What Hope Remains | Plot Twist Event Entry

#PTScene2

.: content warning :.

implied death mention, possible manga spoilers

823 words, 4,722 characters

It was cold.

Harsh, bitingly cold.

This shouldn't have come as a surprise; it was winter, after all. Still, he couldn't help but smile at the sensation of the icy air against his face, so brutal with its touch yet in that moment, somewhat comforting.

The fires are finally starting to die down.

Ash and dust obscured the world in a dark, putrid haze like no other, flaking through the smoke like minerals floating in a glass of water. Despite how the fires had started to decrease in size and number, flames continued to spark amidst the debris, alighting patches of the otherwise gray-toned town square (that is what he assumed this was at some point, though now it was near-impossible to tell) in flares of orange and red whisps.

From atop a pile of rubble, he sighed, watching as his breath was caught and carried away by the cold, soon dissipated into the smoke and dust. His skin prickled with chills, and a rumbling shudder overtook him. He stood up, brushing dust and debris from his pants (not that doing so made much of a difference; his clothes were already stained to hell with all manner of dirt, debris, and grime, staining them a much darker, dingier brown), before jumping down from his perch.

Wreckage scattered the area, chunks of rock and broken structures lying haphazardly atop the once-pristine grounds. If he looked hard enough through the ash and smoke, he was almost certain he could spot the storefront of what was once one of his favorite restaurants to stop for lunch after patrolling. Maybe, if he had been a little stronger, a little faster, it would still be there now.

Where order once reigned supreme, chaos and destruction has now stolen the rule.

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"Hawks! Can I have an autograph?"

"Wow, it's Hawks! Could we get a picture?"

"Hey! Congrats on getting number two!"

The heroes had lost.

Badly.

The war against the Paranormal Liberation Front was one fought in vain. Even with all the intel, planning and inside knowledge, the heroes were greatly and painfully outnumbered. For every villain successfully cut down, twice as many heroes were lost.

In the end, they didn't stand a chance.

Hawks felt somewhat responsible for that, really, being one of, if not the biggest source of information for the heroes. Perhaps they just weren't prepared enough. Perhaps he overestimated the amount of trust he had earned. Perhaps no matter what they did, it was doomed to end in disaster. He chose not to dwell on it, though, focusing purely on what was happening in the moment as he wandered the once-busy streets.

Following the war, countless villains had been broken out of jail, released into the cities like a rampant parasite – and they spread just like one, bringing with them destruction, chaos, and bloodshed. Of the heroes who had survived the war, even fewer remained in service. The few who hadn't immediately retired when things took an even further turn for the worst found themselves quickly overwhelmed by the number of new cases cropping up.

Even Endeavor, ultimately, didn't stand a chance against so many on his own.

The sudden pang of guilt Hawks felt at that moment shook him to the bone, and he stopped.

Focus.

He told himself.

Focus on what's happening now, at this moment.

Right.

In the end, he'd done what he could, and so had Endeavor, as well every other hero that had fallen that day, and every day since. All that was left to do was to pick up where they left off and keep going. So long as Hawks was still standing, he chose to believe there was some hope left – though, perhaps that was just his optimism talking.

Straightening once more, Hawks gazed vacantly into the neverending cover of smoke and ash that consumed the city. Distantly, a vibration tickled what little was left of his feathers, a sensation he hadn't felt in a long while, but a relatively welcome one.

Movement.

This was what first came to mind, quickly followed by,

Possibly, danger.

Hawks steeled himself for who or what he would find as he approached in the direction of the sensed movement. The small feathers he had left were more like daggers than swords, but in the case of a fight, they were better than nothing.

His footsteps were light as he finally rounded a corner. Soot and ash masked the silhouette of an individual amidst the rubble, almost completely blended into their surroundings. Had it been anyone else ing through, Hawks was certain they probably wouldn't have ever been found.

"Hawks!"

Relief was evident on the individual's voice as they waved and called him over. From where he stood, Hawks could see the thin clouds of their breath meeting the cold air and then quickly disappearing. Thin clouds touched by relief, desperation, as well as something else.

Hope, he thought finally.

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This is a bit shorter than what I typically write and I it I rushed a bit ,, but I've been busy and the deadline just kept creeping up on me so I had to cut some ideas I had initially outlined short ｡ﾟ･ (>__<) ･ﾟ｡ I hope it's still an enjoyable read despite that.