Solo Cultivating in Superhero Academy
Chapter 118: Zhark the lightning

Chapter 118: Zhark the lightning

The city buzzed with unrest.

Not just the usual noise of late-night traffic and neon advertisements fluttering against the black sky—but something more.

Something unnatural.

Screams echoed down concrete alleys. Explosions rocked the distant industrial block.

Faint lights blinked in the sky like dying stars, barely seen through the fog of smoke that now blanketed the central district of Lower East Galvan.

Patrol drones malfunctioned one by one, dropping from the sky like mechanical insects with their wings fried.

A blackout grid spread in every direction, swallowing entire blocks in pitch darkness.

Within it—chaos.

Seven caped figures bolted down the street, breaths short, feet slamming the pavement in frantic rhythm.

Their suits were mismatched—some wore old-model combat uniforms, others patchy makeshift armor over civilian clothes.

Their faces were pale. Sweating. Every one of them bore the blue-trimmed insignia of F-Rank Superheroes.

"We’ve circled the block three times!" shouted one, a young woman with purple visor goggles. "It’s not here—where is it?!"

"It has to be!" barked an older man in a dented red helmet. "HQ said the signature was last seen in this sector. Don’t lose your nerve now, we’re Superheroes—act like it!"

"We’re barely even powered!" another younger teen hissed. "I haven’t even awakened my mainline ability yet, I only joined last week!"

"Shut up and stay in formation!" the woman snapped. "We split from the other unit to flank the enemy! We can’t back out now!"

The streets ahead were silent. The storefronts—gutted. Smoke wafted from a crushed vehicle still burning at the intersection. The group moved like frightened prey, eyes darting everywhere.

Then—

KRKSHHHHH!

A brilliant flash.

Like a jagged sword of lightning plunged from heaven itself. It crashed into the street a dozen meters ahead, throwing up shards of asphalt and sending a shockwave that knocked several of the F-rankers off their feet.

A shape landed slowly in the wake of the blast.

He walked with confidence. No—swagger.

Black combat boots, long jagged coat that fluttered as if alive with static. Spiked hair crackled with faint arcs of violet current. His body was lean, but his posture screamed arrogance. In his left hand, he twirled a glowing cube, each side pulsing with symbols that didn’t belong to this world.

And in his right—lightning danced, coiling up his arm like a living snake.

"Found ya," Zhark said, voice smooth, dripping with taunt.

The F-ranked heroes scrambled to regroup. Some aimed weapons. Others clenched trembling fists, trying to recall the training drills.

"You’re Zhark!" the woman with the visor shouted. "You’re classified under the Villain Watchlist! You’re wanted for three urban disruptions, two grid-level EMPs, and—!"

"Oh please," Zhark interrupted with a rolling laugh, tossing the cube lazily in the air. "Don’t bore me with your database babble, sweetheart. I know exactly what I’ve done. I’d list it for you if you like."

He stepped forward, letting the lightning crackle louder, brighter.

"Let’s see... Blowing up that Hero Registry checkpoint? Bam! That was fun. Crashing a power core into the middle of Old Town? Boom! That lit up the sky real pretty. And the drone barracks? Heh. They really shouldn’t have put all that tech in one place."

"Stay back!" one of the younger heroes screamed. "We’ll fight you if we have to!"

"Fight?" Zhark snorted, twirling the cube again. "Is that what you’ve been doing this whole time? Chasing shadows, fumbling in the dark, peeing your pants behind dumpsters? That’s what you call fighting?"

He leaned in slightly, lips curling into a grin.

"You’re not heroes. You’re bait. Low-grade distractions sent out to sniff around while the real players move the board."

The red-helmeted man grit his teeth. "What the hell do you mean? What are you after?!"

"What am I after?" Zhark grinned wider. "Power, dumbass. Power, and everything that comes with it."

He held up the cube in one hand, letting the strange light glimmer across their faces.

"This little thing? It’s a Wild Dungeon Cube. Unregistered. Untamed. Not yet claimed by Academy High’s surveillance net. It popped into the city after the last rift spike. Whoever holds the cube... gets access. Gets loot. Gets stronger."

"Y-you’re lying," the youngest said.

Zhark smirked. "Maybe. But you won’t be alive to verify it."

Then, with a flick of his wrist—ZAAKRAKKKKK!!

A bolt of lightning exploded from his palm, forking across the air and slamming into the group of F-ranked heroes.

Screams echoed. Sparks flew. Bodies were thrown like ragdolls, slamming into walls, bouncing off broken cars. The pavement was scorched, glowing from residual energy.

Smoke wafted from gloves, boots, shattered goggles.

Zhark stood among them, untouched. He exhaled once, like it bored him.

"F-ranked," he sneered. "You’re not even good for testing."

He squatted beside the visor woman, who lay twitching on the ground.

"I mean, damn, you guys really make it easy. They gave you badges?"

He spun the cube again, catching it between two fingers.

"Welp," he muttered. "No time to waste."

He stood and stretched his arms, lightning trailing behind like wisps of flame.

"I gotta meet up with the others. Wonder if Keith, Shania, and Fraven got their keys. Would be nice to sync up before we enter the dungeon. Gotta get my stat pool up, get my skill tree rolling... y’know, the usual climb."

His grin widened again.

"Gonna break a few rules, maybe break a few bones. Academy High hasn’t even found this place yet. That means no oversight. No annoying professors. No ranking caps."

He held the cube close to his face and whispered, "Dungeon... here I come."

With that, he turned and walked into the shadows of the nearest alley, the cube now glowing brighter.

But he wasn’t alone.

High above, perched on the skeletal remains of a ruined billboard, something watched.

A man. Faceless.

His body shimmered like moonlight on water. His long blonde hair flowed behind him, untouched by wind. His robes were white, completely featureless, and yet regal—like the garments of a heavenly judge.

Around him floated five swords.

Silent. Weightless. Gliding around him like metallic ghosts.

The man did not move. He didn’t blink. He didn’t breathe.

But one of the swords tilted downward, its edge gleaming.

And with a flick of motion too subtle to be seen, it launched forward.

A thin streak of silver through the shadows.

It raced toward Zhark’s back—silent, precise, like death given form.

Zhark paused in mid-step.

His eyes narrowed. He looked over his shoulder.

Nothing.

Only the dark behind him.

His lip curled.

"Tch. What was that?" he muttered. "Someone following me?"

Still nothing.

He scoffed, turning back to the path ahead.

"Why would I bother?" he said to himself with a smirk. "If someone shows up..."

He clenched his fist. Lightning arced around him like a living storm.

"I’ll just destroy them."

After that, he would turn around with confidence.

Then, not long after, Elius appeared.

The alley was still soaked with the electric remnants of Zhark’s lightning when a breeze swept through Galvan City’s blacked-out intersection.

Smoke curled from cracked pavement and broken neon signs blinked weakly above shattered glass.

The scent of ozone and scorched concrete lingered like the aftermath of a god’s tantrum.

He stepped from the rooftop shadows like moonlight descending in human form, his long blonde hair catching the dying light.

His presence was weightless, yet imposing.

Dressed in stark white, his form contrasted the chaos below.

The floating swords trailed him silently—serene, precise, orbiting him with the reverence of loyal spirits.

Below him, the faceless clone stood still, awaiting command. Without turning to face it, Elius spoke.

"Follow the others. Do not engage," his voice was calm, resolute. "Plant a sword-mark on each of them. I need to know where they’ll regroup and wait for them there before they make it."

The clone bowed slightly, a perfect mimicry of his own frame, then vanished into the shadows.

One of the ethereal swords followed it, disappearing like a ripple in still water.