A Superpowered Warrior in a Fake Heiress’s Body novel Chapter 139

Chapter 140 Infinite Velocity

Once the limits were entirely bypassed, the engine could easily generate double or triple the spee had established.

But executing a run at that threshold was impossible for a regular human; maintaining that veloci through an unlit hairpin track without rock-crashing or flying off a cliff face was a zero-percent probability.

This wasn’t some Fl arcade simulator where you could hit a restart button after a fatal impact and r the grid.

Out on this mountain, life was a single-use asset.

Consequently, even running at his absolute personal limit, Isaac had only tapped a fraction of the machine’s capacity.

And right now, with the core systems compromised, the horsepower output had dropped by a massiv chunk.

But for Isabella, her solitary task was monitoring the structural stress to ensure the drivetrain didn’t se up or suffer a total terminal failure mid-run.

As for generating velocity? That was a total no-brainer.

Maximum supercar speed?

Could a primitive internal combustion engine even begin to match the acceleration metrics of a high-ti rogue beast?

Isabella had regularly piloted state-of-the-art 24th-century assault armor, executing supersonic intercept runs to blitz rogue swarms at the speed of sound.

This civilian horsepower threshold wasn’t even worth a single glance on her HUD.

In fact, analyzing the speedometer data was a complete waste of her attention.

Weaving through the hairpins with fluid precision, she cleared the corners without dropping a single mile

of momentum.

In a matter of seconds, her front bumper was tracking right on the kingpin’s rear deck.

The racer boss felt a wave of absolute shock hit his chest.

He couldn’t map the logic of Isaac reclaiming the line after that crash.

What kind of absolute joke was this?

Even if the kid’s chassis had survived the rock wall impact, maintaining this velocity on a compromised engine defied all physics.

A damaged block simply lacked the mechanical tolerance to output peak performance

drivers free to employ any dirty tactic to lock down the victory.

Granted, intentionally ramming a competitor off a cliff face was a hard boundary.

That logged as actual murder.

Even the most hardened street syndicates maintained a strict blacklist against execution runs

They were out here trading cash for thrills, not running wetwork contracts.

Going full psycho on the track was a zero-interest move

Did they want the feds to launch a permanent raid on their territory?

As Isabella’s chassis brushed right past his driver-side panel, a flash of pure malice hit the kingpin’s eyes.

This rich kid actually had the balls to throw his own ramming tactic right back at him?

Did the boy think he could handle the fallback metrics?

Steeling his grip, the racer boss held his throttle wide open, forcing his vehicle straight into a collision path.

Bypassing any defensive evasion, he refused to cede an inch of asphalt, driving his heavy frame straight into Isabella’s line.

It was a pure, suicidal game of chicken.

Leveraging this exact brand of raw ruthlessness, the kingpin had broken dozens of challengers over his

career.

Any standard competitor facing that level of aggression would panic, instinctively slamming on the brakes

to clear the lane.

Or at the very least, drop their velocity metrics by a wide margin.

And the exact microsecond the target wavered, he would violently counter-ram their chassis, leaving then

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Chapter 140 tnfinite Velocity

stranded in his dust

When that happened, the kinetic recoil and opposing force would send the challenger into a violent. unrecoverable spin.

To put it bluntly, they were highly likely to get launched right off the mountain ridge

While the kingpin plotted his hit, inside the apposing vehicle, Isabella’s eyes remained a total flat, her internal baseline undisturbed.

Facing the massive encroaching mass, she displayed zero physical hesitation, instead swinging her rear deck around while dropping the throttle to maximum payload.

Before the kingpin’s wide, terrified eyes, she weaponized his own counter-pressure, using the contact point to launch the supercar into a controlled airborne arc right over the turnaround marker.

A deafening screech of tortured tires split the night air.

Isabella managed the machine with pure brute force, scraping the absolute outer edge of the precipice as the chassis rotated through a perfect mid-air spin, clearing the checkpoint marker before slamming back down onto the return lane with a heavy thud.

A massive violent rumble erupted from the bay.

The engine let out a hoarse, aggressive roar before screaming down the mountain descent like a bullet.

“What the heck?”

The racing boss stood clean frozen from shock.

Snapping back to reality a second too late, he slammed his wheel around to clear the turnaround marker and gave chase.

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A Superpowered Warrior in a Fake Heiress’s Body