would cause mass deaths across entire regions, disrupting societies and causing long-term devastation to economies and health systems.
Yohiko’s dark presence would not only cause physical death but also mental torment. He would target the minds of his victims, exploiting their fears, doubts, and insecurities. His eyes, glowing with malicious intent, would invade the minds of those who meet his gaze, trapping them in horrific hallucinations. They would experience endless cycles of torment, reliving their worst memories and fears over and over again. Yohiko could also manipulate the perceptions of those around him, making them doubt their own sanity and forcing them to question reality itself. This psychological warfare would break down even the strongest wills, turning people into hollow shells of their former selves. He would feed on their despair, using their pain as fuel for his own sadistic pleasures.
Yohiko’s cruelty would have no limits, and the very concept of respect for life, dignity, or human boundaries would be meaningless to him. His power to manipulate and warp the physical and mental states of his victims would allow him to commit the most horrific forms of assault. He would likely violate his victims in every conceivable way, using his dark tendrils to forcibly control and twist their bodies to his will. The victims would experience intense pain, humiliation, and degradation as Yohiko’s sadistic desires unfolded. These acts would not be driven by lust or desire, but by a need to exert total dominance and break the spirits of those he targets. The psychological damage left in the wake of such assaults would be devastating, with survivors enduring the trauma of their ordeal for the rest of their lives.
Yohiko Tenko’s crimes would transcend mere violence—they would represent the destruction of life, hope, and humanity itself. He would be a force that not only kills but breaks the essence of existence, leaving a world of shattered souls in his wake. The sheer horror of his actions would push any remaining survivors to the brink of madness, and the world itself would seem to wither away under his cursed touch.
The Plague Doctor’s Descent into Madness: A Tale of Vengeance, Horror, and Chaos
The Plague Doctor’s journey into madness escalated into one of unspeakable violence and terror, marked by his calculated prison break and the brutal killing spree that followed. A man once a surgeon, respected and revered, he was now an unstoppable force of destruction—a figure whose madness fueled his insatiable thirst for chaos, and whose hands were stained with the blood of over a thousand victims. Driven by a desire to make the world feel his agony, the Plague Doctor became an embodiment of death itself, his presence a harbinger of suffering and devastation.
The world outside trembled when the Plague Doctor, after years of imprisonment, broke free from the confines of his cell. His escape was an act of sheer brilliance—his medical knowledge and understanding of anatomy allowed him to devise a way to escape from the unlikeliest of places. He had long been a patient observer, using his time behind bars to plan every detail meticulously. With a swift, surgical precision, he freed himself. The moment he emerged from the shadows of the prison, the world was forever changed.
However, his first act of vengeance after his escape would be nothing short of horrific. Deep in the prison's labyrinth, he crossed paths with a teenager—a young guard's child. The Plague Doctor’s instincts, honed over years of manipulation and cruelty, kicked in immediately. He saw the teenager not as an innocent but as an opportunity for revenge and a message. Without hesitation, he drew his signature weapon—the Cicada Blade—and performed a ritualistic killing, slashing the teenager's throat in a moment of brutal finality.
This teenager, whose life was cut short in the blink of an eye, was someone Krishna knew—Aliyah, a dear friend. Her death wasn’t just a tragedy for Krishna; it was a symbol of everything Plague Doctor had become. Aliyah had left Krishna for a boy with the ability to control plants—a boy who too would fall victim to the Plague Doctor’s rage, killed in front of her, the very same way she had been taken from Krishna.
The Plague Doctor’s message was clear: anyone, no matter how innocent or young, would feel the weight of his wrath if they crossed his path.
Once freed, Plague Doctor descended into a blood-soaked spree that only escalated with every life he claimed. Over the course of a few short months, he would murder over a thousand individuals. His methods were diverse, but always carried the same mark of horror—calculated, brutal, and inescapable.
With his expertise in poisons and toxins, the Plague Doctor’s killings were as insidious as they were lethal. Entire cities were poisoned in a single act of cruelty. He would sneak into food supplies, water systems, and airways, contaminating entire communities without leaving a trace. People would succumb to slow, agonizing deaths—respiratory failure, internal bleeding, and agonizing convulsions tearing through their bodies.
The Plague Doctor reveled in the panic that would inevitably follow. As people began to fall ill, the horror of knowing death was coming for them soon enough became a form of torture in itself. Whole families and neighborhoods vanished under the weight of his toxic reach.
The Plague Doctor didn’t stop at poisoning. He took to entering homes under the cover of night, ensuring that his poisons worked silently and without mercy. Whole families would perish in their sleep, their deaths marked by nothing but the silent passage of the poison through their veins. With each kill, he gained a sense of satisfaction—a step closer to his twisted idea of redemption.
His Cicada Blade, long and jagged, became a symbol of his unrelenting rage. In brutal confrontations, Plague Doctor wielded the blade with lethal precision, tearing through his victims with savage efficiency. Entire groups of people would fall before him, their bodies mutilated beyond recognition. His blade was an extension of his will—each slash, each cut, a physical manifestation of his hatred for the world that had betrayed him.
The violence escalated to unimaginable levels. Neighborhoods were wiped out, communities shattered, and cities left in chaos, all under the watchful eye of Plague Doctor. His reign of terror became a legend, whispered about in fearful tones, as he carved a bloody path across the land.
But Plague Doctor’s madness didn’t stop at mere personal vengeance. His nihilistic beliefs soon led him to seek out larger-scale destruction—joining radical groups that shared his warped view of the world. These groups sought to eradicate entire populations, and Plague Doctor found himself playing a crucial role in these genocidal campaigns, contributing his poisons and his brutal methods to the purges that followed.
Plague Doctor, no longer content with personal revenge, became an active participant in ethnic cleansings, targeting entire races, communities, and cultures. His poisons would sterilize entire cities, rendering their populations helpless and doomed to perish in his wake. The Plague Doctor’s involvement in these purges was shrouded in secrecy—he worked in the shadows, making sure that there was no trace of his involvement. He became the perfect weapon for those who wished to rid the world of what they deemed undesirable.
Leveraging his deep knowledge of toxins and biological agents, the Plague Doctor became an agent of biological warfare. He would contaminate entire regions with deadly pathogens—diseases that spread like wildfire, claiming lives by the thousands. The survivors were left to suffer in the aftermath, their lives ruined by an invisible enemy.
The Plague Doctor’s reign of terror knew no bounds. He was a master of death, spreading chaos and devastation wherever he went. His poisons became a weapon of mass destruction, and entire civilizations fell beneath the weight of his cruelty.
Plague Doctor’s list of crimes grew longer with each passing day, each atrocity more horrific than the last:
- Over 1,000 Killed: Poisoning, mutilation, and direct murder in brutal executions.
- Prison Escape & Teenager Killing: First public display of his cruelty post-escape, murdering Aliyah in front of Krishna.
- Mass Poisoning Campaigns: Entire cities poisoned through food supplies, water, and air, causing widespread death and panic.
- Bladed Torture Murders: Mutilating victims with the Cicada Blade, leaving a trail of grotesque violence.
- Organizing Genocides: Actively participating in genocidal campaigns, targeting racial, ethnic, or political groups.
- Biological Warfare & Chemical Attacks: Spreading deadly diseases, toxifying food and water supplies, and executing silent killings across borders.
- Public Execution Rituals: Displaying victims' corpses in grotesque poses, making a chilling statement to all.
- Torture & Psychological Manipulation: Extending his cruelty through psychological torture, forcing victims to witness their loved ones’ suffering before their own execution.
- Destruction of Sacred Sites & Heritage: Contributing to the destruction of cultural or religious landmarks, traumatizing surviving populations.
Plague Doctor’s transformation was complete—no longer Dr. Fujia, the once-respected surgeon, but a living nightmare whose name was synonymous with death, chaos, and destruction. His mind was lost to madness, his body a vessel for his unrelenting thirst for vengeance. In the world’s eyes, he was a plague—an unstoppable force, bent on eradicating everything in his path. And as long as there were people left to destroy, Plague Doctor would continue his bloody crusade, forever chasing the twisted redemption he could never attain.
Mika Regina's crimes go far beyond simple assassination. She is a force of chaos and death, feared by both heroes and villains alike. Her ability to assume the form and abilities of her victims makes her a near-unstoppable nightmare. Here is an expanded list of her crimes:
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- Eliminating government leaders, military generals, and top heroes.
- Using their identities to manipulate political landscapes before discarding them.
- Executing false flag operations to turn governments and factions against each other.
- Breaking into USCT, a military school base for training elite catalyst users.
- Sabotaging critical research and development projects on anti-Catalyst weapons.
- Executing students and staff, stealing their powers to make herself stronger.
- Wiping out entire cities, leaving behind only corpses and destruction.
- Targeting specific groups for elimination, consuming their strongest members.
- Using blood manipulation to create living death zones, where survivors slowly bleed out.
- Slaughtering thousands in populated areas, reducing entire towns to graveyards.
- Live-streaming executions of heroes and soldiers, using their own abilities against them.
- Using psychological warfare, breaking people mentally before killing them.
- Abducting key figures—heroes, scientists, and strategists—only to break them mentally.
- Keeping prisoners alive for years, tormenting them by assuming the identities of their loved ones.
- Engaging in extreme torture, removing limbs, regenerating them, and repeating the process.
- Consuming bodies, absorbing not just their physical form but memories and emotions.
- Using blood-based rituals to enhance her regenerative abilities.
- Feeding on child prodigies and future heroes to ensure their power dies with her consumption.
- Taking the form of key figures to instill paranoia within hero factions.
- Betraying secret missions, sabotaging military defenses, and turning allies into enemies.
- Allowing enemy factions to attack at their weakest, all while pretending to be their leader.
- Infecting water supplies with contaminated blood, turning entire cities into berserkers.
- Spreading a Catalyst Plague that destabilizes users' powers, causing them to self-destruct.
- Using her hair and blood as weapons, leaving permanent corruption in her wake.
- Creating a myth around her existence, making it impossible to trust anyone.
- Heroes constantly questioning if their allies are real or just her in disguise.
- Causing entire nations to fall into fear, turning them into police states out of desperation.
- Studying the most grotesque forms of Catalyst mutations through live experimentation.
- Harvesting organs and tissue to create homunculus-like beings under her control.
- Binding her victims' consciousness into her body, trapping them inside her forever.
Mika Regina isn’t just a killer—she’s a plague, a myth, and the ultimate predator.
Junko doesn’t just kill—he creates. His crime scenes are grotesque art pieces, bodies arranged in horrifying displays that defy reason. Hundreds have fallen victim to his chaos, their final moments spent in unimaginable terror. He doesn’t discriminate; men, women, children—if they exist, they are potential brushstrokes on his masterpiece of destruction.
He isn’t motivated by ideology, revenge, or power. Junko plants bombs in hospitals, subway stations, amusement parks—anywhere densely packed with life—just to see the beauty of destruction unfold. He broadcasts the explosions, reveling in the screams, the fire, the chaos. Every act is designed to remind the world: no one is safe.
To Junko, death is too easy. He prefers to warp the mind, stretching sanity until it snaps. His victims wake up in locked rooms, given impossible choices: kill a loved one, or die slowly? Cut out your own eye, or let a stranger suffer for you? Even those who survive never truly escape. They carry his laughter in their heads forever.
Junko loves an audience. He abducts people off the streets, dragging them into his “productions,” where they are forced to perform for their lives. Some are given weapons and told to fight each other. Others are puppets in a grander play, unaware that their actions have been scripted toward their own demise. Survival isn’t the goal—entertainment is.
Fire is the purest form of destruction, and Junko is obsessed with it. He doesn’t just set buildings on fire—he makes sure people are inside, watching as they pound on the windows, screaming for help. He sets escape routes ablaze first, leaving victims with only one option: burn or jump.
Unlike typical anarchists, Junko doesn’t act randomly—he orchestrates madness. He spreads misinformation, turning neighborhoods into war zones. He convinces police forces that innocent civilians are criminals. He turns families against each other with lies so well-crafted they become truths. He doesn’t need to kill when he can make people destroy each other.
Junko doesn’t have psychic powers, but he doesn’t need them. His reputation alone is enough to break people. At the mere suggestion that he’s watching, entire cities lock themselves inside. His victims receive cryptic messages, "I see you," "You're next," and it’s enough to send them spiraling into madness. Some kill themselves before he even lifts a finger.
While not a scientist, Junko is an artist—and his medium is the human body. He carves intricate patterns into his victims, rearranges limbs in unnatural ways, removes and replaces organs for aesthetic purposes. He leaves behind grotesque sculptures that disturb even the most hardened investigators.
One of his favorite games is turning heroes into monsters. He traps people in situations where the only way to survive is to betray, hurt, or kill someone they love. He whispers in their ears, convincing them they wanted to do it. By the time they realize they’ve become his pawns, it’s too late—they’re already broken.
Junko hijacks television networks, streaming sites, even social media feeds to showcase his murders in real-time. He forces victims to deliver monologues before their deaths, making them plead for help from an audience that can do nothing. He lets them believe there’s hope—only to snatch it away at the last second.
Junko infiltrates gangs, government agencies, and even hero organizations, gaining trust only to tear them apart from within. He plays people against each other, planting seeds of doubt and watching them destroy themselves. Sometimes, his greatest victories don’t involve blood—just whispered words that unravel everything.
He doesn’t stop at murder. He digs up graves, steals bodies from morgues, and displays them in twisted tableaus. He stitches multiple corpses together, paints their faces with grotesque grins, and leaves them where loved ones will find them. To Junko, death isn’t an end—it’s just another stage of his performance.
Sometimes, Junko doesn’t even need to kill. A well-placed rumor, a single cryptic message, and an entire city can collapse into hysteria. He loves watching people panic, looting stores, turning on their neighbors, barricading themselves in their homes—all because they think he’s coming.
Nothing excites Junko more than tearing down those who believe they stand for justice. He makes heroes choose between saving a single child or an entire building full of innocents. He leaks the darkest secrets of law enforcement, turning the public against them. Every hero that falls into despair is another win for him.
Junko never works alone—not because he needs help, but because people want to follow him. His madness is contagious. His followers are desperate, broken souls who worship his ideology. They spread his message, commit acts of terror in his name, and ensure that even if Junko himself were to die, his legacy of destruction would live on.
Entire nations perished beneath his unrelenting cold, frozen solid as if time itself had stopped. Cities became mausoleums of ice, where every living thing—humans, animals, even microbes—ceased to exist in the absolute zero of his wake. Towers of frost rose where civilizations once stood, their people frozen mid-scream, their last moments preserved in a silent, inescapable nightmare.
His victims didn't simply die; they shattered. He would freeze them alive, their bodies turning brittle, veins crystallizing into jagged ice. Some he left conscious until the very end, their screams muffled by frozen vocal cords as their limbs cracked and snapped off like glass. Others, encased in blocks of ice, remained frozen for years—living graves that would only perish when their minds finally succumbed to insanity.
He rewrote the planet’s climate itself, conjuring artificial ice ages that turned thriving cities into frozen ghost towns. Crops withered under unrelenting blizzards, economies crumbled under the weight of famine and chaos, and entire governments collapsed as their leaders froze to death in their own war rooms. The world did not just fear him; it feared the very air when it turned cold.
Forests reduced to skeletal, ice-covered husks. Oceans solidified into endless plains of ice where whales and sharks lay trapped, frozen in mid-motion beneath the surface. Wildlife species extinct overnight, unable to adapt to his merciless cold. He didn't just kill people—he murdered entire ecosystems, rewriting the rules of nature with frostbitten fingers.
His blizzards carried something far worse than just ice. A supernatural frostbite virus spread among the survivors, slowly turning them into frozen, half-living corpses. Their skin blackened with frostburn, their joints stiffened into immobility, and their minds deteriorated until they could do nothing but shiver in place. Then, at the final stage, their bodies shattered into ice shards with a single touch.
With a mere flick of his wrist, entire cities became graveyards of ice. Shockwaves of sub-zero destruction radiated outward, turning everything in its radius into crystalline sculptures. People, animals, buildings—nothing was spared. What was once bustling civilization became a frozen wasteland in mere seconds, the streets lined with statues that had once been human.
He considered himself an artist of death. In every city he destroyed, he sculpted towering ice monuments out of the frozen bodies of his victims—twisting them into grotesque, beautiful formations. A man reaching for his child, a mother shielding her newborn, soldiers frozen mid-charge. Each one captured the last moment of their lives in excruciating detail. To him, they were “monuments to silence.”
He did not negotiate. He did not leave room for surrender. When he overthrew governments, he walked into their palaces and froze the ruling class where they stood. Thrones of gold and velvet became icy tombs. Parliaments became mausoleums of frozen lawmakers, their faces contorted in expressions of shock and terror. Democracy, monarchy, dictatorship—it didn’t matter. He buried them all under the same frost.
Entire armies deployed against him simply ceased to exist. Tanks, fighter jets, artillery—frozen in place like lifeless relics. Soldiers trapped in their own armor, ice creeping into their lungs before they could even scream. Bases that once held thousands of troops became silent, motionless, their inhabitants forever preserved in crystalline graves.
He harbored a special hatred for those who wielded fire. Any hero or soldier who dared to stand against him with flames met a fate worse than death. He took his time extinguishing them, ensuring their flames sputtered out slowly as their bodies turned to brittle, frozen husks. He hunted them personally, proving that no amount of fire could ever thaw his eternal winter.
Where The Devil left frozen ruins, Huǒyàn left nothing at all. Cities that once stood for centuries were turned into blackened wastelands in a matter of hours. Not even the skeletons of buildings remained—just endless, charred landscapes, where the very earth itself smoldered beneath the heat of his wrath.
He did not discriminate between soldier and civilian. Refugee camps—places of sanctuary and hope—became funeral pyres at his command. Entire families were reduced to nothing but piles of ash, their screams drowned in the roar of his infernos. He burned them slowly, delighting in the way flesh curled and blackened, in the way their bodies disintegrated before his eyes.
He crafted an inescapable plague—an infernal disease that burned victims from the inside out. It began as an unbearable heat, fever boiling their blood, until suddenly, their very skin ignited, leaving only charred skeletons behind. No water could douse the flames, no medicine could stop the burning. His fire was a curse, and his victims were its offerings.
One continent will never recover from what he did. He set its forests, cities, and mountains ablaze in an all-consuming inferno that raged for months. Smoke choked the sky, the sun blotted out by the endless storm of embers. What was once a thriving land was left uninhabitable, a wasteland of molten earth where no life could ever flourish again.
Warships, aircraft, skyscrapers—none stood a chance. He didn’t need bombs. He didn’t need missiles. With nothing but his sword and his flames, he tore through entire fleets, slicing through steel like paper. Pilots burned alive in their cockpits. Cities crumbled as he rained fire from the sky. He was a one-man apocalypse.
He left messages in flame. Charred bodies hung from ruined cities, their corpses still smoldering, their flames never extinguishing. His victims did not rot; they burned for eternity, a warning to all who dared oppose him. Entire streets lined with burning bodies, a parade of suffering in his name.
Huǒyàn never allowed his enemies to reclaim what was his. If he lost a battle, he burned everything behind him—villages, fortresses, farmlands—leaving behind nothing but smoldering ruins. His philosophy was simple: if he could not rule it, it would not exist.
He conjured storms of such intensity that they did more than burn—they suffocated. The oxygen itself was consumed, leaving people gasping for air as their lungs seared from the inside. The flames were not the only killer; the very atmosphere turned against his victims, ensuring a slow, agonizing death before their bodies crumbled to cinders.
His prisoners did not escape death, but before they perished, they suffered. He branded his enemies, searing their skin with his mark, leaving them permanently disfigured. Those who defied him were burned inch by inch, their agony prolonged until their minds shattered. His cruelty knew no limits.
Some places will never heal. Lands where he unleashed his most powerful flames are still burning to this day, cursed with eternal fire. Even the rain cannot extinguish the embers. The very ground itself has turned into molten slag, a reminder that wherever Huǒyàn walked, destruction followed.
These two were not just villains. They were calamities in human form, embodiments of destruction, leaving behind nothing but silence and ashes.