The scent of wood smoke and old pine lingered in the air.
Pringelina blinked open her eyes, wincing immediately as pain flared across her ribs. Her vision swam, settling on the cracked ceiling of a weathered cabin. Dim candlelight flickered on rough wooden walls. Snow lightly tapped against a small window.
She was lying on a makeshift cot—her entire torso wrapped in fresh white bandages. Her right leg had been splinted. One arm rested in a sling.
I'm alive...
A chair creaked nearby.
Pringelina turned her head slowly.
A man sat in the shadows by the fireplace, cloaked in a tattered jacket, face partially hidden beneath a scarf and ski goggles. He was tall, wiry, and silent—watching the fire rather than her.
"You passed out in the snow," he said after a moment, voice dry but not unkind. "South side of the ridge. You're lucky I was looking for a place to disappear."
"Who...?" she rasped.
"I escaped during the chaos. We weren't the only ones. I dragged you here two nights ago. You've been unconscious since."
He poured her a mug of water, handed it over carefully.
"I don't care what you did. The heroes are crawling all over Dausa. So for now… we stay low."
Pringelina sipped slowly, her mind racing.
The pain was real. The fire was real. But so was the dream. The voice. That version of Laurick.
"Destroy the Dreamcatcher."
Even now, the words echoed in her mind like a curse she didn't understand.
Back in Bjørnevika – Government Safehouse
Inside the cozy living room, the quiet peace of the day shattered with the crackle of the emergency news report.
Laurick, Brynjar, Vegar, and Hilde all turned toward the TV as the broadcast rolled.
"—confirmed escape from Dausa Prison. Multiple injuries. Reports suggest an organized breakout, with at least five high-risk inmates unaccounted for. One confirmed: Pringelina, the mercenary involved in the failed assassination attempt on Laurick Andersson. Authorities are urging caution across the region—"
Laurick stood frozen, fingers clenched tightly at his sides.
He turned toward the three pro heroes watching him.
"Let me help."
Brynjar blinked. "What?"
Laurick's voice was calm—but fierce.
"Let me help the heroes find the escapees."
Hilde raised a skeptical brow. "You want to hunt down criminals? The same people who nearly got you killed two weeks ago?"
"I know what it sounds like," Laurick said quickly, "but I'm not helpless anymore. I've got the Dreamcatcher. I've been sleeping. I'm thinking clearly. And—"
He looked at all three of them, expression unwavering.
"I want to help. I need to."
Vegar leaned forward from his seat, folding his hands thoughtfully.
"You do realize most of the public still sees you as a walking disaster zone."
"I'm not asking to be seen. Just to do something."
The three heroes exchanged looks.
He's serious.
After a long pause, Brynjar finally spoke.
"We'll contact the Hero Association of Norway," he said carefully. "You're a special case. We can't authorize anything directly… but we'll ask."
Laurick nodded, breathing hard through his nose, his resolve like iron.
Outside the window, the forest swayed in the wind.
The snow had begun to fall again.
The snow crunched underfoot as Simon made his way through the wooded back trails near Bjørnevika, sticking to the less-patrolled paths that circled Laurick's safehouse perimeter.
He wore the appearance of a middle-aged hiker, thanks to the Shapeshifter Gloves—the illusion flawless down to the wrinkles in his brow. His actual thoughts, however, were razor-sharp and growing more suspicious by the hour.
The news of the Dausa Prison breakout had spread fast, and while the rest of the nation was panicking, Simon saw something else in the chaos:
Convenience.
Too timely. Too coordinated. Too perfect.
He muttered under his breath as he hiked:
"This must be the work of Mr. X, isn't it…"
His voice lowered further, like someone afraid the forest might be listening.
"Damn that man's quirk is scary. To have the power to decide if someone remembers you or not…"
He shook his head slowly.
"Forget being invisible. This guy can erase his presence from your memory entirely. You don't even remember you forgot."
Simon's expression darkened beneath the borrowed face.
And that meant anyone could've helped Pringelina escape—without a trace.
And if Mr. X is involved… then this goes far beyond one rogue assassin.
Meanwhile – Southern Mountains, Rølstøl
The small village of Rølstøl, usually quiet and buried in serene snowdrifts, had been turned into a battlefield.
Cracked roads.
Blasted rooftops.
A collapsed chapel in the center of town was still burning, black flames devouring the steeple in unnatural silence.
Bengt Allamann stood in the center of it all, arms outstretched, breathing heavily. A trail of obsidian-black energy bled off his body like a cloud of smoke, swirling and cracking the air with each pulse.
His eyes were wild—not with madness, but with desperation.
Etched into his forearm like a glowing brand was a quest log, glowing red:
Weekly Quest:
Steal and secure a prohibited Class-S object.
Time remaining: 14 hours.
Failure consequence: Memory-Loop Trauma (Mentally Devastating).
Bengt snarled to himself, flicking a hand to dispel another stream of Destructive Darkness, vaporizing a crumbling truck.
"Of course I'd get something illegal. Damn quirk thinks this is a game."
Three heroes now stood before him, each from Norway's Top 25, though not in the elite Top 10.
Hero Name: Blåljósen
Rank 17
Quirk: Polar Flare – Able to emit searing pulses of bright blue heat that disorient and blind opponents in bursts.
Dressed in a sleek white snowsuit with glowing blue seams, Blåljósen floated just above the ground, hands radiating harsh flashes.
"You don't have to go down like this, Allamann!"
Hero Name: Istølvakt
Rank 21
Quirk: Icehold – Can shape intricate structures of ice instantly, often used for traps, barriers, or suppressing movement.
Wearing heavy armor carved with rune-like symbols, Istølvakt summoned walls of glacial frost around Bengt, trying to cage the volatile energy.
Hero Name: Skogsgeist
Rank 23
Quirk: Forest Manipulation – Can manipulate trees and foliage within a large radius and communicate with the forest's "spirit" to track enemies.
A tall, quiet figure in green and bark-patterned armor, Skogsgeist reached out with vines and roots, trying to bind Bengt's legs from below.
Bengt laughed—bitter, breathless.
"You think this is about you!? I don't even want to be here!"
A tendril of black energy sliced through the ice barrier, disintegrating it instantly.
"If I don't finish this quest, I lose weeks of my mind. I've lived it. Forgotten my own name for three days. Ever peeled your own sanity off the floor?!"
Blåljósen fired a flare straight at his chest—but Bengt absorbed it, the Destructive Darkness converting light into raw kinetic energy.
He raised one hand, releasing a pulse wave that blasted all three heroes back, cracking the cobblestones beneath them.
Istølvakt gritted his teeth, frost forming rapidly along his arms. "This guy isn't stable."
Skogsgeist's vines lashed forward again, but Bengt leapt above them, his body now trailing black comet trails.
His voice rang across the battlefield.
"I didn't choose this quirk. But it sure as hell chose me."
And as the village continued to collapse under their feet, Bengt vanished into the smoke—
Still hunting the forbidden object that might be his only way out of hell.
The meeting room at the Hero Association of Norway headquarters was thick with tension.
Three high-ranking officials sat behind a polished steel table. A large display screen above them projected security footage from the Dausa prison break, stills of Pringelina, and recent images of Laurick Andersson.
On the far end of the room, standing with arms crossed and expressions neutral, were Vegar Magnus, Hilde Akselsen, and Brynjar Paul Oliverson—Laurick's current protection detail.
A fourth voice came in through secure audio comms.
"We've reviewed the request," said Chairwoman Ødegård, the Hero Association's Director of Special Risk Management.
"We recognize Laurick's recent behavioral improvements and the effectiveness of the Dreamcatcher system."
She paused.
"But Laurick Andersson remains a Category S-Class risk. We cannot authorize his participation in the ongoing manhunt. The public outcry alone would destabilize half our northern municipalities."
The screen flashed with protest footage from the past: crowds screaming, images of the Skandevik Incident.
"However," she continued, "We will allow Laurick to be briefed on the escapees, provided he remains within Bjørnevika under supervision. Tactical engagement remains off-limits."
The line went silent.
Vegar gave a silent nod.
Hilde folded her arms. "He's not going to like this."
Back in Bjørnevika – Government Safehouse
Laurick stood by the window, arms crossed, gaze cold.
He stared out into the tree line—unblinking.
There was something out there. Not movement. Not shape. Just… presence.
Someone's watching me.
Simon, tucked away in deep camouflage, narrowed his eyes behind binoculars.
He noticed.
It wasn't a flinch or a panic. Laurick didn't react like prey. He stood tall, still, calculating. Too calculating.
Simon made a mental note. The Dreamcatcher was stabilizing him—but that stability was bringing out something else.
Inside the house, Brynjar and Hilde exchanged looks.
"He's acting… different," Brynjar said quietly. "Like his tone's shifted."
"His eyes are colder," Hilde murmured. "Focused. Not scared. Just… detached."
Vegar entered the room. "The Association denied his request."
Laurick turned slowly. "I figured."
His voice was smooth. Measured.
Not angry. Not disappointed.
Just… resigned.
He walked past them with a quiet, unnatural calm, heading upstairs.
As he disappeared around the corner, Brynjar frowned deeply.
"I don't like this."
Elsewhere – A Secure Military Facility in Western Norway
The mountainside had been hollowed out decades ago.
Built into the stone was Fort Jernveggen—one of six classified military installations across the country, all linked by high-orbit satellites and subterranean rail.
It was never publicly acknowledged.
And it was never meant for war.
The facility's primary function was simple: containment.
Massive artillery platforms sat dormant beneath retractable hatches, all calibrated to one location—Bjørnevika.
In the event of a Category-Zero breach involving Laurick Andersson's Nightmare Monsters, these weapons would activate and unleash waves of quirk-charged suppression artillery—each round loaded with nightmare-binding chemicals, kinetic disruptors, and psychic nullifiers.
These structures were a last resort.
And one of them had just been breached.
Bengt Allamann crouched in the access tunnel, breathing heavily.
A dark, glowing compass floated in front of him—his quest guide.
It spun once, then pointed deeper into the vault.
His current ability—Destructive Darkness—shimmered across his arms like molten ink.
Ahead, a long corridor of reinforced steel led to a sealed chamber.
Inside was the item he needed to steal:
The J-09 Command Beacon — a classified targeting device capable of overriding the suppression systems of all six military installations.
He cursed under his breath.
"Just my luck. My quest is to steal the key to a national doomsday button."
If he failed, the memory consequence would destroy his identity for months.
If he succeeded… he'd be hunted like no villain before him.
"Let's just get this over with."
And with that, Bengt walked toward the darkness—toward the item no one was ever meant to touch.
The fire crackled low in the dim cabin, casting long, flickering shadows across the floorboards.
Pringelina sat against the wall, her arm still in a sling, ribs tight with pain, though the bandages had been changed again. She eyed her quiet companion across the room.
The man sitting across from her stared into the fire with an intensity that seemed almost otherworldly. Wiry but strong, pale eyes, ash-blond hair falling over his brow like a curtain. His presence was calm—but the kind of calm that follows an earthquake.
"Name's Elias Jahnder," he said finally, his voice scratchy from disuse.
"...Pringelina," she replied, still guarded. "Thanks for dragging me here."
"I didn't do it for thanks," Elias said. "I did it because I didn't want to be the only one left in the woods with a death sentence."
He held out his left arm and flexed it slowly. The bones beneath the skin twisted—not unnaturally, but like joints bending in impossible directions. Then his forearm extended, the bone shifting to form a hooked protrusion, before snapping cleanly back into place with no visible pain.
Pringelina raised an eyebrow. "Quirk?"
He nodded.
Quirk: Strange Bone
"I thought my bones were just... indestructible," he muttered. "Fell off a rooftop when I was thirteen. Not a scratch. Got jumped in an alley with a pipe—walked away without a bruise."
He leaned back, face lit by orange firelight.
"But then I got curious. Me and some friends started pushing our quirks. Testing them. Seeing what we could really do."
His voice grew quieter.
"One day I… I pushed too far. Accidentally snapped a guy's femur just by bumping him. Another one tried to tackle me, and I—" his jaw clenched, "—my shoulder bones spiked out. Impaled him."
He looked away.
"I was seventeen. That was six and a half years ago."
Pringelina didn't say anything.
She understood the feeling of a moment gone wrong. And being branded for life because of it.
Meanwhile – Fort Jernveggen
Bengt Allamann was bleeding from the side.
His arm was scorched, and his breath ragged, but the glow of his Destructive Darkness still shrouded him like a black inferno.
Time Remaining: 00:19:46
Heavy gunfire rattled off reinforced walls as military units closed in, flanking him from multiple angles in tight formation.
"Bengt Allamann! You are trespassing on national defense property! Surrender immediately!"
He responded with a wave of darkness that consumed a corridor wall in one burst.
"I CAN'T!" he screamed back. "I DON'T HAVE A CHOICE!"
The corridor shook with another explosion as the beacon chamber came into view—its armored door now sealed by an override protocol.
Bengt charged, weaving between cover and suppressive fire, launching bolts of consuming energy toward the defenders.
One soldier was engulfed in shadow, their armor disintegrating piece by piece.
Alarms echoed.
Countdown ticking.
If I don't get that beacon… I forget everything. Again.
My name. My past. The taste of my mother's food. The face of the girl I once loved.
Gone.
Back in Bjørnevika – Government Safehouse
Snow had begun to fall again.
Laurick stood by the window with his arms folded, Dreamcatcher device resting quietly in his pocket.
His expression was colder than usual—tense. Still. Eyes narrowed like a calculating soldier rather than a shy teenager.
Vegar entered behind him.
"You haven't moved in twenty minutes," he said carefully.
Laurick pointed.
"He's out there."
Vegar paused. "Who?"
"Someone's watching. I've felt it for days now. He doesn't move like a normal person. He's not curious. He's not scared. He's waiting."
Vegar stepped up beside him, following the vague direction Laurick gestured to—deep into the tree line beyond the fences.
Not a direct line of sight. Not exact.
But close.
"You want to confront him," Vegar observed.
Laurick's jaw tensed. "Yes."
"But you won't."
"No."
They stood in silence.
Vegar gave a slow nod. "Good. That means you're still listening."
Laurick didn't respond.
But his knuckles tightened around the windowsill.
He was done being prey.