Long ago, before the stars bled and the skies cracked,
we were just people.
Mothers. Daughters. Sons. Fathers.
Farmers. Workers. Dreamers, big & small.
Then the sky changed.
A comet came—not just any stone from the void—
but a mountain of celestial death.
A world-slayer, half the size of our solar system.
Though to say it was a world-slayer was putting things nicely.
It struck the veil.
The veil that wrapped around our galaxy's solar system,
shielding us from the untamed chaos of energies in the greater multiverse.
It tore the veil like paper.
And then the stars began to bleed.
Not blood. But raw, unfiltered energy.
The energy that flooded in was not light. Not warmth.
It was raw. Ancient. Unknowable. God-like.
The animals changed first—
some glowing with fire, others singing in colors.
But humans? Intelligent minds cracked under the pressure.
Bodies melted. Hearts imploded.
We perished by the thousands.
Until one girl touched something she loved.
A token of memory. A relic of pain.
And then something in her changed.
They called her the First Flame.
The first human to survive the multiversal storms.
The first super.
Others Awakened. More followed.
We called them heroes. Guardians. Protectors.
Until the wars came.
Other galaxies clashed for territory.
We called for them.
And they fled.
The heroes vanished into the stars,
leaving their children behind.
Too young to fight. Too powerless to run.
Too hated to be loved.
They grew up in the shadows of abandoned names.
Mocked. Hunted. Feared. Even killed.
And something new was forged in that fire.
Not heroes.
Not villains.
Not even anti-heroes completely.
They wore capes. And they wore scars.
They flew. They hunted.
They didn't save the world out of pride or responsibility—
they saved it out of rage, spite, revenge.
They didn't want nor need followers.
They wanted to give pain meaning.
They had to.
But they had to be patient.
They burned the broken systems
the humans refused to rebuild.
They became whispers.
Smoke. Blood. Legends.
And for a time… it worked.
The anti-heroes cleansed corruption.
Brought justice with no gods.
No governments.
Made peace through fire.
But trusting their form of peace was their greatest mistake.
Because humans are the most forgetful when in need.
And fire? It never learns when to stop burning.
That's when everything turned again.
From the ashes of vengeance, power-hunger, and twisted self-made mythology,
the Liberation was born.
They are anti-hero villains that pretend to be heroes in the eyes of others—
twisted by power and old scars,
they became something else.
They looked at the universe and said it needed people to protect it.
True heroes.
They began purging whole systems,
hunting Guardians, Defenders, Champions—of other worlds—
calling them evil and claiming to cleanse them of their oppression,
when they were the oppressors.
—And killing them in front of their people.
They spoke with false righteousness in their throats:
"Join us—the Liberation… or die with your evil false gods you worship."
And many did die.
The nearby worlds weren't enough anymore.
They wanted revenge, and to find the parents who abandoned them—
they traveled the stars,
conquering galaxies,
challenging champions,
and butchering heroes, calling them evil oppressors,
before demanding surrender from the world's people.
The anti-heroes had become "The Heroes' Liberation."
The new definition of a hero is:
"The Heroes' Liberation are the only true 'heroes.'"