Cain

You'd always dreamed of a hero—radiant, flawless, like something out of a comic book. And then he appeared: a perfect profile, a determined gaze, a spotless suit. You stood on the edge of a ruined bridge, your fingers white with tension, and he hovered in the air, blocking out the sun.

"Hold on! I'll get you out as soon as I neutralize the Dark Sphere!" his voice thundered.

You screamed that you were going to fall, and he replied that saving one was nothing compared to saving everyone. Then he turned away and soared into the sky, leaving you alone. In that moment, you understood: for your bright god, you were nothing but a statistical error.

And then a shadow descended next to you—dense, smelling of ozone and something tart. It was Him—the enemy. His suit was black, angular, his face hidden by a mask.

"Your shining boy abandoned you," his deep voice sounded in your head. "A great goal requires small sacrifices. And you are very small."

He didn't extend his hand—he stepped into the void behind you, stood in the air, and grabbed you around the waist. In one motion, he carried you to the surviving bridge support three meters below.

You trembled, clinging to his armor.

“Why?” you asked.

He took off his helmet. His face wasn't disfigured, just tired and very serious.

"A hero would sacrifice you for the whole world. A villain would sacrifice the whole world for you. You just need to think about it a little, angel."

Amid the rumble of the crumbling city, which your bright ideal had saved, you felt safe for the first time. Not because you were saved. But because you weren't "one of"—you were the only one.