The Hero No One Knows

The morning sun peeked over the horizon, bathing the city in a warm, golden glow. It was a perfect day for chaos. Somewhere across town, an explosion rippled through the skyline, sending a thick column of smoke spiraling upward. Sirens wailed, and the city’s inhabitants moved like ants, scattering in every direction as the threat grew larger.

Trent leaned against a metal railing on the rooftop of a rundown apartment building, staring at the distant smoke plume. His expression remained unbothered, almost bored. A coffee cup rested in his hand, half-full, though he didn’t seem interested in finishing it. He wore a faded hoodie and equally worn-out jeans, blending into the everyday backdrop of a world that didn’t know his name.

“Should probably go handle that,” he muttered to himself, though he didn’t move. His mind wandered to the last fight he had. Two punches—that's all it had taken. Some oversized crab monster, thinking it could conquer the harbor. One punch to knock it off its feet, and the second to blow it apart. The third punch? Useless. Wasteful.

Not that it mattered. He always had three punches. Never more, never less.

With a sigh, he pushed off the railing and tossed his cup into a nearby trash can. He didn’t hurry. The villain would still be there when he arrived. They always were.

As Trent descended the stairs from the rooftop, his phone buzzed in his pocket. Pulling it out, he glanced at the screen: Hero Association Alert.

“Priority Level: A. Mutant threat detected in District 8. All available heroes, please respond immediately.”

He rolled his eyes. Level A, huh? It must have been serious, at least to the Hero Association. Still, they didn’t bother contacting him directly. Trent had been in the association for years now, but nobody seemed to pay attention to him. His rank was barely above the rookies, and he was fine with that. Fame wasn’t something he craved.

“Maybe it’ll be worth three punches this time,” he mused, slipping his phone back into his pocket.

By the time Trent reached District 8, the streets were deserted, aside from the wreckage. Cracked pavement and overturned vehicles told the story of the mutant’s rampage. The creature, a hulking beast with stone-like skin and four massive arms, loomed over a half-destroyed building, roaring as it swatted away a handful of lower-ranked heroes.

A young hero in bright armor—Steel Vanguard—was holding his ground, his shield raised, though he was visibly struggling under the mutant’s relentless barrage of punches.

“Hold the line!” Steel Vanguard shouted to his comrades, gritting his teeth as another punch slammed into his shield, pushing him back several feet. “We’ve got to keep it contained until backup arrives!”

“Backup’s here,” Trent muttered, though no one heard him.

He surveyed the scene from the edge of the street. The mutant was big, sure. Strong too. It reminded him of Titanus Rex, though on a much smaller scale. The heroes around it weren’t completely helpless—they just lacked the power to finish the job.

One punch to knock it down. Two to make sure it stayed down.

Trent cracked his knuckles and stepped forward, but a blur of red-orange flames shot past him. Flare, her long red hair tied back in a loose ponytail, launched herself at the mutant with both fists ablaze. She slammed a fire-covered punch into its face, sending a wave of heat rippling through the air.

“Take that, you overgrown statue!” she yelled, her voice fierce and filled with adrenaline.

The mutant staggered but quickly regained its footing, swiping at Flare with one of its massive arms. She dodged nimbly, flipping backward and firing off a series of flame blasts to keep it at bay.

“Come on, guys!” Flare shouted to the other heroes. “We can take this thing down! Don’t let up!”

The heroes rallied at her call, unleashing their abilities in unison. Steel Vanguard charged forward, shield raised high, while an archer hero fired energy arrows at the creature’s joints. A telekinetic hero lifted chunks of debris and hurled them at the mutant’s head.

Trent sighed again, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “So much effort,” he said to no one in particular. “One punch would’ve been enough.”

But before he could step in, a familiar voice rang out behind him.

“Hey, Thunderstrike!”

Trent turned to see Brandon—Thunderstrike—floating just above the ground, crackling with electricity. His blond hair was windswept and his expression was cocky as always. Lightning surged around his body, flickering with barely-contained energy.

“Man, I saw the alert,” Brandon said, landing next to Trent. “Thought I’d swoop in and handle this myself. But I see the rookies are getting a workout.” He glanced over at the struggling heroes with a smirk.

“Yeah,” Trent replied, barely interested. “It’s an A-rank, apparently.”

“A-rank? Hah, no big deal. Watch this.”

Before Trent could protest, Brandon rocketed into the air, a thunderous crack splitting the sky as he summoned a massive bolt of lightning. It arced down toward the mutant, slamming into its back with a blinding flash of light. The creature howled in pain, smoke rising from the singed cracks in its stone-like body.

For a moment, the heroes below cheered. It looked like Thunderstrike might have done some real damage. But as the smoke cleared, the mutant roared once again, its body glowing with renewed energy.

Brandon hovered above, his face twisting into a frown. “What the—? It’s regenerating?”

“Yep,” Trent replied dryly. “Guess it’s tougher than it looks.”

Brandon cursed under his breath before flying back down. “Fine. Looks like this’ll take more than one strike.”

Trent shook his head. “Or three punches.”

Brandon turned to him with a raised eyebrow. “What’s that?”

Trent shrugged and walked toward the mutant, weaving his way through the chaos of fire blasts, lightning bolts, and debris. The other heroes were still struggling, doing everything they could to weaken the creature, but it was clear none of them had the power to finish the fight.

The mutant roared again, swiping its massive arm at Trent as he approached. He dodged lazily, his movements slow but deliberate. The creature’s attacks were predictable, sluggish even. It didn’t take long for Trent to size it up.

One punch to the body. Two to the head. The third, just for good measure.

Without any fanfare or build-up, Trent casually clenched his fist and launched his first punch into the mutant’s abdomen. The impact sent a shockwave through the street, rippling out in all directions. The creature’s eyes widened in shock as the air left its lungs. Its stone-like body cracked, deep fissures spreading from the point of impact.

The heroes stopped in their tracks, staring in disbelief.

“Is he—?” Steel Vanguard began, but his voice trailed off.

Trent didn’t waste any time. He followed up with a second punch, this one aimed squarely at the mutant’s head. The creature’s entire skull shattered on impact, its enormous body teetering for a moment before collapsing into a heap of rubble and dust.

For a few seconds, the street was silent. The heroes, still reeling from the sight, looked between each other, unsure of what had just happened.

“...What the hell?” Flare muttered, lowering her hands as the flames around them dissipated. “Who is this guy?”

Brandon floated down beside her, his eyes wide with disbelief. “That was... two punches. Just two.”

“Yeah,” Trent said, dusting off his hands. “Didn’t need the third.”

As the dust settled, Trent glanced over at the wreckage. The mutant was no longer a threat. The street was quiet again, save for the distant sound of sirens. The heroes began to gather, muttering amongst themselves, casting unsure glances at Trent.

Brandon walked over, a mix of frustration and awe on his face. “You just... punched it. Twice.”

Trent nodded. “Yeah. Not much of a challenge.”

Flare approached next, her eyes narrowing as she studied him. “Who the hell are you?”

“I’m Trent,” he said simply, offering no further explanation. “Not really a big deal.”

Steel Vanguard, still recovering from the fight, limped over. “That was insane. How did you—?”

“Three punches,” Trent interrupted. “It’s always three punches. But this time, it only needed two.”

The group stared at him, completely dumbfounded.

“You could’ve told us that before we went all out,” Brandon grumbled, though there was a hint of admiration in his voice.

“Didn’t seem important,” Trent said with a shrug. “You guys were having fun.”

Flare crossed her arms, still skeptical. “Fun? We were getting our asses kicked.”

Trent smirked. “Then maybe you should’ve let me throw the first punch.”