All Chapters of The septillionaire's superstar system: Chapter 491
- Chapter 500
521 chapters
Aftermath
Ghost island, evil organization’s tier 1 base. The room was pitch black, with corpse soldiers dressed in black cloaks standing as sentinels. In the middle was a huge fiery pit, resembling a volcanic lake. A huge blood-red iron floated above the fiery crater, flaming, like it could devour the world with its heat. Despite the high temperature in the room caused by the unnatural volcanic pit, one couldn't help but feel a spine-deep shiver course through their bodies the moment they entered the room. From the volcanic pit, agonizing growls could be heard coming. A shadow cast beneath the volcanic lake. From under it, a creature clawed upwards, howling. The creature finally became visible. It was a man, but it looked nothing like one. Its body had been entirely mutated. Only the now useless organ dangling between its thigh was the indicator he used to be a man. Its skin was split apart, skin like red clay, cracks visible on it like parched ground. Its hair was nearly nonexistent, n
PERFECTIONIST
Murong Wuque stayed wide awake. His body didn’t need sleep to function. Cultivation had long since burned that mortal weakness from his bones, but he’d made it a habit because of Alvin. He couldn’t understand the reason Alvin kept blowing hot and cold, yanking him from scorching hope to arctic doubt until he questioned the very shape of his own heart. Unable to find rest, he stood, rolled the tension from his shoulders until his neck gave a low, brittle pop, and pulled his laptop from the workstation. An enormous backlog of commitments waited for him like a line of kneeling supplicants, and he began to deal with them one by one. After coming to Earth, he’d established businesses that grew like wildfire, becoming one of the most feared underground powers in less than a decade. He manufactured elixirs that could knit a shattered dantian overnight, miracle drugs that dragged the dying back by their collars, and clothes woven with defensive arrays so fine they could shrug off a snip
No good choice
The workload was enormous, and Alvin was hunched over his desk all day, checking and rechecking facts until the numbers blurred and the words bled into one another. His eyes burned, dry and gritty, but he didn’t dare blink for too long. Blinking meant missing something. Missing something meant dying. “Master, new sets of humans were sent to a mutant lab in Mayga,” the system’s voice cut through the quiet, clipped and urgent. “And some strange weapons were moved in, which were used to fortify transportation portals. Do you want to take a look?” Alvin stared at the information on his screen for three whole minutes. The satellite feed painted the scene in cold, merciless detail. Another stronghold, though not as tightly protected as their Dark Owl fortress base since it was just a transit point; a throat in the network, not the heart. More than a dozen teenagers were moved inside, shoved into warehouses and dungeons like cattle, their faces blank with shock, awaiting their bitter f
Strapped
Alvin picked up his phone, his fingers hovering over the number he had on speed dial. The screen lit his face, stark and pale. Memories of the past two days flashed before his eyes. The grainy footage, the coat, the betrayal that might not be. He groaned, lowering the phone onto the table like it weighed a hundred pounds. He rested his head on the desk and began to knock his forehead against it, continually, a dull, rhythmic thud. Frustration wasn’t half as bad as shame. Having to call his suspected enemy to come watch the child was taking a toll on him, grinding him down bone by bone. Pride had a taste, and it was bitter. Aurelio made a little sound from the swinging basket where Alvin had placed him in the study as he paced. He stood up and pocketed his phone, then grabbed the child, tucking him against his chest like a shield. After locking the study securely…three bolts, two wards…he made his way to his room, each step heavier than the last. “Should we call that stupid Icema
Almost late
“Will he come or not?” Alvin kicked the bedframe, the sound a dull, furious thud that did nothing to quiet the storm in his chest. “Aish! That bastard!” Aurelio, who had been watching a singing toy left beside him to keep him busy, startled. His tiny body went rigid. He stared at Alvin for a long moment, confused, wide eyes searching his father’s face as if wondering what he did to deserve such shouts and reprimands, and promptly burst into tears — loud, shattered, heartbroken sobs that tore straight through Alvin’s ribs. The cry made Alvin freeze. He turned to the child, realization hitting him like a physical blow. He shouted and cursed out when there were only the two of them in the room. So the baby, who had an emotional intelligence higher than most adults gave him credit for, assumed the fury was directed at him and began to cry like the world was ending. He rushed to Aurelio and scooped him up, pressing desperate, apologetic kisses to his chubby, tear-slick cheeks. “My
NO TIME TO REST
The cry of a baby pierced the fog in his mind, thin and sharp, yanking him back from the gray place between sleeping and drowning. His ear focused, instinct overriding exhaustion, trying to decipher the sound. Was it hunger, fear, or loneliness? Realizing where he was, his eyes snapped open and went straight to the cot, heart hammering once, hard. There was nothing threatening close to the cot. No shadow. No cold draft. No blade. Just Aurelio, small fists waving in the air like he could summon his father by will. Aurelio must have noticed he was alone and wondered why no one was coming to get him, or if he got forgotten— left behind the way children always were in the end. Perhaps it was his way of calling back Murong Wuque, whose mind was foggy and about to drift away while soaking in an overflowing tub with the real, stupid risk of drowning. One breath of water. One moment of letting go. Murong Wuque stretched his neck until it cracked, then his arm. The wound on his arm was h
Attempting a Daylight Breach
Evil organization, base 5 It was three in the afternoon when Alvin arrived with Ryker in tow, the sun a merciless white eye overhead. Till today, Ryker hadn’t seen Alvin’s face without the mask. Alvin insisted on confidentiality. Not just for himself, but also for Ryker’s sake. A desperate enemy might choose to torture him and tap his memories, peel his mind open like fruit. Better they find nothing. That way, everyone stays safe since they wouldn't know where to look. Unless of course, the traitor in villa number seven ups his game. “General, it’s still afternoon. Can we really pull this off?” Ryker’s eyes swept the perimeter. Powerful cameras revolved all around, unblinking, capturing everything approaching the base in cold, mechanical judgment. It wasn’t as protected as Dark Owl Fortress, but it was protected nonetheless. Jagged devouring teeth hidden beneath a seemingly ordinary exterior. “Breaching during the day is better training experience for you, especially since your
Moving in the chaos
Alvin knew waiting for cars to come out and slip in wouldn’t work again. They’d adapted. He had to be faster. “As I move, blind the cameras while I flash through. Don’t take long enough for them to know something is wrong.” He tapped Ryker and gave him a subtle nod — not reassurance, but command. Using his memory of the villa’s veins and bones from the system’s map, he zapped to the side where he recalled the security to be a little weaker, a joining point in the formation where two wards met and bickered like tired guards. He soared into the air, diving straight toward the barrier, a pointed, drill-like object clenched in his hand. He pierced through the barrier and dove into the villa headfirst, a bullet of intent. The object punched a hole in the formation, and he passed through like a water current…soundless, shapeless…leaving the barrier to automatically repair itself behind him, sealing shut as if he’d never been there. He rolled on the floor and zoomed in a half-squat u
TRAITOR
Alvin’s heart skipped, a brutal, physical jolt in his chest. He turned to the kid. “Be quiet.” The fifteen-year-old boy clamped a palm over the mouth of the child who screamed, his own eyes wide, swimming in raw, undiluted terror. Alvin sent out primal fire from his solar physique, white-hot, merciless, born of a star’s rage, alongside loaded syringes that tore through the air like bullets into the bodies of the corpse soldiers blocking them. Only low growls followed, wet and inhuman, before the corpse soldiers turned into piles of ashes, collapsing without even the grace of a death cry. The children were trembling behind him, fear rooted so deeply in their hearts it had become part of their marrow, part of their bones. “Let’s move. They must have noticed something is wrong.” His voice was low, edged with iron. He moved a long, loose rope around the waist of each child, connecting them in a neat line to himself to ensure no one got left behind. It wasn’t tight enough to make
SHE'S DAMAGED
Alvin’s heart stopped, a dead, cold stall in his chest, and he looked back at the children shivering in fear. A greater percentage of them were putting on brave faces, trying not to show the visceral fear tearing through them, shredding them from the inside out. “Don’t be afraid. I will protect you all. You just need to keep up with my pace.” His voice was low, steady. An anchor in a sea of panic. Unlike the first batch, this group of captured kids were mostly teens with the youngest around ten years old. So there were no crying babies to be comforted. Everyone had a rough idea of what was expected of them to ensure they left safely. Fear had taught them faster than any teacher ever could. Alvin stopped mid-way. “Wait here.” He zoomed out, toward the approaching soldiers, a black streak against the dark. Two minutes later, he returned, blood dripping from the dagger in his left hand, each drop hitting the ground like a clock counting down. “Hurry, more are coming.” The kid