Solo Cultivating in Superhero Academy
Chapter 108: King of beasts

Chapter 108: King of beasts

Immediately, a warning siren blared in the chamber.

Red warning text rolled down the screen.

"WARNING: Monsterification Classes have the highest mortality rate among F-Rank missions.

These individuals possess partial Monster King potential and have drastically higher physical stats than normal.

Please confirm AGAIN before proceeding."

Suddenly, a man wearing a black and blue officer’s uniform approached from the side.

He was tall, bald, and had a cybernetic left arm humming with hidden energy.

He stopped beside Elius, arms crossed, looking both irritated and slightly worried.

"You... you’re Sword Immortal?" the man asked, squinting.

Elius gave a slight nod.

The officer frowned even deeper.

"You sure you wanna do this, kid?"

Elius stayed silent.

The officer sighed heavily, stepping closer, lowering his voice.

"You understand what you’re picking? Monsterification classes aren’t heroes. They’re freaks. They’re unstable. They’re dangerous. You get an Elementalist in here, maybe they throw some fireballs. Big deal. A Ranged Type? Maybe you get shot at from a distance. Manageable."

He jabbed a thick finger toward the screen.

"But Monsterification? They’re like real monsters. They’ll rip your limbs off and eat you. I’m not kidding. Last semester, we lost two proctors when a candidate went berserk and tore through the shield barriers."

Elius didn’t flinch.

The officer scowled.

"You think I’m exaggerating?

One kid — a Wolf-Type — decided to ’test’ the proctors. Almost killed five cadets in the observation room before we even put him down.

"Another was a Beetle-Type. Bastard had a shell so tough, energy blasts bounced off like pebbles.

"Then there was that Snake-Type... poisonous blood, acid spit, and a tail that could smash armored tanks."

The officer leaned in, voice dropping to a near whisper.

"You’re F Rank, Class Eight, kid. Barely a starter.

"You sure you can handle this without a weapon?

"You sure you won’t end up as monster chow?"

Elius met his eyes without blinking.

"I’m sure," he said simply.

The officer studied him for a long moment — looking for hesitation, fear, arrogance.

He found none.

At last, the man threw his hands up.

"Fine! Fine! It’s your funeral."

He stomped off, muttering under his breath.

The screen pulsed, awaiting final confirmation.

Elius slammed his palm against it.

A mechanical female voice chimed sweetly:

Monsterification Class candidates confirmed.

Initiating mission preparations.

The platform below his feet shifted slightly, locking into place.

A circle of reinforced barriers rose up around him, sealing the arena.

Beyond them, the massive observation decks lit up — hidden cadets, teachers, and recorders preparing to watch the slaughter.

Elius scanned the empty arena floor.

Nothing.

No movement.

No enemy.

Just silence.

He walked to the center and sat down cross-legged.

He closed his eyes.

He couldn’t afford to waste even a second.

He had to be perfect.

He let his breathing slow, centering himself in the middle of the colossal battlefield.

Inside his body, the spiritual energy of Immortal Cultivation circulated slowly.

Each breath he took pulled ambient energy into him — not the chaotic mutant energy of this superhero world, but the pure, sharp, eternal power of cultivation.

It was slower here.

Harder.

But not impossible.

He directed it carefully.

Qi spiraled through his meridians, strengthening bones, hardening muscles, sharpening senses.

He could feel the faint hum of Heavenly Slam resonating within him, like a sleeping beast stirring.

Calm.

Steady.

Indestructible.

Minutes passed.

He ignored the muffled announcements overhead, the shifting lights, the crackling of energy grids preparing the match.

He let himself become a single point of focus — a mountain at the center of chaos.

Even when the ground under him vibrated slightly, signaling the arrival of an opponent, he did not open his eyes.

He was ready.

He would be ready.

Because there was no other choice.

If he failed here — if he showed weakness — then Radiant Man would know.

Colt would know.

Everyone would know.

Elius Hearth would die, and the Sword Immortal would vanish before he even took root.

The air suddenly shifted — thickened — grew heavier.

A cold mechanical female voice rang out across the arena:

First Candidate:

F Rank Peak, Stage Twelve — King of Beasts!

Elius opened his eyes slowly, calmly.

He is ready.

The arena, vast and deathly silent, seemed to hold its breath.

Across from Elius, a wide metal door hissed open, and out stepped a man — no, a beast in human skin.

He was tall, easily over two meters, with thick, corded muscles stretching his training uniform taut.

His hair was buzzed short, his nose flat and wide, and his heavy boots thudded against the floor with every step.

But strangely, he didn’t attack.

He simply stood there, arms crossed, an arrogant, amused smirk playing on his lips.

The mechanical female voice, calm and emotionless, echoed from above:

"Combatant heroes are now on board. Five minutes preparation time remaining."

The man finally opened his mouth, his voice low, rough, and oozing disdain.

"So you’re the guy?"

He tilted his head, cracking his neck with a loud pop.

"You’re the one they want me to beat?"

Elius remained silent, his face blank.

The man laughed — a deep, heavy chuckle that filled the arena.

"You serious, pretty boy?" he sneered, stepping forward with a swagger. "You’re gonna stop me? You?"

He jabbed a thick thumb into his chest, muscles bulging.

"You think that little pretty face of yours is gonna survive four seconds against me?

Hell, one second and I’d have you crying for your mommy."

The man grinned, wide and cruel, as he began circling Elius like a shark smelling blood.

"You look like you belong on a poster for a shampoo commercial, not here, not standing in front of the King of Beasts."

He spat to the side with disdain.

"Tell me, pretty boy, what’s your plan?

Gonna flutter those girly lashes and hope I faint?

"Maybe blow me a kiss and wish real hard I’ll go easy on ya?"

He leaned in closer, eyes glinting with cruelty.

"Or maybe you’re one of those rich boys, huh?

"Daddy bought you your rank, pulled some strings, and now you’re here, thinking you’re invincible.

"Pathetic."

Elius’s mouth twitched into a faint smirk.

He had heard worse.

"You’re loud for someone who’s supposed to be a hero," Elius said, voice cool as a glacier.

"You sound more like a villain.

Are you sure you’re in the right profession?"

The man’s laughter exploded, booming across the arena like a thunderclap.

"Hahahaha! That’s rich!

"Listen, kid — the general public doesn’t want saints.

"They don’t want perfect goody-two-shoes heroes with their boring speeches and ’justice for all’ crap."

He slammed a heavy fist into his palm with a resounding crack.

"They want monsters.

"They want anti-heroes.

"They want people like me — the ones who break the rules, smash the bad guys’ faces into the dirt, and don’t cry about morality afterward."

He flashed his teeth in a savage grin.

"And you know what?

"I don’t give a damn about being ’fitting.’

I am who I am — the King of Beasts!

And in this arena, I’m the Apex Predator."

The five-minute countdown continued silently, but neither seemed to care.

Suddenly, the man took a step back, spreading his arms wide.

A low growl rumbled from his chest, and then — snap — the air around him cracked.

Veins bulged along his arms, his muscles swelling grotesquely.

His skin darkened into a thick, leathery grey tone, while his mouth widened, jaws distending unnaturally.

Massive canine teeth erupted from his gums, yellowed and brutal.

His legs thickened, his back hunching forward.

Clothes tore and shredded around his expanding form, revealing a hide tougher than iron.

And there — standing in the middle of the arena — was no longer a man.

It was a humanoid Hippopotamus.

Short, bristly hair ran down his spine.

Eyes, now yellow and predatory, gleamed with savage intelligence.

Each step he took made the ground tremble faintly.

He reared his massive head back and roared — a deep, thundering sound that shook the air.

Elius lifted an eyebrow.

Then, without missing a beat, he let out a small snicker.

"King of Beasts?" he said mockingly. "You should be called ’Fatass of the Swamp.’"

The arena rippled with invisible laughter from hidden observers.

The hippopotamus humanoid snorted, nostrils flaring with rage.

"You think this is funny, you damn brat?"

He stomped closer, the ground cracking slightly under his massive feet.

"You ignorant little twit," he growled, saliva flicking from his tusks, "you have no idea."

He jabbed a thick, clawed finger toward Elius.

"Hippopotamuses are the true Kings of Beasts!

"You hear all that crap about lions being kings? Lies! Fairy tales for children!"

He stomped again for emphasis.

"Lions?

"They hunt weak prey, and even then, it’s the lionesses doing all the work!

"Lions are just lazy bastards lying around all day while others fight their battles."

He clenched his fists, muscles bulging like coiled steel.

"But hippopotamuses?

We kill more humans in Africa than lions, tigers, and crocodiles combined.

We’re territorial, aggressive, and unstoppable."

His voice grew louder, each word hammering into the air.

"A full-grown hippo can crush a crocodile’s skull with one bite!

"We run faster than a human — faster than a damn lion on land.

"We can swim like torpedoes underwater, killing anything that gets close."

He pounded his chest, the thud echoing across the arena.

"Real kings aren’t pretty.

They’re brutal, savage, unstoppable forces of nature."

His yellow eyes gleamed with sadistic glee.

"And today, pretty boy — you’re gonna learn that the hard way."

The mechanical female voice chimed again, sweet and detached:

"Combatants ready?"

Elius, smiling lazily, tilted his head slightly.

"Always," he said, as if they were just talking about the weather.

Across the arena, the massive humanoid hippo crouched low, ready to charge.

He pointed one thick, clawed hand at Elius.

"Stop me, pretty boy!" he bellowed.

Elius’s hand slowly rose.

Five shimmering swords lifted into the air behind him, each one humming with faint, deadly energy.

They spun slowly, lazily, like sharks circling their prey.

Elius’s eyes narrowed.

If this was going to be bloody.