Hand Of God

Chapter 83 I changed my mind

“Yeah, get lost!”

“We’re gonna be superhumans any second now!”

“Once I get my powers, the first thing I’m doing is beating the hell out of you—stop acting like some damn savior! Who asked you to save us?!”

“Hahahaha!”

Adam listened to the chorus of jeers—and simply stopped moving.

Unlike idealists like Sapphire, he’d never pretended to be a hero. He didn’t see himself as “good” in any traditional sense.

They’d made their choice loud and clear. He wasn’t about to force help on people who spat in his face. Their decisions, their consequences.

The Acolyte stepped in front of the crowd, arms spread like a shield.

“Respect their freedom of choice, kid,” he sneered. “And with me here, you won’t stop this Ritual!”

Adam stared at the man—head swollen with lumps, mouth running nonstop—and couldn’t be bothered to respond.

*Who said I was trying to save them?*

You can’t cure the incurable. You can’t save those who refuse to be saved. He’d warned them. That was enough.

And honestly? *Buddha doesn’t save idiots.* Hadn’t they heard that one?

Besides, he had no idea how to even stop this ritual. Didn’t know what it was, how it worked, or what it did.

So, with nothing better to do, he popped open the ice cream box, pulled out a tub, and started eating—casually, like he was watching a street performance.

The Acolyte, mistaking his indifference for defeat, puffed up with pride.

“This ritual isn’t just mental indoctrination—it’s a full evolutionary upgrade. Complex, delicate… but these fools? Their desperation made it easy.”

“If they hadn’t been so rabid for power after losing everything at the tables, I’d never have gotten this far.”

“Now we’ll see how many can endure the Lord’s blessing. Maybe one or two’ll even become like me.”

He straightened his robes, chest out, radiating smug superiority.

Adam just kept eating his ice cream, listening with growing annoyance.

*Why are you monologuing? Did I ask? Do I look interested?*

*You’re not a villain—you’re a walking mental health crisis.*

The Acolyte, seeing no aggression from Adam, turned back to his “converts.”

The gamblers were already lost in euphoria. Raw energy surged through their bodies, making them writhe and grin like addicts on a high.

“Ha! I can feel it! Superpower’s coming! I’ll be a god!”

“Those cops won’t dare touch me next time!”

“I’m gonna go back to that casino tomorrow and gut those cheaters who beat me!”

“And that prim little schoolteacher on East Street? Rejected me like I was trash? Once I’ve got power, I’ll show her what a *real* man looks like!”

Their fantasies grew darker, more violent—each word dripping with entitlement and malice.

Adam’s expression hardened.

These weren’t people seeking justice or protection. To them, superpowers were just tools for revenge, control, and indulgence.

*Power isn’t good or evil,* he thought. *It’s the user who decides.*

Then—suddenly—a middle-aged man’s eyes bulged. Blood poured from his nose, ears, mouth. He collapsed, body twisting like a wrung-out rag, limbs snapping into unnatural angles.

“Hmph. Clearly, your loyalty to the Lord was… insufficient,” the Acolyte said coldly, not even glancing back.

“We’re loyal! We swear it!” the others shrieked, panic rising.

“Loyalty isn’t declared—it’s tested,” the Acolyte hissed, his mask of warmth gone, replaced by something cruel and hollow.

The red-eyed gambler from before shouted again:

“He died because he was weak! One less mouth to share the power with!”

The others nodded frantically, avoiding the corpse.

*His death? Not my problem.*

But then—another fell. And another. Bodies hit the ground, contorted, lifeless.

Fear finally cut through the delusion. Survival instinct kicked in.

One man scrambled on his hands and knees toward Adam, blood already seeping from his gums.

“Help me! I changed my mind! Please!”

Adam took a deliberate step back, blew a puff of frost over his melting ice cream to harden it, and kept eating—eyes fixed straight ahead, ignoring the man at his feet.

“You—?! Aren’t superhumans supposed to protect civilians? To save the world?!” the man screamed, voice cracking.

Adam swallowed a spoonful, calm as ever.

“You know what? If it were someone like Sapphire here? Yeah, she’d probably save you.”

“But me? Not my style. Sorry—bad luck on your part.”

The man’s eyes widened in disbelief.

Thud.

Another corpse hit the pavement.

Not a single one of the “evolution candidates” survived. All failed. All dead.

“Hmph. Poor stock,” the Acolyte muttered, eyeing the bodies with clinical disdain. “Next batch’ll need better desperation.”

Adam nodded, licking his spoon. “Yeah. These guys really were trash.”

The Acolyte: …

*Are you even on the hero team?!*

He narrowed his eyes. “You know… a superhuman university student *watching civilians die*? That’s gonna look real bad for Orienta.”

“I didn’t ‘watch them die,’” Adam said, tossing the empty tub into the box. “They chose this. And honestly? They called me names while doing it. Pretty messed up.”

“Nobody cares about details,” the Acolyte sneered. “All they’ll hear is that you stood by and did nothing. That’ll burn Orienta to the ground.”

Adam finished his ice cream, wiped his mouth, and finally looked the man in the eye.

He was genuinely confused.

*Why is this clown still talking? Is he actually this brave… or just this stupid?*

Frost surged across his skin, forming a sleek, glacial armor. Behind him, eight chains of solid ice materialized, coiling like serpents—his true combat form.

He exhaled a plume of freezing vapor and spoke, voice low and sharp as shattered glass:

“Oh? What ‘incident’ are you talking about?”

“Right now, only two people know what happened here.”

“But it could just as easily be… only *one*.”