Pervert In Stone Age: Breaking Cavewomen with Modern Kinks Chapter 268: Walter’s Mansion

The man's knuckles turned stark white as his hold on the rifle weakened, his face losing all color. "You’re bluffing," he stammered, though his confidence was disintegrating like ash in a gale. His gaze shifted frantically between Angela and me, hunting for a flicker of doubt or a sign that this was a ruse. He found nothing but cold reality.

I struck before he could even process a response.

With a fluid, explosive lunge, I snatched the rifle from his grasp. In a panicked reflex, his finger squeezed the trigger, discharging a round straight at my face.

The bullet slammed into my forehead, only to bounce off as if hitting solid steel. He stumbled backward, his eyes bulging in sheer terror as his breath caught in his throat. "No... that’s impossible—!" he wheezed, his voice vibrating with fear. "What the fuck are you?!"

The soldiers positioned behind me reacted instantly. They surged forward in a blur of motion, seizing the man by his limbs and hauling him out of the helicopter.

A series of brutal kicks to his ribs left him gasping on the pavement, his broken form discarded like a pile of trash. "Pathetic," one soldier spat with disdain. He then turned toward me with a look of unwavering loyalty. "We’re with you, sir."

Ignoring the man groveling on the ground, I reached out to Angela. She grasped my hand firmly, and I pulled her into the safety of the chopper.

Once aboard, she collapsed into the seat next to me. Though her breathing remained ragged, a new intensity burned in her eyes. The rotors began their deafening roar, and the helicopter ascended as the wind whipped through the cabin.

As we climbed higher, I stared toward the horizon where Walter’s castle stood—a massive fortress of iron and stone illuminated by harsh floodlights. "That belongs to us now," I declared, my low voice cutting through the engine's thunder. "Every stone. Every gun. Every man still breathing within those walls."

Angela followed my look, her expression turning stony as the fortress drew near, its cold masonry bathed in an ominous glow.

Her trembling hands revealed the internal chaos she was fighting, yet her voice remained firm. "What shall we do with them?" she questioned, her grip tightening on the armrest until her knuckles went pale.

I leaned back, draping my arm behind her and letting my fingers rest on her shoulder in a possessive, protective hold. "We offer them a choice," I replied, my calm tone carrying the weight of tempered steel. "They can swear their Cultivation and loyalty to you, or they can die where they stand."

Angela turned toward me, her body naturally seeking the shelter of my presence. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice thick with raw sentiment.

"From this moment on, I belong to you." She met my eyes with a gaze full of fierce, desperate devotion. "I am willing to give you my soul."

A dark, primal shift occurred within me. I realized she truly viewed me as a demonic entity. "Aren’t you afraid I am the devil?" I asked, a hint of dark amusement in my low voice, though it carried a trace of a vulnerability I rarely acknowledged.

Angela didn't blink. She reached up and pressed her palm against my chest, as if feeling the void within me, showing no sign of fear. "I am not afraid," she stated firmly. "Even if you are the devil..." A bitter, small smile touched her lips. "I would gladly follow you to hell."

Something inside my heart fractured.

I had never encountered a woman like her—ruthless and dominant, yet prepared to walk through fire by my side. Throughout all my lifetimes, I had never found a soul who could match my internal darkness and embrace it rather than flee.

My fingers traced her jawline with a gentle, almost reverent touch. She was unique. For the first time, I found myself treating a woman differently, driven by an instinctive recognition of her worth.

A dark chuckle vibrated in my chest. "You really are something else, Angela," I muttered, my voice tinged with genuine admiration.

Then, we reached our destination.

The helicopter touched down before Walter’s mansion—a sprawling, monstrous estate of iron and stone with sealed gates and windows that seemed to glow with defiance.

The soldiers accompanying us moved with lethal efficiency. They poured out of the aircraft, boots hitting the dirt as they advanced on the entrance with weapons raised.

The defenders inside, however, were not ready to give up.

Over the comms, we heard the defiant shouts of Walter’s loyalists. "Only Walter or his son can order these gates opened!" one snarled. "We don't take orders from traitors!"

The urge to slaughter them all and paint the estate red with their blood flared within me. Sensing the tension, a pale, shaking soldier turned to me. "Sir," he stammered, "I—I will bring you Walter’s head to force their surrender."

I let out a sharp exhale, my hand tightening on the hilt of my blade. "You have five minutes," I growled. "Or I’ll handle it myself."

The soldier nodded frantically, sweat pouring down his face as he raced toward the mansion gates. I watched him go, tapping my fingers impatiently against my weapon, the steel humming with the anticipation of a massacre. Five minutes was his limit before I turned the grounds into a graveyard.

The wait was brief.

Within minutes, the soldier returned, stumbling under a gruesome weight. In one hand, he gripped Walter’s severed head by the hair, its dead eyes staring into nothingness. With his other hand, he dragged a hospital bed carrying Tyler, who was shaking uncontrollably, his face white with pure terror.