The Buu Incident (My Hero Academia x DBZ)

[Droseralex]

CHAPTER ONE: TERROR UNLEASHED
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For a brief moment, the universes spawning across multiple realities aligned, down to their very atoms.

It was an improbable and unlikely fluke not seen in eons. Such events were usually harmless in nature, for the mighty walls within the veil prevented the eldritch horrors living inside of it—and those from beyond—from passing through. Even when those threats somehow persisted, the great deities overseeing it all would often step in to ensure balance reigned supreme.

Unfortunately, things would unfold differently today.

For the briefest of moments, the multiversal scale tilted. In that instant, all semblance of order and equilibrium was lost, allowing chaos to rule above all else.

Meanwhile, in one of the parallel worlds, two titans clashed in their final battle, their very universe at stake. The heavens rumbled and rattled with every world-shattering strike. A surge of rosy and azure energy collided—

—and the fibers weaving the two worlds cracked and shuddered, coming apart under the monumental and incomprehensible forces bearing down upon them. The adage 'Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong.' couldn't have been more fitting.

As the swell of unstable energy reached its zenith, a burst of raw and infinitely destructive force bled through the forming cracks, shining primordial light into the stygian void for the first time in untold millennia. The wound then spread forth through time and space unimpeded, the anomalous fissures growing and seeping into everything like a tumorous growth.

By the time the great deities had shifted their burning gaze towards the unforeseen incident in their dominion, small and seemingly inert fragments of pink flesh managed to slip through one of the rifts, escaping certain oblivion by the smallest of margins.

The deities, wholly aware of the terror about to befall those outside their reach, did their best to try and stifle the threat with impunity before the universal wounds scarred over. Their attempts were in vain, however, for their great power faltered upon breaching past the void. Attempts to rouse the guardians at the other side were met with absolute silence.

Finding themselves out of time and unable to destroy the primordial abomination, they instead focused on a final, vehement attempt to scramble and scatter its arcane essence through the stars while they still had the ability to do so. Partially successful, they diverted what remained of their limited esoteric energies into bestowing a small blessing upon the worlds beyond.

As they reflected upon their fateful actions, the remaining fractures shuttered, the link between the two universes permanently severed. Would the blessing manifest within one worthy and pure enough to make a difference?

Had they done enough to save those beyond, or at least done enough to give them a fighting chance?

Forever out of sight and reach, they would never get to find out.

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

On this fateful day, life across Japan—and the world itself—would be changed forever.

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --


[ Musutafu, Japan ]​

The skies above the lively city of Musutafu darkened, much faster than it was typical for an afternoon thunderstorm. Most citizens paid no mind to the occurrence, for there were crazier things they had witnessed before.

When men could easily change the weather with a mere punch, it made such events seem downright trivial and meaningless.

As the city carried on, a turbid mass of swirling darkness forced itself into being through the firmament. The ominous and deadly cyclonic anomaly groaned and pulsated with a life of its own, its core broadening as it fought to remain cohesive through impossible realities and ravaged timelines. Within its raging maw, flashes of crimson lightning illuminated the remnants of burning worlds and desolate, broken universes.

Separated from the fundamental energies that gave it form, the passage between worlds buckled into itself with the equivalent energy of a thermonuclear weapon. From its very center, a burning mass erupted at inconceivable speeds.

When the heavenly rumble reached the streets below, the startled citizens finally paused to stare at the commotion. Their eyes widened in fear as they became painfully aware of the dispersing vortex in the sky, and even more so at the roaring fireball heading their way. Panicking as they attempted to flee, numerous calls flooded the Hero Network as the object loomed closer and closer to the tallest skyscrapers.

Rivulets of what remained of the sizzling tissue burned to ash, the discombobulated splotch struggling to maintain any semblance of sentience or physical attributes as it dealt with the after-effects of the unexpected dimensional transition and foul tampering of divine origin.

Out of control, it found itself gutting the side of a skyscraper, and then it punched cleanly through three more buildings before it embedded itself deep into the streets below. The force of the impact unleashed a tremendous shockwave that pulverized a veritable portion of the neighborhood with impunity. Vehicles were sent tumbling into heaps of scrap, utility poles warped away, and storefronts exploded inwards.

As the smoke and dust clouds settled, the distressed screams of panic and pain from those who failed to make it to safety began to echo through the wrecked city block, their cries muffled by blaring alarms and roaring fires raging out of control.

Not too far in the distance, the frantic sirens of the Police Force and emergency vehicles became audible.

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Regaining some of its limited mental capacity, the disfigured, charred blob began to whine and twitch erratically within its burning, earthly confines, bubbling aggressively as it fought to regain most of its lost biomass. Its form straightened, slowly standing upright until it sprouted a pair of pudgy legs. A set of equally robust arms followed, and eventually, a rounded head formed as its body regained a healthy rosy tinge. Then, two rather confused and beady eyes opened, settling into an upwardly slanted, squinty shape.

"Buu," The blob finally uttered as it...no, he became self-aware once more, steam billowing out of the newly formed holes around his head, shoulders, and chest. With a pop, an antenna emerged out at the very top of his head. His rimmed vest, boots, cape, and pants materialized next as he completed his physical manifestation.

Buu let out a whoop of excitement upon feeling whole again!

...

The wave of fervor soon faded. No, he wasn't whole. He still felt wrong, woozy, light. Something was amiss in his body. Thoughts and memories that should have been there simply weren't. An old, familiar connection felt broken and it made him feel hollow and frustrated.

It also made him...

"So hungry," He remarked as he patted his gut, pressing the meager supply of energy available beneath his body to rise over the deep crater and explore his surroundings. Maybe eating some food would make him feel better.

Placing a thumb and finger upon his plump chin to help him think, he eyed the neighborhood, looking for any signs of familiarity. Buu found that no matter how hard he tried to remember, he had no clear memories of this place. The city looked so shiny and new, much more advanced than those he encountered the last time he awakened from his slumber.

Then again, everything felt somewhat familiar as if he had been in a place like this before. These big conflicting thoughts made Buu's head hurt, so he let his mind wander to his surroundings again. Everything around him was in shambles, and there were so many loud noises and screams that made his sensitive ears ache.

It didn't matter. He was hungry.

With that, the Majin's quest for sustenance and fun started...

...and for others, a nightmare just began.

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Within minutes of the incident, a sizable assemblage of emergency and law enforcement personnel had zeroed in on the scene, preparing to both engage an unknown attacker and render assistance to the wounded and trapped. Firetrucks were already dousing the flames trying to grow out of control in buildings and wrecked vehicles while the Police Force cordoned off a large section of the city blocks nearby. Countless people had already flocked to get a peek at the curious and rather destructive incident.

The diesel engines of the heavily armored First Response Unit personnel carriers growled deeply as they turned into the street at full speed, their thick tires screeching to a halt a few hundred feet away from the wreckage. Reinforced doors at their very back slammed down on the asphalt, and two dozen of Japan's elite officers marched out of them, prepared to take control of the developing crisis until the Pro Heroes arrived.

"Go, go, go! Non-lethal rounds only unless I say otherwise!" The commander barked. Just like his men, he was covered from head to toe in intricate body armor that resembled SWAT gear. Over his shoulder, he carried a large caliber rifle and a non-lethal riot shotgun. He holstered his rifle to brandish the shotgun for the moment.

His subordinates shouted an agreement as a single unit and spread out in groups of three, switching their choice of weapon as ordered while they cautiously swept through the wreckage. Behind them, EMS technicians were moving forward as well, all protected by a wall of riot shields wielded by the Police Force. They did their best to hurriedly pull out the wounded as fast as they could, ready to retreat at once if the situation escalated.

Ground zero wasn't a pretty sight. As the special forces made their way through the ever-worsening chaos, it was all but certain casualties were going to be plentiful. Storefronts were gone, cars mangled to hell, and the road itself was reshaped into an uphill cliff that ended in an ominous-looking crater that was still smoking and glowing.

When they approached the sloping, superheated surface, the forward teams froze. Out of sight, something began to rustle and shift. Then, what sounded like an old a steam train whistle went off. The commander switched to hand gestures, ordering weapons to go hot. Behind him, the groups merged into a single rank.

"So hungry," A child-like voice remarked from beyond.

Everyone stiffened as they watched something float up from the crater.

Their body was considerably bloated and stumpy. They wore odd, white baggy trousers and a black gold-laced vest, with golden boots and gloves to match. A purple cape was haphazardly tied around their neck, flowing almost down to their feet. Around their large waist, they wore a dark belt, ending in a golden buckle with the letter M artfully engraved at its base. Their mostly humanoid features ended there, as they had some sort of ponytail-like antennae on their head, surrounded by multiple vent-like openings that also ran down their arms. Instead of ears, they had two cup-like protuberances with an opening at their base. Every inch of their skin had the texture and look of bright, pink bubblegum.

In a different scenario, their appearance would have been considered comical, just like some of the weird Mutant-type Quirks around. However, the absolute carnage around them and the palpable sense of danger oozing out of the stranger stopped any such thought from coming forth.

The man—or what they at least assumed to be a man based on their clothing, voice, and physical attributes—then continued to float upwards until he paused to regard his surroundings with curiosity, apparently oblivious to their presence as he happily hummed to himself.

'He has a Mutant-type Quirk, so how's he able to fly? That shouldn't be possible.' The commander thought as he swallowed the lump trying to form in his throat. He moved forward, his shotgun aimed at center-mass, and ready to pull the trigger if the villain twitched wrong. "You there! This is Isao Tanaka, commander of First Response Unit Delta. You are hereby placed under arrest for violating the Public Use of Quirks mandate, causing Level Two Property Damage, and recklessly endangering or harming civilians through Quirk usage. Hands up where we can see them, now!"

Taken by surprise, Buu froze mid-hum, swiveling slowly on the spot until his eyes finally settled upon the armed officers. His unimpressed gaze then focused on the large group of flashing emergency vehicles behind them before shifting back down to them.

Without saying a word, the villain complied and dropped gently onto the ravaged street with a hefty thump. It was only then that they were able to finally grasp just how massive he was; he towered a good two to three feet over everyone present. Even his circumference was intimidating, easily dwarfing almost four men width-wise as if he was a freakishly ginormous Sumo wrestler. Or a terribly bloated Fat Gum, if that was possible.

Leather gloves creaked as more than a few fingers tightened around their respective triggers.

Smirking, Buu resumed his jovial humming as he scrutinized every single man standing before him, showing little to no regard for the twenty-plus shotguns locked onto his form or the danger the elite teams posed.

"I said hands up!" Isao shouted as he pumped his shotgun threateningly, taking a valiant step forward. He wouldn't let a worthless thug intimidate him—

—the villain's eyes then locked onto his own, his merry humming halting. The air seemed to be drawn out of Isao's lungs as it grew heavier around his body. His training and sense of duty urged him to disregard his wavering resolve and move forward to subdue the threat. However, deep down in his mind, the voice of reason and self-preservation suddenly yelled at him to back off and retreat...

To run. Why did he feel like this?

"What the hell is he?" One of the men voiced the unspoken question most did not wish to ask.

Huh, they were feeling the uneasiness as well. That wasn't reassuring. Sweat began to drip down Isao's helmeted face, his trigger finger now trembling slightly. The damn villain showed no signs of submission, concern, or fear even when the odds were severely stacked against him.

So be it. Stomping down on the surging dread, he gritted his teeth as he willed himself to take one more step. "Surrender now, villain! Last warning." He growled out with finality, the threat of impending violence hanging heavy in the air as the shotgun was moved closer to the pink giant's chest.

More shotguns were cocked as they closed the gap further. They raised their crosshairs to actively target the massive man's torso, feeling empowered by their superior's show of gutsy assertiveness.

"You want to play with Buu?" The Majin asked candidly, his head tilted with inquisitiveness as he stared right at the weapon's barrels.

To think such a seemingly innocuous statement could instill so much unease in a man's heart.

As expected, there was no response from the special forces, and they refused to back down. The men on the outer edges of the line moved to flank the villain.

Buu grew impatient. Maybe they wanted him to start the game. He moved towards them—

And all hell broke loose.

"Fire! Open fire!" Isao shouted as he depressed the trigger. The rest simply followed their survival instincts and unloaded their weapons upon the looming villain. A hail of deafening non-lethal rounds pummeled his flesh relentlessly as every operative pumped shell after shell into his broad torso until their weapons ran dry.

Once the gunsmoke began to thin out, the group took a cautious step forward. Quirk suppressing bindings were procured as they prepared to shackle the downed villain—

—but there was one problem with that plan; the villain wasn't down. As a matter of fact, he was still standing on the same spot, with both of his pudgy arms resting proudly on his waist, boastful of his achievement. Every single rubber bullet had impacted him head-on, the powerful kinetic projectiles simply sinking slightly into his gut, setting off miniature ripples around the concave 'wounds' that still danced and wavered around as if he was made out of pure Jell-O.

Buu retained his bemused smirk, displaying no outward signs of pain or injury. He started to giggle; the loud boomsticks had tickled his belly quite a bit. They did want to play. Maybe his hunger could wait a bit.

"Okay! Buu play too!" He squealed out with the excitement more likely to be found in a five-year-old than an 8-foot giant, sticking a meaty thumb in his mouth.

Eyebrows were raised behind riot helmets. Undeterred by the bizarre villain's behavior, the men didn't waste any time loading more rounds into their shotguns—

"Catch!" Buu cheered before blowing on his thumb, his cheeks puffing up like balloons.

Isao stiffened as the vague memories of a decades-old incident resurfaced in his mind. His world shifted into slow motion as his honed instincts kicked in, the evasive maneuvers taking place before he could even think about performing them or think about warning his men. By the time he was able to voice a warning, it was already too late.

He helplessly watched how in that half-second, every single indentation in the pink villain's gum-like flesh suddenly popped back to its original form. With that simple action, the countless rubber bullets buried in his body were sent whence they came, their momentum multiplied beyond measure.

It was a blessing his team was trained to deal with extraordinarily aggressive and fast-moving Quirk users, and it was only thanks to that skill that a portion of his men was able to dodge the unexpected barrage mostly unscathed. Mostly. The ones that saw him dashing to safety and followed him avoided the worst of it. Those that were too slow to react weren't so lucky, and they were sent flying back as a multitude of overpowered rubber bullets smashed into their body armor with a loud and cringe-inducing crunch.

The villain gazed his way, his smile playful and wicked. Isao felt that strange, dreary pressure upon his body again, and nary a moment later, he was forced to dodge once more as a barrage of what once were harmless bullets was redirected his way—

—but this time, he was too damn slow. One bullet grazed his rib shield, outright cleaving off a portion of his vest and kicking the air out of his lungs. Another smashed into his shoulder plating, and the composite armor burst to pieces before the broken rubber buried itself into his clavicle. The ridiculous force behind the projectiles threw him back to crash onto the road like a sack of shit.

"Damn it," He wheezed as he tried to get up, but the pain shooting down his arm, rib, and neck made him fall back. He couldn't move his left arm anymore!

It was only then that he heard the cacophony of raw screams from his men. Spurred into action, he stubbornly climbed to his knees. As he did, he got his first look at the carnage the villain had wrought. His heart dropped.

Five were curled up and writhing in misery, a well-placed bullet shattering the reinforced fiberglass faceplate in their helmets, their screams descending into sobbing as they cradled their bloody, broken faces. Ten more were laid out flat and appeared to be out of action, either squirming in pain or downright unconscious. One was able to get back up, but his leg was twisted unnaturally at his knee joint.

It was hard to believe all this havoc had been caused by non-lethal rubber bullets. Jesus...

Isao shook his head as he came to his senses, seeing red as he stood up. Unexpectedly, the bastard didn't make a run for it. Most would have if they knew what was coming next, but not this freak. Instead, he simply stood there with a shit-eating grin as wide as his face as he glanced at his violent handiwork. He was proud of it!

He seethed. The risk for further collateral damage and casualties was too high. Over half of his unit was wiped out already. He had to be dealt with, now!

"Enough of this bullshit." Isao spat out venomously. "If you had a death wish, it's been granted!" With his functional arm, he cast the riot shotgun aside to bring up his assault rifle. "Howa's up! Lethal force authorized, light him up!" He shouted, disabling the weapon's safety without a second thought as he backstepped from the villain.

The Howa Type 89 Assault Rifle was a powerful weapon, and one of the reasons the First Response Units were universally respected and feared by perps and villains alike throughout Japan. Its 5.56x45mm cartridge bullets with steel penetrators guaranteed their payload would take down anything but the most powerful or well-armored Quirk users.

Isao was certain this fiend wasn't well-armored. He had flexible, rubbery skin; something that could be easily negated with some lead.

Aiming at his extremities and center mass, the able-bodied F.R.U. teams returned fire as one, regaining some of their professional decorum in the process. The villain's body shuddered with each strike, and Isao's theory was proven right when he witnessed the 5.56mm rounds wrecking through his elasticity Quirk, carving a gruesome and deadly path through the freak. Pink chunks splattered everywhere as he let out warbled cries of anguish, his body disappearing in the building haze of gunsmoke and atomized tissue.

"Enough! Hold your fire." He barked once the villain's cries went silent, feeling certain the job had been done. Heeding his command, his men halted their firing. No one moved for a good twenty seconds as they tried to peer through the cloud of thick, gray gunpowder and bullet-shredded road. Upon seeing their commander's shoulders slacken in relief, the others mirrored him.

It was over.

As the remainders of the smoke cleared, they prepared themselves for the gory sight—

—but instead, a collective chill ran down their spines.

There he was, his clothes, chest, and extremities riddled with dozens of see-through holes as if he had been turned into Swiss cheese. A stray bullet mangled his jaw, and one nicked his throat, producing grody, open wounds. His legs were so damaged there was no possible way for them to hold his colossal weight, yet somehow, he still managed to remain upright, his upper body unsteady and teetering back and forth.

Isao could see no muscle or bone through the gaps or seeping blood for that matter. Was this thing some sort of genetic experiment or a machine?

Buu's eyes snapped open as he straightened himself.

"T-there's no way..." Isao muttered incredulously as he took a few steps back, his weapon hanging loosely over his shoulder. A few others echoed his concerns as they slowly retreated from the monster, his mangled appearance more akin to a ravaged ghoul.

"You no playing nice. You try hurt Buu! You all bad, bad man!" Buu cried out, indignantly stomping his boots on the ground as his mouth twisted into a disgruntled scowl. The asphalt beneath his foot cracked apart, the force being imparted upon it sending a widening fissure through the brittle street, making the men stumble and dart for stable ground.

With a puff of his cheeks, a wave of liquefied, rosy fluids danced around his open wounds, sealing every bullet hole in a matter of seconds as if the damage to his body or clothing had never happened. His eyes opened further, and two tiny, beady pupils peeked through briefly as a feisty smile stretched his thin mouth. "Now Buu hurt you!"

The malignant pressure trying to suffocate them thickened, sinking into their very pores until it became unbearable. Oh, God.

With his knees threatening to buckle, Isao stumbled backward, his underlings mimicking his actions instantly as they felt the unit's nerves and morale crack. There was no doubt in his mind they could all feel the same sense of impending doom bearing down upon them now.

He turned on the communicator dangling from his armor's chest pocket, his speech shaky and uneven. "Everyone retreat now! Focus on suppressive fire—"

A fast-moving pink and golden blur ended his broadcast abruptly. Before he could process what had happened, he was backhanded across the street and right into the glass storefront of a building. Body armor rendered worthless, pain spread like hot fire across his head and spine as he tumbled to a stop, his lower back buckling as it struck a solid barrier. The awful sound of bones snapping throughout his body was the least of his worries as he heard his team members shout in concern for his safety, and then in fear for their own.

Isao turned his head towards the sound of multiple Type 89s going off, the firing patterns erratic. He couldn't tell if they were putting up a desperate last stand or if they were retreating as he commanded. He tried to get up, tried to do something—anything— to help, but his body would not move. Broken spine, he guessed grimly. He couldn't even speak.

As another wave of despaired screams reached his ears, his eyes grew heavy. Mind-numbing pain quickly turned into an uncomfortable tingling sensation, and soon enough, everything went dark.

In less than a minute, the rest of the First Response Unit used up most of their ordnance reserves. Spent shells continued to rain down upon the broken road as they retreated from the advancing villain. Even with the constant barrage of hot lead serving as suppressive fire, his advance did not falter in the slightest. If anything, it appeared as if he was healing faster by the second!

Moments later, five more men had been taken out with terrifying ease.

As two limp bodies careened through the air, the villain's childish, carefree laugh resonated through the neighborhood.

One of the men downed earlier managed to get back on his feet. He gawked at the unfolding massacre, his mind in tatters. Screaming in a vengeful frenzy, he charged at the pink giant with an oversized combat knife.

The amused Majin just stood there, allowing the sharp blade to plunge into his gut multiple times. It hurt a little bit, but not enough to merit imminent action. "You very weak," He jeered, jabbing a finger on the man's chest armor to provoke him further.

Infuriated beyond relief, the stabbing became more frenetic. The puny man then began to holler curses, and his fury seemed to intensify when he saw the wounds begin to heal much faster than he could inflict them. Snarling, he withdrew a small service pistol out of his leg holster, unloading every single round into the villain's head—

Or at least that's what he intended to do. A massive golden glove moved—much faster than he could comprehend—to cover the handgun's barrel, giving it a firm squeeze even as he kept feathering the trigger. The sound of warped steel greeted his ears, and just like that, his last resort was rendered useless.

Buu grabbed the disheartened man by his vest, lifting him a good three feet to meet face-to-face. He didn't seem to enjoy being hefted like a child, and he spat at the Majin defiantly, swinging the combat knife wildly until it was snatched away from his grasp.

"Why the hell won't you die, you fat piece of goddamn sh—"

And just like that, Buu's snickering fizzled away, his face darkening when the wad of spit struck his cheek. Coupled with the brash verbal abuse, it was the straw that broke the camel's back.

Frowning, the Majin flicked the mean man hard on the forehead—

—and the top half of his helmet disappeared in an explosive cloud of crimson.

Buu gaped. "Oops. If Buu hit too hard you break," He noted disappointedly as the man flopped lifelessly to the ground, his gloves now stained red. He'd have to be more careful if he wanted them to last longer whenever he played with them.

A despondent wail caught his attention, just as he felt another surge of hot metal piercing his body. Not too far in the distance, a mournful red-haired man emptied the last six bullets in his magazine, striking Buu a few times in the head and chest. The man wore the same tactical uniform as the others but he had discarded his helmet, apparently feeling as bold as the puny man Buu had just broken.

When they cheated and used guns, Buu didn't feel like being nice to them.

He smirked, and his body blurred into motion.

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Back at the main rallying point for all of the emergency personnel, the mood was uneasy and tense. When gunshots began to ring out, the Police Force ordered the rescue teams to retreat as they took defensive positions behind the heavily armored First Response Unit carriers. Service weapons were drawn, and riot shields were held at the ready.

The constant report of rifles going off in the distance worsened, the muzzle rattle growing louder and nearer. After some time, the skirmish appeared to die down to nothing. It was then that everyone jumped when their radios went off with a wideband broadcast.

"Evacuate the damn neighborhood while you still can! He's taken almost everyone out! Oh God, he just killed Hirano!" A pause filled briefly with gunshots. "N-no, get away from me!" A terrified scream ended the transmission.

As if on cue, a faint scream was heard. The sound increased in pitch and intensity until a flailing body smashed right into an ambulance's windshield. Instantly, everything descended into chaos. Those close to their service vehicles fled in them, while the others simply ran. The Police Force officers holding the riot shields broke their line upon sighting the pink villain, and they fled carrying as many of the wounded as they could.

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"Woohoo, Buu wins!" The Majin cheered, waving his flabby arms in satisfaction as he watched the last silhouettes retreat into the safety of the streets beyond. As they did, one of the men shot a large canister at his feet, and it detonated into a cloud of obnoxious fumes that blocked his sight.

He was somewhat disappointed to see they didn't want to play with him anymore. Was it because he broke a few of them? They were so weak! Maybe that's why they needed to use guns to play with him.

Before he decided to pursue them, a peculiar scent caught his attention the other way. It was pleasant and sweet, making his belly let out a ferocious growl. Following the delicious aroma, he soon found himself facing a building with a very colorful sign indicating it was a bakery. Its glass front was still mostly intact, and beyond it, there were dozens of pastries of all sizes and flavors illuminated by spotlights.

Cakes, donuts, everything.

"Yum yum! Buu wants!" Practically drooling, the Majin patted his rotund gut as he plowed through the glass window, letting it collapse against his body as he neared his target.

So many choices! Leaning over the heavenly desserts, Buu—

"—Not so fast, you punk!" Someone called out from the street, the gritty male voice sounding highly distorted as if he had spoken through a helmet. "Come out and surrender peacefully and you will not be harmed."

"You leave Buu alone! Buu hungry!" The Majin yelled back without sparing much of a glance at the man speaking, frantically waving his arms as he ripped away the display window to reach the baked goods within.

"You asked for it, pal!" Thump-thump-thump.

Every display case in the bakery exploded into a cloud of shrapnel, sugar, and atomized flour as they were peppered by relentless machinegun-like projectiles. Buu's squinty eyes twitched sporadically, cracking wide open in shock as he stared at the heart-wrenching devastation unfolding before him. Pieces of glass and debris bounced harmlessly against his gut and face as he stared, aghast at the unraveling travesty.

Nothing remained of the tasty food! It was all gone!

Balling his fists, Buu let out a frustrated, ear-splitting wail as he spun around to face the ones responsible for this."You take Buu food!" He exclaimed in a shrill tone, a pudgy arm pointed accusingly at the bakery's remains.

Three men stood a good distance from him across the street. The first was a tall and extremely muscular man with spiky white hair. He had a sharp, square jaw and a thick, bright yellow headband with stripes. Around his wrists and waist, he had large metal guards and a buckle with the same pattern. Most of his torso was exposed through his cardigan. He looked strong and grouchy, his mouth set into a long, downward scowl.

The second man was rather thin and springy with short brown hair, wearing an annoying bright yellow honeycombed bodysuit that covered most of his body, cutting off at his arms below the elbows and right below the kneecaps. Covering both hands and feet he wore a large set of gloves and boots with many pieces of shiny lenses. Over his chest, he had a logo that displayed a blazing sun and a zig-zag sunray pattern. His eyes were covered by some sort of mask and face paint. He looked weak, out of breath, and worried.

Gaining most of Buu's attention and anger was the man who stood ahead of the other two. He had long, pale mint-green hair and a white face mask with four holes that resembled gun muzzles. Just like the first, he exposed most of his toned body through an open gray bodysuit that partially covered his arms too. Over his chest, he wore some sort of open body armor.

What stood out the most to Buu were the two revolver-type bracers wrapped around his wrists, aimed directly towards him. They were still smoking from recent use.

He gasped. "Gun-man ruin food!" The Majin denounced in a piercing tone, a gloved finger pointed at the man briefly, then at the bakery's general direction to emphasize his conclusion. Small rivulets of steam spewed out of his head vents.

"That I did, villain." The stranger replied cooly, appearing rather unconcerned with the infuriated behemoth across from him.

"What are ya going to do about it, gumball?" Behind gun-man, the other muscular stranger taunted, smashing both of his meaty fists together with a resounding thump as if to challenge him.

Buu's gloves creaked as he balled his fists tighter, his pink cheeks taking a red tinge. He was hungry and mad! So so mad! He pointed towards the gun-wielding stranger again. "BUU WILL HURT YOU!"

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Hero Network Police Force Database

[ PRELIMINARY INCIDENT BULLETIN B-01]
-LIVE UPDATES ONGOING, REPORTING FROM SCENE-

[ Suspect/Villain: DATA UNAVAILABLE. Refer to Update 03 for potential name ]

HEIGHT: 7-8'(ESTIMATE)
WEIGHT: 350-400lbs (ESTIMATE)
RACE: UNKNOWN
SEX: MALE
EYE COLOR: UNKNOWN
SKIN TONE: PINK(MUTANT-TYPE QUIRK)

APPEARANCE:
WHITE BAGGY PANTS, GOLDEN BUCKLE WITH STYLISED "M" EMBLAZONED AT BASE. BLACK OPEN VEST WITH ELABORATE GOLDEN TRIM. LARGE YELLOW GLOVES AND BOOTS. PURPLE CAPE. ANTENNA AT TOP OF SKULL, CUP-LIKE OPENINGS FOR EARS. VENT-LIKE CREVICES ON HEAD, CHEST, AND ARMS. BRIGHT BUBBLEGUM-LIKE PINK SKIN.

REPORT:
First encountered in Downtown Musutafu, the suspect appears to have fallen from an unknown location thousands of feet above the city, producing significant damage as he crashed into Hason street. Four buildings suffered moderate structural damage, with most of the severe damage focused within the impact crater. Little is known about the suspect. His body is massive, easily dwarfing most Pro Heroes' body mass, perhaps excluding Fat Gum.

Mutant-type Quirk noted. Emitter-type Quirk noted.

Addendum: citizens and officers injured on-site. Rescues underway. Ensure civilians remain four blocks away from the scene!

[ UPDATES ]

Update 01:
Police Force observed attempts by First Response Unit to subdue subject via non-lethal means have failed. The suspect appears aggressive and-[connection to network lost]

Update 02:
SEVERE FRU CASUALTIES REPORTED. FRU TEAMS HAVE BEEN TAKEN DOWN OR FLED SCENE.

Update 03:
Rescued members of the First Response Unit have reported the suspect referred to himself as "Buu"(?). Further research in the Police Force database for "Buu" has proven unsuccessful with such an alias.

Update 04:
THREE CAPABLE PRO HEROES ON SCENE. SUBJECT SHOULD BE SUBDUED SHORTLY. FOLLOWING UPDATES ON NEXT BULLETIN.

[ CURRENT THREAT LEVEL: D ]
ONLY PRO HERO ENGAGEMENT RECOMMENDED! FIRST RESPONSE UNITS INEFFECTIVE!
*REQUEST FOR FURTHER ASSISTANCE AND THREAT UPGRADE FROM HERO NETWORK MIGHT BE REQUIRED.*


__________________________________________________________________________________________________

A/N:

Hello everyone! I've had this story stuck in my head for a good while. I'm not sure where it's headed or how long it will take, but one thing is for sure: it might not end well for our heroes or villains. I want to explore how both sides would deal with such a terrible threat, not only mentally, but as a society. I want to push them in every way and see what they can achieve when they're desperate and pushed to the brink. Be aware things will diverge from the timeline.

Also, this is very important: some readers might question the character's actions/reactions, interactions, or thoughts at some points during the story, especially towards Buu. Please remember the BNHA world has limited to no experience with arcane/supernatural or magical beings, so many will still treat him as a 'stoppable' earthly being with potential human weaknesses they just need to figure out. They believe they can find a way to take him down because that's the way it has always been. The characters will interpret the events according to their own experiences, knowledge, and points of view, not ours.

Feel free to leave a review! I hope you've enjoyed it so far.​

 

[Droseralex]

CHAPTER TWO: VICTORY DISEASE
​

"Next time you ain't gonna be this lucky, you little punk. Get in, now." He ordered gruffly, shoving a rather bruised and dazed thug into the back of an oversized Police Force truck.

Yet another wannabe hoodlum thinking a shot of Trigger would make them invincible. Hah, as if! Unfortunately for the desperate bastard, he had bought a phony, cheap imitation of the black market drug, and his little plan had backfired big time.

In his drug-spurned bout of brazen overconfidence, he had dared to try and rob Death Arm's favorite convenience store. It was bad enough that the idiot was wrecking one of the few stores in town that carried the hero's preferred brand of cigarettes, but to make matters worse for himself, somewhere along the process of wreaking wanton property damage, the thug had also injured a woman and her child.

When Death Arms got the Hero Network call, he was doubly pissed.

Amusingly, just as he had intervened, the cocky punk felt lucky enough to try and challenge him head-on. An enlightening beatdown later, and the hapless man had been taught a vital lesson in humility and respect.

"Eiji's crew has been terrorizing the neighborhood for a few weeks," One of the officers spoke up as the group got to work attaching an intricate system of shackles around the criminal's torso, arms, and legs. It was nothing like an Iron Maiden, as it was missing the powerful Quirk-suppression equipment, but it was more than enough to subdue most low-tier Quirk users. "He was the last one still on the loose. Thanks for your help, Death Arms."

"Sure thing. See ya around." The brawler grumbled as he lit his last cigarette, stepping away from all of the buzz around the crime scene as he sought a quiet and secluded spot to take a much-needed break. He was still pissed off, and he needed some time—and nicotine—to clear his head.

On the bright side of the ordeal, the woman and child were safe, so there was that. On the other hand, the store's smoke section was trashed, meaning this would be his last good cigarette for some time.

He growled at the prospect, cranky beyond relief. Taking a drag, he settled against a brick wall on one of the city's shaded alleys, thoroughly enjoying the taste of the imported smoke. Already feeling the soothing effects of nicotine, he closed his eyes—

—until the heavens rumbled.

"The hell?" Sensing trouble, he darted out of the alley to get a clear view of the sky. Peeking upwards, he was able to catch a glimpse of an ominous swirling cloud seemingly made out of pure, inky darkness. Almost as quickly as it appeared, it dissipated into nothingness, but not before angrily spitting out a blazing object at worrisome speeds.

The burning wreckage streaked in a downward path across the sky, and before he knew it, he had started to sprint towards it.

A bone-rattling boom followed as the object finally crashed out of sight, the street lights and cars nearby quivering in protest. The citizens around him started to scatter and panic, running around aimlessly as they attempted to figure out what in the heck was going on. There was a nauseating feeling that settled itself in the pit of the hero's stomach, but he did his best to shake it off.

High-pitched warning chimes went off on his mobile device right away as the Hero Network lit up with the GPS coordinates of the incident and heroes on their way. From then on, all he had to do was to follow the ever-increasing amount of blaring sirens heading its way and the concerning clouds of black smoke starting to rise over the tallest buildings.

Checking on the coordinates of the two Pro Heroes closest to him, he slowed down his jog momentarily to rendezvous with them.

"'Sup, man!" The excruciatingly upbeat Flare shot out of a side alley, greeting Death Arms through ragged, deep breaths. After pushing those spindly legs of his further, the youth had finally managed to catch up with the massive man, who appeared to be having little to no trouble jogging for long distances, even with his rather unhealthy and heavy smoking habits.

Death Arms noted Flare was already fully suited up in his new and rather annoyingly bright bodysuit that shone like a ripe lemon, and he was wearing those oversized Quirk-enhancing gauntlets he often teased him about.

"About time you get back to work, ya shiny slowpoke!" He chided lightly, his gruff tone somewhat hard to interpret as it was typical for the reserved hero, especially in his current agitated state. He then shifted his stern gaze ahead as he heard the familiar pattern of Gunhead's combat boots approaching fast at the upcoming intersection.

"Flare, Death Arms." Gunhead acknowledged the two as he joined the fray, their overall speed increasing as they approached ground zero.

The Battle Hero wasn't sure what they'd be up against in the next minutes, but he was already preparing himself for every possible combat scenario. His Gatling arms were loaded and ready to go, and he pushed his Quirk further to stockpile more of the keratin-based projectiles just in case. Quickly assessing the abilities of his current teammates, he felt confident they'd be able to deal with whatever was waiting for them up ahead.

The group remained silent until Flare spoke up with some effort. "Any idea...of what we...we're dealing with?"

"Beats me," Death Arms answered bluntly. "All I know is that it came out of some sort of swirling cloud in the sky."

"Interesting," Gunhead muttered to himself, committing that tidbit to memory for further research. Being in the dark as the others were, he shrugged when they shifted their attention to him, his helmet-warbled speech seemingly unaffected by the arduous cardio as he took the lead. "I'm not sure. The report only describes something or someone crashing onto the street. Based on the radio chatter, we have to assume it's—"

Whatever the Battle Hero was about to say got lost in the massive, deep reports of riot shotguns reverberating in the distance. The trio shared a grim look before continuing their sprint toward the unraveling chaos beyond. Cars and pedestrians alike—now certain of the general direction the pandemonium was coming from—fled the opposite way.

After a few more seconds of tense silence, the men were about to breathe out a sigh of relief, trusting the capable F.R.U. forces had taken care of the situation without complications. As they continued their advance, however, the crisp crackle of assault rifles rumbled through the streets. They were deliberate, controlled bursts; a fact that set Gunhead at ease.

That feeling quickly faded, because a cacophony of frenzied firing soon followed. And then, slowly but surely, the erratic gunfire dwindled to nothing.

A burst of white noise in their communicators startled the heroes. "Evacuate the damn neighborhood while you still can! He's taken almost everyone out! Oh God, he just killed Hirano!" A pause, followed by a desperate outburst of gunshots. "N-no, get away from me!" The frantic man screamed, and the sound was cut short by what sounded like a sledgehammer hitting a fleshy obstacle with a sickening crunch. Immediately after, the radio went offline with a blast of static.

Shit. This was much worse than they had imagined.

"Let's go!" Death Arms and Gunhead roared in unison, renewing their momentum with a fresh burst of speed. Flare was struck still for a moment before following them, thoroughly disturbed by the transmission. What in the heck were they getting into?

Turning into the boulevard that leads to Hasan street, the trio had to jump out of the way to avoid being flattened by the dozens of emergency vehicles and fire engines hightailing it out of the scene. Behind the fleeing vehicles, crowds of wailing and screaming citizens ran in the same direction. A few officers were in their midst, most of who were doing their best to direct or carry the injured to safety.

The Pro Heroes slowly pushed forth through the thinning crowd, eventually stumbling upon the last men at the intersection, who were attempting to maintain a defensive retreat line to protect the fleeing masses. Among them were the remains of the extremely terrified but brave Police Force officers and four banged-up but otherwise capable First Response Unit members. They were forming a hasty and shaky barrier with their riot shields and weapons as they deliberately backstepped away from an unseen foe. A shout later, a final salvo of tear gas canisters was deployed in an attempt to keep the foe at bay. After that, they booked it out of there.

"Officers! What are we up against?" Gunhead pressed, moving in the path of the retreating group to get their attention. All of them were frazzled and pale, seemingly lost in their thoughts until they heard the gruff Pro Hero's stern question.

An older, gray-haired officer snapped out of it first, sighing in relief at their arrival. He had taken off his riot helmet, and his brown eyes were distant as he spoke in a weak whisper. "Oh, thank goodness you're here! We don't know...that—that monster took everything they threw at him! He just killed—"

Gunhead nodded, listening intently to all of the gruesome details and adjusting his plan accordingly. When the officer's panicked jabbering began to devolve into pure nonsense, he grabbed him by the shoulders to gently shake him. "Focus. Did any of you get a good look at him?"

"We sure did. The big bastard's freakin' pink and he's got a purple cape, you won't miss him!" With that, the officers scrammed as fast as their feet could carry them.

Once they were a safe distance away, the heroes resumed their march, moving through the intersection that connected to Hasan street. As the remains of the tear gas dissipated, they got their first, true glimpse at the havoc wrought upon the neighborhood.

Hason street was in shambles, as far as the eye could see. Buildings that stood in the path of the crashing object had chunks sheared off their sides as if a knife had sliced through soft butter. Smoke arose from upturned vehicles and most of the damaged stores. Street lights and trees laid warped, broken, and twisted. Glass coated every surface on the sidewalks.

The trio moved past the crime scene tape walling off the worst part of the wreckage with extreme caution. A few hundred meters down the road, an enormous crater became visible. As they neared the crater, they had to hold back the urge to curse loudly as they gazed upon the bodies left behind.

Gunhead tapped the side of his helmet, activating a vital signs scanner as he swept through the downed men. Most appeared to be seriously injured but still alive. Three were fading quickly. He walked past another, his body crumpled awkwardly into a sitting position, the scanner blaring a dire flatline. He crouched by the man's side to get a better look—

—and he stumbled back, shuddering at the shocking sight. A good chunk of the man's skull was gone, helmet and all. Well hidden behind the comfort of his old mask, he closed his eyes and breathed deeply, doing his best to stomp down on the foreboding feeling creeping into his mind as he focused on maintaining his steely resolve.

As bad as the situation appeared to be, he was still fairly confident they could take on whoever was out there. No matter how one looked at it, even the most well-trained Quirkless men did not fare well against a Quirk user. It was just the harsh reality of this world and human evolution. Quirks often granted their wielders enhanced physical resilience other attributes that'd be nearly impossible for regular men to achieve. To put it bluntly, the Quirkless were frail and brittle in comparison.

The First Response Unit was a capable bunch, but this was exactly why they couldn't fully rely on the elite team to subdue Quirk-empowered villains. It could easily turn into a bloodbath.

Glancing down at his mobile device a final time, Gunhead noted more Pro Heroes were well on the way. It would be a good five to fifteen minutes for their arrival—far too long for some of these folk. He tagged the location of the injured and dead in the Hero Network's global positioning system before taking a decisive step forward. "We can't wait any longer for the others, we need to deal with the threat now to minimize casualties."

Death Arms grumbled in eager agreement, his mouth twisted into a deep scowl as he took in the damage. He cast a solemn look at the dead man, his temper flaring. He could not wait to pummel the bastard who did this!

"Jesus," Flare muttered to himself, brown eyes wide behind his domino mask as he processed the terrible neighborhood-level carnage. When he saw the bloodied corpse, he heaved. "I think I'm going to throw up."

All around him, empty bullet casings practically coated every inch of the road, and they had to push past many pieces of uplifted asphalt, rocks and assorted street litter to move on. It looked like a post-apocalyptic scene from a damn zombie movie.

Walking by a downed officer, Flare couldn't stop himself from crouching to check on him. He was barely conscious, just enough to writhe and twist in pain. His tactical helmet had been smashed to bits by an unknown object, although it had done its job preventing a mortal injury. Most of his body armor was in a similar deplorable state.

Before he could do anything, an arm held him back.

"Don't try to move them—it might make matters worse for them if they have spinal injuries. We need to find the culprit and we need to get them away from this area. The sooner we do it, the faster rescue teams can move back in." Gunhead stated through grit teeth. He raised one of his Gatling arms as he resumed the search, wary of potential ambushes from the countless hiding spots around them.

When no enemies made their presence known, he made his way up the incline surrounding the smoky crater to observe what laid beyond. Looking down at the ten-meter gouge on the street, he noted how its inner surface had been turned into a powdery, glassy substance, with everything surrounding it being downright carbonized. For something to survive this level of damage, they were certainly not to be trifled with. If they were still around—

"Yum yum! Buu want!" A high-pitched, child-like voice shouted in excitement not too far in the distance.

The trio's heads snapped to the sound's general direction. They shifted their stances, bracing for a surprise attack—

—but it never came. Instead, they caught a glimpse of something massive and pink crashing into and through the front of a building, the resounding clatter of broken glass making them wince.

Flare instantly recognized the fading neon colors adorning the large signs above the store. He quirked an eyebrow at the strange development. "Did...did they really just break into the Amedama Bakery?"

Gunhead turned to hush him with a finger brusquely settled over his mouth, signaling for them to take advantage of the perp's distraction to pursue a stealthy approach. As quietly as they could make it through the messy roadway, they hurried along until they were right across the street from the perp, where they could finally get a proper look.

Ogling at the wide assortment of bakery items stocked from wall to wall, there stood a ginormous caped figure, possibly nearing seven to eight feet in height. They were just as massive width-wise, their obese frame easily dwarfing Death Arm's muscular body and then some. They were happily giggling in pure joy as they ripped apart a glass display case to get access to the sweets within, tossing the heavy panels aside carelessly and with little effort. The glass exploded against a far wall, peppering the villain with broken shards that appeared to cause little to no harm.

"What the hell are they doing?" Death Arms whispered, baffled as to why someone in their right mind would ravage a store half a block away from a crime scene. It was too obvious and downright stupid. Did they want to be caught? No matter, they'd get what was coming to them now!

"Obviously they love their sweets," Flare half-joked, trying to break the building tension. His comrades didn't laugh, but it let him take his mind off the gruesome sight from earlier. As a novice hero in his first year, he had yet to fully experience the inevitable and much darker side of their career.

Gunhead stared at the perp, trying to make sense out of everything. It was to no avail. Something didn't feel quite right about this. They—whatever or whoever they were—should have been on the run by now.

"It doesn't matter," He answered Death Arms tersely after a brief delay, raising both arms to aim with his revolver-like Gatling bracers. "He's not getting away with any of this. Get ready." He said, taking a deep breath as he shifted his body weight forward to counter his weapon's heavy recoil. He could hear Death Arms and Flare moving into defensive positions behind him. Good.

Three, two, one... "Not so fast, you punk!" He called out loud enough to make the villain halt for a moment, his voice greatly enhanced by his helmet speakers. "Come out and surrender peacefully and you will not be harmed." His Gatling arms let out a thunk as a round was chambered, emphasizing the imminence of violence.

The pink, rubbery tentacle above their head sprung up in attention as they spared an apathetic glance at the heroes, the creases the villain had for eyes marred with a faint frown of annoyance. "You leave Buu alone! Buu hungry!" They yelled back dismissively, their voice more akin to that of a bratty six-year-old boy. Assessing their clothing choice, physical traits, and speech inflection convinced Gunhead they were, in fact, male.

After blowing raspberries at the trio, the villain proceeded to rip away another glass cover, flinging it aside with excessive force as an act of callow defiance. He gave Gunhead a dirty look before moving towards the exposed bakery goods. Were they dealing with a destructive, indulgent, murderous manchild?

The Battle Hero growled in frustration, shifting his aim to the objects the pink giant yearned. He hated to cause more collateral damage, but he wasn't wasting any more time with pleasantries. They needed to get his attention and draw him away from this area, now. "You asked for it, pal!"

Boom. Every display case in the bakery exploded into a messy cloud of shrapnel, pulverized sugar, and flour as they were torn asunder by the hardened keratin-based projectiles produced by the Battle Hero. Only when the chambers clicked empty did he stop firing. Hopefully, the message was loud and clear to the perp and he'd realize he was outgunned and outmatched.

Buu's squinty eyes twitched sporadically, cracking wide open in horrified shock as he stared at the devastation before him. Nothing remained of the tasty food! Why would he do this?!

"Gun-man ruin food!" The upset Majin whined in a shrill tone, a flabby, bloodied hand pointed accusingly at the bakery's remains as he waddled around to face them. Small rivulets of steam shot out of the large pores dotting his head.

"That I did, villain," Gunhead replied cooly, forcing a new batch of rounds into his Gatling braces as he spoke. He tried to ignore the blood splatter matting the pink foe's hands, refocusing the brewing enmity he felt into raw conviction. It appeared his shock and awe tactic hadn't worked the way he expected, although he did get the pouting villain's full attention.

A fight it was, then.

Next to him, Death Arms grew impatient and much angrier. "What's gumball going to do about it?" He taunted, smashing both of his meaty fists together, issuing a rather direct challenge. His fists would do the talking now.

The humongous manchild stomped forward, his golden gloves creaking loudly as he balled his fists tight. He markedly ignored Flare and Death Arms, pointing a sizable finger towards the bad gun-man that took his sweets. "BUU WILL HURT YOU!" He screeched, driving a foot down into the shop's floor hard enough it pulverized the tiles.

"Uh, you guys really pissed him off," Flare noted with growing alarm as he positioned himself out of physical range.

Buu's eyes drifted to the loud punch-man, who had smashed his oversized fists together once more to draw his undivided attention. Roaring a battle cry, punch-man launched himself towards the Majin at full speed with a fist cocked back, aimed directly at his face. Out of the three strangers bothering him, this one was the largest and closest to his size, and perhaps the biggest threat.

"Leave Buu alone!" He warned, shifting a portion of his massive upper body with appalling ease as if it were made out of elastic at the very last moment, making the Pro Hero's hefty swing miss by a few inches.

As Death Arms attempted to reign in his surprise at the villain's unreal show of flexibility, he dug in his boots on the asphalt to regain his balance for his next attack. Having little to grab onto in the crumbling road, his boots briefly skid over the loose surface. It was an almost imperceptible slip, for he was almost fully recovered in a fraction of a second and ready to strike again.

Unfortunately for him, Buu was much faster. When he noticed the misstep, his mouth broke into a faint, mischievous smile. "Punch-man go bye-bye!"

Smack. The Pro hero did not get enough time to process the pink villain's simplistic sentence before he was backhanded across his exposed, broad chest. Even though he was a rather tall and well-built man at 6'9, he was sent flying through the road a good thirty feet, ending up stuck on the side of a van that was partially buried in a collapsed storefront. The vehicle's frame caved in with absurd ease around his body, and the force of the impact left him breathless as his airways spasmed.

Gunhead was thoroughly startled upon seeing Death Arms getting flung aside as if he weighed nothing. The man was tough as nails, so he wasn't worried about his health at the moment. Casting aside the surging wave of unease to focus on the deceivingly dangerous and agile foe standing before him, he turned to face the hesitant Lighting Hero. "Flare, any time now!"

"Here goes nothing," Flare whispered as he swallowed the fear welling up in his throat, charging forward with his gauntlets shimmering. "Hey, doughboy!" The youth hollered at the pink behemoth, gaining his undivided attention.

Buu was surprised to see the skinny yellow man charging at him. He snickered, spreading his arms wide open expectantly as he prepared to crush him with a bear hug. "Buu gonna break mean stick-boy and then Buu break gun-man and then punch-man!"

Just as Flare was within the Majin's reach, a pair of thick, open-palmed metal gauntlets were presented. "I don't think so!" He taunted, and Buu's bulbous forehead twisted into a confused frown. "Say cheese! Photon Beams!" The Lighting Hero shouted, the focusing lenses centered in his palms snapping open to let out a high pitched whirr.

With the click of a shutter opening, an eye-searing blast of pure light enveloped the oblivious Majin. Buu let out a pained shriek, stumbling backward until he fell into a nearby concrete pillar, his body sinking into it with ease as he desperately rubbed his eyes. "Buu blind! Buu blind!"

Not too far from the stunned villain, Death Arms struggled to recover, his lungs still unwilling to take in air. He craned his head up to track the faint hum of a helicopter circling them; the news stations were already here. Just great!

What were they going to think about this? A random punk smacking Death Arms around like he was nothing? Hell no.

Today was turning out to be an awful day. He was positively fuming now.

Suddenly able to breathe without issues thanks to the fresh wave of adrenaline-induced fury, he pulled himself from the remains of the van with little effort. He dropped to one knee briefly, letting out a few expletives in frustration as his balance remained off-kilter. Feeling around his ribcage, he was thankful no ribs had been broken. As he stood up, he was forced to avert his gaze upon hearing Flare's gauntlets whirr and go off a second time, their trademark cornea-searing light surging through the street like a flashbang grenade.

While the massive villain squealed in pain, he wasted little time rejoining the battle. By the time he made it back, Gunhead had unleashed a volley of projectiles at the walls and support structures above the pink freak. The weakened material crumbled apart, collapsing onto him and stunning him. A perfect opening for Death Arms to strike.

"Your turn, big guy!" The Battle Hero shouted.

Death Arms happily complied, letting out a fierce roar as he barrelled towards Buu. Making quick work of the distance, he shouldered the blob with all of his considerable momenta into the building.

"Ow-ow-ow!" Buu cried out throughout the onslaught, his boots leaving deep gouges on the store's ceramic flooring as he was forcefully tackled and punched backward. Concrete, rebar, and an assortment of building materials rained down upon the groaning villain's head, and Death Arms refused to stop his ferocious charge through the commercial structure until they came out of the other side of the building. Ducking low into the behemoth's bloated gut as they plowed through everything, the villain had become an impromptu debris shield for the aggressive hero.

With the sound of breaking glass and smashed concrete, the battling duo breached into the warehouse section of the building. The Majin had been able to remain upright through most of the tussle, but his luck ran out the moment his legs met great resistance against the solid foundation of the loading dock. He stumbled and teetered over the edge briefly, his weight being partially held up by the remains of a creaking steel roll-up door he had broken open.

Death Arms didn't skip a beat, delivering a thunderous kick into the villain's gut that sent him over the edge.

Losing his precarious balance, Buu screamed as he fell a good six feet into the street with a thud that left a sizable indentation on the surface. The ground shook with his fall, and the momentum unwillingly forced him to roll over himself a few more times until he finally came to rest face-down on the shattered asphalt, his body rippling like a water bed until the kinetic energy dissipated.

"Had enough yet, ya murderous freak?" Death Arms taunted the downed oddity as he jumped off the loading dock. With the score settled and his pride partially restored, the hero spat out a mixture of dirt and plaster derisively, dusting himself off as he puffed his chest assertively. "I'm not in a good mood today, Tubbs, so ya better give up now or I'm going to pummel you until you beg for mercy."

"Buu not done!" The Majin shouted defiantly, his speech muffled by the purple cape awkwardly wrapped around his head and face. He dug both of his meaty fists onto the asphalt, and the forceful action tore the road apart as he pushed himself to his knees. Fuming in chagrin, he wrestled with his cape until he managed to place it back into its rightful place.

Buu blinked. Then he blinked some more, his mouth sliding into a soured pout. Thanks to stick-man, all he could see were bright, faint outlines and swirling afterimages that made no sense to him. Frustrated, he swung at one of the moving punch-man silhouettes.

Death Arms sneered, dodging the clumsy attempt by a wide margin. It looked like he'd get to avenge those hurt and killed today, after all. "You want some more then. Fine by me!" What a stubborn fool!

Charging forward once more, he launched a flurry of fists into Buu's torso. Each punch sank into the villain's flesh with absurd ease and it felt as if he was hitting a sack of sand. After a few seconds of no progress, his frustrations began to mount. Every bit of energy behind his punches was trickling away into the tissue nearby like waves dispersing in an ocean, and even worse, the villain was barely showing any signs of injury or pain!

Was he even hurting him?! This reminded him too much of his sparring sessions against Fat Gum back in the day.

'If he's like Fat Gum, maybe I just have to hit him harder and where it counts!' Putting most of his power output into his next flurry of hits, he roared as he threw an uppercut into the villain's double chin and a final haymaker right where his nose should have been. There was no way those hits would fail to knock the villain out for good—

—almost in slow motion, he watched as the impacted tissue provided no resistance, caving in a good three to five inches under his punches, pink splatter flying out everywhere as his face broke apart.

The Pro Hero stiffened, withdrawing his fist with dawning horror. Did he just shatter the villain's skull?

"Death Arms, stand down!" A mortified Gunhead ordered as he emerged through the warehouse dock to forcefully grasp Death Arm's shoulder, pulling him away. The Battle Hero's voice was dangerously low as he gaped at the villain's battered body, which was coated in massive indentations all over. Worst of all, his face had been turned into a gruesome, pulpy crater.

"Holy shit! Talk about overkill, man!" Flare cried out as he jumped off the dock.

"I didn't—it was an accident! I swear, it's like he's made out of dough or something. He's tough and I—I thought he'd be able to handle it..." Death Arms' voice trailed off remorsefully as he took a few steps back to take in the excessive physical injuries. His knees threatened to buckle beneath him.

Gunhead shook his head somberly. This should have ended without such brutality on their part.

On the bright side, the villain had yet to collapse, somehow managing to remain upright through sheer willpower. That was a good sign. Musutafu's Villain Hospital was as well-equipped as the city's top hospitals, so Gunhead had no doubt the villain would recover... eventually. Hopefully, this would teach Death Arms a lesson in self-control too. He understood his outrage, but they were Pro Heroes! There was always a way to win without resorting to brutal violence or death.

The Commission would probably chew him out as well, and perhaps even discipline or temporarily suspend him.

Sighing, he turned to the pallid and very distressed brawler, who was pacing while muttering to himself. As much as he hated to do it, he had to be blunt. "Your excuses are irrelevant, Death Arms. You know your strength and you overdid it. You let your emotions take control. They saw it too," He nodded towards the helicopters circling the scene. "Lucky for you, he's still alive. We need to call an—"

A deep, unexpected mumble from the pink giant halted Gunhead's oncoming diatribe. The words came out twisted and smothered through the villain's heavily concaved face, making little sense. The heroes cautiously moved forward, prepared to both render assistance and cuffing him for their own safety...

...but they stopped at the last moment. Something didn't feel quite right, and it made them hesitate with unease.

Ruffled by his inability to see or speak, Buu began to wave his arms around frantically until he was able to massage his jaw into a functional shape. Cracking open a portion of his warped mouth, the Majin took in a mouthful of air, forcing it to pressurize his pitted upper body. With a puff of his cheeks and a loud pop, the indentations in his torso vanished. Another deep breath and his face sprung back to its original shape, any signs of visible injures gone altogether.

Two beady eyes snapped open, as good as new. They settled briefly on the skinny man that blinded him and the one that punched him silly, and he eyed them with disdain. They would pay for hurting him—

Buu's thoughts ground to a halt when he noticed the masked man that stood just behind punch-man. He recognized those wrist-mounted weapons right away. His left eye twitched as he relived the moment the bakery's sweets were blasted to bits by them.

No, not by them—he did it! He did it! The Majin's countenance darkened ominously as his stomach began to growl again, tunnel vision fully locking onto gun-man.

A wave of ill intent and palpable tension saturated the air at once.

Instinctively, the heroes stiffened, suddenly feeling vulnerable being stuck in the cramped, tactically unsound space between the warehouse, rows of tractor-trailer trucks, and the villain. They made a hasty move for open ground—

"Gun-man ruin yummy time!" The villain cried out, catching them off-guard with a burst of incredibly fast motion very unfitting for someone his size. The behemoth barrelled through Death Arms and Flare, his attention never faltering from the one responsible for his grief.

"Whoa—" Flare exclaimed in alarm as he threw himself sideways, readying another Photon Blast to disorient the villain. Barely caught within Buu's arms reach, he was whacked aside in what could be considered a gentle and lazy manner. Even then, a part of his protective chest plate buckled and the air was kicked out of his lungs.

He skidded and tumbled harshly across the road for a good 10 meters, his padded suit protecting him from the gnarly effects of road rash until the material disintegrated around his right shoulder, knees, and forearms. He stifled a scream as bare skin grated against unforgiving asphalt until he finally came to a miserable, rough stop.

Unlike Flare, Death Arms was well within the villain's striking range. He didn't see the vengeful stubby arm that struck him, but he surely felt the sharp, stabbing pain it caused as some of his ribs fractured, making him blackout for a few heartbeats. Putting little resistance against the brute force imparted, he was unwillingly sent airborne with startling velocity. He regained consciousness upon crashing through the guts of two semi-trailers and a brick barrier. As he came to an unceremonious stop over a broken fire hydrant, he came to the realization they had royally goofed up by underestimating the villain.

Standing the farthest from the pink foe, Gunhead knew he had more than enough room to dodge. Mind you, he had been far enough to avoid the villain's clumsy swipe that struck his fellow heroes, and he had instinctively jumped up and away into the dock ramp for good measure. He was all but certain he had given himself a perfect window of opportunity to counterattack—

—but he had been terribly wrong. In the time it took him to blink, the villain had decided it'd be a good time to defy physics by stretching one of his arms a good fifteen feet towards him like an unwinding roll of rubber.

Gunhead's eyes widened in alarm as he made a mad dash out of its path. Unfortunately, the gum-like appendage adjusted its trajectory like a homing missile, and soon enough it was upon him. The Battle Hero grunted out a rare expletive—

—that was cut short, becoming a stifled, gurgling sound instead. The moment he had opened his mouth to express his dismay, his windpipe had constricted dangerously, courtesy of the inhumanly large glove that had clamped itself around his neck like a boa.

The villain then hoisted him off the dock to slam him against a relatively unscathed wall. Shit.

"Buu—make—gun—man—pay!" The extended pause between each word was emphasized by his back crunching painfully as it hit unyielding concrete, every successive impact burying the Battle Hero deeper into it. He tried to maneuver himself into a better position to mount an offensive, but the villain's comically elongated arm prevented him from causing any significant harm.

Thoroughly amused by his struggle, the pink menace shouted "Buu!" gleefully just before bashing Gunhead's skull against the crumbling concrete even harder. Bloodied spittle shot out of his mouth as his lungs and trachea seized further with the worsening internal injuries.

His lungs began to burn and his heart rate skyrocketed. He tried to remain calm and delay the overwhelming symptoms of asphyxiation from taking over. With the dwindling strength he had left, he tried to pry open the villain's huge fingers—which were three to four times the size of his own—but it was to no avail. The grip was unrelenting and tightened even further the moment he renewed his struggle.

After another two hits, his helmet's diagnostic suite began to wail damage reports. He barely noticed them, for his thoughts were already drifting into incoherencies. The next impact made his helmet crack. He could now see light through an opening near his forehead and the advanced heads-up display covering his vision flickered, becoming tinted with red hues and distortions. Was that blood or a glitch?

He tried to concentrate. With Death Arms and Flare unable to assist right away, he was out of options. At this pace, one of two things would happen sooner rather than later; either his helmet would buckle and his head would pop like a ripe watermelon, or his windpipe would be crushed to a pulp. Perhaps both would happen at the same time. No doubt the outcome would be equally grim.

Finding himself stuck between morbid thoughts wrought by oxygen deprivation and an immediate threat to his life, he knew he had no other options. Growling vehemently, he raised both of his Gatling arms and unleashed a torrent of low penetration projectiles into the villain's center mass. Every nail-like shot embedded itself into the pink giant's flesh, quickly turning him into an eight-foot pincushion.

Buu sputtered a disgruntled whine, peeved by the foreign objects painfully and rapidly entering his body against his will. As retribution, he shifted his free hand to grasp the hero's left Gatling arm, giving the built-in weapon a soft squeeze as he grinned deviously. "Boom-boom go bye-bye!"

Gunhead gasped out a groan of pure misery, his vision dulling. Deep pain bloomed through his arm and shoulder the moment the outer revolver-like structure warped inward, the nerves within firing up like a million hot needles as broken metal shards dug into them.

Bullheaded as he was, he refused to stop firing with his remaining functional arm—

—until the villain squeezed even harder, outright crushing the sensitive tissue to a pulp. The pressure worsened, and he felt the ulna and radius bones around his wrists giving way with a nauseating snap. This time, the raw agony elicited a guttural scream out of him, and he screamed until his throat became hoarse. Unable to focus on his Quirk any longer, the painful hail of keratin peppering the vile villain dwindled to nothing.

Managing to crack a tearful eye open, Gunhead noticed movement directly behind the pink menace, the large, blurred silhouette vaguely familiar as it approached with a noticeable limp. Knowing what he had to do, he bit down hard on his bottom lip, drawing blood. It allowed him to regain a semblance of clarity and control throughout his battered body, and he used the bitter taste of copper and relentless waves of pain to refocus and take aim with his remaining Gatling arm.

'You left me with no choice. This ends now!' Willing every last drop of his Quirk into modifying and enhancing projectile mass, he unleashed a powerful barrage of heavy slugs point-blank into the villain's fat face. This time, the rarely used rounds didn't just nick the surface of his skin; they sank deep and disappeared beneath.

That did the trick. Although the shots did not take him down, the villain did shriek in pain when one of his eyes was perforated by a stray shot, the hold on Gunhead's throat slackening right away.

Keep going! Able to breathe again, the Pro Hero took advantage of the fleeting opening, planting his combat boots right over Buu's bloated cheeks before kicking with all of the force his exhausted muscles could provide. The first hits did little, but by the time he had delivered half a dozen brutal kicks, the villain's head had been forced to snap and bend backward into an unnatural, strained angle. With a muted grunt, the bastard finally staggered in a daze, letting go of the exhausted hero with a forceful shove.

Upon being thrown back onto the street, Gunhead's legs gave way and he collapsed into a wheezing, lightheaded heap. Ignoring the alarms blaring in his ears, he felt around his utility belt until he found two undamaged stimpacks. He plunged one of the devices into his neck and one just above his shattered arm, allowing the medical concoction to do its magic.

While his vitals stabilized, he watched as the villain wobbled around helplessly, whining and unbalanced by his contorted, hole-filled head. Upon regaining some mental clarity, Gunhead noted with apprehension that most of the older perforations all over the villain's body courtesy of his Gatling arms were shrinking rapidly, the gashes flooding with pink goop. Even the deep-tissue damage he had just done to his head was mending.

For all intents and purposes, he should have been dead or grievously wounded. He was a true regenerator. That by itself was worrisome, but not as much as the fact he also wielded super strength, enhanced speed, and an unknown Mutation-type Quirk that granted him incredible physical malleability.

Possessing so many Quirks wasn't possible, at least not naturally. Was he one of those things his fellow heroes encountered in Hosu City? No, he didn't have the time to ponder about this! They needed to take him down, now.

"Do it!" He croaked towards Death Arms, who had finished collecting an impromptu weapon off the sidewalk. He loomed behind the villain, prepared to strike.

With The Battle Hero out of harm's way, Death Arms grit his teeth, ignoring the constant pounding ache in his ribcage as he made his move. He tightened his hold against the street pole, letting out a grunt of exertion as he swung the half-ton of steel against the oblivious pink foe, who was still cradling his ugly, hole-ridden face.

"Hey, ya oversized balloon!" He called out mid-swing.

Just as Buu turned around to glare at him through a single, misshapen eye, the blurred piece of fast-moving, unforgiving steel met pink flesh with a terrible, fleshy clang. The vents around the Majin's body spit out clouds of pressurized air, the force behind the swing warping the pole around his deflating frame. His feet left the ground as he was thrown back, and he came to a stop after crushing an upturned car. Even as he slid down the wreckage, the deep indentation remained across his midsection.

Not done with his assault yet, Death Arms flipped the pole around, raising the heaviest side of the mangled piece of steel overhead. He screamed as he put every ounce of force available in his body into the downward motion, allowing all of its weight and momentum to do the rest as it smashed into Buu's body with astounding force. The vehicle and downed Majin ended deeply buried in a newly formed crater thanks to the impromptu hammer, his upper body flattened onto the sedan's frame as if the villain had melted apart.

"You think that finally got him?" Flare asked as he hobbled to stand by Death Arms. The Lighting Hero was a mess, his once bright yellow hero outfit was now bloodied, stained, and shredded to bits. He shifted his gaze from the unmoving remains of the villain to watch Death Arms drop the warped light pole aside. The brawler was hunching over and panting with exertion and countless aches.

Hopefully, this was the end of it. This fight had gotten gnarly real quick.

"I doubt it," Gunhead muttered grimly, cradling his arm as he limped towards them. He waved Flare aside as the youth rushed to check on his significant wounds, unwilling to show weakness at such a critical moment. His helmet had a hairline crack that spread through the top and down its sides, with a portion of its bottom piece missing altogether, exposing his bloodied jawline. A few more hits earlier and it would have given in.

"He...he's a Class-C regenerator, at least." He elaborated raspily, doing his best to not look at the mangled mess his arm had become. Even now, his vision would blur and become hazy every few seconds from the head injuries he had taken. It would be a shock if he wasn't concussed. He had no doubt his vocal cords were damaged too.

Unseen by the distracted trio, the crushed sedan's battery had split and short-circuited, spreading a glitter-like cloud of sparks into the vehicle's engine bay, moving dangerously close to the leaking gas tank and fuel vapors. Before they knew it, the wreckage had burst into a fierce fireball of shrapnel and molten steel, the villain still buried within the blaze without hope of escaping unscathed.

"Betcha that did it." Death Arms grunted with a tinge of satisfaction and annoyance, his eyes still glued to the fire.

The heroes had to protect their faces as a secondary and much stronger explosion hit them. They couldn't help it but breathe out a collective sigh of relief and sorrow as they watched what remained of the vehicle fall to pieces. It was a sad and unfortunate development, but not all villains could be contained, subdued, or saved. Too many lives had been needlessly lost today already.

"Let's call the crews back in," Gunhead said, his somber voice cracking and hoarse as he fetched his mobile device to send the message. The trio stepped away from the uncomfortable heat, leery of any further explosions.

"You need to get yourself looked at. Your arm looks like crap," Death Arms' rigid speech was tinged with a trace of concern as he finally caught a glimpse of the Battle Hero's shattered arm and the crimson droplets falling onto the street.

Gunhead shook his head adamantly. "I'll be fine. I've hard worse. I can wait until—"

"Uh, guys..." Flare interrupted, instantly slashing through the fleeting sense of safety and relief as his voice climbed into a fearful high pitch. The other heroes slowly followed his shaky finger as he pointed at the burning wreckage.

A foreboding chill ran down their spine.

Among the flames, random chunks of pink tissue began to bubble and spasm, their consistency turning somewhat liquid as they tried to pull themselves together, even as the blaze continued to tear them apart. Warbled squeals of pain echoed through the street as chunks of the villain's flesh turned to ash, but it was glaringly obvious his regeneration abilities were outpacing the damage wrought by the fire. Soon enough, larger chunks of pulsating, amorphous flesh shifted on their own through the blaze to merge into a single point.

Gunhead took a deep, unsteady breath. His regeneration was beyond Class-C. At this rate, the villain's body would be fully reformed in minutes, if not seconds.

"Oh, God..." Flare surmised their overall thoughts quite well. "He's like that freakin' liquid metal Terminator!"

The trio warily created some distance between themselves and the freakish force of nature.

Gunhead glanced down at his remaining Gatling arm, his countenance grim. After using its heavy-fire mode, it was down to a meager five percent of its capacity and reloading at an abysmal rate of one round every ten seconds. The steel firing chamber was moderately warped due to excessive heat output as well. To make matters worse, the reloading process was slowed down further by his injuries. His body was splitting its energy between healing and his willful desire to replenish his weapon's cache.

Death Arms was in a better state, albeit barely, but it was becoming far too obvious brute force wouldn't be enough to down this villain. Neither would small explosions, for that matter.

Flare—as a sprightly, dainty hero heavily focused on Support roles during battles—wouldn't fare well in direct combat against this brute either.

This wasn't going to end well.

Gunhead swallowed the literal lump in his throat as the regenerating pink monstrosity took a more familiar form, looming over the hellfire. "We're going to need some serious backup..."

__________________________________________________________________________________________________

A/N:

Everything is unfolding slowly but things will spiral out of control. Since Buu doesn't have Babidi telling him to go on murderous sprees or to act maliciously, our folks will be dealing with a slightly less genocidal and more playful/patient Majin. Unfortunately, when dealing with extreme threats, this society tends to lash out first and ask questions later. Very bad mix.

So far, our heroes and villains believe they have a fighting chance...but do they?​