10x God-Tier Stealing System: Pumping S-Rank SuperHeroines Daily!-Chapter 157 - Getting Rid of Pests
...unamused.
"But you’re wrong, boy."
And that was his final word before the air in the hallway cracked. It truly cracked—a sharp, deafening sound like thick glass shattering under immense pressure.
The ancient vampire launched himself forward, finally abandoning whatever restraints he had been holding onto.
His speed was absolutely absurd now. It was the kind of unnatural velocity that violently blurred vision and twisted the very laws of physics. The solid marble floor beneath him simply caved, heavy tiles exploding upward under the sheer, ungodly force of his initial leap.
His pale fist was already halfway buried into Cruxius’s face before the younger man even had the chance to tilt his head to the side.
Boom!
The reinforced wall behind them exploded into a massive cloud of dust and rubble.
Cruxius was sent hurtling backward like a human cannonball. He smashed through thick support beams, rolling violently through the jagged splinters of plaster and twisted steel. A fine, red mist of his own blood painted the air in his wake.
His left arm twisted at a horrific, impossible angle—shattered completely.
But then, in a fraction of a second, it simply snapped back into place with a series of loud, sickening pops. The torn muscle fibers violently reknitted themselves.
He stood up from the debris.
His crisp white shirt was shredded, hanging off his torso in bloody ribbons. His jaw was severely cracked, hanging open at an awkward, painful angle. Yet, even as he stood there, the broken bone slowly, audibly ground itself back into its proper place.
He casually wiped the blood off his chin with the back of his hand, spitting a thick, red line of saliva across the ruined marble floor.
The vampire lazily tilted his head, watching the grotesque display of healing.
"Rapid regeneration. Some sort of awakened mutant talent, I assume?" he muttered. He stepped casually through the massive, jagged hole he had just created.
His crimson eyes scanned Cruxius’s battered stance again, narrowing thoughtfully. "That footwork before... it was fluid, grounded... Silat? No... too unrefined. Maybe Ba Ji Quan...?"
Cruxius didn’t bother to answer him.
Instead, he rushed forward.
Fast.
It wasn’t vampire-fast, but it was far too fast for any normal human. His muscular body blurred just enough to disorient the eye.
The resulting clash was brutal. It was a chaotic display of bare-knuckle, bone-on-bone savagery.
Cruxius spun low, his heavy boot sweeping sharply under the vampire’s knee. He followed the momentum, coming upward with a devastating, sharp elbow aimed directly at the creature’s ribs.
The vampire twisted—easily catching the incoming blow with his palm—but his arrogant expression flickered for a fraction of a second.
He felt that.
He had successfully blocked it, but the heavy, kinetic shock rattled through his ancient bones.
And Cruxius came again.
And again.
His bloody fists didn’t stop moving. Every single hit was wild but terrifyingly calculated. Each blow blended into a brutal, unrelenting symphony of Krav Maga, Muay Thai, and something much older... something dirty, street-learned, and perfected only through near-death experiences.
It was a fighting style born not from disciplined dojos, but from desperate, bloody survival.
"You fight like a cornered, rabid animal," the vampire muttered through gritted teeth. He easily caught Cruxius’s wrist mid-swing, his grip like a steel vice. "No elegance. No discipline."
"But it hurts, doesn’t it?" Cruxius grinned through his split lip, fresh blood dripping from his brow into his eye. "That’s all that matters."
The vampire’s cruel smile cracked wide open. "Perhaps."
Then, with a sickening, wet tear, he ripped Cruxius’s arm off.
A swift, impossibly brutal yank.
Cruxius gasped—his broad chest heaving from the sudden, blinding pain. The thick tendons and muscles whipped and snapped like wet, bloody ropes.
A heavy torrent of arterial blood gushed from the ruined shoulder socket, violently spraying the cracked wall behind him.
The vampire chuckled. It was a dark, wet sound. He casually licked the fresh blood off his pale fingers with a sickening slurp.
"It doesn’t matter how many times you grow them back, little human. You’re just a pathetic chicken waiting to be slaughtered again and again."
He leaned in closer, his velvety voice dark and his breath smelling like frost and copper. "Let’s see exactly when your little ability finally fails you."
Then, his free hand shot forward like a spear—stabbing clean through Cruxius’s chest.
A wet, red explosion of flesh, cartilage, and bone.
Long, pale fingers plunged deep into the ruined torso, wrapping tightly around the still-beating, muscular heart, clutching it in a death grip.
Cruxius’s eyes widened—genuine shock clearly visible in his trembling pupils.
He had no time to react. The vampire leaned in even closer, his cold lips brushing against Cruxius’s ear.
"Remember my name in hell, boy."
The vampire’s voice dripped with ancient, raw power, regal and terrifying:
"Alath Remenol Dravik—Bloodline of Cirethein, of the Nightspire Throne. Scourge of the Fourth Eclipse. Slayer of White Suns. And your executioner."
And with that grand declaration—
He crushed Cruxius’s heart.
The younger man’s body instantly went limp. His heavy head slumped forward. His spine, practically severed from within, gave out.
Alath casually pulled his bloody hand free and dropped the corpse like a bag of trash. The lifeless, broken body hit the cracked floor with a wet thud, blood rapidly pooling around it.
Silence settled over the ruined hallway.
Only the rhythmic, hollow sound of blood dripping from Alath’s fingers.
A single beat passed.
Then two.
And then...
Cruxius twitched.
He had no heart. No pulse.
But the torn, jagged flesh of his chest began to violently wriggle.
The shattered ribs audibly reknit themselves, snapping back together.
His collapsed lungs hissed as they desperately sucked air back in.
His crushed, bloody chest rose... and fell.
He sat up slowly, letting out a low, rough groan. His expression wasn’t twisting in agony... it was curling into a look of mocking, arrogant satisfaction.
"That was a good speech," he rasped. His voice was raw and wet, his bloody lips twitching into a crooked, infuriating smirk. "But guess what?"
He rose to his feet again. His missing arm had fully regenerated, the pale new skin stark against the blood. His chest was entirely healed, leaving only massive bloodstains to mark the fatal wound he had suffered seconds ago.
"You missed the reset window."
Alath’s crimson eyes twitched—just a fraction of an inch.
And that’s exactly when Cruxius turned his head slightly to the side.
"Kill him, Ytrisia."
"You—!?"
Before Alath could even finish his low growl of pure disbelief—
CRACKKK!
A massive sonic boom violently split the air.
A deep purple blur surged down the hallway, cutting through the heavy tension like a physical thunderclap. And in the tiny, fleeting instant between Alath’s shock and his attempt to turn around, she arrived.
A woman crashed into the ancient vampire like a literal meteor.
Not metaphorically.
The devastating impact literally flung the vampire’s heavy body right off his feet. His torso violently convulsed as a gut-punch packing seismic force crashed squarely into his ribs.
His boots barely scraped the marble floor before his entire body went airborne. He became a chaotic blur of black leather and crimson streaks, rocketing helplessly toward the far wall.
BOOOOM!
