Rehab for SuperVillains (18+)
Chapter 196: nudist

Chapter 196: nudist

"YOU INTERRUPT THE RISE OF ASCENSION. NOW YOU FACE IT’S WRATH"

Rhea snorted, flames licking higher around her.

"Shut it, nudist. Nobody’s buying your god complex."

They launched into battle, and the fight turned savage.

SuperGale moved like a jet engine with a mind, slicing through the warehouse at sonic speeds.

Beams shattered, concrete slabs lifted, and the air itself turned to razors, slashing at Rhea’s suit and Freya’s ice barriers.

Freya wove walls of frost to redirect and slow the assault, each one splintering under SuperGale’s relentless force.

Rhea countered with explosive fireballs, aiming to superheat the oxygen around SuperGale and force them to combust, but the wind armor dispersed her flames like smoke.

They were losing ground—fast.

"They’re adapting too quick!" Rhea shouted, pinned against a wall by a crushing wave of wind-pressure, her flames flickering under the strain.

Freya’s eyes flicked upward, catching a rusted girder sagging precariously above. "Plan C," she said, voice steady despite the chaos.

Rhea’s head tilted. "Plan what now?"

"Melt the ceiling."

Rhea’s grin was immediate, wild and feral beneath her mask. "Now that’s my language."

Freya launched a volley of ice spikes into the ceiling, embedding them in key structural points to create weak spots.

Rhea followed with a focused blast of heat, her flames licking at the rusted metal until it glowed cherry-red.

The ceiling groaned, metal buckling under the strain, then ruptured with a deafening crack.

Ten tons of debris rained down, slowed only slightly by SuperGale’s wind barrier.

The fused figure diverted upward, redirecting their focus to hold back the collapse—but Freya was faster.

She materialized a net of icy chains, each link glinting with frost, and flung it with deadly precision, tangling SuperGale’s legs mid-flight.

"NOW!" Freya barked.

Rhea launched herself forward, a flying punch wrapped in hellfire that hit SuperGale like a meteor.

The explosion rocked the warehouse, sending shockwaves through the crumbling structure.

When the dust settled, SuperGale lay sprawled across the shattered floor, their glow faded, their form split back into the original couple.

GaleM and GaleF, scorched and frostbitten, lay unconscious, their breathing shallow but steady.

Blood and ice mingled beneath them, a result of the fight’s brutality.

Freya knelt beside them, snapping power suppression collars around their necks with a soft click.

The collars blinked green, their hum faint but unmistakable.

"Target neutralized," she said, her voice calm, professional.

Rhea slumped against a broken beam, laughing between heaving breaths. "It’s funny how they fuse into that one weird figure with no dick or pussy."

Outside, the Zephyr X-9 waited, its obsidian-black frame sleek and predatory, purring softly under the moonlight.

Rhea and Freya hauled the limp Gale couple to the vehicle, stuffing them into the back seat. GaleM’s arm dangled limply, GaleF’s head lolled against the window, their collars blinking in sync.

Rhea adjusted her mask, her amber eyes glinting with mischief. "You know, we’re kinda badasses."

"Of course," Freya agreed, sliding into the driver’s seat, her blue eyes narrowing as she started the engine.

They drove in silence, the city’s siren lights blurring past the tinted windows.

Soon, they delivered the Gale couple to a nearby Villain Containment Station, its reinforced doors and unmarked walls built for high-risk captures like these villains.

The handoff was quick, silent, the station’s guards moving with the efficiency of people who asked no questions.

As the containment doors slid shut with a heavy thud, Rhea stretched, her suit creaking faintly.

"Well," she said, a grin creeping into her voice, "I think we earned a reward."

Freya gave her a sidelong glance, one eyebrow arching. "What kind of reward?"

Rhea’s grin widened, sharp and devilish.

"Cosplay night."

______________

The Zephyr X-9 purred like a contented beast, its obsidian-black frame sliding into a parking slot outside a building that screamed defiance in the city’s grimiest corner.

A garish neon sign buzzed overhead, its pink and purple glow flickering like a cheap heartbeat.

The Naughty Times.

The twin sliding doors parted with a mechanical hiss as Rhea and Freya stepped inside, their superhero suits half-unzipped, the tight fabric peeled back just enough to let their skin breathe.

Cool air conditioning washed over them, mingling with the hum of fluorescent lights and the cloying scent of strawberry lube and scented latex.

The shop was a chaotic shrine to indulgence, shelves packed with glittering bottles, silken ropes, and devices that promised anything but a good night’s sleep.

Behind the counter, the man barely glanced up from his tablet.

Tall and lanky as a half-starved alley cat, his stringy hair was scraped into a sad bun that clung to his scalp like it was apologizing for existing.

His bored eyes flicked over them, unimpressed.

"Ladies," he said, voice flat as the countertop. "Welcome back."

"Hello~" Rhea purred, as she went through the shelves.

Her crimson hair, still tucked beneath her full-face mask, gleamed faintly through the glass where her amber eyes sparked with mischief.

Freya strode past, offering a curt nod, her platinum-cyan hair still tied into a pony tail, and her mask, which covered everything below her sharp blue eyes.

"What are you ladies..."

They didn’t linger for small talk.

Their boots clicked against the scuffed linoleum as they wove through aisles of flavored gels, vibrating wands that were definitely not for massages, and racks of leather straps promising nights nobody would forget.

The back aisle, where the costumes hung like promises, was their holy ground.

Freya, her eyes scanning the racks with the precision of a predator.

"Something..." she murmured, her finger trailing along a row of shimmering fabrics, "...professional. Clean. Controlled. Medical."

Her hand paused, then pulled a hanger free with a soft clatter.

The outfit was a nurse’s uniform—if a nurse’s uniform was designed to start a riot.

White latex with blood-red trim, cropped so short it barely qualified as clothing, the front zipper curved like a lover’s smirk.

The top was a suggestion of coverage, open wide unless zipped to the throat, paired with a mini skirt that was more belt than dress.

Matching thigh-high stockings, red-trimmed, and a tiny nurse’s cap screamed, I make house calls—and you’ll need them.

Freya studied it, her blue eyes cool, assessing.

Then a smirk tugged at her lips. "This’ll do."

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