Solo Cultivating in Superhero Academy
Chapter 88: Get out

Chapter 88: Get out

The dust had settled, but the battle was far from over.

Elius stood with heavy breath, muscles aching, eyes sharp.

The pressure in the air was suffocating now, a warping heat mingled with the stench of scorched sand and cracked stone.

All around them, the battleground resembled a shattered sculpture of the world itself, devastated by the previous barrage.

And yet...

Clint’s knees buckled. He dropped to one hand, panting so heavily that every breath rasped like wind through fire-scorched lungs.

"Damn it..." Clint muttered, voice barely audible. "I’m... running dry..."

The tubes attached to his wrists glowed faintly, flickering in and out like dying embers. His fire bullet chambers were overheating.

The recoil had bruised his bones. His once fiery aura had diminished to faint waves of heat radiating around his body like a fading halo.

Balkan wasn’t doing any better.

He knelt beside a still-smoking crater, his entire right arm trembling from overuse of the summoning glyphs.

Around him, the summoned Dreadworms were melting back into sand and soil, dissipating into dimensional ash with low, mournful screeches. Blood trickled down Balkan’s nose from the mental strain.

"My Dreadworms..." he gasped, holding his head. "I can’t... keep them stable anymore. They’re burrowing into my mind..."

Monkaar stumbled, legs wobbly like a puppet with half-cut strings.

He clutched his ears as faint trails of blood ran down his neck.

The last sonic burst had pushed his vocal cords and mental frequency to the brink of collapse. Even his normally cocky grin was twisted into a wince of pain.

"...I’ve never... felt this kind of burnout," he murmured, the last echo of his clap still hanging in the distance.

All three of them—Clint, Balkan, Monkaar—stood like men on the verge of collapse, sweat-slicked and trembling, their auras thin and flickering. And in the center of the battlefield, Soilandor remained standing. Damaged—but still standing.

It was Elius who broke the silence.

"...That’s enough."

His voice was soft, calm—yet commanding.

The three of them turned to look at him. Tired, exhausted, and desperate, they locked eyes with Elius.

There was hesitation in their eyes, as if their pride wouldn’t allow them to back off.

Clint grunted. "Elius, don’t be stupid... you’ll die alone if we bail now—"

"I said," Elius interrupted firmly, "go back. Leave this place."

Balkan blinked, stunned. "You... can’t be serious."

Monkaar rasped, "No way. We’re not... leaving you behind, man..."

But Elius raised one hand—two fingers extended.

Suddenly, the entire battlefield pulsed with Qi pressure. It burst from him like a silent thunderclap.

The ground groaned beneath their feet.

The air grew thick, heavy, nearly crushing.

The three flinched as the weight of the cultivation aura pushed against their chests.

Elius’ eyes burned with silent resolve.

"You’ve done enough, sidekicks. This part’s mine now. So go."

Clint gritted his teeth. "...Sidekicks, huh?"

Monkaar laughed bitterly. "...Tch. You’re such a bastard."

But Balkan, with shaking shoulders, gave a slow nod. "Don’t die, Elius."

One by one, they turned away along with the rumble from the ground of probably the three worms of Balkan.

Step by step, they limped and staggered, disappearing toward the cratered edge of the battlefield.

The moment they passed the first shattered dune, Elius raised a hand—and his sword, which had hovered behind him, suddenly turned and followed them.

Its trail glimmered briefly, guiding their retreat like a silent guardian. But once they were far enough... the sword halted. Turned. And flew straight back into Elius’ hand.

He gripped it tightly.

Then, he cracked his fingers.

One by one.

Pop... pop... pop...

And then, he tilted his neck left—crick—and right—crack.

"Finally," Elius muttered, eyes gleaming, "they left."

His aura surged.

A thin smile curved his lips.

"They won’t be able to see it now... It’s time to test these Martial Skills I got from this dungeon."

Soilandor’s laughter erupted across the land once more. "What are you rambling about, little rat? Do you actually believe you can crack my barrier!?"

The ancient mummy stomped forward, dragging half-melted sand armor behind him. "My sand barrier is absolute! The more you attack it, the more you exhaust yourself! Didn’t you learn from your own allies’ failures?"

Elius walked slowly, dragging his blade lazily along the ground, sparks flying behind it.

"I noticed that too," Elius said, calmly. "But... I wanted to try something."

In the next instant, he vanished.

A blur.

A flicker.

A golden streak in a split second.

WHOOSH!

Soilandor’s eyes widened.

He raised his arms instinctively and reinforced his sand shield—but Elius was already in front of him.

"Let’s see how your defenses like this..."

Elius snapped his fingers.

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

Blistering fire bullets exploded from his fingertips, identical to Clint’s technique—but faster.

More accurate.

Each one struck a weak point Soilandor had previously reinforced.

"What—?! How—?!"

BOOM! BOOM!

Soilandor’s body staggered under the sudden barrage, firelight bouncing off his crumbling shield.

Dust flew everywhere.

BOOM!

But even in the chaos, Soilandor’s voice rang out, triumphant.

"You—YOU CAN’T DESTROY MY DEFENSE! My barrier is made to withstand centuries of siege! Didn’t you see your companions fail!?"

A voice answered from within the dust.

"I know."

Swoosh!

"I don’t need to destroy it from outside."

And then—

"Tremor Punch."

The dust swirled inwards, collapsing toward the center.

The air itself seemed to scream.

Soilandor’s eyes widened.

"What—?!"

CRACK!

Invisible tremors shattered the space around Soilandor like glass.

The pressure focused into a single point—and then:

BANG!

A thunderous, unseen force SLAMMED into him.

Soilandor’s body lurched backward, hit by something he couldn’t see—his entire torso buckling from the impact.

His sand barrier crumbled at the point of contact.

He tried to hold it together—he forced more energy, more control, more reinforcement—but it was too late.

BANG!

A second impact lifted him into the air.

"Impossible...!" he choked.

And then—

CRASH!

He hit the ground like a meteor, the sand around him exploding in every direction. His armor was gone. His arms were limp. And for the first time... Soilandor felt it.

That creeping sensation.

That terrible stillness.

As if something final had touched him.

As if the end had entered the edge of his awareness.

His eyes widened.

"No... no... NOOO—WAIT!"

He was suspended mid-air by the last shockwave, body broken, limbs dangling.

Elius stood below, his eyes locked on him.

Soilandor gasped, "WAIT! IF YOU KILL ME—YOUR HUMAN FRIEND WILL DIE!"

Elius paused.

Just for a moment.

The battlefield held its breath.

And then—

BANG.

A final crash to the ground.

Not long, Elius stood tall, his body drenched in sweat that glistened beneath the flickering light of shattered Qi embers. His breath came in slow, heavy pulls.

Every muscle in his body screamed from strain, but his eyes—his eyes burned like molten steel.

Before him lay Soilandor, the ancient sand mummy, now crumpled against the broken ground like a relic unearthed and discarded.

The silence of the battlefield stretched wide.

The sandstorm had ended.

The last echo of their loud ground pounding battle had faded.

And Elius stepped forward.

He looked down at the half-buried creature like it was a meer insect and asked. "Where’s your cannot be broken barrier now, sandflea?"