Solo Cultivating in Superhero Academy
Chapter 87: Stalemate

Chapter 87: Stalemate

A pulse of energy radiated outward.

The sand began glowing with sigils—ancient carvings spelling doom in a language long buried.

Elius muttered, "He’s regenerating... fast."

He clenched his jaw and called out behind him. "Clint."

The sound of boots crunching into gravel echoed as the sharp-eyed sharpshooter stepped forward, fingers already twitching.

"Six shots," Clint said calmly. "That’s all I need."

"Balkan," Elius said.

A rumble answered before the man himself spoke.

"Already summoning," Balkan grunted, slamming both hands to the ground.

A ripple of spiritual energy burst outward, and then—

From a rift of cracked space, a horned beast emerged. Towering. Hunched. Covered in purple obsidian scales and steaming from its maw.

The Dreadworm Titan.

Its twin horns crackled with black lightning. Its claws dragged across the battlefield with grinding hunger.

Elius finally looked to Monkaar.

The boy cracked his knuckles, his smirk wide. "Time for a solo, huh?"

He clapped his hands once—and the air around him vibrated. His whole body shimmered like glass in a storm. Echo rings rippled outward with each step he took.

"NOW!" Elius roared.

Clint moved first.

His six fingers aimed like guns, all glowing with fiery red light.

Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. BANG!

Each shot tore through the air like bullets from a divine forge. Flame met wind and carved fiery paths through the sky.

They struck Soilandor’s rotating sand armor.

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

Sand exploded in every direction, but the ancient mummy howled, raising layers of defense. Still, the bullets cracked his shields. The pressure made him stagger.

Then came Balkan.

The Dreadworm reared back and roared. Its breath alone shattered the ground beneath its hooves. Then it lunged, ramming its massive horns into Soilandor’s sand barrier.

CRACK!

The earth itself screamed.

Soilandor staggered again. His glowing aura flickered.

But the worst wasn’t over.

Monkaar stepped forward.

He clapped once.

Then again.

And again.

Each clap created a soundwave visible in the air. Rings of echo shot outward like ripples across still water, but moving at supersonic speed. The air twisted. Space vibrated.

And then Monkaar clapped both hands together, and—

BOOOOOOOOOOM!!!

A sonic shockwave of pure vibrational force detonated, like thunder harnessed and bent into a blade.

It sliced through the battlefield, tore across the air, and smashed into Soilandor’s body with the strength of mountains crumbling.

All three attacks converged.

Fire.

Titan.

Sound.

KA-THOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!!!!

The ground detonated.

A geyser of smoke, fire, and sand shot into the heavens.

The sky itself turned red with the force of it.

Even Elius had to raise his arms to shield himself from the blast.

As the world shook—

The center of the battlefield vanished into a sphere of blinding, roaring explosion.

When the dust finally began to settle, after what felt like the breath of the apocalypse had swept across the battlefield, silence reigned once more.

Ash drifted in the air like slow-falling snow. The ground was warped, cratered, and broken—rivers of blackened cracks split the surface where fire, titan force, and echo had collided. Even the distant wind seemed to have fled, terrified of what had transpired. And then—

A voice.

"Hhhaaa... ha... HAHAHAHAHAHA!"

Dry. Ancient. Undying.

It rose like the grating scrape of a corpse clawing its way from a coffin.

"You insects... you actually thought—hah—you actually believed you’d destroyed me?" Soilandor’s voice echoed across the wasteland.

From the core of the crater, his silhouette emerged once more—still wrapped in swaying sand tendrils, still armored in his signature earth-born wrappings. But this time, something was different.

He stood taller. Straighter. His body had hardened into a fortress of plated clay and compressed stone—his wrappings now fused with shining ore. His eye sockets burned with molten brown.

"You’ve done NOTHING!" Soilandor bellowed. "My barrier remains untouched! My sacred sands are not so easily pierced!"

He laughed again, and it echoed like the sound of tombs being sealed shut.

"You’ll never break me. NEVER. I am the immortal bastion! I am the desert’s wrath!"

Clint narrowed his eyes, Balkan wiped a trickle of blood from his lip, and Monkaar’s arms vibrated faintly from the last blast.

But Elius didn’t speak immediately.

He stood motionless—his legs trembling ever so slightly. His breathing was shallow, his ribs protesting with every pull of air. Even his sword, which still floated behind him, trembled slightly—its arcane energies fluttering.

His system screen still flickered at the edge of his vision:

Warning: Body fatigue 79%

Qi Reserves: Low

Vital Pressure: Declining

And yet, he smiled.

Because his eyes never lied.

He stared straight through the mummy’s bravado. Through the loud words. Through the glowing sand armor.

He could see it.

"You’re bluffing," Elius said calmly.

Soilandor stopped laughing. "What?"

Elius’ lips curled into a smirk. "You’re talking so loud to hide it. But I can see the cracks in your shield. That explosion just now—" he nodded toward the scorched battlefield, "—it wasn’t nothing. It drained you. That’s why your voice is louder. That’s why you’re standing taller. To cover up how exhausted you are."

Soilandor’s jaw tensed.

"You’re not like Lava Scissor," Elius said.

The mention of that name made the air shift.

Soilandor’s eye-lights flared.

Elius went on, each word a blade to the mummy’s pride. "Lava Scissor had something you don’t. Infinite energy. An engine that fed off dimensional heat, magma, and more. He could burn forever. He never had to run. But you—"

He took a shallow breath.

"—when you first appeared, you ran off. Fast. You didn’t stay to fight. Why?"

Soilandor didn’t answer.

"Because you needed energy. You needed to collect it. You needed to prepare. Recharge. Store. That’s your fatal flaw."

Elius’ voice lowered to a whisper, and yet it carried through the ruined field.

"You run out."

The wind blew softly. Dust trailed across the battlefield like silent observers.

Soilandor’s fists trembled.

"Don’t you dare... compare me to a child," he hissed.

Elius shrugged. "I’m just calling it how I see it. Lava Scissor—child or not—never needed to talk so much. He just attacked." Although this is a lie, Elius doesn’t care. He needed to provoke the enemy.

Soilandor’s mouth twisted into a snarl.

"I SAID DON’T COMPARE ME TO A CHILD!!!"

Sand exploded around him in a sudden violent surge—but this time, it lacked precision. It lacked grace. The sand orbs around him pulsed erratically, flickering with unstable energy.

Clint raised an eyebrow. "He’s rattled."

Monkaar tilted his head, grin returning. "He’s cracked."

Balkan’s Titan Dreadworm hissed with anticipation.

Elius pointed toward the weakened mummy. "Then let’s erase his energy."

His voice was quiet, yet full of command.

Clint was already moving. His six fingers clicked and locked into fire mode—tubes of red-hot qi coiled along his wrists. He flicked them outward, and six glowing bullets formed instantly, orbiting his hand like fireflies of death.

"Let’s see how long you can keep that barrier up, mummy-boy."

Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! BANG!

Each bullet soared with supernatural trajectory, targeting stress points, orbiting stones, and center mass. They impacted with thunderous force, sending shockwaves down Soilandor’s arm and chest.

"AAAARRRGHHH!!" the mummy screamed.

Before he could counter, the ground beneath him split.

Balkan was already chanting in his guttural tone, the language of ancient worms and buried horrors. A glyph burned beneath his feet, and dozens of Dreadworms surged upward—tiny, fast, horned beasts erupting from fissures in the earth.

They struck like arrows, climbing Soilandor’s legs, sinking their obsidian teeth into his armored body.

"Get—GET OFF ME!"

He swung his arms wildly, but more came. The Titan Dreadworm lunged from the side, ramming Soilandor with full weight. His barrier dimmed again, pulsing weaker than before.

And then—

Monkaar.

He exhaled, stepped forward, and whispered: "Time for a song."

He clapped once.

Then again.

The third clap caused a chorus of echoes to emerge, each one building on the last—layered like a symphony of destruction. The ground hummed. The air buzzed. The sky warped slightly from the frequency.

"NO MORE—!!" Soilandor roared.

But Monkaar stepped closer.

"Clap four."

BOOM!

The soundwave bent the space around Soilandor—rattling his bones, shaking his spirit. Cracks spread across his sand armor. His barrier flickered violently, sparks flying.

"Clap five."

BOOOOOOM!

This time, Soilandor was blasted backward, limbs flailing. He screamed, furious, disoriented, as Dreadworms latched to his chest and Clint’s fire bullets seared his back.

"STOP IT!" he howled. "STOP—STOP—I’LL KILL YOU ALL!"

He raised his arms and tried to summon another wall of sand—but it was thinner now. Slower. And it was immediately punctured by Balkan’s horned minions again.

"Not so infinite now, huh?" Elius called out.

Soilandor’s screams became increasingly desperate. He swung wildly, but the fatigue was evident in his posture. His sand no longer moved with divine command—it faltered, lagged behind his intentions.

"YOU—YOU—YOU’RE JUST MORTALS!!!"

Elius smirked. "And yet... you’re the one running out of breath."

The sand mummy finally sank to one knee, cracks spreading across his arms, chest, and legs. His breath came in stuttering wheezes. His aura flickered like a dying flame.

And then—

Everything paused.

No attacks.

No sound.

Just a tense silence hanging between them.

Elius’ legs could barely hold him up. His vision was dimming at the edges. His sword wobbled in the air. But his will held.

Across from him, Soilandor stood hunched, shaking, desperate to keep his crumbling body together, furiously trying to summon more sand—but each wave came weaker than the last.

A standoff born of blood, will, and attrition.

Two forces.

One proud and ancient, blessed by a pantheon.

One mortall cultivator, but relentless, cold-eyed and sharp-willed.

The battlefield was still.

A stalemate.