Chapter Text
The streets of Musutafu were silent. Too silent.
Detective Tsukauchi’s reports had been troubling enough—missing persons, strange graffiti, civilians whispering about a laugh that seemed to crawl under their skin. Now the heroes were here, boots echoing against cracked concrete, searching for answers in an abandoned block long forgotten by the city.
Streetlamps flickered weakly, casting half-shadows over broken windows and graffiti-stained walls. It felt like walking through a graveyard.
“Nothing yet,” one hero muttered, voice tight. “Maybe just a rumour.”
The wind picked up, carrying scraps of paper across the street. And then—
A laugh.
It was faint, almost playful, curling around the corner of an alleyway.
Every hero froze.
Another laugh answered it—deeper, harsher, bouncing off the walls until it seemed to come from every direction. Then another. And another.
Within seconds, the air was alive with laughter—distorted, layered, impossible to track. It clawed its way into their ears, into their nerves, twisting their guts with unease.
“What the hell…” someone whispered. Their breath came faster.
SCREEEEEEECH.
The screech of metal against pavement cut through the cacophony. A long, agonising drag, as though something heavy was being pulled across the ground.
The laughter stopped. Silence fell, thick and unnatural.
And then, under the sputtering glow of a dying streetlamp, she appeared.
A figure stepped into the light, hair wild and black, face hidden in shadows. An oversized sweater hung loosely over her frame, boots mismatched, scuffed, and stained. In her hands—gripped like a casual afterthought—was an axe. Its blade dragged lazily against the pavement, sending sparks into the dark.
The heroes braced themselves, but their legs felt heavy. The unease twisted sharper, slicing into full-blown terror. The air itself seemed to warp with it.
She tilted her head. A curtain of hair shifted, revealing the faintest curve of a grin.
And then she laughed.
It wasn’t just her voice this time—it was everywhere. A storm of sound. Her laughter echoed off the walls, ricocheted from rooftops, split into dozens of voices until it sounded like a crowd of her was laughing all at once.
The heroes staggered—some clutching their ears, others pressing back against walls—as the shadows stretched, splitting into shapes that looked like her figure lurking just out of sight
One pro’s breath hitched. They could see her shape multiplying—five, six, seven Hatchets swaying in the shadows, all grinning, all laughing.
“Stay sharp!” their leader barked, though his voice cracked with strain.
The figure dragged her axe forward, each step punctuated with the scrape of metal. The closer she came, the louder the chorus grew, a wall of sound battering their nerves until instinct screamed run.
The streetlamp above them fizzled, plunging them into darkness.
The laughter cut off.
And in the silence, the only sound was the whistle of her axe swinging down—followed by the shattering crack of pavement exploding at their feet.
The axe crashed down, splitting the pavement beneath it and sending dust rising in a sharp plume. The heroes stumbled back, instincts screaming, hearts pounding.
“Engage!” their leader snapped, forcing steel into his voice. “Don’t give her the initiative!”
Two heroes lunged forward—one with hardened skin, the other with speed enhancement. They aimed to flank her, to corner her before she could swing again.
Hatchet only laughed.
Her figure blurred, shadows rippling unnaturally as her voice fractured the air. The hardened hero swung—only to strike empty space. The echo of her laughter erupted from behind him, sharp and jagged. He turned just as her axe whistled through the air—fast, too fast. It caught his arm, splitting his skin even through its hardened shell.
He screamed.
The speed-enhanced hero tried to counter, darting in with a flurry of strikes. But the sound warped, her laughter doubled, tripled, until every movement felt sluggish, miscalculated. His blow cut nothing but air as Hatchet spun, the axe carving a crescent arc that cracked against his ribs. He went flying, tumbling across the pavement.
“Keep your distance!” another pro barked, unleashing a blast of flame.
The fire roared down the street, heat scorching the air—only for Hatchet’s echoing voice to ricochet off the walls, warping perception. For a heartbeat, the flame hero swore she was still standing in the middle of the blaze. But when the fire cleared—nothing.
"Hehehehe… behind you."
The whisper crawled down his spine. He whirled around, too slow. The butt of her axe slammed into his chest, knocking the wind out of him and sending him sprawling.
The heroes regrouped, desperation sharp in their movements. They circled, trying to box her in.
But Hatchet didn’t fight like a person.
She fought like a nightmare.
Every step she took, the echoes grew louder, twisting their senses. Her laughter became a chorus, mocking, chaotic, drowning out their thoughts. The shadows seemed alive, every flicker of movement sparking panic.
“Don’t listen to it!” the leader yelled, but his own voice was cracking under the strain. His eyes darted around the multiplying silhouettes.
Hatchet dragged her axe in a lazy circle, sparks spitting as the metal scraped concrete.
“Run, run, little heroes…” she sang, her voice layered a dozen times over.
“…Or I’ll split you open like firewood.”
And then she lunged.
The axe crashed down in a brutal swing, the shockwave splitting the pavement. Heroes dove aside, rolling across the ground. One lashed out with a chain quirk, wrapping her arm—but Hatchet only laughed, pulling him off his feet with monstrous strength and hurling him into a wall.
Another hero’s quirk—a sonic barrier—flared to life, pushing against her laughter. The echoes faltered for a moment, thinning. The heroes seized the chance, rushing forward.
For a heartbeat, it seemed like they had her.
But Hatchet’s grin widened. She let out a rasping cackle that tore at her throat, forcing her quirk to spike harder, higher. The echoes doubled back, shattering the sonic barrier in a screech that made every hero stagger. Blood dripped from their ears, their balance shot.
Hatchet raised her axe high, eyes gleaming through her hair.
The weapon arced downward—
A flash of light cut through the air.
Another pro burst in, reinforcements finally arriving, slamming a barrier between her and her prey. The axe clanged against it, sparks erupting.
“Fall back!” the newcomer barked. “Now!”
The injured heroes scrambled to retreat, dragging their wounded with them. Hatchet’s laughter followed, booming and echoing through the streets, a storm of sound that made it impossible to tell where she was anymore.
By the time they regrouped at a safe distance, she was gone.
All that remained was the shattered street, bloodied graffiti scrawled into the wall:
HA HA HA HA HA
And the whispered name that was already spreading like wildfire:
Hatchet.