Solo Cultivating in Superhero Academy
Chapter 142: Weakening

Chapter 142: Weakening

For a long moment, there was only silence.

Not the comfortable silence of a world at peace—but a strained, unnatural void, where even the wind dared not breathe.

The flying swords hung in the air like suspended guillotines.

The mist still coiled like serpents around their legs, binding them with invisible chains of dread. But nothing moved.

The figure... did nothing.

No attack. No motion. No sound.

Just stood there.

Keith blinked hard, half-expecting another wave of flashing death.

His body was wrecked—ribs cracked, shoulder dislocated, lips split from the previous fight.

Zhark lay groaning, electrical sparks twitching around his limbs like dying insects.

Fraven was clutching his arms, sweat soaking through his back, his psionic lines scrambled.

Shania stared forward with dilated pupils, her illusion core still flickering from the earlier shattering.

And yet—

The figure. Still.

It didn’t even breathe.

It didn’t advance. It didn’t chase.

It just watched.

"Why... why isn’t it moving?" Zhark croaked out, his voice a hoarse mess.

"I thought we were dead..." Shania whispered, her voice trembling like glass about to break. "Why didn’t it finish us?"

Fraven’s hands twitched, eyes narrowed. "I can’t... I can’t feel anything from it. It’s like... it’s just a shell."

Keith slowly forced himself to his feet, gritting his teeth as he yanked his shoulder back into place with a brutal crunch.

Then he saw it.

The figure. Now fully visible.

It had no face.

No eyes. No mouth. No expression. Just a smooth blank surface where a human face should be, like the mask of a mannequin given life by forbidden power.

Keith’s breath caught. "Wait..."

The others turned to him.

He took a slow step forward, eyes narrowing, as his mind churned.

"This isn’t him," Keith muttered. "It’s not my brother."

"What... what are you saying?" Zhark asked, still clutching his smoking chest plate.

"I’ve seen this before..." Keith said, voice tight. "Before we entered the dimensional rift. Right before. In the sandstorm zone."

"You mean that thing that looked like him?" Shania said slowly. "We thought it was a projection."

"No," Keith said. "It was real. It fought like him. Not completely—but the sword techniques were familiar. I thought it was an illusion or construct—but now..."

He turned back toward the faceless figure.

"This is the same one."

Fraven wiped the blood from his nose, frowning. "So... it’s not the real Elius?"

"No." Keith shook his head. "The real one... he’s still in the dungeon. He was. He didn’t make it here this fast. He’s fast, terrifying—but this thing is different. It’s been deployed."

"Deployed?" Zhark echoed. "As in... a clone?"

Keith nodded. "A sword construct. A body double. A technique I don’t fully understand. But it doesn’t think. It doesn’t chase. It just waits."

Shania’s eyes widened slightly. "Wait... don’t tell he’s the one that dragged me down to the inside earlier?"

Keith paused. His gaze hardened. "Yeah. And right now it’s not attacking because it’s waiting for its master."

Fraven slowly got to his feet, brushing metal dust off his knees. "Then... maybe that’s why it’s not killing us."

"Exactly," Keith said. "It’s not supposed to kill us. It’s guarding something."

"The cubes," Zhark said.

"The dimensional rift," Shania added.

"Both," Keith finished grimly. "It’s here to delay us. Trap us. Keep us from leaving. And once the real one shows up..."

Everyone went silent.

The implication didn’t need to be spoken.

If the clone did this much damage... the original would annihilate them.

Shania swallowed. "So... what do we do?"

A thick silence settled again. Then slowly, Keith took a step forward and turned toward the rest of them. His expression was hard—but thoughtful. Tired—but determined.

"Alright. Listen up."

He lowered his voice.

"This thing is standing between us and the cubes. That’s our only way to reroute the rift or escape. But if we rush in, we’re dead. You saw what it did."

They nodded grimly.

"But it’s not pursuing. That’s our only advantage."

Fraven narrowed his eyes. "So we sneak?"

"No," Keith said. "We out-think it. We out-play it. This thing has basic combat response but it doesn’t analyze. It doesn’t plan."

Shania’s eyes sharpened. "Then we give it a plan to follow... and take it somewhere else."

"Exactly," Keith nodded. "We create a diversion."

Zhark grunted. "You want us to bait it?"

Keith nodded. "Not all of us. Just one or two. It’ll follow anything that looks threatening enough to the cubes or the rift. It’s not smart enough to tell the difference between the real threat and the fake one."

Fraven frowned. "What about its swords?"

"We keep them busy," Keith said. "I’ve been watching them. They only respond in defense, not offense. If you don’t attack or get too close to the rift, they don’t move."

Shania thought for a long moment. "So the key is distance and distraction. Keep the construct busy with feints... while someone gets to the cube and reactivates it."

"Yes," Keith said. "And it has to be fast. The moment the construct realizes it’s a diversion, it’ll go full offense."

Zhark slowly stood up, sparks crawling over his fists again. "I’ll go loud. I still got enough charge to flash-burst and make it look like I’m aiming for the cube."

"I can back you with illusions," Shania said. "Enough to replicate three of you. The swords might be forced to engage them if they think it’s real."

Fraven cracked his neck. "I’ll be your puppetmaster. I’ll throw debris to simulate large strikes. Make it look like a real full-frontal breach."

Keith looked at them—proudly. Tired, but proud.

"I’ll make the run," he said. "I’m fastest. I’ve handled the cubes before. I can sync to the system fast."

"No," Shania said. "If it targets you—"

"That thing isn’t going to stop me if I move quiet," Keith said. "It’s expecting me to fight like I did before. But I’ve learned. I’ve changed."

Fraven hesitated, then finally nodded. "You’re right."

Zhark grinned, despite a cracked lip. "I just want a rematch. Even if it’s a fake."

Shania looked around at all of them, then toward the looming clone.

Still unmoving.

Still watching.

The swords glowed faintly now, reacting to the tension, their hum deepening.

The four of them stood there for a moment—beaten, bruised, and terrified.

But also...

Resolute.

"Let’s do it," Keith said quietly.

He looked toward the clone—and beyond it, to the flickering dimensional rift, still pulsing weakly behind the veil of fog.

"The longer we wait, the closer the real one gets."

Then...

They all nodded.

And the plan began.