Solo Cultivating in Superhero Academy
Chapter 128: Capture all

Chapter 128: Capture all

Zhark didn’t answer. His jaw was clenched, eyes staring ahead, lightning flickering weakly over his wrists like dying fireflies. He didn’t flinch, didn’t blink—but he didn’t speak either.

The shame weighed on him more than the exhaustion.

For all the talk, for all his boisterous displays, he hadn’t laid a finger on Elius. Not even close.

Elius turned toward Keith next, a smirk curling across his face.

"And you," he continued, "how does it feel... being hurt?"

Keith’s body was motionless, as if the question didn’t apply. His red-stained arm was by his side, but his expression remained unreadable. No rage. No fear. No acknowledgment. Still as stone.

Elius leaned in slightly, mock concern in his tone. "You look confused, young villain Keith. Still waiting for your immune system to catch up to reality? For your god-flesh to shrug it off? Tell me—did it sting? That first honest pain? I bet you’re surprised..."

He let the question hang.

Then, pivoting with theatrical flair, he turned to Shania. His smile widened into something cruel.

"And Shania," he breathed. "What happened to all your illusions? Your little tricks? Your mirrors and masks? They were fun at first... but then what? You tried swapping faces, warping forms, blurring lines... and still failed. You know what they call that where I come from?"

He chuckled.

"Wasted effort."

Shania’s fingers trembled at her sides. Her illusions still flickered faintly in the corners of the room—echoes of the illusions she had conjured earlier—but none dared move again.

The confidence in her magic had been ripped away, gutted, discarded.

Then Elius’s eyes settled on the last of the quartet.

"Fraven," he said, voice now laced with mock sympathy. "Oh, Fraven. The grand puppetmaster. The mind-bender. The mighty telekinetic."

He tilted his head, as if genuinely puzzled.

"Did you even touch me once? I mean... once? All that invisible power, all those gestures, and it amounted to what? A lot of floating debris and misplaced confidence. I am disappointed, I was hoping for an Esper versus Esper fight..."

Fraven glared at him, hands twitching. But his power felt muted now, as if Elius’s very presence unmoored it, unanchored it from usefulness.

Then Elius exhaled. Long. Slow. Purposeful.

"Let’s have a conversation," he said, now walking casually in a circle around them, like a lecturer pacing his stage. "Just talk, you know? Civilized. I mean, you all seem hellbent on playing the villain card. But I don’t buy it. I really don’t."

His voice sharpened slightly.

"I’ve seen villains. I’ve been among them. And you? No. You’re not villains. You’re just..."

He looked at them all.

"...confused."

None of them answered immediately. Their silence was brittle, defensive.

Elius went on, his tone softening, almost contemplative.

"So tell me. Why? Why the act? Why the masks? Why stand on the other side of the line when you don’t even know why the line is there? What are you trying to prove? To yourselves? To the world?"

The air was still. For a long, aching moment, only the hum of strange laboratory machinery filled the void.

Then, finally, Fraven spoke, his voice dry, worn.

"You don’t know what it’s like... to be made into something you never chose."

Elius nodded slowly, letting the words land.

Shania spoke next, arms still crossed over her stomach.

"They called me a monster before I ever knew how to lie. My illusions were the only way I survived."

Zhark grunted. "They feared me. Feared my lightning. Treated me like a weapon from birth. So... fine. I became one."

Elius nodded again. "I see."

All eyes turned toward Keith.

But he said nothing.

He just stood there, staring at Elius, eyes unreadable as always.

And Elius... smiled. Not with kindness, but with knowing.

"They’re lying," he said, matter-of-fact.

Fraven stiffened. Shania looked away. Zhark’s hands curled into fists.

"I know you all," Elius continued. "Not the fake versions you parade. Not the twisted retellings you recite when asked who you are."

He tapped his temple.

"I see it. In here. Your spirits are screaming, contradicting your mouths. You say you were made this way. That it wasn’t your choice. But the truth? The truth is you chose this path when a better one was in reach. You wanted to fall."

None of them spoke.

Elius let his gaze sweep across them once more.

"I’m trying to be civilized," he said softly. "And you’re spitting in my face."

He exhaled again, this time heavier, darker.

"Do you want to know why I want to be a hero?" he asked.

No one answered. But they listened.

He closed his eyes for a moment and began.

"I was born in a village no one remembers," he said. "A hole in the world. A nowhere place. No Wi-Fi. No connection to the grand network. I was just a boy who read old books and chased dreams that felt like lies."

He took a slow step forward.

"One day, the sky broke open. Monsters came. Not beasts, not aliens, but gods. Villains who didn’t wear capes—they wore smiles and walked among us until it was too late. My village burned. My family vanished. And in that moment, I understood the truth: no one is coming to save you. Heroes are made, not born."

He let the weight of the words linger.

"I watched the man who destroyed everything laugh as he walked away. And I promised myself... I would become the opposite of him."

Elius’s voice dropped to a whisper, yet it rang louder than thunder.

"Not for glory. Not for fame. But because someone had to stand at the breach."

He raised his hand.

"Now I fight. Because I must. Because if I don’t, who will? If I don’t stop people like you, then what’s the point of any of this?"

But in his head—inside the fortress of his thoughts—another voice stirred.

Lies, he whispered.

Because now? Now, he was wondering.

Should I kill them?

Should I capture them?

Break them?

Spare them?

Their spirits were unrefined. Dangerous. But usable.

He weighed it all silently as he smiled outwardly.

Then finally, his voice grew cold again.

"You’re all pissing me off."

The shift was instant—like a drop in barometric pressure before a storm.

Elius, moments ago half-mocking and amused, now bore the face of a predator that had grown tired of the chase.

The light in his eyes dimmed, and what remained was nothing but a razor’s edge of intent. Cold. Absolute.

The four barely had time to process his change in tone.

"You know what?" Elius said, voice low but laced with steel. "I was gonna play around more. But you’re starting to bore me."

He rolled his shoulders, and the air itself trembled.

"I’ll capture every single one of you."

The words weren’t a threat.

They were a verdict.

In a flash, his clone appeared behind him, robes fluttering as if whipped by invisible winds.

Five swords hovered behind the clone’s back like angelic wings made for slaughter.

Ten swords now in total, five behind the original Elius and five behind his double—each one glimmering with spiritual Qi and a humming bloodlust.

Then, without warning, Elius crouched down and touched the steel-plated floor.

A soft hum.

A vibration.

A single crack.

Then—BOOM.