10x God-Tier Stealing System: Pumping S-Rank SuperHeroines Daily!-Chapter 117 - I Brought a Little Insurance

Another chuckled darkly under his breath. "Feels like massive overkill for some dusty gene serum."

The leader’s digital voice cut through the wind. "Commander’s direct orders. You know exactly how she is... especially when it strictly concerns him."

They all paused for a heavy beat.

That specific name had passed around their ranks like a dark, forbidden whisper these past few days.

Even the stoic commander—a woman they’d never seen flinch in the face of absolute slaughter—had asked about his specific movements again and again, a feverish intensity in her eyes.

Then, the metal hatch below them clicked loudly.

Unlocked... from the inside.

The heavy lid swung open smoothly. A rush of cooler, conditioned air rose up from the sudden gap, violently fluttering their dark cloaks.

And standing there—looking calmly up at them from within the dim carriage—was a man.

He was impeccably dressed, looking entirely out of place among the grit, blood, and dust of their world. A soft cream turtleneck hugged his broad, muscular chest perfectly, slim-fitted under a tailored, expensive charcoal coat. Polished leather shoes. His dark hair was swept back neatly, and his posture was almost insultingly careless. One hand rested lazily in his pocket, the other casually held a heavy gun.

He looked up at them with the dark, amused air of someone who already knew entirely too much.

"...Cruxius Blac," one of the men whispered, his grip tightening on his weapon.

There was absolutely no doubt.

That handsome face, which they had obsessively memorized after heavily searching for intimate details about what he ate, drank, and who he slept with, confirmed it. He was the untouchable son of Raekin Blac.

"Took you boys long enough," Cruxius said calmly, his dark eyes slowly observing the elite men who clearly intended to brutalize him. The subtle, dangerous glaze in their eyes made it perfectly apparent they recognized his face.

Now, having fulfilled his intention to see if they were tracking him personally, he slowly started to pull up his mask. Given that it was just a final double-check, he knew that if they recognized him, then it meant that crazy immortal woman had indeed been violently blown to pieces on the other train. She was the only one who would have obsessively forced these soldiers to memorize his face.

Another one of the masked soldiers stepped forward, boots clanking on the metal. "Shouldn’t he be on the other train?"

"No," said a third, his modulated voice suddenly quieter, terrified. "Then that means the commander took the wrong one..."

’This perfectly confirms it.’ Cruxius smiled faintly, a vicious, satisfied curve to his lips as he spoke smoothly. "Not just the wrong one, boys. But one where she might get a very explosive little gift."

"You don’t understand," one of them hissed, his posture tense and aggressive now. "The commander absolutely cannot be killed."

Cruxius pulled out the sleek black mask with the star pattern from his tailored coat pocket—smooth, angular, and perfectly shaped to his sharp jawline—and slid it on with a quiet hiss of an air-seal.

That dangerous smile beneath the latex might as well have remained.

’Comrades.’ He correctly categorized them as close, inner-circle allies who had intimate knowledge of their commander’s terrifying ability to be unkillable.

That made them highly valuable.

But much more importantly—it made them completely predictable.

Cruxius stepped confidently forward into the afternoon light flooding the open hatch.

"Then I suppose," he said smoothly, "you’ll all just have to die believing that."

Swish.

"Hope the commander forgives us!"

They rushed him simultaneously.

The first man lunged in fast, his heavy rod spinning like a deadly blur. Cruxius ducked smoothly under the brutal swing and stepped perfectly inside the man’s guard, his elbow jabbing viciously into the soldier’s exposed side.

A second man swung heavily from behind—Cruxius bent his waist forward, letting the humming rod slice the air mere inches above him, catching only the empty space where his head had been.

They were incredibly fast. Clean. Surgical. Years of brutal, bloody training behind every single strike. No flashy theatrics—just efficient, lethal movement and flawless execution.

But Cruxius wasn’t exactly slow either.

He turned his broad shoulders sideways as two rods came simultaneously from both sides, pivoting cleanly on his heel and letting both miss by millimeters. The heavy wind from the strikes brushed his coat.

But then, a heavy armored knee struck his spine.

He grunted deeply, stumbling forward, his balance broken for just a fraction of a second.

And in that precise instant—

A glint of cold metal.

A short, brutal combat blade.

It pierced his chest cleanly, sliding effortlessly right below the ribs.

Straight through his beating heart.

"Ow, that actually hurts," he gasped—just once, his voice surprisingly calm. He looked down slowly at the thick blade, the hot, dark blood rapidly soaking his elegant cream turtleneck, ruining the expensive fabric.

The masked attacker viciously twisted the heavy handle, trying to widen the fatal wound.

One of the others stepped forward, his digital voice entirely even. "Honestly... I was nearly impressed. Your movement is incredibly clean for a rich boy. But in the end—"

"You were just outnumbered," another finished coldly.

Cruxius looked up.

Through the black latex mask, they couldn’t see his face—but they could feel it. He was genuinely smiling.

Then—

The world violently turned.

Time recoiled backwards like a cracking whip.

The blinding light bent and fractured.

The roaring sound of the train faded into absolute nothingness.

And Cruxius stood again.

Right exactly where he had been, just a split-second before the very first strike. Completely fresh, unpierced, his chest rising and falling slowly. The cream fabric was perfectly white.

The six masked men stood frozen in front of him again, their muscles tensed, just about to lunge.

Cruxius casually flexed his gloved hand.

"I might’ve slightly overestimated myself," he said aloud, stretching his broad shoulders casually. "Thinking I could keep my clothes clean against six."

The masked soldiers slowed their advance, hesitating. 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝙚𝙬𝓮𝙗𝒏𝙤𝒗𝙚𝙡.𝒄𝒐𝓶

They sensed it. The air felt wrong.

All around them—like heavy water droplets suspended in midair—tiny, fractured portals began to tear open.

They were only a few centimeters wide. Dozens of them. Then hundreds. Floating silently in every single corner of the train car, the aisle, the metal ceiling. Barely visible, utterly silent... until you noticed them staring back like countless, hungry tiny eyes.

"What the hell—"

Cruxius smoothly reached into his charcoal coat and drew the chrome-plated Desert Eagle, the weapon sleek, heavy, and lethal.

"I brought a little insurance," he said coldly, and pulled the heavy trigger.

As a brilliant, violent flicker of purple light shrouded the barrel of his gun, it was beautifully clear he used Kino Control to massively boost the pure kinetic energy of the bullet, which was instantly split into several different dimensions.

BOOM.

The single, deafening shot echoed like a thunderclap inside the metal car—but the sound was followed instantly by an absolute, bloody orchestra of death.

The hundreds of portals answered his call.

From each of the tiny tears in space, identical, hyper-accelerated bullets burst outward all at once.

TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT—

The world inside the cabin instantly turned a wet, bright red.

Blood exploded violently against the glass windows. Limbs were shredded as armored bodies were riddled effortlessly from impossible, inescapable angles. One man spun violently midair like a ragdoll as five heavy bullets drilled straight into his spine, throwing his ruined body into the wall. Another desperately tried to roll beneath a leather seat—a portal opened directly below him, firing a bullet straight up through his chest cavity.

They screamed—but only for a wet, messy second.

Then, absolute silence.