Pervert In Stone Age: Breaking Cavewomen with Modern Kinks Chapter 348: Attacking Paul

The ants receive my order to line up in formation, resembling a disciplined troop. They shift without delay, advancing in flawless harmony, as though my mind controls theirs directly. No drills involved. No directions given. Only swift compliance.

Angela and Lisa remain frozen in place, their breathing light and tense while observing the ants follow my unspoken directive.

The formation they create goes beyond mere neatness—it's robotic, akin to troops trained over decades, with their small limbs stepping in eerie, flawless rhythm. Angela's hands fidget by her hips, her tone a faint murmur.

"Ants don’t do this. They don’t—they can’t—move like this." Her statement lingers in the atmosphere, heavy with doubt. Lisa stays silent altogether.

Her gaze fixes intently, shifting rapidly from the ants to me, her thoughts obviously whirling to comprehend the scene before her. I can nearly sense the wheels spinning in her brain, inquiries building up unspoken.

I allow the quiet to linger, relishing the moment. A thrill builds inside me like twisting vapor, shadowy and thrilling. They haven't grasped it yet. They fail to see the implications—of my newfound abilities.

Yet we can't linger indefinitely. Especially with greater events ahead.

My attention returns to the ants, my intent imprinting on their minuscule brains like a seal. Ascend, I direct. Envelop us.

The directive vibrates within me, a throb of purpose, and the ants react at once. They rush ahead, a flowing wave of dark forms, climbing our limbs with uncanny accuracy.

A subtle prickle brushes me as they scale my footwear, their horde so immense it merges into one fluid, changing swarm. Lisa inhales sharply, her frame going rigid while the ants seize her footwear, their minute feet clinging to the material like an extra layer.

Angela releases a quick exhale, her hands gripping her cuffs as though resisting the impulse to sweep them away. "Dexter, what the hell—?" she begins, yet the phrase fades as she glances downward. Her footwear vanishes, swallowed by a squirming, ebony layer of ants.

15,000 in total. A hushed, boiling force, concealed right before our eyes.

I look down at our soles—three sets of footwear, fully darkened, resembling items soaked in dye. Nobody would spare a second glance. Nobody would harbor suspicions. The ants stay put, refuse to disperse. They bide their time. Loyal. Prepared.

Lisa regains her speech at last, even if it's little more than a croak. "No one’s going to notice this?" Her tone suggests an attempt at self-assurance, yet the shake in her voice reveals her doubt.

I grin slyly, my eyes lifting to connect with hers. "Not until it’s too late."

Angela gulps deeply, her stare fixed on the ants attached to her footwear. She comprehends. She sees this exceeds mere illusion. It's an instrument of power. And we're bearing it along.

I advance a pace, gauging the burden of my fresh legion. The ants adapt seamlessly, their hold unbreakable. The terrain underfoot seems altered now—electrified, similar to the atmosphere prior to a tempest.

Allow them to misjudge us, I muse, my mouth twisting into an icy grin. Permit them to assume we're merely three individuals—Dexter, Angela, and Lisa—venturing into uncertainty, defenseless and ordinary.

Yet nothing could be further from the truth.

I guide the path ahead, my strides purposeful as we head to Mira's spot. The atmosphere carries the aroma of moist soil and another element—something fierce, uncontrolled. The ants on our soles stay motionless, their existence a mystery shared solely by us.

Suddenly, a noise pierces the hush.

A roar.

Intense, throaty, and savage, it rattles the earth below, resonating in my frame. My gaze whips toward the source, my form tensing on reflex. Angela and Lisa halt rigidly next to me, their inhalations catching together.

And that's when it appears.

From the gloom steps a creature beyond any I've witnessed. It's a lion—actually, surpassing a lion. Its enormous build overshadows every beast I've met, its sinews flexing under a golden hide marked by stripes of wounds.

Yet what sparks a surge of discomfort in me are the protrusions—curled, dark, and rough, protruding from its head like the diadem of a demonic ruler. Its gaze fixes on us, amber and hunting, its mouth drawing back in a growl.

Fuck. What sort of creature is that?

It doesn't merely observe us. It glares. As if we're mere quarry, trespassing in its territory. A deep rumble emanates from its torso, the noise chilling my back.

I act without pause.

Eternal Vitality floods my system, my blood vessels aflame as my power and protections surge upward. Reality focuses, each element clarifying while my physique readies for conflict. The lion charges, its huge claws stirring soil, yet I outpace it.

I confront it directly, my knuckles slamming its head with impact that ripples outward through the breeze. The animal reels, its sight blurring momentarily—sufficient time.

I seize the chance without delay.

In a rapid gesture, I cut my hand, disregarding the bite as red liquid rises. One droplet lands on the lion's pelt, hissing faintly as it absorbs. The creature trembles, its huge form rigid—not with rage, but yielding.

Immediately, it belongs to me.

A alert appears before my eyes: Mountain Lion – Tamed.

I refrain from enjoying the triumph. Time presses. I instruct the lion wordlessly, my determination carving into its consciousness like an edge. Trail us. Remain concealed.

The animal complies instantly, its colossal shape blending into the dimness as it loops nearby, its motions strangely quiet for its size. It matches our speed, a spectral blend of hide and brawn, while we press on to Mira's position.

Moments afterward, they appear in sight.

Mira, Hailey, and Nicole group closely, their bearing falsely calm, even as their glances reveal hints of worry. They continually survey the surroundings, hunting for whatever—whatever—could offer advantage.

Bill, Paul, and Jack create a shielding wall before them, their positions broad, their physiques tensed like coiled wires.

Paul's palm lingers by the sheath on his waist, his digits jerking. He's the armed one. The thought strikes me sharply. Should he gain an unobstructed aim, my lion—my recent conquest—would end as lifeless remains on the soil.

I must prevent that.

My sight shifts to the dim area where the lion hunkers, its amber eyes fixed on me, poised. Verbal cues aren't required. A quiet order suffices.

A roar broke the quiet.

It was a noise that didn't merely occupy the space—it dominated it. A profound, rumbling boom that appeared to quiver the soil under our soles.

The lion's bellow differed from any I'd encountered, raw and horrifying, resounding amid the foliage like an alert from the depths. Fowl burst from the overhead limbs, their wild flaps clashing against the heavens as the bellow unleashed a surge of raw, primal dread across all nearby life.