MHA: LAW OF MOTION

"Have you ever been kicked by light?"

Before they could even react Rio took action, Rio lunged forward, no hesitation. Six enemies. Take them down fast. Don't give them time to call for reinforcements.

His eyes locked onto the biggest one—a towering brute, nearly seven feet of raw muscle. Start with the strongest.

A sharp kick to the shin. Bone met bone with a sickening crack. The brute grunted, stumbling, his stance faltering. He dropped to one knee, cursing under his breath, trying to regain his balance.

Too late.

Rio moved. A single step, planting his foot on the outstretched knee. He pushed off, flipping backward. The world blurred for a second—then his heel connected, driving into the underside of the brute's jaw with pinpoint precision.

A dull crunch. The man's head snapped back. His massive body swayed—then collapsed in a heap.

That was one man down.

Only now grasping the severity of the situation, the remaining five sprang into action, their quirks flaring to life as they closed in.

One lunged from the front, arms gleaming with a metallic sheen as his hands morphed into swords. He swung down in a brutal arc, aiming to cleave Rio in two.

At the same time, another took a deep breath—then exhaled a wave of fire.

For anyone else, this would be a death trap. But they were too slow. Far too slow.

Rio sidestepped, twisting beneath the blade-wielding man's arm, feeling the heat of the flames licking at his back. No wasted motion—he was already moving.

The fire user barely had time to react before Rio was on him, closing the gap in an instant. At the last second, he surged forward, augmenting his speed, building momentum. His fist snapped forward, all that kinetic energy focused into one devastating blow—right to the solar plexus.

The man's eyes bulged. His breath hitched. The fire died in his throat. He staggered back, gasping, collapsing.

Two down.

The ground rumbled. A split second later, thorns erupted from below, jagged and precise, their sole purpose—to skewer Rio like a kebab.

The enemy cackled madly as thorns sprung up like mushroom shoots after the rain.

It was a wide range attack that most would be unable to escape from.

Instead, the attack worked in his favor.

The remaining three scrambled back, forced to retreat to avoid being caught in the spread of gnarled roots and razor-sharp spines. But Rio? He saw an opening.

Where others might have seen danger, he saw opportunity. The slow formation of the roots became his foothold.

He surged forward, darting between the thorns with impossible precision, stepping only where the roots were bare. Each bound added to his momentum—faster, higher, closing the gap in seconds.

Before the thorn-user even processed what was happening, Rio was already there.

His fists tore through the air as he poised for a superman punch. Then—impact.

His knuckles slammed into the man's skull with bone-crushing force. with a dull crack the opponent's brain rattled. Lights out.

The thorn-user crumpled, unconscious before he even hit the ground.

Panic set in. The remaining sentry's barely processed what was going on.

This child had come out of nowhere, picking them off like it was nothing. Three down in seconds. The remaining sentries exchanged uneasy glances, their confidence unraveling.

Then—a roar.

One of them charged, his body shifting, skin hardening into a dense cluster of jagged stone. Every step thundered against the ground, the weight behind him enough to crush bone.

Whether it was a desperate gamble or a calculated move, Rio had to admit—it worked. For the first time, he stalled.

No way he could hit that without breaking something. Jagged stone against bare fists? Not a fight he was willing to take. His own durability didn't come close.

Thinking fast, His fingers brushed against cold steel—the knife he'd tucked into the kangaroo pocket of his hoodie earlier, unnoticed until now."

He had barely spared it a thought until now,it took nearly slipping it into his waistband and nearly cutting him mid-motion to notice but it was exactly what he needed.

Blade in hand, he adjusted his grip. Time to even the odds.

Rio's grip tightened around the knife as he scanned his opponent. Stone coated the man's body in jagged clusters, a near-impenetrable defense—but not perfect. He just needed to find the right openings.

Activating the world time slowed. The roar of battle faded. His eyes flicked over the stone-plated brute, breaking him down piece by piece. Weak points. They existed in everything, even quirks like this.

There—just beneath the arm. The underarm wasn't fully covered. His target's next move confirmed it. As the brute swung his stone-coated fist, Rio twisted under the strike and slashed upward, slicing into the exposed flesh beneath the arm.

The reaction was immediate. A sharp grunt, his arm faltering for a moment. Not enough to end the fight, but it gave Rio the advantage.

The brute roared and stomped forward, his movements slower now. Good. That meant pain. That meant it worked.

He pressed forward. The inner thigh. Another weak spot. The stone covered most of his legs, but not completely—his mobility demanded that much. Rio sidestepped a clumsy grab and drove his knee into the inner thigh, hard. His opponent staggered, momentarily losing control of his footing.

That's two. The back of the knee was next. Rio surged forward before the brute could recover, slashing at the exposed tendon just behind the joint. His enemy's leg buckled instantly, forcing him to one knee.

Still not enough. The man's sheer size and durability kept him from collapsing completely. But that was fine—Rio already had the next move in mind.

The lower back.

Rio darted behind him and slammed his palm into the brute's spine with all the force he could muster. Not a cut this time—just raw, blunt impact. The shock rippled through his nerves, momentarily scrambling his body's coordination. His other leg gave out. He slumped forward, unable to rise.

But Rio wasn't done.

Final weak point. The brute's neck was armored, but not completely. The base, just where the stone met skin, was exposed. Rio wasted no time. He surged forward, wrapping an arm around the thick neck and pressing his knife against the vulnerable spot.

The fight was over.

"If any one of you wants to play backup I'll make sure he doesn't get back up at all," Rio muttered coldly.

A long pause. Then, a slow, heavy breath as the others raised their hands in surrender.

Rio took a deep breath as he used a large rope he had seen earlier to tie them all up.

A sharp pain tore through his chest. He coughed, the taste of iron thick on his tongue, and spat a mouthful of blood onto the ground. He had pushed his quirk too far. 

Reaching for his backpack he had stored earlier he tore it open as ba after bar of chocolate as well as other rations spilled forth.

Rio had listened carefully as the sentries described the warehouse's layout. On the surface, it seemed ordinary—a storage space for heavy machinery, accessible to anyone who had business there. Rusted shelves lined the walls, stocked with spare parts and tools, while the scent of oil and metal in the air. But beneath the concrete floor lay something far more significant.

Hidden elevators, discreetly placed and guarded, led down into a sprawling underground complex. This was the true heart of the Creature Rejection Clan. Their origins stretched back to the beginning of the dark Age of humanity, when their founders had carved out a refuge beneath the earth. Generations of members had expanded upon it, reinforcing tunnels, adding chambers, shaping it into a fortress unseen by the world above. What had started as a simple hideout had grown into a labyrinthine stronghold.

Rio clenched his fists, forcing himself to think. There had to be a way in without drawing too much attention. The sentries had said the rest of the Creature Rejection Clan hadn't noticed the commotion outside—they were too deep in their so-called purification ritual, a twisted act they performed before executing their victims. His jaw tightened. That meant Hana was running out of time. She was trapped somewhere below, locked away while those zealots prepared for their sick ceremony. The thought made his vision blur with rage.

A sharp pain tore through his chest. He coughed, the taste of iron thick on his tongue, and spat a mouthful of blood onto the ground. His quirk had pushed him too far. The interrogation had taken longer than it should have, the strain weighing down on him now. His limbs felt heavier, his breath uneven, but he gritted his teeth and wiped his mouth. He didn't have the luxury of stopping.

His gaze flicked to the warehouse. The elevators were his way in. If he timed it right, if he moved fast enough, he could slip inside before anyone realized what was happening. And if someone did—well, they wouldn't live long enough to sound the alarm.