11. To Kill Or To Save.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Rio stood still, staring at his fists, still crackling with lingering energy. Awe settled over him. A speedster with and without the Speed Force may as well have had two entirely different powers.

The Speed Force—an energy field from the DC Comics he read in his past life. In that universe, it governed all motion, dictating the movement of reality itself. Generations of speedsters had wielded its power, the most famous being The Flash. Knowing what they could do, the possibilities before him seemed endless. How could that being have granted this power so casually?

The thought sobered him. Clearly, whatever that entity planned already involved the Speed Force—and by extension, the DC universe. In a world where concepts walked among men and individuals crushed galaxies in their palms, anything related to that was bound to be dangerous. He had been thrown into a high-stakes game without even qualifying to sit at the table.

A firm hand rested on his head, snapping him out of his thoughts. Looking up, he met O'Clock's gaze. The hero's face was drawn tight, his mouth pressed into a thin line.

"Hey, kid. Can you still move? Your quirk looks like it took a lot out of you," O'Clock said.

Rio immediately noticed how much his body had shrunk. He had grown so used to this occurrence that it no longer fazed him.

"Nah, I'm good. Just need a quick bite, and I'll be back to normal. Speed metabolism and all that."

He didn't mind entertaining whatever request the hero had. After all, the man had saved his life today—the least he could do was hear him out.

"Good," O'Clock said. "Then help me move the injured above ground. If we don't get them out in time, some won't make it before this place comes crashing down."

Rio was dumbfounded. The hero actually had the nerve to say that? Wasn't he here when these same people threatened to kill them all?

"With all due respect, sir, are you insane? They were trying to kill us mere seconds ago! What do you mean, 'rescue them'?"

"The fight's already over. They've lost. Now we get them to the hospital. They can be tried after they've recovered for their crimes."

"What if I don't agree to that? What if I say no?" Rio stared defiantly at the hero. There was no way he was going to help scum who had tried to murder three children without hesitation.

"Section seven of the Quirk Use Act stipulates that any civilian who involves themselves in a large-scale violent attack involving quirks will be charged as a villain," O'clock said calmly as he heaved a groaning cultist onto his shoulders.

"That's completely unreasonable! And does that even apply to me? I'm a minor."

"There are no protections available for villainy in general, so I advise you help me. I can testify that you were acting under heroic supervision." O'clock continued as he hoisted another injured cultist.

"So you want to tell the police you had a child fighting villains? You could lose your license and reputation—just to protect these scumbags. Are you even listening to yourself?"

"Look, I don't have to explain myself to you, kid. Will you help out or not?"

Grumbling under his breath, Rio scanned the area for survivors. Once he spotted one, he roughly dragged them into a pile, cursing the whole time about stupid people making him do stupid things.

Rio's mood soured instantly. He was completely justified in not wanting to help these villains—people who had tried to kill him and Hana just moments ago.

At the thought of Hana, he realized he'd been hasty in abandoning her. At the time, subduing the remaining enemy had seemed like the rational choice—the safest course of action. But in hindsight, he wasn't sure what he could have done differently.

On one hand, he still felt resentment toward her. He had risked his life—his future—to save her, and all he got in return was spite. On the other, reason dictated that he should comfort her. She was just a scared child who didn't know better.

His stomach churned as he scanned the pile of bodies. Moments ago, these people had cheered while taking part in that macabre ritual. Now, they lay scattered—lifeless. He understood that life was fragile; after all, he had died once. But this… this hit too close to home.

As he searched for survivors, a disturbance caught his attention—groans and the wet, rasping sound of a failing cough. He followed the noise and came face to face with a man who made his blood boil.

The high priest lay sprawled on the ground, choking on his own blood. His ankle was twisted into an unrecognizable mess. He looked up at Rio and convulsed in another violent fit of coughing, spitting a thick glob of blood onto the floor.

Rio clenched his fists. The man was helpless now. He could end him here, and no one would ever know. Just a quick stomp to the chest, and the priest would fade like a bad dream.

As if sensing his intent, the priest stiffened. Then, with a burst of desperate energy, he threw himself into an impassioned crawl—dragging his broken body away from the rising murderous intent.

Rio looked down at the man. Earlier, he had carried himself with dignity—now he could do nothing but crawl in desperation. The sight no longer interested Rio. He wasn't worth the blood on his hands. Without another glance, he turned and walked away, too indifferent to even pick him up.

As if sensing the shift in atmosphere, the high priest's expression twisted—from deep panic to pure disgust.

"FOOLISH CHILD! DO YOU THINK THIS IS OVER? I WILL FIND YOU! AND WHEN I DO, I WILL HOLD YOU DOWN AS YOU WATCH HELPLESSLY—DROWNING IN THE BLOOD OF YOUR FAMILY!"

Rio stopped mid-step. Expressionless, he turned back.

In a flash, he was upon the man. His fingers twisted into the priest's hair, yanking him up until he was kneeling, their eyes locked at the same level.

"It seems I overestimated your wisdom. Why did you have to test me?"

Rio raised his hand, positioning it at the priest's throat. The man could only watch, horror freezing his limbs, as Rio's hand came down like a blade—ready to sever it.

But the strike never landed.

A firm grip caught Rio's wrist, stopping him mid-motion. He flicked his gaze between O'clock and his intended target. Was he fast enough to break free, to finish this before the hero could stop him again?

"Let me go, sir. No disrespect, but you're being a massive pain in the groin."

O'clock's grip tightened. His intent was clear—he wasn't letting go.

Rio exhaled sharply and shifted his attention back to the high priest. The man's panic had been replaced by a smug, self-satisfied grin.

Rio would have loved to wipe it off his face. But with a witness present, he couldn't.

A sharp whoosh cut through the air. Then—THWACK!

A clean punch slammed into the high priest's skull, sending him tumbling across the room. He collapsed in a heap, his fate uncertain.

"While I believe you shouldn't take any more actions," O'clock said casually, shaking out his fist, "I can still smack a no-good lowlife who doesn't understand his place. Since he's in good enough shape to be mouthing off, I'm sure he'll appreciate being sent off to Tartarus."

Rio stared, dumbfounded. Did this guy just flip his stance in seconds?

"Don't worry, kid. Your family's safe. No villain has broken out of Tartarus since its inception. It's the safest of the six mega-prisons in the country."

Rio wasn't sure what to make of this man. One moment he was advising against using force, the next, he was sending villains flying.

Yeah, O'clock was a pretty cool guy.

"You'll have to get cleaned up, though, and then give the police your statement. By the way, where do you live? The police will need to contact your parents."

Ah. Scratch that.

O'clock was a bitch after all.