Pervert In Stone Age: Breaking Cavewomen with Modern Kinks Chapter 264: The Devil’s Welcome

Angela’s pupils dilated as she stood frozen, her entire frame tensed and prepared to flee. My grip on her wrist remained firm; I didn't release her, instead applying just enough pressure to signify my dominance.

"Go hide. Immediately." My command was frigid and sharp, slicing through the external turmoil like a blade. Outside, the villa trembled under the rhythmic thrum of helicopter blades and the roar of engines, while dust drifted from the ceiling like a dark omen.

"Get to the bathroom. Secure the door, and do not move until I give the word."

Angela struggled for air, her breathing coming in uneven bursts. For a brief moment, a spark of resistance flared in her gaze—a desire to stay, to demand the truth, or to pull me back from the impending slaughter. However, she had witnessed my capabilities.

She understood the stakes. Though her mouth opened, she remained silent. Swallowing hard, she nodded as her throat moved with visible effort. "Please, stay safe," she murmured, her voice shaking like a leaf caught in a gale.

She spun around, the sound of her boots hitting the marble floor echoing as she bolted toward the bathroom. The door slammed shut, followed by the definitive click of the lock.

I didn't bother watching her leave.

My focus had already narrowed, my instincts sharpening as I locked onto my targets like a predator. The roar of the engines intensified, and the helicopters were now so near that the vibrations resonated within my skeletal structure.

I popped my knuckles one by one, the cracks ringing out through the tense quiet. Rolling my shoulders to loosen up, I grasped the weapon at my side, finding comfort in the familiar chill of the metal against my palm.

I exited the room and came to a halt.

A literal ocean of armed operatives in black tactical gear had swarmed the villa, their barrels all trained on me. Overhead, the helicopters hovered, their searchlights piercing the gloom and throwing distorted, jagged shadows against the walls.

The atmosphere was saturated with the smell of fuel, the surge of adrenaline, and the pungent stench of terror. My eyes moved over the crowd slowly, scanning them with the deliberate air of a monarch judging his subjects.

Then, I spotted him.

Walter.

The father of Tyler.

His face was a contorted mask of fury, his eyes bloodshot and frantic as he stood amidst his private militia. In the corner, the bodyguard who had been cleaning collapsed to his knees, his frame shuddering violently. "Brothers... I beg you," he pleaded, his voice cracking under the strain. "Run now! This man isn't human! He is a devil!"

The mercenaries erupted in mocking laughter. One massive brute, marked by a scar across his cheek, spat on the floor in contempt.

"The kid has lost his mind," he sneered. "What devil? We'll see if he stays a devil once my bullet hits him." The others joined the derision, their laughter sounding forced and ugly as their fingers hovered nervously over their triggers.

Walter stepped forward, his expression twisted into a snarl. "It's you," he hissed, his words saturated with hatred. "You're the one who mutilated my son."

I remained unmoved, not even blinking. Instead, a slow, predatory smile spread across my face, causing even the most courageous among them to hesitate. "What of it?" I replied, my voice a smooth, poisonous purr.

"Are you here for vengeance, Walter? Or did you just come to join him?" I tilted my head, inspecting him as if he were a mere bug beneath my heel. "Because if revenge is your goal, you'll find that helicopters and guns aren't nearly enough."

Walter’s complexion darkened, his jaw tightening until the sound of his teeth grinding was audible. "Don't kill him yet," he barked at his soldiers, his voice trembling with suppressed rage. "I intend to skin him while he's still breathing. I want to hear his screams."

The bodyguard let out a strangled sob. "Boss, no—please stop!" he cried out, crawling toward Walter and grabbing at his boots. "Boss, do not provoke him! This man is not human! He'll slaughter us all!"

Walter didn't even acknowledge him. With a sudden, violent movement, he grabbed a firearm from a nearby soldier and pulled the trigger. The bodyguard's frame jerked before collapsing to the floor, blood pooling around his body as his vacant eyes stared at the ceiling. Silence fell over the room, broken only by the hum of the helicopters and the heavy breathing of the gunmen.

I sighed, shaking my head as if disappointed. "Look at the mess you've made, Walter," I remarked, my tone dripping with insincere pity. "Another disaster." I took a step forward, the glass shards on the floor crunching under my boots.

"But don't worry," I whispered, my voice like silk laced with venom, "I'll make you lick every drop of it up." My grip on my weapon tightened, my knuckles turning white as my grin became feral and inhuman. The fear in the air was so thick it was almost suffocating. Walter’s men shifted their weight, their aim wavering as their resolve began to disintegrate.

"And once I'm finished with you, Walter," I added with a dark promise, "I'll ensure Tyler has a front-row seat in hell. He can watch his father beg. For. Mercy." I let the threat linger in the air, heavy and oppressive.

Walter’s face contorted, his skin turning as pale as old parchment. "You talk too much," he growled, lifting his weapon, though his hand shook like a leaf in the wind.

I threw my head back and laughed—a hollow, dark, and entirely monstrous sound that clawed its way out of my chest.

Walter flinched but tried to hide it with a roar to his men. "Move!" he shouted, his voice cracking under the pressure of his own dread. "Take him alive! And find that bitch Angela! Flay her alive! I want to hear her shriek!"

The gunmen hesitated, their gazes darting between me and their employer. I could practically taste their metallic, bitter fear. With a quick flick of my wrist, the laser gun in my hand began to warp and contort, the metal bending as if it were a living thing.

In the blink of an eye, the firearm transformed into a knife—long, jagged, and vibrating with a strange, rhythmic energy. The blade emitted a soft glow, casting a sickly light over the faces of the surrounding men.

"What the hell is that—?" one of them gasped, his weapon clattering to the ground.

Walter’s face flushed with fury. "It's a trick!" he bellowed, spittle flying. "He’s using illusions to scare you! Don't be fooled! He did the same thing to my son and the guards!" His voice was desperate and raw, but his men were no longer listening. They were transfixed by the knife in my hand and the unnatural power radiating from it.