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Donbrothers Heroes Of The Peach Guild CH 3
🕑 Added 2025-06-23 14:44:30 +0000 UTCTaro stands before the residential apartment building, the package still clutched firmly in his hand. It feels as if no time has passed, despite the dramatic interlude at the Zwei Wing concert. The transition is seamless. One moment, he’s unleashing a dinosaur-themed slash against alien monsters. The next, he is here. Such is the power of the Donbrothers, a force transcending worlds and logic, even if he is the only one so far.
He sighs, adjusting the package under his arm. Duty calls, and the people need their deliveries. The world doesn't stop spinning.
As he walks towards the entrance, a familiar voice echoes in his mind.
[PING]
[Admin] Astra: "Congratulations, Taro-san! You've earned a significant amount of points for your recent actions. The system acknowledges your contribution to protecting both the Symphogear wielders and the countless civilians at the concert venue."
Taro pauses, his steps faltering slightly. Points? Right, the chat group thing. He had almost forgotten about it amidst the chaos. The corner of his mouth twitches in mild amusement. He had saved lives, eradicated a threat, and all he got was points? Still, he is curious.
He pulls out his phone, the screen illuminating his face in the dim light of the apartment lobby. He opens the Peach Hero Guild chat group.
[Current Points: 4230]
[Kibi-Points: 50]
Taro raises an eyebrow, a flicker of surprise crossing his stoic features. "4000 points? That is... more than expected," he mutters to himself, scrolling through the notification log.
[Defeated Noise: +500 Points]
[Protected Symphogear Wielders: +2500 Points]
[Saved Civilian Lives: +1000 Points]
"Hm. So, the system rewards actions based on impact, not effort," he muses, filing the information away for future reference. Efficiency is key.
[Admin] Astra: "Indeed, Taro-san. Your actions have resonated deeply across dimensions. Would you like to redeem invite tickets using your accumulated points? You can recruit new members to the Peach Hero Guild."
Taro considers the offer for a moment, his gaze distant. He glances at his delivery schedule on the phone. The sun is beginning to set, and he still has a dozen packages to deliver.
"Not yet, Astra," he replies, typing his response into the chat group. "I must complete my deliveries. People are waiting."
[Admin] Astra: "Understood, Taro-san. Your dedication is admirable. However, do not hesitate to utilize the system's resources when necessary. The darkness grows, and allies are essential."
Taro nods to himself, acknowledging Astra's words, though his expression remains unchanged. He is aware of the looming threat, the "growing darkness" that Helia spoke of. He understands the need for allies, for a team to combat the forces arrayed against them. But for now, his priority is the task at hand.
He closes the chat group, tucking his phone back into his pocket. Points and prophecies can wait. The package in his hand cannot. With renewed purpose, he strides towards the apartment, his footsteps echoing in the silent lobby.
He reaches the designated door, takes a deep breath, and straightens his uniform. It's time to deliver happiness. One package, one smile, at a time.
Ding Dong 🔔
The delivery is at hand. The darkness awaits.
Meanwhile, miles away from Taro, a flurry of activity unfolds beneath the ruins of the concert stadium. This is S.O.N.G.'s domain, the Squad of Nexus Guardians, a clandestine organization dedicated to protecting humanity from supernatural threats. They are more than just a disaster response team; they are the first and last line of defense against forces beyond human comprehension. Their HQ is abuzz with uniformed personnel coordinating rescue efforts, analyzing data, and tending to the injured.
In a makeshift medical bay, Tsubasa and Kanade sit side-by-side, receiving treatment for their injuries. Medics meticulously clean cuts and bruises, applying bandages with practiced efficiency.
"Easy now, Tsubasa," a medic says gently, dabbing antiseptic on a gash on her arm. "Just a few more stitches, and you'll be good as new."
Tsubasa winces slightly, but remains stoic, her gaze fixed on the middle distance. Kanade, on the other hand, offers the medics a reassuring smile, despite the obvious pain in her eyes.
"Thank you," she says softly. "You're all doing such incredible work."
Suddenly, a booming voice cuts through the sterile atmosphere. "How are my two songbirds doing?"
Tsubasa and Kanade turn to see Genjuro approaching, his towering figure adorned with an array of bandages. A large gauze pad covers his forehead, and his left arm is supported by a sling.
"Commander!" Tsubasa exclaims, her voice laced with concern. "You're injured!"
"Bossman, please be careful!" Kanade adds, her brow furrowed with worry. "You should be resting."
Genjuro chuckles, waving off their concerns with a dismissive gesture of his good arm. "Mere scratches, don't worry. Nothing more than a paper cut to this old warrior." He flexes his uninjured arm, a playful grin spreading across his face. "Besides, a commander must always ensure the well-being of his troops. Can't have my two best performers sidelined, can I?"
Tsubasa frowns, her gaze hardening slightly. "What exactly happened down there, Commander? All we heard was an explosion, and then the Noise were everywhere."
Kanade nods in agreement, her expression mirroring Tsubasa's concern. "It was so sudden. One moment we're singing, the next... chaos."
Genjuro sighs, his jovial demeanor fading into a somber mask. He lowers his voice, his tone laced with regret. "I'm afraid the situation is... less than ideal. The explosion you heard was a result of the Nehushtan Armor going berserk during the awakening process."
Tsubasa's eyes widen in shock. "The Nehushtan Armor? But what went wrong? We followed the activation protocols to the letter."
"Apparently, something destabilized the relic during the process. The energy readings spiked, containment failed, and well... the rest you experienced firsthand," Genjuro explains, his voice heavy with disappointment. "As for the armor itself... we haven't been able to locate it since the explosion. Presumed lost, I'm afraid."
The news hits Tsubasa hard. Her shoulders slump slightly, her usual composure faltering. "So, all of this... was for nothing?"
Kanade places a comforting hand on Tsubasa's shoulder, offering a silent gesture of support. "Don't say that, Tsubasa. We protected everyone. That's what matters."
"But the Nehushtan Armor..." Tsubasa trails off, her voice tinged with frustration. "If we could have awakened it, it could have been another Relic for us to use against the Noise. Another weapon to defend humanity."
"I understand your frustration, Tsubasa," Genjuro says, his voice filled with empathy. "Believe me, I share it. But sometimes, things don't go according to plan. We can't win every battle, but we can learn from our mistakes and prepare for the next one."
He pauses, his gaze sweeping over Tsubasa and Kanade, his expression hardening with resolve. "The loss of the Nehushtan Armor is a setback, no doubt. But it doesn't diminish the importance of what you two did out there tonight. You inspired hope, you saved lives, and you reminded everyone what it means to fight for a better tomorrow. Never forget that."
Tsubasa and Kanade nod. They knew that the concert was successful, but the loss of the Nehushtan Armor was on their mind.
Genjuro studies the two idols. "What about the stadium itself? The reports I read only indicate that you two managed to keep everyone alive. What exactly happened out there?"
Tsubasa takes a deep breath, steeling herself. "We had help, Commander. Someone else appeared. Someone who could eradicate the Noise."
Genjuro's eyes widened, the surprise evident on his face. "Someone else? But how? Conventional weaponry is useless against them." He shakes his head, disbelief etched on his features. "We've classified the Noise as special disasters. A threat of an entirely different kind. We need relics to fight them! They can't be affected by anything else."
Kanade steps forward, her expression thoughtful. "That's what makes this so strange, Bossman. This person... he was able to eliminate the Noise as if it were nothing."
Genjuro leans forward, his voice dropping to a hushed tone. "Did this person have a relic? Did they show any signs of being a Symphogear user?"
Tsubasa frowns, shaking her head. "We're not sure, Commander. He didn't appear to be wielding a relic. Nor did he sing a song to fight."
"He did introduce himself," Kanade interjects, her brow furrowed in concentration. "He called himself... Don Momotaro."
Genjuro’s face is hard to read. His mind is racing. "Don Momotaro..." he repeats slowly, the name unfamiliar on his tongue. "What did he look like? Can you describe him?"
Tsubasa closes her eyes, summoning the image of the mysterious figure. "He was wearing... armor. Primarily red and white, very bright. It looked like something out of a festival, almost."
Kanade adds, her voice thoughtful. "And he had a sword. It glowed with energy, and he used it with incredible skill."
"The design of his armor seemed... unique," Tsubasa continues, her gaze distant. "I recall it had a peach motif, almost cartoonish, but it was functional."
Genjuro stares at the two girls. He finds it difficult to believe what he just heard. A person in armor, fighting with a sword, but not wielding a relic. Yet, he eliminated the Noise with ease. Was this person friend or foe? What are his intentions? And what exactly was he?
"Thank you both. This information is invaluable. I promise you, I'll put every resource at my disposal to find this Don Momotaro," Genjuro vows, his voice firm with determination. He'll need to figure out if he's an ally. The world is filled with enemies.
Kanade’s expression softens. "Please, Bossman, I urge you. Don't make him an enemy. If he hadn't been there today... I don't think I would have survived," she confesses, her voice laced with emotion. "I was ready to use my Zesshō. I would have ended the fight, but it would have cost me my life."
Tsubasa’s eyes widen, and she instinctively reaches out to grasp Kanade's hand, her grip firm. Fear floods her heart at the thought of almost losing her partner, her friend. It was still so raw in her mind to see Kanade so close to her Swan Song, and there was nothing she could do.
"You would've?" Tsubasa asks, looking at Kanade, concern showing on her face.
Genjuro glances at Tsubasa, noticing the terror in her eyes. He places a comforting hand on his niece's shoulder. He knows that Tsubasa is still dealing with the loss of her family. To lose another loved one is a knife to the heart. He makes a mental note to ensure that both girls are given some time to rest and recuperate.
"I understand, Kanade. I'll keep that in mind. No harm will come to him. He saved you two after all," Genjuro assures them, his voice gentle. "We owe him a debt of gratitude that must be repaid. I must thank him myself." The Commander is also related to Tsubasa. Family is more important than anything else.
He stands tall, his gaze sweeping over them once more. "For now, I need you both to rest. I will handle the search for Don Momotaro. You've done enough for one day."
As Genjuro strides away, his mind is already racing with possibilities. He has to find this Don Momotaro. He also wonders if there are others like him out there. The world is filled with mysteries. It is his job to find out what these mysteries are. And it is his job to protect the people he loves.
Taro closes the back of his delivery truck with a resounding [CLANG]. He sighs, the setting sun casting long shadows across the parking lot. Another day, another set of packages delivered, another set of smiles earned. He slides into the driver's seat, the familiar scent of cardboard and ink filling his nostrils. He starts the engine and pulls out onto the road, heading back to his small apartment.
As he drives, Astra's voice fills the cabin, calm and measured as always. "Taro-san, you've completed your deliveries for the day. Would you like to redeem your points for invite tickets now?"
Taro considers for a moment. He could save the points, build them up for something more substantial. But Helia had entrusted him with a mission, a task that required companions, allies to fight alongside him. He couldn't do it alone, and points were useless if they didn't bring him closer to his goal.
"Yes, Astra," Taro replies, his voice firm. "Redeem four invite tickets. And send those spare DonBlasters along with them."
There's a slight pause before Astra responds, a hint of hesitation in her tone. "Are you sure, Taro-san? It is not guaranteed that the individuals chosen by the invite tickets will be a suitable match for the Donbrothers."
Taro chuckles softly, a hint of amusement in his voice. "I'm aware, Astra. I recall what happened back in my world. How many people used the DonBlasters?"
"The DonBlasters exchanged hands among over 5,000 individuals before settling on Shinichi Saruhara, Haruka Kitou, Tsubasa Inuzuka, and Tsuyoshi Kijino," Astra replies, her tone factual. "Many of those individuals were deemed unfit due to their selfish use of power and their unwillingness to combat the Hitotsuki."
Taro nods, even though Astra can't see him. "I remember. People used the DonBlasters to do things like rob banks or get back at people who wronged them. It was an endless cycle of disappointment and failure. But eventually, the Donbrothers came. I do not mind the repetition."
Astra remains silent for a moment, processing Taro's words. "You have a strong belief in fate, Taro-san."
"I do. Just like Shinichi Saruhara," Taro says, a hint of fondness in his voice. "He always said that everything is predetermined, that we are all puppets dancing on strings of destiny. I never fully understood it then, but now... I think I'm starting to."
"I understand, Taro-san. I trust your judgment," Astra says, her voice regaining its usual warmth. "I will proceed with the redemption and dispatch the invite tickets along with the DonBlasters."
A small holographic screen appears on his dashboard, displaying the System Shop interface. Taro watches as his point balance dwindles to zero, the cost of the invite tickets draining his account.
[PURCHASE COMPLETE]
[4 INVITE TICKETS ACQUIRED]
[4 DONBLASTERS DISPATCHED]
The screen disappears, leaving Taro in silence once more. He glances at the empty passenger seat, imagining the DonBlasters hurtling through the multiverse, seeking out individuals with strong destinies. Each Donblaster also comes with the Saru, Oni, Inu, and Kiji Avataro Gears.
Who will they find? he wonders. Will they be worthy? Will they be willing to fight?
He shakes his head, pushing the thoughts aside. He has done his part. Now, it is up to fate to take its course.
"Thank you, Astra," Taro says, his voice filled with determination. "Let's hope these invite tickets find someone who will fight for what's right. I know that people are capable of doing good."
Astra replies, her voice soft and supportive. "I'm sure they will, Taro-san. You have a gift for inspiring others. I have faith in your abilities."
As Astra speaks her vote of confidence, the tickets, now imbued with multiversal energy, begin their journey. They surge through the fabric of reality, splitting into four distinct streams of light, each carrying a DonBlaster and Avataro Gear set. As they careen through the cosmos, the streams solidify, morphing into tangible objects—four pairs of sunglasses, blue, yellow, black, and pink, each reflecting the unique essence of a potential Donbrother.
The blue sunglasses, radiating a calm and collected energy, veer towards a world of towering skyscrapers and bustling city streets. The world looked familiar, a modern world not unlike Taro's own. The sunglasses hurtle across the ocean, aiming for the shores of America. Their target: a scientist.
The scientist stood in his lab, surrounded by beakers, wires, and complex machinery. He wears a crisp white lab coat and thick glasses perched precariously on his nose. His most striking feature is the thick, blue fur that covers his entire body. He examines a petri dish with a focused intensity. The air crackles with intellectual energy. Suddenly, a vibrant roulette wheel materialized directly in front of him, its colors spinning wildly. He recoils in surprise, nearly knocking over a rack of test tubes.
"Oh, my stars and garters!" he exclaims, his voice a mix of shock and amusement.
The wheel slows, the clicks growing louder as it hones in. It finally stops with a decisive [CLICK, CLICK, CLICK], three arrow-shaped eyes lighting up in sequence. As the final eye illuminates, the blue sunglasses materialize before him. They float towards him, gently attach themselves to his face, melding seamlessly with his glasses.
He blinks, adjusting to the sensation of the sunglasses resting on his face. He touches the frame tentatively, a look of curiosity on his face. What did this mean? What was happening to him?
The yellow sunglasses, however, find themselves drawn to a place where the very air is thick with despair. The city's atmosphere is oppressive, brooding, and electric with tension — a place where the shadows feel alive and danger always lurks just out of sight. It’s a city that never truly sleeps, but not because of vibrant nightlife — rather, because of the constant hum of unease that saturates its rain-slicked streets and crumbling architecture. Gotham City.
She is sprawled inelegantly on a plush, velvet couch, surrounded by a mountain of half-eaten snacks. Her blonde pigtails, usually meticulously styled, are now a tangled mess of red and blue dye, mirroring the smeared makeup that streaks her face. A half-empty tub of ice cream sits precariously on her chest, threatening to spill with every sob that wracks her body. She wears a tattered jester outfit, stained with tears and remnants of discarded junk food. The scene is a portrait of utter dejection and heartbreak.
The roulette wheel appears suddenly, shimmering into existence amidst the gloom. Its colors spin in a dizzying blur, the flashing lights casting eerie shadows across the room. She barely registers its presence, her focus solely on the image of her former paramour in her mind.
The wheel slows, each click echoing through the room like a death knell. [CLICK, CLICK, CLICK] Three arrow-shaped eyes light up in sequence, piercing through her sorrow. As the final eye illuminates, the yellow sunglasses materialize before her. They drift towards her face, a silent invitation, and attach themselves to her face.
She gasps, momentarily startled out of her misery. She reaches up, her fingers brushing against the smooth, cool frames. She stares at her reflection in the darkened television screen, her eyes wide with a mixture of confusion and intrigue. What fresh hell is this?
Far removed from those worlds, within the cold, sterile confines of a heavily fortified facility, a different scene unfolds. The air is thick with the hum of machinery, the low thrum of life support systems the only sound in the otherwise silent chamber. The facility is a maze of corridors, lined with reinforced steel doors and guarded by automated sentry turrets. It is a place of secrets, a vault where the world's most dangerous experiments are locked away from prying eyes.
Inside one of the chambers, suspended in a cylindrical stasis tube filled with a viscous, emerald-green liquid, rests a figure of immense power. The figure's sleek, black fur is streaked with crimson, his quills angled sharply upwards. Even in slumber, his brow is furrowed, his expression intense. Two golden rings encircle his wrists, suppressing the immense power that lies dormant within.
He dreams of a girl, her face radiant with warmth and kindness. Maria, he whispers in his sleep, her name a prayer on his lips. He sees her standing in a field of flowers, her laughter echoing through the air. He reaches out to her, his hand outstretched, but she fades away, dissolving into the light.
Suddenly, a roulette wheel materializes within his dream, its colors swirling amidst the fading images of Maria. He flinches, his eyes snapping open, but he is still trapped within his dream, unable to escape the encroaching reality. The wheel spins, its clicks growing louder, more insistent.
[CLICK, CLICK, CLICK]
Three arrow-shaped eyes ignite in sequence, bathing the dreamscape in an eerie glow. As the final eye illuminates, a pair of black sunglasses materialize, their lenses reflecting the swirling chaos of the roulette wheel. They drift towards his face, drawn by an unseen force.
The sunglasses phase through the glass of the stasis tube, slipping onto his face as if they were always meant to be there. The rings rest on his wrists, still suppressing the power within. The new sunglasses don't trigger anything, but they are present. He remains suspended in his dream, unaware of the subtle shift that has just occurred. He is ready for a new mission, one he doesn't know about.
The world warps, shifts, and changes, and then, the final pair of sunglasses find themselves in a dimly lit room, its walls adorned with posters of handsome young men. The room has an aura of unsettling sweetness, like a candy apple dipped in poison.
A girl, no older than seventeen, sits cross-legged on the floor, cradling a fluffy white cat in her arms. She has ash-blonde hair, messily styled into her signature buns, and wide yellow eyes that dart around the room. She wears a blood-stained sailor uniform, its pristine white fabric marred by crimson splatters.
But something is amiss. The cat is unnaturally still, its body limp and lifeless. A thin straw protrudes from its neck, disappearing into the girl’s mouth. She sips delicately, her eyes closed in what appears to be bliss.
The roulette appears without warning, its flashing lights momentarily eclipsing the dimness of the room. The girl startles, nearly dropping the cat. Her eyes widen, and she stares at the spinning wheel with a mixture of curiosity and unease.
[CLICK, CLICK, CLICK]
The sound echoes in the small space, each click sending a shiver down her spine. The three arrow-shaped eyes ignite, bathing her face in an ethereal glow. As the final eye illuminates, a pair of pink sunglasses materialize before her.
They float towards her face, drawn by an unseen force, and attach themselves to her nose. She blinks, her expression shifting from confusion to annoyance. "Huh? What are these?" she mumbles, her voice a singsong. "Where did they come from?"
Suddenly, a screen, blue and luminescent, manifests before her, an anomaly in the already bizarre scene. Text scrolls onto it, stark and unmissable: [Welcome to The Peach Hero Guild Chat Group].
The screen is like a video game menu, complete with options she doesn't understand. [Profile], [Missions], [System Shop], [Chat], the words glow, inviting her to tap them. Her eyes flick back and forth, from the bizarre glasses to the bizarre new HUD. The cat, still and silent, rests heavy in her arms.
What is this nonsense? she thinks, tilting her head. A hero guild? Was this some kind of twisted joke? A new game to play? A new distraction from the crushing weight of her boredom? Still, a spark of something flickers inside her. A spark of interest, perhaps, or perhaps just the thrill of the unknown.
Taro stood on a rooftop, the city lights twinkling below. He had finished his deliveries for the day. The moon, a pale sliver in the sky, mirrored the anticipation that stirred within him. He had spent all day trying to avoid checking the chat group, yet here he was, itching to see if his invites worked. Patience, he chided himself. Good things come to those who wait. He pulled out his phone, tapped the app icon, and waited for it to load.
[4 NEW MEMBERS HAVE JOINED THE PEACH HERO GUILD]
Taro’s lips curved into a rare smile. Companions, he thought, his heart swelling with hope.
[Born_From_A_Peach]: Welcome, companions!
[Blue_Genius]: Oh, my stars and garters! What manner of technological marvel is this? A holographic interface? Pray tell, where has this blue screen come from? Is this the work of some misguided genius or a cruel prank?
[Mistress_Of_Mayhem]: Well, ain't this just peachy? First, I break up with my Puddin’, then I start seein' blue screens outta nowhere. Guess I'm crazier than I thought! Not that I wasn't already, ya know?
[Edgehog]: ...A dream?
[Schoolgirl_Stalker]: Ooh, a chat group! This is just like those novels I read! So exciting! Is this what they call a golden finger?
[Born_From_A_Peach]: I am Taro Momoi, leader of this guild.
[Blue_Genius]: Taro Momoi, eh? A pleasure. Though, I must confess, I'm far more interested in how a floating blue screen that just appeared out of nowhere is in front of me. What manner of technology allows such instantaneous communication across, presumably, vast distances? Is it quantum entanglement? Perhaps a hyper-dimensional relay system?
[Mistress_Of_Mayhem]: Leader, huh? Well, lead the way to a freakin' therapist, 'cause Harley's havin' a meltdown over here! I swear, breakups are harder than fightin' Batsy. Anyone got any ice cream recommendations? Preferably somethin' with chocolate and zero memories of a certain clown...
[Edgehog]: Where am I? What is going on? Why am I seeing this... text?
[Schoolgirl_Stalker]: Ooh, a leader! So cool! I'm Himiko Toga! What do you like to do, Taro-kun? Do you like making friends? What's your blood type? I bet it tastes yummy!
[Born_From_A_Peach]: You have all been selected to aid me in my mission.
[Blue_Genius]: Aid you? In what endeavor, precisely? And by what criteria were we "selected?" I find myself rather dubious of such claims.
[Mistress_Of_Mayhem]: Selected? Like, outta a beauty pageant? Or are we talkin' 'Suicide Squad' selected? 'Cause I ain't wearin' that bomb collar again, no siree!
[Edgehog]: Mission?
[Schoolgirl_Stalker]: A mission?! What kind? Are we saving the world? Can I drink the blood of the bad guys?
Taro ignored the flurry of questions. He simply restated his initial message, "You are here to assist me."
Before the new recruits could fully register their confusion or indignation, a calm, melodic voice filled the chat.
[Astra]: Greetings, everyone. I am Astra, the AI assistant managing this chat group. Please forgive Taro-san’s rather...direct introduction. He means well.
[Blue_Genius]: An AI? Fascinating!
[Astra]: You have each been chosen for your unique abilities and strong destinies to combat a growing darkness. This chat group connects individuals from across different universes, allowing for communication, collaboration, and the exchange of resources.
[Mistress_Of_Mayhem]: Universes?! Hold on, are you sayin' I'm talkin' to, like, an alien? Or worse... another version of me?!
[Edgehog]: Another universe?
[Schoolgirl_Stalker]: Universes?! So many cute people in so many different worlds! This is the best day ever!
[Blue_Genius]: If indeed we hail from disparate realities, as our A.I. companion suggests, I request empirical validation. Share details of your respective home realities that would be impossible in another.
[Schoolgirl_Stalker]: Ooh, that's a great idea! It's like a game of 'Spot the Difference,' but with universes! If we’re all different, then the worlds we live in have gotta be, too, right?
One by one, they described their homes.
[Mistress_Of_Mayhem]: Okay, okay, I'll go first! In my world, we got aliens in tights flyin' around like it's nothin'. I'm talkin' Superman-level weirdness, folks! And then there's Gotham...Oh, Gotham. It's a city where every day is Halloween, and the villains are always on brand! Crime alley, Wayne tower, Arkham Asylum...the place is a tourist trap for crazies.
[Blue_Genius]: Super-powered extraterrestrials? A city plagued by theatrically inclined criminals? Intriguing, but I've never encountered this place called Gotham. Do you have a government or organized military?
[Mistress_Of_Mayhem]: Government? Sorta. More like a bunch of suits tryin' to look important while Batsy does all the heavy liftin'. And a League of heroes called the Justice League.
[Edgehog]: ...
[Astra]: Shadow-san, do you have anything to add?
[Edgehog]: Before... stasis...I knew little. Only through TV shows... How am I even talking to all of you? And how do you know my name?
[Astra]: It is within my functions to know the identities of all of the members in the chat group. Shadow-san is currently in a state of suspended animation. This chat group is connected to his subconscious, allowing him to communicate despite his physical state.
[Edgehog]: Chatting...subconscious? How?
[Astra]: It is through the system's power.
[Blue_Genius]: Fascinating.
Hank, ever the scientist, was keen to steer the conversation back to verifiable differences.
[Blue_Genius]: Setting aside the particulars of Gotham for a moment, are there any other unique aspects to your world, Mistress of Mayhem? And while we're at it, are there others like me, in your reality? Individuals...gifted...with abilities far beyond those of mortal men? We call ourselves mutants.
[Mistress_Of_Mayhem]: Mutants, huh? We got metahumans, if that's what you mean. Folks with powers outta nowhere. Some are born with 'em, some get 'em from accidents, some get 'em from aliens. It's a whole thing.
[Schoolgirl_Stalker]: Ooh, mutants! What are they like? Tell me everything! Do they bleed differently? Do they have special organs? Are they cute?
[Blue_Genius]: Well, Miss Toga, mutants are individuals born with a genetic anomaly—the X-gene—that grants them superhuman abilities. These abilities manifest in myriad ways, from telekinesis and elemental control to physical transformations and enhanced senses. They’re as varied as the stars in the heavens.
[Schoolgirl_Stalker]: So...they're like Quirks?
[Blue_Genius]: Quirks?
[Schoolgirl_Stalker]: Yeah! In my world, about 80% of people have Quirks! They're like superpowers that show up when you're little. Some people can make explosions, some can control fire, and some, like me, can transform into other people if they drink their blood! It's super fun!
[Blue_Genius]: Transform...through blood consumption? Good heavens! This sounds eerily like some evolutionary throwback to vampirism. Still, a world where 80% of the population possesses extraordinary abilities?
[Schoolgirl_Stalker]: Yep! And we have Pro Heroes who use their Quirks to save people and fight villains! It's so cool! Everyone wants to be a hero!
Hank stroked his chin, his blue fur bristling with excitement. A world populated by individuals with innate superhuman abilities, embraced and cultivated by society...
[Blue_Genius]: A paradise for mutants! A society where our abilities are not feared, but celebrated and channeled for the greater good? Oh, to witness such a marvel!
[Born_From_A_Peach]: AHAHAHA! You are all very different.
[Born_From_A_Peach]: Learning about your worlds is interesting.
[Born_From_A_Peach]: If you have any trouble, you can all ask me for help.
[Mistress_Of_Mayhem]: Well, aren't you a sweetheart!
[Blue_Genius]: I appreciate the sentiment.
[Schoolgirl_Stalker]: That's so sweet of you, Taro-kun! I'll be sure to ask if I need help finding cute boys or tasting blood.
