10x God-Tier Stealing System: Pumping S-Rank SuperHeroines Daily!-Chapter 105 - Post results of Banged Lady
Her manicured nails scraped against the cold marble, her exposed chest heaving with terror, but it was futile. She was already lost.
The air was thick with the metallic scent of blood and the heavy musk of fear.
"I came for immortality—NOT THIS!" a man’s voice rang out as he was torn apart, his body ripped open.
"You promised—YOU PROMISED!" a woman cried out, her voice breaking, before her life was ended in an instant.
The Queen stood in the center of the carnage, her eyes glowing, her wet mouth stained red as she calmly stepped over the twitching body of the woman she had chosen.
The transformation had already begun—skin turning pale, veins glowing with red-hot energy beneath the woman’s ruined clothes.
The woman’s body spasmed in its final moments before it went still.
The Queen’s pendant pulsed with light, resting heavy against the deep plunge of her blood-soaked neckline.
Fed. Full.
For a moment, there was a flicker of something in her eyes—something akin to regret, or perhaps pity. But it vanished before anyone could notice. Her stained lips parted, her voice cold as she spoke:
"Clean the rest."
And behind her, the slaughter continued—red. Loud. Endless.
She just walked towards the stairs, the natural sway of her hips pulling the wet silk taut across her perfectly round bottom, before a voice came.
SWOOSH
From the pool of blood, the woman whose head had been plucked from her body now began to rise—slowly, unnaturally.
Her decapitated head, blood-soaked and lifeless, hovered back toward her neck as if pulled by invisible strings.
It latched on with a wet, sinewy squelch, veins reknitting and flesh stitching back into place. Blood streamed down her now-whole figure. Her once-elegant dress was completely shredded and soaked, the ruined fabric heavily clinging to her full breasts and shivering waist, leaving practically nothing to the imagination. She knelt, her pale skin exposed to the cold air, trembling, her eyes scrimched shut in absolute submission and residual agony.
"What to do, my lady?" she asked, her voice raw, cracked from death.
The Queen didn’t even turn around.
She ascended the steps, her expression unreadable, her intent unread—there was no plan in her stride, only instinct.
Then, casually, without pause, until her pendant pulsed again, warming the sensitive skin of her cleavage and reminding her of the phantom heat from her dream. That was reason enough to make her give an uncaring order as if just breathing, "Kill the man whom I saw in the vision."
----
With the morning sun slowly falling over northeastern Europe, its golden rays finally reached the sterile premises of Saint Regalia Hospital.
One particular beam slipped through a narrow gap in the heavy blackout curtains, landing firmly on soft, bare skin that had no business being so thoroughly exposed in a room meant for rest and recovery.
Inside one of the VIP private rooms, the air remained dense and suffocatingly moist, completely overpowering the automated fragrance dispenser that released a soft, clinical mist every hour.
On the crumpled, over-sized hospital bed, two bodies lay tangled closely beneath a thin white sheet that barely concealed the absolute chaos underneath.
The room was silent. But it was far from peaceful.
The sheets, once pristine and soaked in sweat, had dried with stiff, crusted rings of mixed fluids. The heavy, unmistakable musk of sex lingered thickly in the air—undeniable, pungent, and unrepentant.
It was not a place of healing, but one of raw rhythm and relentless, animalistic movement, repeated over and over through the long night.
The woman’s back was bent at a strained angle, the delicate curve of her spine laid bare, her body loosely entangled with the massive, unyielding frame of the man beside her.
Her face was pressed into the hard expanse of his chest, her silver hair a disheveled halo, her plush lips parted from silent, forgotten moans that had long since wrecked her throat. The man remained entirely still. His large hand, however, completely engulfed her slender wrist with quiet, possessive insistence—as if refusing to let her go even in sleep.
Dark, angry violet hickeys mottled her pale collarbone, trailing down her shoulders and the soft, fleshy expanse of her thighs. Finger-shaped impressions marked her narrow waist—deep, rough, and blooming into purplish bruises rather than fading from gentle touches.
"Shh..." A soft, pained hiss left her lips as the sunlight kissed her exposed shoulder—sharp and hot, like needles against raw, overstimulated nerves. Her face twitched. Slowly, painfully, Seleyena opened her heavy eyes.
Her vision was unsteady, swimming with exhaustion.
Her entire body ached. Not the kind of ache born of battle or training strain—but a slow, consuming, deep-seated soreness. A trembling, hollow fatigue that settled deep in her bones.
The kind left behind by being aggressively taken, stretched open, and overused until even her voice had broken into desperate screams she could no longer remember.
There was a heavy, comforting weight on her chest. His spicy, masculine scent clung to every inch of her skin. His hand still circled her wrist—blisteringly warm, and firm.
"Good morning, Seleyena." The voice was calm. Deep. Unmistakable. Cruxius.
She flinched before her sluggish mind had fully registered him. Her bare legs twitched in protest beneath the covers—weak, completely failing to move the way she wanted.
The sheet clung uncomfortably to her skin, heavy with the sticky remnants of dried fluids.
She could feel it.
Between her thighs—swollen, raw, and terrifyingly tender. The unmistakable, heavy wet cling of his seed that had spilled deep inside her hours ago, slowly seeping out to slick her ruined core.
Her throat moved dryly, swallowing sand. "...You?" she managed, her voice a pathetic, hoarse rasp.
At last, her glassy gaze focused.
The man beside her. That infuriating smirk. That completely relaxed, satiated expression. The lazy warmth in his broad posture—as if he hadn’t spent the entire night buried to the hilt inside her, pounding her mercilessly into the mattress.
Seleyena blinked again.
Something in her stirred—a primal instinct, a quiet, suffocating panic.
Her trembling, bruised hand reached for the edge of the sheet. She hesitated, her pulse drumming in her throat, then pulled it off.
"—!!"
He was naked. Entirely.
Her eyes dropped, unable to stop themselves. Her breath hitched painfully in her chest.
His broad, muscular chest was lined with angry red scratches. Faint, dried blood traced where her manicured nails had desperately dug in for purchase. A deep, bruising bite mark sat right near his collarbone. His lips were slightly swollen from too many bruising kisses that had blurred into oblivion.
Lower down, resting heavily against his thick thigh, was the sheer mass of him. The thick, intimidating length was relaxed now, but it was thoroughly coated in a dried, shiny glaze of their mixed liquids, the head flushed an angry, overused red—looking thoroughly worked all night but entirely ready to go again.
And even with those violent marks on him— 𝗳𝚛𝗲𝕖𝕨𝕖𝗯𝚗𝚘𝕧𝕖𝗹.𝗰𝗼𝕞
She looked so much worse.
Her thighs were a complete mess—sticky, shivering, and smeared with a milky sheen. Her flaring hips bore the deep, dark indentations of his large fingers where he had pinned her down. Her breasts—aching and heavily swollen, the sensitive flesh bearing the marks of his teeth. Her tightly puckered nipples were a dark, bruised cherry color, terrifyingly tender and marked with wet, soft rings where his demanding mouth had been.
Bite marks dotted the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. Her waist showed fading, dark bruises where he had held her with unrelenting force to anchor her against his thrusts.
Her delicate wrists were darkened—tight, overlapping bruises where his iron grip had claimed her.
Her body didn’t feel like her own anymore. It felt entirely like his.
She shifted, trying to pull her legs together.
"Haah." A quiet, involuntary whimper escaped her lips as the sensitive, bare skin of her leg brushed against the rough hair of his thick thigh.
’!’
