Rehab for SuperVillains (18+)-Chapter 102: Reaper

Kael’s boots echoed on the polished marble of the Department of Superhuman Affairs, a towering glass-and-steel monolith that loomed over the city, its facade gleaming in the late evening sun.

The lobby buzzed with low voices, clerks shuffling papers, and the occasional flicker of a hero’s aura—electric, fiery, or shadowed—passing through. Kael, his dark tee and jeans a stark contrast to the suited officials, carried a manila folder with the "Reaper" contract, Clara’s signature fresh, his hazel eyes sharp with purpose.

He approached the reception desk, where a petite woman—cute, with auburn curls bouncing, her tight blouse and pencil skirt accentuating a lithe frame—greeted him with a smile, her brown eyes glinting with subtle allure.

"Mr. Drayce?" she said, her voice crisp, rising from her chair, her heels clicking. "This way, please." She led him down a sterile corridor, her hips swaying, the faint scent of jasmine trailing her, a fleeting distraction from the bureaucratic maze.

They reached a heavy door, unmarked, and she gestured him inside, her smile unwavering. "Good luck."

Kael stepped through, and the door closed with a soft thud, the receptionist’s heels fading.

The room was blinding white, a seamless void where walls, floor, and ceiling bled into one, the edges invisible, disorienting, like stepping into a blank canvas.

The air was cool, odorless, the silence oppressive.

Kael’s boots scuffed the floor, the sound swallowed, his hazel eyes squinting against the glare, his heart steady despite the surreal expanse.

The door vanished behind him, leaving him alone in the white abyss, a test of nerve before the real challenge began.

A ripple shimmered, and three figures materialized, their forms coalescing from the void like specters.

At the center stood a man, tall and broad, his silver hair cropped, his gray eyes piercing, his black suit pristine, his presence a quiet storm, focused, unyielding. frёewebnoѵēl.com

To his left, another man, leaner, with a shaved head and a scar slicing his cheek, his dark eyes glinting with mockery, his navy coat unbuttoned, casual but menacing.

To his right, a woman, her raven hair pulled tight, her angular face sharp, her emerald eyes cold, her red blazer and skirt tailored to intimidate, her posture rigid, predatory.

Their gazes locked on Kael, a collective weight that could crush a lesser man, their S-class auras—legends in the hero world—radiating power, scrutiny, and disdain.

The center man spoke first, his voice deep, measured, cutting through the void.

"Are you a superhero?" he asked, his gray eyes boring into Kael, assessing, unblinking.

Kael stood tall, his shoulders squared, his hazel eyes meeting the man’s without flinching, his confidence a quiet fire.

"I am Kael, retired B-class superhero," he said, his voice steady, clear, the folder tucked under his arm a tangible anchor. "I’m here to register a new superhero team. Codename: Reaper."

The scarred man to the left barked a laugh, harsh and throaty, his dark eyes glinting with amusement, his scar twisting.

"A B-class?" he said, his voice dripping with scorn, leaning forward, his coat swaying. "You should be begging to join someone else’s team, not starting your own. And retired? That’s rich." His grin was sharp, mocking.

The woman joined in, her emerald eyes narrowing, her lips curling into a sneer, her voice a razor’s edge.

"What’s your plan, then?" she said, her tone venomous, her hands clasped, knuckles white. "A team of C-class nobodies? Or some washed-up B-class like you? Pathetic." Her laugh was cold, cutting, her aura a flicker of menace.

The center man remained silent, his gray eyes fixed on Kael, unreadable, his gaze dissecting every detail—Kael’s steady posture, his unflinching stare, the faint curve of his grin despite the barrage.

Either a fool, cocky beyond reason, or a man with a plan, he thought, his silence louder than their taunts, his authority absolute.

Kael’s grin widened, a spark of defiance in his hazel eyes, his voice calm but firm, cutting through their mockery.

"I’ve already recruited two heroes," he said, his tone unwavering, his words deliberate. "Flame Lantern, recently promoted to A-class. And Frost Flake, another A-class. Both new, both powerful, both mine."

The scarred man’s laugh erupted again, louder, his head thrown back, his dark eyes gleaming with disbelief.

"A-class heroes?" he said, his voice a mocking drawl, his scar twitching. "You, a weak B-class, think you can lead them? Don’t you see the flaw, kid? They’ll eat you alive."

The woman’s sneer deepened, her emerald eyes flashing, her voice a hiss of disdain.

"You want to control superheroes you can’t stop if they turn on you?" she said, her words sharp, slicing. "You’ll be six feet under or their servant by week’s end. What a joke." Her laugh was brittle.

Kael’s expression didn’t waver, his hazel eyes steady, his confidence unshaken.

"Please approve my application and I will yield you results," he said, his voice low, resolute, addressing the center man, the only one whose silence held weight, his folder raised slightly, a challenge.

The center man’s gray eyes narrowed, his voice calm but heavy.

"I can’t," he said, his tone final, his gaze unyielding. "They’re right. I won’t allow a B-class to lead a team with A-class recruits stronger than himself. It’s reckless."

Kael’s jaw tightened, but his grin held, a flicker of strategy in his hazel eyes, his voice rising, bold, defiant.

"They’re strong, but they’re in my control," he said, his words a quiet vow, his posture unwavering, his folder a shield. "Flame Lantern and Frost Flake listen to me. I’ve got this."

The center man’s brow lifted, a faint spark of intrigue in his gray eyes, his silence stretching, testing Kael’s resolve.

"You’re sure?" he asked, his voice low, probing, his gaze piercing, searching for cracks.

Kael nodded, his hazel eyes burning with certainty, his voice steady, unyielding.

"If you don’t believe me, don’t reject the application," he said, his tone a dare, his grin sharp. "Put it on pause. Give me a mission. If I succeed with my team, you approve Reaper. If I fail, I’ll never try again."

The scarred man snorted, his dark eyes rolling, his voice a mutter. "God bless you, kid. Such a waste."

The woman’s sneer twisted, her emerald eyes cold, her voice a whisper. "Fool," she said, her red blazer a flash of disdain.

But the center man’s gaze held, his gray eyes locked on Kael, a flicker of respect breaking through his stoic mask, the confidence in Kael’s stance undeniable, fool or not.

"Agreed," the center man said, his voice a low rumble, his hand raised, the void shimmering. "Sit outside. Your mission will come soon." He paused, his gray eyes unreadable, then nodded once.

The trio vanished, their forms dissolving into the white, leaving Kael alone, the air heavy, the silence deafening.

The door reappeared, a faint outline in the void, and swung open, the corridor’s fluorescent hum jarring after the white’s oppression.