MHA: Ubiytsa Bogov - Slayer of Gods

Aleksandr sat in the dimly lit apartment, staring at the laptop screen, fingers drumming against the table.

He had spent the last few hours carefully compiling the knowledge he had extracted over the past three years—names, faces, locations, criminal transactions, secret hideouts. Every single piece of information he had stolen from the minds of the 97 criminals he had killed in the facility's combat tests.

Each death had granted him access to something more than just experience.

It had granted him access to secrets.

Russia's criminal underworld was a labyrinth of syndicates, black markets, and corrupt officials. A system that thrived in the shadows, running parallel to the legitimate world.

Through his telepathic extractions, Aleksandr had learned:

The locations of key safehouses and stash sites—places where criminals stored weapons, money, or illegal goods.

Connections between crime lords, human traffickers, drug dealers, and even corrupt government officials.

Information about underground auctions, where stolen quirk-enhancing drugs, experimental weapons, and illegal quirk-related tech were traded.

Contacts—phone numbers, meeting locations, passcodes—everything his victims had once known.

In short, Aleksandr possessed an extensive mental database of Russia's criminal underbelly.

Now, it was time to use it.

After preparing for his next steps, Aleksandr turned on the television, expecting to hear about the facility's destruction. He knew the government couldn't hide an event of this scale away from the public, especially with the WHA involved. However, what he saw on the Russian national news shocked him.

The television screen flickered, displaying the composed face of a news anchor seated behind a sleek desk, the Russian Federation emblem faintly visible behind her. Her voice was steady, professional—completely devoid of the weight of the horrors she spoke of.

"In breaking news, the Russian government has officially confirmed the destruction of an illegal experimental facility discovered within our borders. According to reports provided by the World Heroes Association, the facility had been operating under the guise of a pharmaceutical research center, effectively concealing its true purpose for years."

"Following intelligence gathered by WHA operatives, a joint operation was carried out to dismantle the facility and apprehend those responsible. However, during the mission, an unexpected detonation caused the total collapse of the structure, leading to significant casualties. The exact number of those lost has not yet been disclosed."

The screen shifted to grainy aerial footage of the facility's ruins—smoke still rising from the smoldering wreckage, flames flickering in the distance.

"While the operation was a success in neutralizing this illegal site, the tragic loss of life remains a critical concern. Fortunately, a number of 52 victims—children who were unlawfully subjected to inhumane experiments—have been rescued and are currently receiving medical treatment at the World Heroes Embassy here in Russia."

Aleksandr's breath hitched at that. Survivors.

"In an official statement, government representatives have condemned the facility's existence, expressing deep regret that such atrocities took place undetected within Russian territory. They attribute its exposure to vital intelligence from the World Heroes Association, which provided critical insights into the facility's true nature."

Motherfuckers!

"Authorities have pledged full cooperation with the WHA in tracking down the individuals responsible for these crimes, with particular focus on Dr. Nikolai Orlov, now an internationally wanted fugitive."

The broadcast cut to a grainy photo of Orlov—an old ID picture, his face neutral, unbothered.

"Efforts to locate and apprehend Orlov are ongoing, with assistance from global law enforcement agencies. The Russian government assures the public that such violations of human rights will not be tolerated, and that all necessary measures will be taken to prevent similar incidents in the future."

Aleksandr let out a sharp, bitter breath.

"Lies. Every last word of it. But maybe… except for the rescued victims," Aleksandr thought bitterly as he searched for the information on the World Heroes Embassy.

The internet explained that the World Heroes Embassy was a branch of the World Heroes Association, with the main headquarters located in the United States. Smaller embassies operated in various nations, handling diplomatic, political, security, and international matters concerning heroes, villains, and, most notably, Quirks.

Aleksandr skimmed through the details, his mind focused solely on one thing: the address of the Russian embassy. It was his only lead, his only hope to discover if Ivan and Anya had survived.

It was in the capital Moscow. Traveling there right now wouldn't be a wise decision for him. 

He pushed that idea aside temporarily as he focused on his plan's first step.

—--------------------------------

The city pulsed with neon light and the restless hum of engines, but Aleksandr remained a ghost among the living. He drove unnoticed through the crowded streets, a shadow slipping through the cracks of society.

Bars, nightclubs, back alleys—these were playgrounds for criminals, the underbelly of the world that thrived on secrecy. The information he had extracted from the minds of the criminals he had executed at the facility was accurate.

He scanned the streets, stretching his telepathic awareness, sifting through thoughts until he found the right ones.

Three low-level criminals.

Sergei  – a digital fraudster, expert in identity theft and forging financial records.Mikhail  – a money launderer, skilled in moving large sums of dirty cash through legitimate businesses.Vladislav – an underground trader who supplied everything from weapons to fake IDs.

They weren't powerful, but they were useful.

From the shadows, Aleksandr reached into their minds.

One by one, the men stopped what they were doing, their gazes unfocused. Without question, they abandoned their drinks, their games, their conversations, and began walking toward the same street corner.

A car idled in the dimly lit alley.

Aleksandr stood by the open door.

Get in.

Like puppets on invisible strings, they obeyed.

As soon as the doors shut, Aleksandr withdrew his hold and administered a sleeping draught. The men slumped forward, their bodies limp.

He started the engine and drove into the night.

Aleksandr drove a short distance away, stopping in a quiet industrial area near the city limits. He didn't need to go far—just somewhere out of sight, away from security cameras. The sleeping criminals remained slumped in the backseat, their breathing steady but slow.

He wasted no time. Reaching into the first man's mind, he scanned his memories for everything related to his finances—bank accounts, PIN codes, withdrawal limits, digital wallets. When he had what he needed, he moved on to the next.

Once he had all their financial details, he grabbed their phones, unlocking them with their biometric scans. He scrolled through banking apps, searching for linked credit and debit cards.

Aleksandr drove to a series of ATMs scattered around the city, making staggered stops to avoid suspicion. At each machine, he withdrew the maximum amount of cash allowed, then moved on to the next. With three accounts at his disposal, he repeated the process over and over, stuffing thick stacks of bills into a duffel bag.

By the time the last machine spat out its final bills, Aleksandr had amassed a small fortune in physical cash.

Returning to the car, Aleksandr crushed two of the criminals' phones into shards of scraps with his magnetism. The third, he kept it. He removed its SIM card and inserted it into a brand-new phone he just bought, ensuring he could monitor any incoming activity without being traced.

He then activated his electromagnetic awareness, scanning their bodies if there were any hidden GPS devices. Fortunately for him, there weren't, these guys were considered low-grade for a reason.

Aleksandr drove through the empty streets in silence, the soft hum of the engine the only sound in the car. In the backseat, the three unconscious criminals remained slumped against each other, bound and sedated. He had no intention of killing them—not yet. They still had value.

When he arrived back at the house, he parked in the garage and carried each man inside, dragging their limp bodies down to the basement. The room was cold and dimly lit, lined with reinforced concrete walls. No windows. No easy way out.

Using his magnetism, he pulled thick iron chains from a pile of supplies and secured each of them to the wall, ensuring their arms and legs were immobilized. Then, he reinforced the basement's heavy door with a layer of steel, bending and fusing the metal to seal any gaps. In addition, he destroyed the door's knops, so none of them could even open the door given their slightest chances of escaping from the chains. Even if they screamed, no one outside would hear them.

By the time Aleksandr finished, the first man began to stir, groaning as the sedative wore off. The others followed soon after, their groggy eyes darting around in confusion.

Then, panic set in.

"W-what the hell is this?!" one of them choked, pulling at the chains. The metal didn't budge.

Aleksandr didn't answer. Instead, he stepped forward, his cold eyes locking onto each of them. Then, without a word, he entered their minds.

The first criminal thrashed against the chains as Aleksandr dug through his thoughts, peeling away memories like layers of skin. The man's resistance was useless—his mind was an open book, his secrets spilling into Aleksandr's consciousness in rapid flashes.

Bank accounts. Offshore holdings. Safehouses. Criminal contacts.

Aleksandr moved on to the second man, then the third, extracting everything they knew. He saw the faces of their associates, the locations of hidden caches, and the details of every illegal deal they had made.

Then, something important surfaced.

A transaction—one they had recently conducted with a powerful underground gang Aleksandr had encountered in his past telepathic extractions among the 97 people he killed.

Aleksandr stepped back, letting the memory settle in his own mind. That gang was dangerous. If these men had connections to them, they were more useful than he initially thought.

Taking out a notebook, he jotted down the details.

When he was finished, he placed the notebook aside and communicated mentally at the three of them:

'Scream as loud as you want. No one will hear.'

Then Aleksandr left their minds and got out of the basement, turning the lights off and ignoring their swearings at him.

It was a long, tiring day for him. He needed some good sleep.

__________

The harsh glare of fluorescent lights flickered in the basement, casting long, distorted shadows against the cold concrete walls.

The three criminals stirred, groggy and disoriented. Their bodies ached from the cold steel chains biting into their wrists, their joints stiff from being bound all night.

Then they saw him.

Aleksandr stood at the foot of the stairs, clad in the disguise costume he had purchased earlier. The gas mask obscured his face, reducing him to a faceless, unfeeling silhouette.

In his hands: a laptop and a tray of food rations and water.

Sergei snarled, shaking against his restraints. "You think feeding us makes up for this, you little—"

He didn't get to finish.

Aleksandr flicked his fingers, and the metallic scraps on the floor snapped into place, twisting into crude muzzles over the mouths of Sergei and Vladislav, silencing them instantly.

Then, without another word, he turned to Mikhail and took control.

The man's body stiffened, his pupils dilating as his consciousness fell under Aleksandr's influence.

Aleksandr unshackled him with a wave of his hand, the chains clattering to the floor.

Then, the Psychic quirk experiments and practice began.

At first, the commands were simple.

Stand.Sit.Raise your arms.Turn around.Open, close your mouth.

Mikhail obeyed every order without hesitation, his movements eerily precise.

Aleksandr escalated.

Eat.Drink.Do push-ups.Squats.Balance on one foot.

His body responded like a well-oiled machine, the remaining two criminals watching in growing horror.

Then, Aleksandr took it further.

He lifted Sergei's restrained body with magnetism, straightening his arms above his head, practically turning him into a human punching bag.

Sergei screamed through his metal gag, his eyes bulging with panic.

Aleksandr forced Mikhail into a series of striking drills, mimicking techniques he had watched online.

Jabs.Hooks.Uppercuts.Elbows.Knee strikes.Front kicks.Roundhouse kicks.

The attacks landed, driving into Sergei's ribs, gut, and face.

His nose snapped, blood splattering across the cold floor. Mikhail's imitation of martial arts moves under Aleksandr's control didn't have the same brutal efficiency as how the professional fighters did. But it was still enough to inflict damage on a normal untrained human without physical enhancement quirks such as Sergei.

His muffled screams intensified when Aleksandr commanded Mikhail to deliver a sharp kick to his groin—again. Again. And again.

Sergei convulsed, his body instinctively trying to curl inward, but Aleksandr held him in place, forcing him to take each agonizing strike.

He was inside Sergei's mind, observing his pain, dissecting how the human body and brain reacted to suffering in each different area.

The screams. The fear. The desperation.

Aleksandr memorized everything.

Then he stopped.

Sergei was on the verge of passing out, his bruised and bloodied face drenched in sweat and tears.

Mikhail, though merely a puppet, was physically exhausted, his weak, untrained body struggling to maintain Aleksandr's forced movements.

Aleksandr finally stopped the "simulation", threw Sergei back on the floor in a chained curling position, hugging his wounds painfully.

A dull metal bucket clattered onto the floor. Thrown by Aleksandr.

He turned to Mikhail.

Mikhail's eyes widened slightly, a faint of his thought expressing the sheer horror after hearing the command , before his cognitive and awareness were taken over Aleksandr. That single thought was detected by Aleksandr. Everytime Aleksandr mind controlled someone, he realized that they wouldn't be cognitive about their actions under his will, or aware if they had been mind controlled at all. However, Aleksandr had discovered for a second, Mikhail's cognition slightly existed under his mind control. That made Aleksandr curious.

The remaining two criminals watched in revulsion as Mikhail stiffly walked toward the bucket, hands moving to pull down his pants.

Aleksandr observed with detached curiosity.

The human body operates on involuntary responses.

A heartbeat cannot be willed to stop.A stomach cannot resist digestion.And when nature calls—no amount of pride or resistance can fight it.

Sergei and Mikhail's expressions twisted in disbelief and disgust. Tried to pinch their noses and even urged to puke out due to the disgusting smell, but they couldn't with their chained up bodies as their companion relieved himself, both pissing and shitting at once, his body operating on pure biological necessity and mind control. Aleksandr noted the expression of disgust and shame on their faces, engraving it into his memory.

Aleksandr thought to himself: 'Thank God, the costume's mask is actually working.'

He threw a toilet paper roll onto the floor near Mikhail's feet and gave another order.

Still under control, Mikhail picked up the bucket, hands trembling, and carried it toward the sewer drain in the garden.

Aleksandr forced him to clean the bucket thoroughly, wiping it down with his bare hands using the toilet papers. Bare hands. No soap. No water.

Wipe. Scrub. Wipe again. Until it was clean.

When it was over, Aleksandr released his control.

Mikhail collapsed onto the floor, shaking in mortified silence.

He had no clear memory. But he knew what he had just been forced to go through.

Aleksandr chained him back up, his psychic abilities having reached their limit after an hour of non-stop exertion. His assessment on Psychic quirk: effective on controlling humans to perform daily basis activities and athletic movements.

The basement fell into an eerie silence—only the criminals' ragged breathing and the faint hum of the overhead lights remained.

Sergei and Vladislav looked at Mikhail with horror and disgust, unable to comprehend what had just transpired.

Aleksandr crouched down to meet their terrified gazes.

His voice was calm, almost casual.

"I have two responsibilities to keep you alive."

He lifted a single finger.

"Feeding you."

Then another.

"Forcing you to relieve yourselves. Both of the processes have just been displayed directly by your friend.", He said as he pointed to the shivering Mikhail, his mask's soulless lenses reflecting their broken expressions.

They shuddered, the weight of their fate crushing down upon them.

Finally, Aleksandr straightened, his voice taking on a note of clinical indifference.

"The good news is that I intend to keep you alive."

He tilted his head.

"The bad news… is that your longevity depends entirely on my goals.".