Chapter 82 No one else
1105 Words
“Who’s there?!”
Crimson blood-energy flared around the Acolyte’s body as he yanked a crude, meter-long metal rod from his belt—clearly meant as a weapon, though it looked like it had been salvaged from a junkyard.
Clutching his throbbing head, he scanned the shadows. When he pulled his hand away, his fingers came back smeared with blood.
*What century is this? Getting my skull cracked open by pebbles?!*
Three directions… was he surrounded?
Heart pounding, he fumbled for his phone and pressed it to his ear.
Thwack!
Another stone shot through the air—piercing straight through the device and slamming into his forehead with a sharp, crystalline *c***k*.
*Did that sound good? If it sounded good, you’ve got a good head!*
Finally, a figure emerged from between the crumbling apartment buildings.
Adam stood there, left arm cradling a large cardboard box stacked with takeout containers, right hand casually juggling a handful of smooth river stones.
Inside the box? A whole case of ice cream.
Turns out the store was out of “ice milk.” This was the only dairy-and-ice-related item left. Close enough, he figured.
“I thought about it for a while,” Adam said, voice calm. “Now that I’m officially enrolled, ignoring something like this… doesn’t feel right.”
“What do you think?”
The Acolyte raised his golden rod, sneering. “You.”
“You know me?” Adam frowned. He wasn’t exactly famous outside campus.
“I saw you at that press thing today,” the Acolyte hissed, eyes narrowed. “Not bad… for an amateur actor.”
“So that woman—was she part of your setup too?” Adam asked.
“No,” the red-robed man spat. “She jumped in before we even moved. Honestly? Screwed up our whole plan.”
The moment the words left his mouth, he froze—eyes widening in panic. He slapped a hand over his lips, muttering under his breath:
“Oh crap… was I not supposed to say that out loud?”
Adam: *This guy’s got the brains of a concussed pigeon.*
Those earlier stones must’ve rattled something loose.
“Enough talk,” the Acolyte snapped, glancing around. “Where are your friends? Don’t tell me it was just you throwing from three directions.”
He’d seen the stones come from different angles—had assumed at least three attackers. Now his phone was destroyed, and he was alone.
But… they were just students. How dangerous could one kid be?
“No one else,” Adam said flatly. “Just me.”
As he spoke, he flicked another stone toward a nearby lamppost.
It struck the metal pole—then bounced, curving unnaturally through the air like it had a mind of its own, streaking straight for the Acolyte’s face.
No loss of speed. No drop in momentum. No physics.
The Acolyte swung his rod with practiced speed. “Please tell me your superpower isn’t just… throwing rocks,” he mocked. “That’s the lamest—”
Crack!
The rod shattered the stone mid-air.
But before he could finish his sentence, the fragments swerved—looping in perfect arcs, defying every law of motion, and pelted him square in the face.
“Agh!” He stumbled back, clutching his eyes. The shards stung worse than the original stone.
“Huh,” Adam mused, rolling another pebble in his palm. “This *Headshot Lock* really is something.”
Frost instantly coated the stone in his hand. Then another. And another.
He began hurling them in rapid succession—each one glinting with ice, each one homing in on the Acolyte’s head with terrifying precision.
Adam hesitated, though. Protocol said Acolytes were kill-on-sight threats. But this one was barely fighting back. Maybe he should capture him? Interrogate him?
“Everyone!” Adam shouted to the civilians. “Get back! Or come stand behind me!”
He couldn’t risk the Acolyte lashing out at them. At this range, he might not be fast enough to stop it.
But what happened next stunned him.
Not a single person moved toward him.
Instead, they all stepped backward—slowly, deliberately—and gathered around the Acolyte, their eyes burning with hostility as they glared at Adam.
Thwack!
One final stone arced through the air, raising a fresh lump on the Acolyte’s forehead.
Adam lowered his hand, staring at the wall of civilians now shielding his enemy.
“Hah!” The Acolyte spat blood, grinning through the pain. “Your little trick is annoying… but weak.”
“And look—no one’s listening to you.”
Adam fell silent for a long moment, studying their faces—twisted not by fear, but by resentment.
“I don’t know what he told you,” he said slowly. “What lies he fed you. But think clearly.”
“Staying with him won’t end well.”
“If he turns on you, you’ll lose your minds—or your lives.”
Silence.
Then, a middle-aged man with bloodshot eyes snarled:
“But we’ll get power.”
“We’ll get superpowers too! Everything you have—we’ll take it!”
The crowd erupted.
“Yeah! Why do you get to have it all?!”
“We want to be superhumans too!”
“We want to do whatever we damn well please! Give us strength!”
Adam’s brow furrowed. “Since when do superhumans ‘do whatever they please’?”
“Easy for you to say!” another man shouted, voice raw. “If I were a superhuman, my wife wouldn’t have left me after I lost a gamble!”
“It was just a little money! That b***h even called the cops! If I could fly, if I had power—they wouldn’t dare touch me!”
Adam: …
*Oh. So that’s what this is.*
These weren’t just desperate people. They were addicts. Losers. Men who’d gambled away their lives and now blamed the world for their ruin.
“Being a degenerate is your own fault,” Adam said wearily. “Don’t drag superhumans into your mess.”
The Acolyte saw his opening.
“Enough!” he cried, raising his glowing rod. “Surrender yourselves to the Lord! He will grant you everything you desire!”
Golden light erupted from the staff, washing over the crowd.
Adam tensed, stepping forward—then froze.
Because in that light, one man turned to him, face contorted in pain yet eyes blazing with fanatic resolve, and screamed:
“Get lost! Stay away from us! Don’t you dare stop us from getting power!”
- Writer
