10x God-Tier Stealing System: Pumping S-Rank SuperHeroines Daily!-Chapter 86- Nigerian Dates or Cakes
Cruxius let his dark gaze drag leisurely over her, taking in the sultry pout of her glossy lips. It was a mystery how she kept her body cool packed inside that suffocating latex material, but he ignored the logistics, fully aware of just how sinfully hot she was looking right now. "Ytrisia, you promised me dates. How about for our first date we go to Nigeria?"
’!?’
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Morning had arrived earlier, bathing the world in a gentle, warm sunlight that slowly baked the earth.
The wind carried grit across the crumbling concrete of Nokoré—a rundown town in northern Nigeria long abandoned by officials and overtaken by rogue factions.
Cracked buildings leaned like drunks against rusted light poles, while outdated satellite dishes hung like broken ornaments.
But tonight, the ruins were alive.
Over two dozen armed men gathered in the open yard of an old train depot. Weapons were cradled in thick arms, their tight tactical vests straining against broad chests and bulging muscles, the conversation low and tense.
They were terrorists, but not the ragtag, desperate sort.
Their rifles were military-grade, their comms encrypted, their armor custom-fit with kinetic dampeners that hugged every rugged contour of their heavy physiques.
These were the upgraded ghosts of war—mercenaries reengineered.
And at the center of them all stood Doctor Kayari, clad in a pristine white coat over snug combat pants.
He looked like a surgeon pulled straight from a nightmare.
His glasses glinted under the dusty floodlights as he raised a hand, commanding silence.
Trailing behind him was a younger man, dark-skinned and slim, carrying a massive backpack that whirred faintly with internal power converters.
In his left hand, a laptop blinked—its screen scrolling with satellite data and schematics of a compound in Sokoto.
"We pull this off," the young man grinned, "and the Villain Syndicate won’t be able to ignore us anymore."
Kayari didn’t smile. He never did. 𝕗𝕣𝐞𝐞𝘄𝐞𝚋𝚗𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗹.𝚌𝕠𝚖
"They’ll do more than that," he replied. "They’ll fund us."
The crowd murmured with anticipation. Eyes glittered with greedy hope in the dim light.
But then—
THUP-THUP-THUP.
The rhythmic sound of rotor blades broke the desert air.
Heads snapped upward. A black helicopter, sleek and marked with no insignia, pierced through the low-hanging clouds.
The spotlight at its base scanned the group before cutting out, hovering silently above them.
Weapons clicked into readiness. Fingers hovered near triggers.
But no one fired.
The airspace was tightly watched. For this bird to enter unnoticed, it had to have clearance. This meant it wasn’t an enemy.
Or... it was someone far worse.
The helicopter began to descend. Sand whipped into the air like a small storm, cloaking everyone in a yellow veil.
As it touched the ground with a soft thud, the door opened slowly.
He stepped out.
Cruxius.
When you have access to private jets to travel from one country to another in the shortest time possible, who cares about distance? He decided to have a date and now he was here within two hours.
Of course, for a proper date he needed to set up the environment and arrange some fine red wine.
The men stared. Even Kayari’s rigid posture stiffened further.
The young man with the backpack whispered, "K-Kayari, isn’t that the heir of Blac Corporation?"
"Why would he be here?" someone else murmured. "He owns half the tech we’ve been trying to steal."
Cruxius raised a hand in greeting, waving casually toward the group—but strangely, his gaze wasn’t on the heavily muscled soldiers. Nor on Kayari.
It was on the nerd with the backpack.
Kayari noticed.
"...Coming to this land full of armed men with two beauties might be unexpected, Cruxius Blac," the doctor said slowly, stepping forward.
Cruxius didn’t answer right away. He stepped forward with a naturally calm demeanor as if uncaring about these people. Even though they had weapons, they didn’t possess a single thing that could harm him. His hands were tucked comfortably in his pockets, completely relaxed.
Behind him, two women descended from the helicopter—Ytrisia and Darithi. The heavy downwash from the dying rotors was ruthless, plastering their clothes tight against their bodies. Darithi’s sleek, silken blouse clung desperately to her flushed skin, the sudden chill of the desert wind doing absolutely nothing to hide the prominent, pebble-hard peaks of her nipples pressing against the sheer fabric, fully outlining her lush, mature curves for the courtyard to see. Beside her, Ytrisia wore a form-fitting combat suit that ruthlessly squeezed her thick thighs and hoisted up her firm, perfectly rounded rear. Both beauties were clearly on guard the moment they noticed the sea of armed men, their chests heaving slightly with measured, deep breaths.
Cruxius, instead of looking at Kayari, looked past him toward the boy—who appeared to be around 12-13 years of age, though genetically possessing a good height.
"Hey boy," Cruxius said smoothly, directly giving his offer. "Follow me, I will give you a good life out of this shithole."
Kayari’s brow furrowed, clearly annoyed at being brushed off in such a way. Even though the one standing in front of him was some rich young man seemingly unaware of how the brutal world worked, the sheer weight of the Blac family name forced him to show a modicum of restraint. "He’s vital to our project."
"I didn’t talk to the dead," Cruxius said plainly, giving a cold, dismissive look. It was as if he was already looking at the dozens of muscular men—whose tight tactical gear currently highlighted their peak physical strength—as nothing more than cooling corpses.
"What?—" Kayari just seemed confused, looking toward his men who mirrored his bewilderment.
Cruxius, on the other hand, feeling the mundane hassle of dealing with these people, simply called out.
"Ytrisia."
His voice was sharp. Taking in the ghetto surroundings and the malnourished onlookers at the edge of the town gave him enough clarity. In this scenario, Ytrisia would perfectly act out her role as a superhero.
"Kill all of these terrorists. Except that nerd."
"Are you kidding—" Kayari just wanted to voice out his words, but it didn’t go well before the entire yard erupted into violent chaos.
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Bang! Bang! Bang!
"Kurghh—!—thud." With the final echoes of gunfire resonating in the night air, the last man fell.
His armor, designed specifically to absorb kinetic energy and stop high-caliber bullet impacts, was completely shattered—as if it had been struck by a force far beyond simple ballistics. It looked as though a speeding freight train had collided with his chest.
The deep, embedded shape of a punch was left completely visible on the crumpled metal. It belonged to a delicate, soft-looking feminine hand, yet it held enough terrifying power to cave in the thick metallic surface, making it beautifully clear that this scenario was anything but simple.
"What happened, kiddo?" Cruxius asked, one hand still casually in his pocket, the other resting warmly on the shoulder of the young boy. The kid stood blankly, his jaw slack, staring at the brutalized scene of dozens of elite members, including Kayari, lying decimated across the dirt by Ytrisia’s gorgeous, ruthless display of strength.
Of course, none of them were actually killed. Cruxius knew that Ytrisia’s pesky moral ethics would come into play. She had most likely just shattered their bones to the point where they would be left alive but in comas, waiting to be scraped up by the local authorities.
But in this state, they were no better than dead.
"W-wait, don’t kill me! I will do anything."
"Even hijacking an established ruined Command Network of a Villain Syndicate?"
’!?!’
