The city shook beneath the weight of the Busters. A distant rumble, like the earth itself groaning under pressure, reached Dio's ears, but he didn't flinch. His mind was already detached from the chaos outside, already thinking ahead, already calculating his next move.
The slum had been his, had been the heart of his empire. But in a single day, it was turned to rubble. The Busters—those monsters—had leveled it all. The streets, the shacks, the hidden corners where he had spent so much time building his power. All gone.
He watched it unfold from a nondescript alley. His shadow stretched across the cracked pavement. But even the shadow seemed hesitant today...
Dio had heard rumors that the Busters were closing in, but he didn't truly comprehend the scale of the destruction until he saw it firsthand. Buildings shattered like glass, streets collapsing into craters, and the cries of his people—those who had followed him—echoed through the air. It wasn't just a strike against the slum; it was a message. A display of power from the masterminds.
His mind churned with frustration, anger even, but he swallowed it. Emotions were useless here. His shadow flickered as he kept his distance, watching the chaos unfold, already knowing that there was no winning this battle. The Busters were too strong. They were human wrecking balls, and he was just a boy with a trick—a shadow that could listen but couldn't fight.
Dio didn't need to be present to know what would happen next. The Busters didn't care for subtlety. They were too simple, too direct. They would search for him, like predators sensing the scent of their prey, their brute force leaving only destruction in their wake. They would think him weak, a mere shadow of a man.
But Dio wasn't stupid. He knew their reaction would be instinctual. The Busters weren't trained assassins—they were weapons. And when faced with a target, they wouldn't stop until it was crushed into the dust.
He could hear their footfalls now, louder than the rumble of distant explosions. The thumping of their massive feet vibrating the air, getting closer, closer. The Busters didn't know yet, but Dio wasn't in the slum anymore. He had already planned his retreat, and as they tore through the remnants of his kingdom, Dio was already far from the disaster.
He had outsmarted them by doing nothing—letting them waste their time searching for him in a city of rubble.
The city felt colder now. The slum was gone, his empire a fading memory, but Dio wasn't concerned about that. Survival was his focus now, and the first step toward survival was disappearing.
He didn't need to be Dio anymore.
With a heavy heart, Dio discarded the worn jacket that had marked him as a leader in the slum. It wasn't much, but it was enough to create a connection between the man he was and the shadow that had fallen behind him. He pulled on something else—a plain coat, a simple hat, and a pair of eyeglasses. His hair was chopped, his face different now with a scar painted across his jaw to cover his true identity. It wasn't perfect, but it would work for now.
The city was vast, filled with faces and stories that didn't belong to him. He would become a part of that noise, a shadow in a city of shadows.
Dio walked to a nearby market, his movements slow and deliberate. He didn't rush. His disguise was perfect—ordinary, unremarkable.
A stall owner offered him a loaf of bread. Dio exchanged a few coins, his fingers carefully counting them out, making sure the exchange was seamless. He had learned long ago that it was the little things that kept you hidden—the quiet interactions, the unnoticed glances. No one was watching him now. He was just another face in the crowd.
The next few days passed without incident. Dio kept to the fringes of the city, avoiding the areas most likely to be crawling with city guards or anyone who might recognize him. He rented a small, inconspicuous apartment above a butcher's shop. Not much, but it was enough for now. The rent was cheap, and the place wasn't likely to be disturbed.
He had enough money to last a few weeks, but that wasn't going to be enough. He needed more. His mind whirred, analyzing the city's economic structure, the markets, the wealthy businessmen who paid handsomely for the services of those with specialized skills.
His shadow remained with him, silent and watchful as he spent his time studying the city's underbelly. He began picking up odd jobs—menial work for laborers, deliveries for merchants, anything that would earn him enough to stay afloat. He didn't care about the work itself; he cared about the people he was meeting. Their skills, their connections, their weaknesses. Information was power, and Dio was collecting it.
But more importantly, he needed a way to protect himself. The Busters had reminded him of a brutal truth: in this world, power meant nothing if you couldn't wield it. His tricks—the shadow manipulation, the curve of bullets—were useless against someone who could shatter stone with a punch.
So Dio turned his attention to the only thing that could help him survive in this hostile world: combat.
He found a dojo, tucked in a quiet corner of the city, where the old master taught martial arts to anyone willing to pay. Dio didn't hesitate. He showed up every morning before sunrise, his disguise complete. He worked hard, pushing his body to its limits. The training was grueling, painful even, but Dio knew it was necessary.
As the weeks wore on, Dio's new life began to take shape. The shadows no longer belonged to his slum or his past—they belonged to the man he was becoming. His body grew stronger, his hands more sure with every punch, every kick. He began to make connections—quiet, careful ones—working as a bouncer, doing work for city officials who needed a hand in exchange for a little extra coin. Dio used every advantage, every moment to learn more, to position himself better for the future.
One day, when the Busters were no longer a distant threat, when the masterminds had forgotten about the him who had once defied them, he would really would strike back. But not yet. Not now. It would be dumb shit.