Chapter 62

The sight of Akira, sobbing in the chair, tears staining her cheeks as she remained tied up, fueled my anger. I hated seeing people in pain, especially when they were helpless. These men in black, the ones responsible for her distress, rose to attack again. "Stupid bastards," I muttered, freezing them solid mid-lunge. It was a simple application of my powers, a skill honed over a lifetime – or rather, lifetimes. Superman reincarnated. A strange twist of fate, but one I'd learned to live with.

I turned, ready to free Akira, but a gnarled hand clamped onto my arm. The old woman, surprisingly strong for her age, held me with surprising strength. "Why are you here, hero!" she hissed, her voice like a viper's strike.

"Why are you hurting her?" I retorted, my voice low and dangerous.

The woman grinned, a disturbing display of yellowed teeth. "She is a demon, full of power and spirit. I need her blood to gain my beauty, strength, and power." She licked her lips, as if to justify her madness.

"You're fucking sick, lady!" I growled, my patience wearing thin. She dug her nails into my skin, drawing blood. I was about to pull away when a wave of numbness washed over me. Everything faded to black. Not again. I can't pass out now but it was too late. I could no longer hear or feel anything.

Time passed, an eternity of nothingness. Then, consciousness flickered..I was in a cell. A dingy, cold cell. And beside me, slumped against the wall, was Akira. Her long pink hair was matted with sweat, and I could see makeshift bandages wrapped around her arms, stained crimson, with fresh blood still seeping through. She looked…broken. Like Eri when Izuku and Mirio found her. My fist clenched. These bastards were going to pay. How the fuck did they do it? No, it didn't matter. What mattered was why, and How I was going to get us the hell out of here.

"Akira," I croaked, my voice raspy. No response. Her body was frigid to the touch. "Damn it."

I tried to move, to reach her, but my limbs felt like lead. I was heavy, weak. What the hell had they done to me? Drugged? No… the old woman. Her nails. A quirk, a poison-based one, I suspected. Clever bitch.

Panic started to bubble in my chest. I was incapacitated. Helpless. It was a feeling I hadn't experienced in… well, a very long time.

I needed to get out. We needed to get out. Akira needed help.

I strained against the invisible bonds that held me down, muscles screaming in protest. Nothing. My super strength, usually as natural as breathing, felt muted, distant. The poison was working its way through my system, suppressing my abilities.

Thinking wasn't easy. I needed a plan. Fast. But my mind kept drifting back to the old woman, to her twisted desire for youth and power. "She is a demon full of power and spirit," she'd hissed, licking her lips like a predator. "I need her blood…"

Rage, a cold, pure rage, burned through the poison-induced haze. She wanted Akira's blood? She would get hell.