Pervert In Stone Age: Breaking Cavewomen with Modern Kinks Chapter 265: Begging For Mercy

My desire was for Walter to be consumed by it. I wanted the icy, suffocating embrace of death to tighten around his throat, crushing him until his entire reality shrank to the nightmare standing before him. With that intent, I struck.

Lunging forward in a single, seamless motion, my frame became a streak of disciplined aggression. The knife gripped in my hand glinted like a flash of silver lightning, whistling through the air with a lethal sigh. Before the first man could even process the sensation of pain, my blade had already found his neck.

A thick, steaming arc of crimson sprayed out, drenching the faces of his allies. As his body slumped to the floor, his fingers gave a final, desperate twitch. I did not pause.

I spun away, dropping into a low roll just as the next man opened fire; bullets hissed past me like a swarm of enraged wasps. Sinking with a nauseating wet thud, my knife entered his gut first. He gasped, eyes bulging in pure shock, but my work was far from over.

I wrenched the blade upward, carving through his chest before whipping it across his throat. His frame convulsed as blood bubbled from his mouth; I kicked him aside, sending his corpse crashing into the men behind him.

"You’re next," I whispered to the soldier beside him, my voice a lethal caress that made his flesh crawl. He had no time to respond before the knife flashed once more, sinking deep into his cranium. His body went rigid, his jaw dropping in a silent scream, and I wrenched the metal free with a wet, tearing sound.

Blood dripped from the edge as I pivoted, burying the steel into the stomach of another guard. He unleashed a high, piercing wail that rang through the room as I hoisted him off the floor as if he were weightless.

With a low snarl, I pitched him toward Walter. The body slammed into the ground with a sickening thud, the head rolling until it stopped at Walter’s feet, sightless eyes staring up at his master.

"No! No, no, no—!" Walter cried out, staggering backward as his features twisted in pure dread. His breathing turned into ragged gulps, and his hands trembled violently while he stared at the decapitated head, the pooling blood forming a macabre halo around it. "What the fuck are you?!" he shrieked, his voice cracking under the pressure.

I gave him no chance to compose himself. I was already a whirlwind of steel and slaughter. The knife danced between my fingers, carving through flesh and bone as if they offered no resistance. Another man attempted to level his firearm, but my speed was superior.

My blade struck his wrist first, lopping off his hand with a clean strike. His weapon clattered to the tiles as he shrieked, clutching the stump of his limb. I ended his agony quickly. The knife flashed again, this time across his windpipe, and he collapsed while choking on his own gore.

Grabbing another soldier by the hair, I jerked his head back to lay his throat bare. "Watch closely, Walter," I shouted, my tone heavy with mocking spite. The knife glided through his neck effortlessly, the sound of snapping tendons and bone echoing sickeningly loud.

Holding the severed head up by its locks, I let the blood rain onto the floor before tossing it at Walter. It bounced once and came to rest at his feet.

Walter let out a strangled sob, his legs failing him as he tripped backward; a dark stain of urine rapidly spread across his trousers. "Pathetic," I sneered, laughing as he scrambled away with a face distorted by terror.

The survivors were now in a frantic retreat, abandoning their guns in a desperate bid to flee the carnage. However, one man—either braver or more crazed than the rest—lunged at me with his own dagger. The blade made contact with my skin—and shattered. The steel broke as if it had hit solid diamond, the fragments clinking onto the floor.

The man’s eyes stretched wide in utter disbelief, his face draining of all color. I let out a low, dark chuckle as I seized his wrist and snapped it. Bone crunched, and he screamed as the remnants of his knife slipped from his numb fingers.

"Did you truly believe that would work?" I murmured with a poisonous purr. I plunged my knife into his chest, rotating the blade slowly to savor the way his muscles spasmed. "I told you. You’re all so weak."

Walter’s men wavered, their faces pale and their weapons shaking in their hands. "Shoot him!" Walter shrieked, his voice high and frantic. "Shoot him, you cowards! Kill him now!"

The remaining guards raised their firearms, fingers tightening on the triggers. Machine guns and rifles roared, turning the room into a chaotic storm of lead. I did not move an inch.

I didn't even flinch. I simply stood there, allowing the hail of bullets to strike me; each round hit my skin with a dull thud before falling harmlessly away.

Within seconds, my shirt was reduced to tattered ribbons. Beneath the shredded fabric, my skin remained perfect—unmarked, unbruised, and completely untouched.

The room plunged into a deafening silence.

Walter’s men stared in awe, their guns dipping as the color left their faces. "Impossible..." one man breathed, his voice shaking.

Walter’s eyes were blown wide, his breath coming in frantic, short gasps. "Are you guys with him?" he barked, his voice cracking.

"Is this a trick? Fake bullets? Motherfucker—!" His hand trembled as he aimed the same gun he had used on the bodyguard, the barrel still warm with blood. He pulled the trigger.

The bullet struck me directly in the center of my chest.

And it simply bounced off.

I didn’t even blink. I merely took a step forward, my grin widening as Walter’s expression contorted in horror. "No... no, no, no—!" he stammered, retreating as his legs shook beneath him. The dark stain on his leg expanded, and the sharp stench of urine filled the air.

"Just like his son," I whispered with mocking amusement. Walter’s gun hit the floor as he slumped to his knees, his hands trembling and his breath coming in desperate, ragged heaves. "Please..." he whimpered, his voice failing. "Please, no—"

I knelt before him, using the tip of my knife to tilt his chin upward. "Begging already?" I asked in a venomous purr.

"Good. I want your pleas. I want you to grovel. I want you to experience every moment of the dread your son felt before I cast him into hell." I pressed the blade harder against his throat, drawing a thin line of red. "But don't be mistaken, Walter. I haven't even truly begun."