Chapter 793: Theresa's Revival, Theresis's Rage
"Nngh! Damn it, are you all fucking monsters?!" W cursed wildly, her voice cracking as she spat out rapid-fire Sarkaz profanities.
What had started as a simple taste had spiraled into an absolute war of attrition. With three fierce competitors in the mix, she was being thoroughly run into the ground by the Aegirians. That was the crux of the issue. Those three Abyssal Hunters were absolute monsters.
W's stamina was already scraping the bottom of the barrel. Yet, the Aegirians were practically glowing with boundless vitality, growing more aggressive with every passing minute. Before W could even catch her breath, the three women lunged back into the fray like a pack of starving wolves, eager to drag her right back down into the depths of pleasure.
She gasped out that she couldn't take any more, yet her trembling thighs betrayed her stubbornness as she ground her teeth together, refusing to tap out.
Ren's lips curled into a wicked smirk. "W, it seems you just can't keep up with Skadi and the others. I'm afraid I'll have to give you a failing grade."
"You bastard! Fucking hell, can you at least stop moving before you say something like that?!"
The fact that this man possessed absolutely zero refractory period—no sage mode whatsoever—infuriated W to no end. It defied all laws of biology and science.
"Heh. Well, although I'm far from satisfied right now, you still have a chance to make it up to me."
"What... chance?"
W twisted her neck, desperate to glare over her shoulder and read the expression on Ren's face. Unfortunately, the compromising, equestrian-like posture he had her locked into made it nearly impossible.
Taking pity on her struggle, Ren leaned his chest against her bare back, his breath hot against her pointed ear. "Your future belongs to me too. How about it?"
W's breath hitched. How was that any different from outright buying her body and soul?
"Of course, if you mind, we can just forget the deal," Ren murmured, his hips rolling lazily. "Unless you want to continue working hard right now... provided you can actually outlast Skadi and her friends."
W cast a weary, bloodshot glance toward the trio. Specter was kneeling gracefully on the soft sand, her lips parted as she eagerly awaited another taste of Ren's favor. Skadi, retaining a strange innocence despite the debauchery, looked flushed and blissfully content; her wide, natural eyes shimmered with an insatiable curiosity for more. Gladiia, meanwhile, maintained a mask of cool composure. Despite having climaxed multiple times, the Swordfish's posture remained elegant, her deep reserves of stamina practically mocking W's exhaustion.
Compared to these abyssal leviathans, W was simply too fragile. If she tried to keep competing against these Aegirians, she would genuinely die of exhaustion right here on the beach.
"Damn it all," W spat fiercely, her voice laced with desperate resolve. "Take it! Just take it all! As long as you bring Theresa back, I don't care what you do to me!"
She had already waded through oceans of blood for Theresa; she refused to give up now. Besides, Ren was the very first person to ever see true value in her—a despised Sarkaz mercenary infected with Oripathy. And he hadn't just used her; he had miraculously cured her incurable disease just moments ago. As long as Lord Theresa could walk the earth again, W would gladly throw her own life into the abyss.
"Alright then. Your wish is granted."
Smack!
Ren's hand met her pale skin, leaving a stinging, rosy handprint and a crisp echo in the air.
W's eyes bugged out. 'Why the hell are you spanking me while reviving Lord Theresa?! That stings!'
"You are... W?"
The sudden, incredibly gentle voice drifting from above instantly froze the curses bubbling in W's throat.
She snapped her head up, her pupils shrinking in absolute shock.
Standing just a few feet away, looking down at her with a bewildered, soft expression, was a beautiful Sarkaz woman with flowing pinkish-white hair.
"Lord... Theresa..." W breathed out subconsciously, the name of the figure she could never, ever forget slipping past her lips.
It was real. The Lord Theresa she had yearned for, bled for, and sacrificed everything for, was standing right in front of her.
But before the overwhelming tide of joy could fully hit her, W watched as a deep, furious blush spread across Theresa's pristine cheeks.
The resurrected King of Sarkaz averted her gaze, her voice laced with deep shyness. "W... what exactly are you doing?"
W's mind completely short-circuited.
Reality crashed down on her like an anvil. She was currently on her hands and knees, completely bare, being ruthlessly ploughed by a man while three other naked women watched. This was objectively the worst possible state in which to reunite with her revered liege.
Suddenly, her eyes bulged even wider, a sharp gasp tearing from her throat.
Ren, sensing the spike in W's emotional vulnerability and the sheer absurdity of the situation, decided to elevate the tension. His hips snapped forward, shifting from a lazy, teasing rhythm into a relentless, jackhammer-like pace.
"Lord Theresa, don't look at me!" W shrieked in absolute despair, burying her burning face into her arms as her body was jolted forward with every brutal thrust.
Despite the scandalous sight, Theresa stood frozen, her wide pink eyes completely unable to look away from the chaotic display.
Meanwhile, far away within the dilapidated ruins of Kazdel.
A burly Sarkaz man sat upon a cold, imposing throne, his sharp features cast in heavy, gloomy shadows.
"Find her! She must be found at all costs!" he roared, his furious command echoing through the grand hall, sending his terrified subordinates scrambling.
The target of his frantic search was not a living person, but a corpse. The corpse of his own sister.
This man was Theresis, the Regent of Kazdel. Theresa's older brother.
He was the mentor who had forged Ascalon and Manfred into lethal weapons. He had served as the sword attendant to the previous Lord of Fiends, Elesham. He was one of the legendary Sarkaz Six Heroes, and a supreme general of the Kazdel Military Commission.
Theresis had once been a chosen successor to the Black Crown, yet he had voluntarily relinquished his claim to the throne. Stepping away from the absolute authority of the Lord of Fiends, he chose instead to command Kazdel's armies.
Together with Theresa, he had co-founded the Military Commission of Kazdel, acting as its primary leader. He controlled the nation's military might while simultaneously managing the logistical lifelines for Babel.
But peace was a fragile illusion. Following the devastating surprise invasion of Kazdel by the forces of Leithanien, the internal friction between the traditional Kazdel loyalists and the progressive members of Babel reached a boiling point. Violent clashes erupted in the streets.
Forced into a corner, Theresa, representing the ideals of Babel, officially announced their withdrawal from the capital. The moment Babel's forces evacuated, Theresis declared a total military takeover of Kazdel. Thus, a brutal, full-scale civil war ignited, engulfing the Sarkaz nation in flames.
Brother and sister became bitter enemies, their respective factions tearing the country apart. The tragic culmination of this civil war was the successful assassination of Theresa, leaving her bleeding out in the dark.
Theresis emerged as the undisputed victor. Yet, he did not seek out the next Lord of Fiends to claim the Black Crown. Instead, he consolidated his iron grip over Kazdel, ruling as its Regent. Theresa's death carried immense, twisted significance for him. Her preserved corpse was the absolute linchpin of his grand, overarching plan.
But just hours ago, a catastrophic variable had occurred. Upon receiving the frantic report that Theresa's heavily guarded corpse had vanished into thin air, Theresis had abandoned his frontline duties and rushed back to Kazdel.
Crack!
The solid stone armrest of his throne crumbled into dust beneath Theresis's crushing grip. His jaw locked, a vein pulsing violently at his temple. His master plan was on the very verge of execution, yet the most crucial catalyst had been stolen right from under his nose.
"Damn it all! Who did this?!" he snarled, his murderous intent suffocating the throne room. If he ever got his hands on the thief who dared defile his sister's resting place, he would personally tear them limb from limb.
Theresis could never have imagined in his wildest nightmares that Theresa had not been stolen, but fully resurrected across dimensions.
And not only was she breathing again, but she was currently receiving an intense, front-row education on extreme carnal stimulation mere seconds after opening her eyes.
She had awoken from the cold void of death, only to find her fiercely loyal friend, W, being ruthlessly bullied into submission. The poor mercenary's eyes eventually rolled back, and she fainted from sheer overstimulation right in front of her liege.
But the madness didn't end there. Theresa watched in stunned silence as the three white-haired, red-eyed Aegirian women swarmed the man who had just conquered W, diving into a chaotic, oceanic storm of unbridled passion.
The sheer depravity of the scene dealt a massive psychological blow to the newly revived King of Sarkaz. Yet, Theresa did not panic or act rashly. Drawing upon her royal composure, she simply sat on the sand, folded her hands in her lap, and waited quietly.
For several hours.
Finally, the storm subsided. Ren untangled himself from the exhausted, unconscious limbs of the four women. He stretched his neck, his bare feet padding softly across the warm sand as he approached the reserved, silent Theresa.
He crouched down in front of her, reaching out to gently pinch her smooth chin. He tilted her face up, examining her features closely under the sunlight.
It had to be said—Theresa was breathtakingly beautiful.
She possessed a pure, flawless elegance that felt almost divine. Unlike the aggressive, jagged nature of most Sarkaz, she exuded a deeply gentle, maternal aura. Looking at her pristine face, it was impossible to discern her true age.
Her long, pinkish-white hair cascaded gracefully down to her shoulders, framing a pair of soft, captivating pink pupils. She wore a simple, elegant white dress that draped down to her knees, highlighting her slender, delicate figure. And there, blooming quietly along the left side of her pale skin, were the dark, jagged mineral crystals of Oripathy—a stark, tragic contrast to her immaculate beauty.
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