17. Enemy In The Shadows

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

"THIS MAN NEEDS NO QUIRK TO TAKE LIVES. LIKE A COLD, UNFEELING MACHINE, HE SLASHES! HE STABS! HE GOUGES, AND IT'S THE END FOR YOU!"

Rio barely listened to the announcer. He understood now—O'Clock was playing the part of a quirkless mercenary. If he intended to take down the underground masquerade, now would be the best time to call in a team to shut the place down.

"GRIPPING A FANG OF STEEL, HE'S BACK FROM THE BATTLEFIELD BUT STILL READY TO DO SOME CARVING! WITH FIVE WINS AND NO LOSSES, GIVE IT UP FOR… THE RIPPER!"

O'Clock strode in confidently, the fog machine casting a mysterious glow around him as the flash of camera shutters went off endlessly. With all the fanfare, you'd think someone would have noticed the commotion smack dab in the city center. Rio mused that this had to be the work of a sound-dampening quirk or some kind of advanced technology.

"AND IN THE OPPOSITE CORNER… IF HE MEETS GOD, HE PUNCHES GOD! IF HE MEETS BUDDHA, HE PUNCHES BUDDHA! AND IF HE MEETS YOU? WELL, I'LL GIVE YOU ONE GUESS WHAT YOU'RE GETTING! LIKE AN UNSTOPPABLE LOCOMOTIVE, WITH 20 WINS AND NO LOSSES, HE IS… THE RAPPER!"

A towering brute of a man strode in with a wild grin on his face. Nearly seven feet tall, with fists the size of basins, his blonde hair struggled to stay contained within the mask that covered everything but his mouth.

Rio wasn't the slightest bit worried for his teacher. The only ones who could truly threaten a speedster were other speedsters. When everyone else took minutes to make the slightest adjustment in your eyes, it created the illusion that you had ascended to a higher dimension.

It was something Rio did his best to caution himself against—the arrogance of thinking oneself a god.

The two fighters faced each other in the ring, The Rapper staring down The Ripper. The Ripper remained still, holding his stance as their silent confrontation stretched on. Rio strained his ears, trying to catch what they were saying, but the deafening cheers and blaring speakers drowned out their words.

Then—the gong rang.

 The Rapper launched forward in a brutal rush, throwing left and right hooks so fast most of the audience could barely react. Rio watched with a grim expression.

 Once again, he had underestimated the quirk users of this world.

 While The Rapper wasn't so fast that Rio couldn't keep up, he had to admit—the sheer speed and aggression of his attacks would be a problem. He still believed he would win if he were in that ring, but something wasn't adding up. The Rapper was fast, but not that fast. So why was The Ripper struggling?

 The Ripper deflected some of the punches as they tore through the air like whips, but a few slipped past his guard. Forced to retreat, he raised his arms in defense, absorbing the flurry of blows. Then—one punch grazed his face, ripping his mask free and sending it flying in an arc.

"INCREDIBLE! THE RIPPER ENDURED THAT BRUTAL FLURRY OF PUNCHES! HE'S NOT DEAD YET!! BUT NOT UNSCATHED EITHER! AND HE'S LOST HIS KNIFE. THE RIPPER MAY HAVE NO CHOICE BUT TO ADMIT HIS DEFEAT IN THIS MATCH."

"Incredible, to think he wasn't knocked out from that punch, just last week the rapper sent someone straight to the infirmary with just one of those, is he really quirkless?"

The Rapper seemed to have a reputation around here for seriously powerful punches, which all the more made The Ripper seem incredible for tanking them all.

The Ripper adjusted his stance, pushing himself off the cage wall. He spat out a glob of blood and squared up in a boxing stance, a confident grin stretching across his face.

The sight seemed to rile The Rapper up. He bounded forward, loading up for another wild rush.

The Ripper held his ground, unflinching. As The Rapper's barrage came crashing in, he met it head-on with one of his own. Fists flew at incredible speed, each strike met with an immediate counter. The Ripper deflected every single blow, matching his opponent move for move.

"RAPPER'S NEVER-ENDING RUSH IS LIKE A RUNAWAY LOCOMOTIVE! EVEN WITHOUT HIS KNIFE, THE RIPPER IS HOLDING HIS OWN! HE'S STANDING HIS GROUND! ARE WE WITNESSING A GOD IN ACTION?!"

That was when Rio saw it.

O'Clock gave the faintest smile—then positioned his face directly in the path of a punch. The fist connected hard. But instead of absorbing the full force, he pulled his head back at the last moment, letting the momentum disperse. Then, he collapsed in a heap at the center of the ring.

The crowd erupted. Cheers thundered through the arena as they celebrated The Rapper's twenty-first consecutive win. Those who had bet on him grinned from ear to ear, while the ones who backed The Ripper jeered, cursing his name.

Rio pushed through the mass of bodies, heading straight for the cage. His eyes swept over O'Clock—his chest rose and fell in steady rhythm. A relieved sigh escaped him.

Without hesitation, he pulled out his phone and started taking pictures.

There was no way he was letting such an iconic moment go to waste.

The medics rushed in with a stretcher, carefully loading The Ripper onto it before carrying him off the stage. The announcer declared The Rapper's victory, and Rio took that as his cue to leave. He had already confirmed his master's target—the sick bay.

Slipping out of the crowd, he followed the route the medical team had taken earlier. The corridor was littered with guards, all clad in uniform and wearing masks. For most, sneaking past such a heavily fortified position would be a nightmare. But to Rio, it was child's play.

He strode forward confidently, scanning for blind spots in their formation. Most people believed the best way to sneak past someone was through their peripheral vision or behind their back—but that only worked against the slow. At Rio's speed, he wasn't limited by such mortal concerns.

With a sudden burst of movement, he dashed past the seven or eight guards stationed at the door to the deeper parts of the complex. Moving faster than human reaction time could process, he became nothing more than a fleeting blur.

"Did you see something just now?" one guard muttered.

"Nah, man. Must've been the wind."

Rio grinned as he pressed forward. If he refined this technique, he could slip through the gaps in a person's vision when they blink—or better yet, move faster than the human brain could register. If he could push beyond 60 frames per second, he wouldn't just be fast. He'd be… Invisible.

 "Life's no fun without a little stupidity. If you only make smart moves, your life will feel empty."

 A gruff voice echoed from a shadowed corner. Rio leaned against a wall, lowering his presence as much as possible.

 "You sure do talk a lot." On hearing the familiar tone of O'Clock's voice, Rio stepped out from his hiding spot, making his presence known.

"Hey, Master. Miss me already?" he said with a smirk. He had kind of missed the man.

With a burst of speed, O'Clock grabbed Rio by the scruff of his shirt and slammed him against the wall.

 Rio blinked, stunned by the sudden aggression. "The hell?" He shot O'Clock a bewildered look.

 "Why are you here?" O'Clock's voice was cold, measured. "My express request was for you to call for reinforcements if you lost my signal. So why are you standing in front of me?"

 Rio scoffed, unfazed. "Chill, man. I was just worried about you. Besides, those goons couldn't catch me even if they tried."

A new voice cut in. "Who's the runt? Friend of yours?"

Rio turned toward the speaker and immediately recognized him—the fighter from earlier. The Rapper.

 Standing next to O'Clock, he seemed even taller in person.

"Yo, great fight earlier. You seem really strong—I'd love to spar with you sometime."

 Rapper scoffed. "Listen, bub, I ain't fighting no kid. Where're your parents at, anyway?" He lifted Rio effortlessly, holding him up like a lost kitten, turning him from side to side like he was some kind of strange accessory.

 Rio didn't waste time. He instantly accelerated, his arm blurring as he tapped down on Rapper's ulnar nerve. The effect was immediate—Rapper's fingers unclenched involuntarily, and Rio landed gracefully on his feet.

 Rapper stared at his hand, confused. He hadn't felt pain, yet his grip had failed.

 "That was your funny bone," Rio said, straightening out his shirt with a sigh. These two kept manhandling it—and this stuff wasn't cheap. "Don't worry, nothing's wrong with you. People are just built with flaws like that."

 "We'll talk about this later." O'Clock's voice cut in, sharper now. His eyes flicked toward the entrance as he checked the evidence he had secured earlier. "Do you hear that?"

 "Huh? What's up?" Rapper muttered, still shaking his arm, trying to work feeling back into the spot Rio had struck.

 "Something's going on upstairs." Rio answered before O'Clock could. The noise above was growing—even louder than when these two had been fighting earlier.

 Suddenly, an announcer's voice boomed through the speakers:

"THIS BUNNY IS UNBEATABLE!! WE'VE GOT HARDENED, STOIC POWERHOUSES! SADISTS LOOKING TO INFLICT PAIN AND SPILL BLOOD! EVEN SHOW-OFFS HOPING FOR A FEW LIKES! BUT NO ONE CAN STOP THIS RABBIT! THERE'S NO RUNNING FROM HER KICKS!"

 O'Clock exhaled, taking in the scene before him. The arena had descended into absolute carnage—bodies groaning, others already unconscious on the ground.

 "Looks like the party started without us," he muttered.

 "Who's that chick hopping around?" Rapper asked, eyeing the battlefield with mild disinterest. "They're all trying to pin her down… though some of 'em are just going nuts."

 Rio squinted. Was that… a high school uniform?

 "What kind of madness is this?" he mumbled. Was it cosplay, or had someone just come straight from school to fight?

"We part ways here, Rapper," O'Clock said, already moving. "We're riding this wave and slipping out. The route above ground should be straight ahead. Let's go, kid."

 He grabbed Rio's wrist and pulled him along, careful to avoid getting swept up in the chaos.

"Hang on, wait a minute, man! What about our death match?" Rapper shouted, frustration evident in his voice. He shoved people aside like ragdolls, sending them flying as he advanced.

 "Maybe some other time," O'Clock shot back, urgency creeping into his tone.

 Rio wasn't paying attention to their exchange anymore. Something felt off. The chaos around them had been wild but contained—until now. The air had changed. It was subtle at first, but now it pressed down on him like an invisible weight. A creeping, suffocating promise of pain and death.

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

The shrill wail of smoke detectors cut through the arena. A haze of wispy smoke began billowing from the ceiling vents, curling and expanding as it swallowed the complex.

 The fights screeched to a halt. Everyone paused, glancing up at the sudden shift in the atmosphere. Confusion flickered across most faces—until the staff in uniform moved with disturbing precision, swiftly pulling gas masks over their faces.

 Then, the screaming began.

"UGRAAAAAH!"

A guttural, animalistic roar erupted as a man collapsed to the ground, his body convulsing. Rocks—dense, jagged clusters of them—burst from his skin, distorting his form in an uncontrolled surge.

 All around, panicked cries filled the air. Quirks were spiraling out of control. People fell to their knees, writhing as their abilities raged unchecked, twisting their bodies in unpredictable ways.

 Rio's stomach turned. What the hell was happening?

 "Look—what's that?" he pointed sharply, eyes locked on something unnatural forming within the chaos.

 A dense black mist slithered through the swirling smoke. From within its depths, a hand—shadowy and eerily outstretched—shot forward.

 Wherever it touched, people collapsed instantly.

 Their quirks were being suppressed, no they were—gone.

 Rio's breath hitched. That thing… It was stealing their quirks.