Night has fallen over the city of Manila. The city gates had reopened, yet is still under heavy surveillance. The chase for the mystery Superhuman continued without any success, as the Hound, Alliance's proud tracker—and the other teams in pursuit— has let the oddity escape from under their noses. Sure, the Alliance are certain about the fugitive being undocumented. They found out through a thorough house search that all personal belongings that could be traced back to who they were looking for were gone.
Little did they know the guy they're looking for is already finally watching the One Piece Man episode he missed in a house only a few blocks away from his home at Fourth Street...
Somewhere near one of the mountainous city gates north of the city…
"Old bat, why are there so many Alliance people here?" A kid asked his grandfather while picking his nose with his left hand and pointing at the city gates quite a distance away with the other.
"I dunno, brat. Maybe some errant gate has appeared or something." The grandpa, sporting a mustache and beard in all its glory, didn't even wanna answer his grandson but did in a disinterested tone anyway. "Or some dumb illegal Super making a ruckus."
Wow… this old man actually got it right the second time…
"Anyway, I don't care." The two hundred centimeter tall man added in between his gum chewing. "He's not a match to me anyway."
"One of these days, you'll get your butt whooped." His grandson wiped a finger full of snot at his grandpa's denim jeans.
Of course the grandpa won't let those remarks slide. With a casual snap of his fingers, the earth his grandson was walking towards became wet mud. His grandson didn't even notice the shenanigans until he fell into it.
Half of his four feet tall frame sunk into the wet mud that had the scent of baked earth. Grinning, his old man snapped his fingers again, and the mud became solid earth again, trapping half the kid in it.
"Dammit! How do I fall for that every single time!" The half-kid punched the ground with all his might in vain.
It seems like this is just a normal day for these two.
Suddenly, the proud old man's face darkened as he felt something wrong in his pants.
Boom!
The explosion was soundless, but the old man the size of a Defensive Tackle crashed to the side after breaking multiple trees on the way. Clutching the part where his right leg ended, he smiled as he stood back up.
"Heh, Romulus. Seems like you're gaining better control of your disgusting powers."
"Hmph! But you still didn't die with that huh…" Romulus was actually disappointed. He didn't pick his left nose for a month to achieve maximum effect. He thought that a month old snot is enough to explode his granddad to smithereens. And yet, he realized he still is underestimating this baldie.
Wait… is his power snot? The hell is that power!
"Heh I guess if you added the shit you're cultivating for a week in there, maybe I'd die," the leg of the old man is almost fully healed as he reappeared beside his wily grandson. "Plus maybe a liter of sweat, tears, and pee. Oh, never forget to add some vomit in there. Maybe if you put it all together—"
Stop. What the hell Remus Irvin! I don't wanna hear any more of this gross exchange!
Do you want the kid to add some fart bombs in there? Or maybe some pus discharge to create the ultimate poison?
Oh… sorry there dear readers…
"Well you can do all that and still not even be worth challenging me." He smiled, seemingly noticing something strange from his grandson's aura.
"Get me out of here you madman!" Of course he's getting angry now, especially after this supposed grandfather of his rubbed salty perspiration to his pus filled wounds…
Old Remus grabbed his grandson by the ear, and the soil he's on parted like people avoiding someone with the plague. He then snapped his fingers again and the rest of the dirt clinging to Romulus' body fell to the ground, except one...
"That fight sapped my strength… old man, please can you just carry me?" The seamless transition of Romulus from seething anger to shamelessly pleading is astounding.
"Sapped your what? The only thing sapped is your snot!" He thought about it for a moment and a block of solid earth floated right beside him. He grabbed him by his shirt before throwing the shameless kid into it and growled. "You even consider that a fight?"
A smug grin appeared on Romulus' face. "That's a fight I won. You suffered damage. I didn't."
Oh. The kid's actually right! He smashed his gramps meters away! While he was just immobilized! He actually won this!
"Oh please. You lost. Look at your pants."
It was at that moment Romulus knew he fucked up.
Holy shit! He shat his pants! How did that even happen? How can anyone poop their pants when half the body is stuck in the ground?
Romulus is a nine year old kid. He pooped his pants. The most plausible thing he'd do is cry.
And cry he did.
"It's alright, kiddo. Even if you smell like the foulest smelling thing on this planet, gramps is with you. Besides, why are you sad you shat your pants? That poop is basically an atomic bomb!" Remus shamelessly consoled his poopypants grandson, alleviating the mental blows he took. Then he scooped up all of his grandson's tears like a man possessed and said with a kind smile, "remember, every poo— I mean, every blow you take… makes you stronger. I've told you countless times already how a former student of mine took three years of suffering to finally knock me out. Make it your fuel. I know it's only a matter of time 'til you knock this old man out."
In the eyes of the crying kid, the old man gained a halo. "Yes! I'll make you eat my shit one of these days, pops!"
The duo then made a beeline towards the city gates.
***
It was midnight. Manila's hustle and bustle is replaced by eerie silence, a silence more pronounced the farther you get from the city center.
Hound, still not giving up his wild goose chase, entered a muddy alleyway. Raindrops are still spattering into the muddy ground from the roofs, as the rain ended just minutes ago.
He had received the withdrawal order from the higher-ups a few hours ago already, but his stubborn nature— more like him being a sore loser— can't accept his failure to catch his target.
"Dammit!" He punched the wall on his side. He knows things could've gone differently if it didn't rain. Plus, he realized hours ago that his odorless target mixed in with the odorless common folk, making his escape virtually flawless. He just hated the fact that his target knew his power's biggest weakness.
After that single punch, Hound's nose perked up, seemingly catching wind of some irregular scent. His eyes then narrowed in disbelief at the smell of scorched earth.
"Oh fuck me… why is that old freak here now!"
"You know, grandson, once we take a turn to that alley on the left, we'll see one of grandpops' former punching bags." This earth master has been aware of the existence of a Metahuman nearby for quite a while. He knew this smell too well— the stench of fresh meat— it is the Alliance' dog, Hound.
The two then turned left.
But what awaited them was a wolf lunging straight at them with fangs bared, and jaws wide.