Rehab for SuperVillains (18+)
Chapter 201: Behind him

Chapter 201: Behind him

The Reaper stood motionless, a silhouette carved from shadow, her red eyes pinning Kael like a specimen under glass.

Her pale face was serene, her posture radiating a casual dominance that made the air feel thinner.

Shadows clung to her like a living cloak, shifting subtly as if breathing in sync with her.

Kael’s every instinct screamed to run, but there was nowhere to go.

Behind him, Whiplash’s heels clicked on the concrete, her whip curling and uncoiling with eager anticipation.

To his left, the man who had grabbed his neck earlier loomed closer, flexing his hand which still throbbed from the sting, a predatory grin twisting his lips.

Surrounded.

Outmatched.

Even without them, the Reaper alone was a death sentence.

He rose slowly, forcing his legs steady, refusing to let fear bleed through.

His voice came out tight but even.

"What do you want from me?"

The Reaper tilted her head, her eyes glinting like blood under the basement’s flickering lights.

"You," she said simply, the word heavy with intent.

Kael blinked, his throat tightening. "Care to elaborate?"

"I want you to come with me," she said, her voice smooth as silk, sharp as a blade. "There are questions that need answers. About that shit hole you call the Haven. About your motives. About what you’re really trying to do." She paused, her gaze sharpening. "The place reeks of something suspicious even for a villain like me."

Kael swallowed, fighting to keep his tone level. "You could’ve just... called."

Her smile widened, a slow, chilling curve.

A heartbeat later, a dark sickle materialized in her hand—long, sleek, its curved blade shimmering like liquid night.

With a casual flick—shhk—she sliced his phone in half.

Kael’s breath caught, his mouth opening, but the halves didn’t fall.

Instead, she raised her hand, and a tide of shadow oozed from her palm, swallowing the shattered device like ink consuming paper.

It dissolved, gone in seconds, as if it had never existed.

She didn’t glance at it.

Her eyes never left him—a statement, not a threat.

Whiplash cackled behind him, her voice grating. "Told you we should’ve just knocked him out."

"No," the Reaper said, her tone calm but final. "I like hearing them squirm."

Kael’s gut churned, a tremor threatening to climb his spine.

He’d seen Lila and Tila’s shadow powers tear through walls, but this was different.

The Reaper didn’t just wield darkness—she made reality itself feel dim, like her presence drained the world’s light.

He exhaled, forcing his mind to focus. "Why not just kill me, then?"

Her smile faded, just enough to make his blood run colder.

"Because I don’t waste time. Radric was supposed to clean out your little hideout, strip it to the bones back to the way it was and move on."

Kael tensed, the name hitting like a punch. Radric—the raider who’d led the Haven’s attack.

"That district was abandoned for a reason," the Reaper continued, her voice low, venomous.

"You don’t just waltz in like a squatter and plant flags. That greedy bastard—" she spat the word, her composure cracking for a split second, "—never told me he saw you, or Flame Warden, or Ice Queen. Probably thought he could gut the place and take all the loot for himself before reporting back."

Kael’s mouth went dry.

Her voice dropped, each word laced with hostility.

"Then I heard he and his entire crew were dead. Every last one. Gone." Her smile crept back, sharp and curious. "So I came to see what was so special, and get revenge of course."

Kael stayed silent, his heart hammering.

She took a step forward—not aggressive, but inevitable, like a tide rolling in.

"Imagine my surprise," she said, her tone almost playful, "when I learn the Haunter Twins are with you too. Quite the little zoo you’ve collected."

Kael flinched, his voice sharp. "It’s not—"

"Don’t interrupt me."

Her tone didn’t shift, but the shadows around her pulsed, a single ripple that made the air feel heavier, like a warning carved into the world itself.

Kael’s jaw snapped shut, his pulse spiking.

The Reaper stared down at him, her red eyes dissecting him like he was a bug under a lens.

"Flame Warden. Ice Queen. The Haunters. All villains. A-Class threats." She leaned closer, her voice a soft, dangerous hum.

"And then there’s you. A washed-up B-rank empath. No combat skills. No connections. With dog shit massage parlor powers. So tell me—why are these killers circling you like lost dogs?"

Kael’s throat tightened.

A lie would be suicide—she’d smell it, or, she already knew the truth and was testing him.

Hesitation would be worse.

So he spoke, raw and honest, the only card he had left.

"I run a rehab," he said, his voice steady despite the fear clawing his chest.

"A place for villains to start over. To become heroes. It’s my... way of fixing what I couldn’t before."

Silence stretched, thick and suffocating.

Whiplash snorted, her whip snapping idly. The man barked a laugh, harsh and mocking.

But the Reaper—she blinked once, her expression unreadable.

Then a low, amused chuckle escaped her lips, soft and chilling.

"That," she said, her voice dripping with disdain, "I thought was a joke but it still is the dumbest thing I’ve heard in years."

Kael tensed, bracing for a strike, but she didn’t move.

Her eyes roamed over him—his bloodied shoulder, his torn coat, the exhaustion etched into his face—like she was solving a puzzle that bored her.

"You’re trying to turn predators into pets," she said, her tone almost pitying. "You know what I do to things like that?"

"I’m guessing it involves scythes," Kael said, his voice dry despite the sweat beading on his neck.

Her smile returned, sharp and fleeting. "Lucky for you, you don’t belong to me."

Kael’s brows furrowed. "...What?"

"You’re wanted," she said, her tone shifting to something colder, more businesslike.

"Elsewhere. Someone wants a word with you."

He took a half-step back, his mind racing. "Who?"

"Not your concern."

Her scythe shimmered, melting into her skin like smoke, leaving no trace.

Kael’s eyes stayed locked on her, his voice low. "So you’re just the welcoming party?"

"No," she said, her voice calm, final. "I’m the leash."

A pause hung between them, heavy and electric.

Her smile darkened, her red eyes glinting with something almost playful, but far too cruel.

"If you can turn villains into heroes," she said, stepping closer until her breath ghosted his skin, "maybe you can turn heroes into villains."

Kael’s blood ran cold, her words sinking into him like a blade.

The Reaper’s crimson eyes bored into him, pinning him like a moth to a board, her pale face serene yet radiating a chilling dominance.

Shadows coiled around her like a living shroud, making the flickering lights seem dimmer, the concrete colder.

Behind him, Whiplash’s whip snapped idly, her grin sharp and eager.

To his left, the scorched man flexed his singed hand, his hungry smile promising pain.

Surrounded, outmatched, Kael felt the noose tightening.

She’d just said he was wanted—by someone else, someone even she answered to.

But the words brought no comfort, only a deeper dread.

The Reaper wasn’t here to negotiate.

She was here to collect.

Kael took a slow breath, forcing his voice steady. "No."

Her eyes narrowed, a flicker of amusement in their red depths.

Whiplash chuckled, a low, mocking sound, while the man cracked his knuckles, itching for a fight.

"No?" the Reaper echoed, her tone cool as a scalpel’s edge.

Kael didn’t repeat himself.

He stood taller, his jaw set, refusing to crumble under her gaze.

"Wrong answer," she said, her smile darkening.

"You should’ve died before I got here with a ’no.’ Now? You don’t even get to die if you want to."

Kael met her eyes, a spark of defiance igniting in his chest. "You sure about that?"

Her head tilted, curiosity sharpening her gaze. "Bet."

Kael’s lips curled into a quiet, razor-edged smirk.

He raised a hand, placing it gently over his chest, right above his pounding heart. "You know what my power is, right?"

His fingers glowed faintly, a flush spreading beneath his palm.

His shoulders trembled, his breath hitched, his heartbeat slowing—deliberately, dramatically, as if he were willing it to stop.

The Reaper’s eyes widened, a rare crack in her composure.

She lunged forward, her hand snapping toward his wrist.

Too late.

Kael’s smirk widened as he grabbed her bare wrist, skin on skin.

His palm flared, empathetic resonance surging like a wildfire.

Her heartbeat stuttered, slowing to a sluggish thud, her blood turning heavy in her veins.

She gasped, dizzy, her pupils shrinking to pinpricks.

"You piece of—!" she snarled, shoving him with a force that sent him stumbling back.

Kael’s back hit Whiplash, his hand instinctively landing—oops—right on her breasts, fingers splayed over her soft breasts.

"Shit, sorry—" he stammered, but the damage was done.

A pulse of searing pain shot through her nerves, his power amplifying her body’s own signals into agony.

Whiplash howled, dropping her whip to clutch herself, doubling over as if her bones were splintering.

"My BOOOOOBS!"

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