Solo Cultivating in Superhero Academy
Chapter 80: Pantheon Soldier

Chapter 80: Pantheon Soldier

For Elius and others, the sound was so alien, so deep, so filled with ancient hate that it didn’t just echo in the chamber.

It broke the air.

It scratched the walls.

It pressed against their skin like a force field of rage and memory and identity.

It was no longer a question of whether the Hive Queen was truly dead.

It was a question of what had used her as a cocoon.

And now it was free.

It would wiggle and wiggle for a long time and some sand would fall from it.

It moved like it doesn’t care about anyone in front of it.

Elius stared at the grotesque creature standing before them, its form still vaguely shifting, sand trailing off its limbs like mist from a dream turning into a nightmare.

The eight legs of the mummy-like horror twisted with unnatural grace, and its torso rippled with residual hive fluids, still wet from its rebirth.

He squinted. Then narrowed his eyes.

An opening.

There—between the movement of its right anterior limb and the left torso fold—there was a blind spot. Just a brief flicker of vulnerability, but enough.

Without hesitation, he raised his hand and spread his fingers.

His five flying swords spun into motion.

VrrrrrrrMMM.

They circled above him like a halo of death, light bouncing off their ethereal steel edges.

"Clint, Balkan, Monkaar," Elius said, his voice sharp and level. "Wait. Don’t attack yet. Let me try something."

They stopped, uncertain, but trusted him enough to obey.

Elius leaned forward slightly, focusing all of his attention on the creature.

When he was about to wave his hand to control his flying swords–

Then—

HARGHHARGHHARGHHARGH!

The mummy creature—laughed.

It wasn’t a normal laugh.

It sounded like a shriek torn from a broken flute, filtered through gravel and anguish.

It was a cacophony of dry bone and split lungs, a deep-throated howl that reverberated through the cavern like an earthquake mimicking mirth.

The sound vibrated into their bones, rattling their nerves, not from power but from wrongness.

Like something ancient and misaligned was trying to mimic human joy but ended up crafting a sound that felt like vomiting sand into a coffin.

Clint shuddered. "By every finger in the heavens... what is that?"

Even Elius paused. His swords halted their spin.

The creature’s body shifted again, and suddenly, a crude mouth pushed itself out from the middle of its torso.

It didn’t look like lips—it became lips.

Uneven, fleshy folds with no symmetry, as if clay had been shaped by a blind child trying to mimic a smile.

Then, it spoke.

"You’re all... going to fight me? Seriously?"

Its voice was not a voice. It was many voices, whispering through dry wind, grating over each other, like a hive of dead bees trying to speak with one breath.

Then it laughed again.

This time longer. Louder. Worse.

It didn’t just laugh—it collapsed into laughter.

Its many limbs quivered and shook, striking the ground and leaving marks on the stone.

Its mouth contorted as if the very idea of battle against Elius and his team was the funniest thing in the universe.

"You... you all seriously think... you can fight me?" the creature screeched between laughs. "You? The little upstarts? The children? You, boy with the flying swords? Are you sure about this? Now that I am fully formed?"

Its laughter morphed into a wheeze, then again into a choking howl. It kept going—on and on and on—until even the cavern seemed embarrassed by how much noise it was making.

Balkan glanced at Elius, uncertain.

Clint muttered, "It’s been laughing for like... ten minutes."

Monkaar just sighed.

When the creature finally began to settle, its body still trembling with delight, Elius took a step forward. He spoke, dry and unimpressed.

"...Why are you laughing?"

The creature paused. The twitching of its limbs stopped. The chittering in its many throats silenced.

Then it raised its head and stared at him with a thousand eyes.

"Why?" it asked, smiling with those crooked mouth-flesh-lips. "Because, little superhero wannabes and sidekicks who should stay sidekicks... I, the great one, cannot be killed."

Elius raised a brow, unimpressed. He folded his arms. "Last time someone said that, they were slammed to the ground and pierced by my sword."

The creature grinned wider. "Heh... That one? The molten fool? Lava Scissor? You dare compare me to that fractured ember?"

The laugh that followed was less joyful—more mocking.

"You think that’s all it took? You impaled him, and you think that was enough?" The mummy’s laugh became dry and bitter, more like a bark than a laugh. "He fell like a pebble from a cliff. Weak. Incomplete. He was nothing more than a fragment."

It straightened, and then it spoke clearly for the first time.

"I am Soilandor. Commando soldier of the Mountain Ranks, direct warrior of the General of the Deep Ribs, who kneels beneath the throne of the Great Pantheon of Soil and Earth!"

The echo of that name trembled through the stone walls. The dust in the corners danced. Even the very ground beneath them vibrated like it recognized the title.

"The Pantheon," the creature continued, "of Soil and Earth is not a mere element. It is not Fire, not Wind, not even Water with its whimsy and moods. No—we are the Beginning and the End. The body of this world was birthed from Earth.

"The bones of every god rest within Soil. The Pantheon I serve does not burn—it bears. It binds. It does not flicker like flames—it endures. Our breath is mountain ranges, our gaze is the tectonic crawl of destiny itself. Our anger has formed valleys, and our silence has buried cities."

It stomped one limb.

The ground did not shake—but something inside the ground moaned.

A deep, distant echo that came from below.

"I am one of their war-forged. Given purpose. Molded from sacred sand. My limbs were tempered by ancient tomb pressure. My thoughts hardened by iron-rich clay. I have stood beside giants and crushed the screaming suns of the Fire Pantheon beneath my heel!"

It pointed all eight limbs at Elius.

"Lava Scissor was but a charred nail from a long-lost finger. I? I am an Immortal! Not merely in name—but in substance. The technique you used against him? The one that distorted his connection to ground spirit? That is why you won!"

Elius narrowed his eyes, keeping his face blank.

The technique? The system gave it to him. He never thought much of it. Was that how it worked?

"I..." Soilandor hissed, "have no such weakness."

He stepped forward.

"No technique can rewrite me. I am Soil itself. I cannot be moved. I cannot be altered. I cannot be dispersed. I am beyond mortal interference. The spirit of the ground bends to me, not the other way around."

Elius didn’t say anything. His mind raced.

So the reason he had won before... wasn’t just raw power?

Is this sand limb guy saying his system’s rule would be bypassed by him?

He schooled his face into a calm mask. Then smiled faintly.

"So... you’re my nemesis?"

Soilandor fell silent.

Its eyes—all of them—locked onto Elius’s face.

It didn’t blink.

Didn’t twitch.

Didn’t laugh.

Then it said, with terrifying serenity—

"...Yes."