Solo Cultivating in Superhero Academy
Chapter 82: Challenge

Chapter 82: Challenge

Elius narrowed his eyes.

His brow furrowed.

The lines on his face sharpened. His jaw clenched so tightly that the veins in his neck began to pulse.

Soilandor noticed.

And he smiled.

That smug, self-assured grin of someone who knew the next ten moves in the game and was letting you struggle on move two. His arms hung loosely at his sides. His legs stayed locked in place.

He leaned back slightly like a man watching a poorly acted play.

Elius took one slow breath. And then...

His foot slid back.

His right hand raised.

The five flying swords behind him twitched.

He didn’t speak.

He didn’t command.

He moved.

A dance of death began.

The swords responded to his Qi like paint to a brushstroke.

They whipped forward, darting and circling around Elius’s form.

They swayed with every step he took, every shift in his shoulder, every twist of his wrist.

The dungeon floor cracked beneath his feet from the spiraling energy surging off his body.

SWOOSH—CLANG—SHNK—WHOOM!

The swords attacked in patterns—not random, but musical. Like a violent ballet. Each sword became an extension of Elius’s limbs, his will, his fury.

One sword spun upward like a cyclone and then shot down like a hammer from the heavens.

Another weaved around Soilandor’s leg like a snake, then struck with pinpoint precision at his inner knee.

The third split off midair, twisting sideways to strike from the back at the exact spot Clint had weakened earlier.

Fourth and fifth moved in unison, crossing each other in the air before snapping outward in a butterfly pattern, aiming at Soilandor’s temples from either side.

Elius spun in place.

His robe fluttered, his boots scraped the floor, his breath controlled and deep—every motion feeding into the next like a divine choreography passed down from immortals.

Sparks danced around him as the Qi-imbued blades screamed through the air.

The pressure in the chamber grew immense.

Even Balkan had to step back. Monkaar grunted. Clint covered his face from the sharp winds and heat radiating off Elius’s sword dance.

Soilandor didn’t laugh this time.

He watched.

Each blade tore into him.

Each strike splashed apart his sand-body.

SLASH!

His leg exploded.

PIERCE!

His arm flew off.

CRACK!

His chest caved in.

THWUMP!

A sword passed through his throat, severing it completely.

Grains of sand flew everywhere—rattling against the walls, hissing along the floor, some even splashing across Elius’s face like coarse dust from a desert storm.

And yet...

The grains gathered.

WSSSH.

His body rebuilt.

Reassembled.

Remade.

As if Elius had done nothing at all.

Elius didn’t stop. He spun, twirled, reversed direction. He leapt and landed, making one sword flash upward in a vertical strike while the others weaved like serpents around his back.

He struck again.

And again.

And again.

The fifth time—Soilandor lost his right shoulder.

The eighth—his spine was cut in half.

The tenth—his head was sent flying.

But always, always, the sand returned.

Soilandor’s grin returned. Broader. Almost... proud.

He watched the sword dance without moving his arms. Without taking a single step.

Every part of him destroyed.

Every part rebuilt.

And Elius?

He landed softly.

His robes fluttered around him.

His chest rose and fell, a thin sheen of sweat on his brow.

The swords hovered around him, bloodless, flawless, gleaming in a tight orbit.

He stood in the center of the circle like the eye of a storm, motionless now.

Soilandor grinned again, cocking his head as his body finished reshaping.

"Well," he said, chuckling softly, "that was... graceful."

Elius didn’t respond.

He just stared.

Furious.

Calculating.

Silent.

Elius’s eyes, still sharp with the frustration of his earlier assault, flicked left and right toward his party.

"Balkan! Monkaar!" he called, his voice deep and brimming with command. "Join us. We do this together!"

The moment those words left his mouth, Balkan’s expression turned grim. The burly warrior took a slow breath and slammed his palms to the ground.

KRRKKKKKKKK!!!

A sudden quake ripped across the dungeon floor.

Chunks of black stone shattered into craters, and deep glowing lines—like molten scars—spider-webbed outward beneath Balkan’s feet.

His tattoos lit up gold. The earth around him trembled. Then—

CRACK—KRAAAA-KOOM!!!

Three colossal mouths erupted from the earth behind him. Dreadworms.

No, Titan Dreadworms.

Each one the size of a locomotive engine.

Their armored plates shimmered with obsidian sheen, with glowing red lines pulsing through the ridges of their spines.

Their mouths were vertical pits filled with thousands of crushing teeth, and their screeches were like steam turbines melting into banshee howls.

"Get him!" Balkan bellowed.

THWOOOOOOMMMM!!!

The Titan Dreadworms dove into the earth, disappearing instantly into burrowing shockwaves. Then, within seconds—

BOOM!

One burst from under Soilandor, teeth gnashing, slamming directly into his back and grinding his sand-body like mortar in a pestle.

WHRAAAGGGHHHH!!!

Another shot upward like a geyser from behind, smashing into his torso and flinging sand in all directions.

The third re-emerged from the left, spiraling like a cyclone, then twisted midair and slammed headfirst into Soilandor’s midsection—causing a massive explosion of dust, debris, and splintered ground.

The entire battlefield became chaos.

BANG! WHOOM! CRAAACK!!

Each Titan Dreadworm moved independently, sensing vibrations and attacking from below, above, and even sideways. Their strikes were a barrage of violence—pure pressure and ancient force from the deepest layers of the earth.

And yet—

Soilandor remained.

Though his body broke apart again and again, each time his form disassembled like fluid dust and swirled back into place.

WSSSHHH.

His limbs reformed.

WSSHHH.

His torso reshaped.

Every Dreadworm attack became a temporary setback. Never fatal. Never lasting.

Still, Balkan pressed on. Sweat poured from his bald scalp. His fingers shook. The strain of maintaining control over three massive creatures in this hellish storm of sand and dungeon pressure pushed him beyond his limits.

But he didn’t stop.

And then—

ZHUUMMMM!!!

A different sound cut through the tremors. A thin, oscillating, slicing sound that bent the air.

From the far side, Monkaar knelt, glowing lines running up his arms. His throat vibrated with an unnatural hum, and he thrust his hand forward.

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAANGGGGGGGGGGGG!!!

A focused echo wave surged out of his palm—pure resonance made manifest. The sound carved across the battlefield like a pressure blade of vibrational force.

It struck Soilandor directly across his chest.

For a second, his body wavered. The sand wobbled, resonated with the frequency, the very essence of his grains shaking and rattling like millions of bones in a drumline. His form warped, struggled to hold its shape, as if the frequency was trying to untune him from reality.

Monkaar thrust his other hand forward—

RRRRRRAAAAHHHHHNNNNNG!!!

Another blast. This time across Soilandor’s legs.

Then—

THWAAANGG! THWAAANGG! THWAAANGG!

Multiple echo pulses hit like sonic bullets whenever Monkaar found a clear shot. They were fast. Sharper than sound. Harder to track than light.

Soilandor was attacked from beneath by Titan Dreadworms... blasted from afar by vibrating echo strikes... and Clint continued firing flame rounds like a howitzer cannon—

BLAM-BLAM-BLAM!

The fire burned so hot, it boiled sand.

The air turned into shimmering waves of heat.

Screams of Dreadworms.

Roars of gunfire.

The humming of Monkaar’s voice—

It was a symphony of war.

And yet... all three of them began to falter.

Clint fell to one knee. His fingers smoked from overuse. Steam rose from his knuckles. His fire had burned too long, too bright. He coughed violently.

Monkaar slumped against a chunk of stone, one arm limp, blood trickling from his ears. His last echo wave had left him twitching, the harmonics rebounding painfully in his internal organs.

Balkan dropped one knee to the ground, his skin pale, his connection to the worms weakening.

The Titan Dreadworms vanished into the dirt like snakes retreating into their dens, sensing their master’s fatigue.

And still—

Soilandor stood.

Whole.

Amused.

Impressed.

He clapped slowly.

Clap.

Clap.

Clap.

"Wonderful," he said. His voice was like falling gravel and hissing wind. "That... was delightful."

He looked directly at Balkan and Monkaar now.

"You two. Earth-elemental fighters." He gestured to Balkan. "Your Dreadworms—primitive, but powerful. I felt the will of the soil in your summons. That’s rare. It means the dirt listens to your command."

Then he turned to Monkaar.

"And your resonance... echo attacks that ripple through matter. That takes fine control over ground frequency. Both of you—touch the power of my Pantheon."

He tilted his head.

"You honor me by using our domain so well."

He paused, then added, voice thick with reverence, "The Pantheon of Soil and Earth... it is not just a gathering of gods. It is a legacy of pressure. Of sediment. Of buried bones. It is the world beneath all worlds. It is not the sky that holds up existence, boy..."

He glanced at Elius now.

"It is the ground."

His hand lifted.

Soilandor extended his long, sand-woven fingers... and curled them inward. One by one. Slowly. Tauntingly.

He beckoned.

And he grinned.

"Come on, boy," he said to Elius. "You fought my brother with something special. That move."

His eyes sparkled.

"Show it to me."

He rolled his fingers again, invitingly.

"Let me see what hurt the Lava Scissor. Let me taste the thing that scarred his eternal form. Don’t be shy now. You’ve been dancing around me like a bird trying to look big. Come now, strike like a storm."

He grinned wider.

"Or are you afraid... that what worked before... won’t work again?"

A long silence.

The echoes of the battle faded.

Elius stood perfectly still, his swords floating in a slow orbit behind his back. The air shimmered with lingering heat. His eyes locked on Soilandor’s. Quietly, dangerously.

"...Alright," he said.

And the swords began to hum.