CHAPTER SIXTY
Rio's gaze sharpened the moment he spotted the man slipping through the exit. While his companions were locked in a futile struggle with Ash, this one was making a calculated escape.
Without a sound, Rio vanished from the VIP balcony in a streak of distorted air.
By the time the man noticed, Rio was already beside him—one hand calmly removing the comm from his ear.
"Sorry," Rio said coolly. "Wrong channel."
The man's face twisted in astonishment. He stretched out his hands to snatch it back, but a punch to the nose left him reeling. A swift chop to the back of his head followed.
Rio lifted the comm to his own ear just in time to catch the tail end of the message:
"We're deploying them to your location now. Hold your positions till then. He's coming."
Rio's brows knit.
He? Just one person?
There was no chance to ask more. The man twisted violently, pulling a knife from under his sleeve, but Rio dropped him with a sharp jab to the solar plexus.
This time, he wasn't getting up.
How embarrassing. Rio had wanted to knock him out cleanly with that neck chop, but apparently that only worked in movies.
Behind him, the chaos was already dying down. Ash danced through the remaining opposition with bored ease. Only two of the original six attackers remained. They were the most durable of the bunch, but even they were beginning to realize they were hopelessly outclassed.
It wasn't a fight anymore.
Ash was playing with them.
"Hey, finish this up quickly—they've called for—"
BOOM.
Rio didn't get to finish his sentence before a deafening crash cut him off.
"What is it with you people and interrupting me all the time?" he muttered. At this point, it was just annoying.
A figure stepped out from the rubble, partially obscured by a lingering dust cloud. His steps were slow and deliberate. If he was trying to intimidate them, it was a futile effort.
Rio didn't even know how strong he was right now—and Ash? Ash was arrogant enough to think himself a god. Some two-bit mobster wasn't going to inspire awe in either of them.
As the dust began to settle, Rio got a better look.
The man was alone. There was no backup squad swarming in like the radio had suggested.
Instead, what emerged from the smoke wasn't a man at all.
It had been a man, once. But now...
His body was wrapped in a glistening, sinewy material that resembled flayed muscle—a suit made of wriggling flesh. It didn't look worn so much as grown over him, fused to his body with a dense network of enlarged veins and capillaries that pulsed just beneath the surface.
The suit twitched with every motion, each movement accompanied by subtle ripples of tension beneath the skin.
Most disturbing of all was the grotesque screaming face embedded in the creature's chest—its eyes bulging, mouth frozen open in a permanent silent scream.
Creepy.
Rio reappeared in the VIP lounge. Blueberry and Natasha were still huddled together in the corner, shivering—clearly overwhelmed by everything that had unfolded tonight.
Rio decided to watch for now.
Judging from the wide grin creeping across Ash's face, he wasn't as disgusted as he let on. The earlier goons hadn't even counted as warm-up. But this guy… this guy might just be a challenge.
Ash smiled from ear to ear.
"Haggh—"
With a burst of transparent force rippling down his legs, Ash launched himself forward. This was just to test the waters, yet the force behind it was stronger than any attack he'd thrown all night.
His coat fluttered behind him like a cape as he closed the gap and drove a punch square into the figure's face.
The man didn't budge.
Ash didn't stop.
He struck low, then pivoted high into a spinning roundhouse kick aimed at the figure's head. His foot lashed out like a whip, landing with a concussive thoom, the air exploding outward in his wake.
The impact sounded like a grenade going off.
Or—it should have.
Instead, the figure remained rooted to the spot.
The force of Ash's attack dispersed like a pebble dropped into the ocean.
Then—boom—Ash was launched back, sent flying with even more speed than he had come.
Rio's eyes widened.
'The force was evenly spread around his body… then redirected back with greater intensity.'
Ash hit the ground hard, blood spilling from his mouth. He wiped it away with the back of his hand and gave a wry grin.
"Tchhh. That hurt, you son of a bitch."
He wasn't grinning anymore.
A direct approach was useless.
He needed data.
What's the upper limit of his defense? Can he control the rebound's direction or timing? What other quirks is he hiding?
He didn't get to think any further.
All his instincts screamed at him to move.
Ash dove forward, heedless of form or grace. He rolled and turned back just in time to see a shadow tendril retracting into the floor.
Alarm bells blared again.
This time he stumbled backward, but he wasn't fast enough.
A blade-like tendril shot up—piercing clean through his legs.
A second one surged toward his skull.
It would have gone straight through—
—if Rio hadn't intervened.
One second Ash was about to be skewered like a kebab, the next, he was a few meters away, on the ground, gasping for air.
"I think this guy's a little too much for you to handle," Rio said, standing over him.
"Shut up. I just got caught off guard. It won't happen again," Ash snapped, trying—and failing—to get back up.
"Don't move, or you'll bleed out," Rio warned. "I've roughly bandaged the wound, but it went straight through. Don't put any pressure on that leg."
Ash looked down and realized a piece of his shirt had been torn off and used to stem the bleeding.
His expression shifted.
He hadn't even noticed when or how Rio had done that.
For once, Ash said nothing.
The silence said everything.
He finally acknowledged it:
He was outclassed.
And for the first time tonight—
He agreed to sit this one out.
Rio turned away from Ash and focused on the figure now standing between him and the exit.
He was thankful the man hadn't chosen to strike while he was tending to Ash—had he done so, things could've gone sideways fast. In some cases, shadows moved even faster than light.
Taking a deep breath, Rio studied his opponent.
Rebound. Shadow manipulation.
And likely one or more hidden quirks. That grotesque flesh-suit fused to his body wasn't ornamental—it was a quirk conduit, a grotesque engine humming with stolen power.
Each ability on its own would be a pain to deal with. Combined, they were becoming a tactical nightmare.
"So, big guy…" Rio's voice echoed through the lounge. "Shall we dance?"
As if on cue, the man's shadow twisted unnaturally—rising and exploding outward in a bristling storm of black tendrils. They surged toward Rio's position, tearing through his image and shredding it like paper.
The enforcer didn't relax.
His body snapped around—fast—and another volley of shadow tendrils burst forward in a wide cone. They tore through furniture, shattered a side wall, and sent glass skittering across the floor.
But all they hit was air.
Retreating in the distance, Rio skidded to a stop. The only thing the tendrils had managed to hit was an afterimage, left in his place like a phantom.
"Tch. Some kind of perception quirk, huh?" he muttered.
"Future sight? Heat sensing? Mind's eye?" His gaze narrowed. "Doesn't matter. I'll figure it out."
Rio vanished again. When he reappeared, he was already within striking range.
The enforcer's face was still carved in a mask of cold caution.
Rio's fist slammed into it—and instantly, the rebound triggered. A pulse of invisible force rippled out and launched Rio back across the lounge.
As he twisted in the air, he analyzed it.
Near-instantaneous. But not automatic. He times the release. It's not a passive defense—he has to consciously activate it.
Rio landed lightly on the balls of his feet—but barely had a second to breathe.
A tendril in the shape of an axe tore out of the wall beside him.
He ducked. It carved a deep scar into the concrete pillar behind him.
"You're not reacting to sound… not heat either. That leaves something stranger."
He zipped back into striking range, landing a clean punch—only to be flung backward once again by the rebound.
As he skidded back, he narrowed his eyes.
A flicker of movement—the wall beside him rippled, and another shadow tendril shaped like a curved axe lashed out. Rio ducked just in time, the blade slicing through the air and embedding deep into the floorboards.
Rio leapt again—but this time, he deliberately landed beneath a pool of concentrated stage light. The enforcer twitched, lifting a hand—and the shadow beneath Rio stirred.
It quivered… then flickered weakly.
And vanished.
Rio's eyes lit up.
"That's it. That's the key."
He began testing, weaving between lit and unlit spaces.
In every dark zone, tendrils exploded toward him with surgical precision. But when he stayed beneath direct lighting—the attacks failed. They didn't even start.
"He's not seeing me."
"He's sensing shadow disruption. Movement, weight, interference—like echolocation, but using shadows as his medium."
A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"The darker the environment, the stronger his reach. The brighter it is, the blinder he gets."
"He can sense me and he can summon those attacks from any shadow. If he cuts the lights, I lose all safe zones."
"You've been watching me through the floor."
"Now let's see how you fight with your eyes closed."
Another wave of tendrils erupted—from directly beneath him.
This time, Rio was ready.
He repositioned under a beam of bright white stage light, letting it fall fully over his body.
The shadows rose.
But this time—they fizzled out mid-air like dying embers.
Bingo.
The darker the shadow, the more force his tendrils carry. The brighter the environment, the weaker they get—until they vanish altogether.
The fight settled into a deadly rhythm.
Rio darted in, landed a few hits—only to be thrown back by rebound force. Then he'd dodge a barrage of tendrils, moving between the islands of light like a dancer in a minefield.
But the longer it went on, the deeper his frown grew.
Finally, his expression settled into a quiet mask of disappointment.
This guy's completely hopeless.
Rio had expected the enforcer to adapt—to counter his tactics, or at least recognize his own advantages. But it never came.
The man was running on autopilot.
All that power, and no mind behind it.
The process that made him this strong must've cost him his intelligence. He's nothing but raw muscle following a rigid command pattern.
He recalled something Father Lance had said:
"A powerful quirk needs an equally powerful will to contain it."
Rio had to agree with the priest.
Someone smart with this setup? Now that would've been a real fight.
He exhaled slowly, stepping back into the light.
Still, I'd win.
The path to victory had been laid bare. It was over.
Rio blurred forward—again closing into melee range.
The enforcer braced himself, expecting the same clash-and-rebound sequence.
But this time—
Crack.
The impact landed—and Rio didn't move.
The man's eyes widened. For the first time since he'd appeared, a flicker of emotion—surprise—passed across his face.
"You're surprised?" Rio smirked. "Your quirk's annoying, but unfortunately... it's too slow."
"What—"
CRACK. CRACK. CRACK.
Before he could finish, the sound of repeated impacts echoed like war drums. Rio's fists hammered into the same spot, again and again—each blow chipping away at an invisible barrier.
Hairline fractures spiderwebbed across the rebound field.
"I have to hand it to you your shield is very troublesome but once I successfully analyzed it's underlying principles it was as good as useless."
The enforcer panicked.
Shadow tendrils burst out in all directions—a desperate storm.
They hit nothing.
Rio was already moving.
His position changed just slightly with each strike, always keeping him beneath the lounge lights.
CRACK. CRACK. CRACK.
The rebound's surface now resembled shattered glass. The suit trembled.
"No, wait—!"
"Too late, bub."
One final blow detonated the barrier in a shower of sparks.
And then—
A fist.
It grew larger in the enforcer's vision by the millisecond.
Then everything went black.
BOOM!
The enforcer was sent flying, his face rippling from the impact like water struck by a stone. He launched upward—limbs flailing—but before gravity could even claim him, a flurry of brutal strikes slammed into him mid-air.
Rio didn't let up.
Each blow landed with thunderous precision, a relentless combo that pounded him like a fishing boat caught in a raging storm. The sheer density of the strikes kept the enforcer suspended, trapped in a storm of fists.
Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang.
The hits rang out like gunfire.
And when it was over—
The man dropped.
He crashed to the floor in a twisted heap, face swollen and warped beyond recognition.
Rio rolled his shoulder with a relaxed sigh.
"Phew. That was a nice workout."
He glanced down at the wreckage, unimpressed.
The enforcer's face looked like a butchered pig's head, all puffed snout and leaking ruin.
"Guess you weren't that special after all."
Author's note: I'm finally out of my slump and the ideas are finally flowing again.