บท 91: [91] Sparta
June 15, 04:04 PM
On the fifteenth day of the sixth moon, after 126 years of Sparta's history, the afternoon sun gently kissed the coastline, casting a radiant and blissful glow.
Sitting tall and broad-shouldered in a chair woven from devil vines, a silver-haired youth gazed out at the azure sea before him.
Vergil, draped in a black coat, appeared somewhat lost in thought as he watched the waves crashing and dispersing gradually. Memories flooded his mind.
His elder brother, Kratos, had taught him and Dante the art of combat here, by this sea.
This vast expanse of ocean held too many memories for the three brothers.
Here they fought, here they played, and here they made vows to protect Sparta, to eradicate every devil, a childish wish now appearing laughable and naive.
The weapon racks, once holding spears and shields, had been abandoned for five years, lonely and forlorn on the beach, resembling crooked tombstones.
"...Kratos."
Vergil gripped the sleek black blade firmly in his hand.
At the thought of his brother's gentle smile, Vergil couldn't help but tighten his grip on the hilt.
Despite possessing the power to tear through Hell and Earth, what did it matter?
He felt inadequate, worthless, powerless.
Because he couldn't find his big brother.
Not far behind Vergil, a sturdy figure clad in a red leather coat, equally robust and silver-haired, strolled leisurely through the gentle sea breeze.
Scarred visage over his right eye, Dante gazed at the chair in the distance. Running a hand through his hair, he sighed, approaching the open beach ahead.
"Sorry, Vergil... Your days of tearing through Hell need to come to an end."
Facing Vergil's back, Dante approached slowly, cracking his neck with a preparatory snap.
"Your abilities are destabilizing the gates of hell..."
Dante raised his right hand, enunciating each word deliberately.
"So, hand over Yamato."
"If you want it, you'll have to take it yourself..."
Vergil replied softly.
With that, Vergil rose from the vine-woven chair, standing tall.
Turning to face Dante, a hint of a smirk appeared on Vergil's stern face.
"You know the rules, Dante."
"I knew you'd say that."
Dante shook his head lightly.
The devil heart embedded in his chest pounded like a drum.
With a gesture, a blazing, spine-like molten greatsword materialized in Dante's palm, emitting a scorching aura.
Revealing their weapons was a declaration in itself.
"Today, let's settle this once and for all."
A fight was inevitable.
A smile of anticipation graced Vergil's face.
"How many times have we fought, Dante?"
"I've lost count. But as long as we can't beat Kratos, we'll keep fighting here."
Dante grinned brightly.
"Before Father pulled us apart, I used to beat you to a pulp on the ground like a dog..."
He spat on the sand.
"...Today will be no different."
"You too much talk, Dante."
Vergil's voice was mocking.
"Your aggressive words only betray your insecurity, masking your lack of substance."
The vine-woven chair withered away in the wind.
Shaking his head, Vergil's tone turned playful as he sighed softly.
"Sitting in Sparta's vacant throne, you're burdened with trivial politics, hardly resembling a true warrior... You and your spartan blades now only amuse me."
"I won't sit on that throne. Will you, Vergil?"
Listening to Vergil's mockery, Dante grinned, grinding his teeth.
"I'll give it to you. Will you sit?"
He retorted.
Dante's voice suddenly rose.
"You'll never sit, Vergil! Because you can't!"
"You don't understand the burden of Sparta's stability! Your mind is consumed by your ambitions! Ambitions! And more ambitions!!!"
"You're just like a dog, dodging your duty as a son of Sparta! You care for nothing but yourself because you've never considered anyone else's feelings!"
"During the two years captured by Ares, I felt like what you lack isn't your body, but your brain!"
"Grow up, Vergil!"
The words roared, interrogated, and vented.
But this raging voice gradually dissipated like flickering flames.
With a bitter shake of his head, Dante's lips curved into a mocking smile... mocking himself.
Who would understand these words anyway?
Vergil, lost in his madness, wouldn't listen.
Dante's voice softened, drifting faintly in the sea breeze.
"I don't expect you to understand me now, Vergil, but Sparta's stability requires a competent ruler, and that has always been Kratos's wish."
Click.
Vergil's slender scabbard was lifted calmly by his thumb, without any motion to draw the blade.
But...
Hiss...
A violent, space-tearing blade aura swept suddenly past Dante's side, carving a deep groove in the ground.
"Don't you dare..." Vergil trembled, gripping Yamato, "...say 'wish' in front of me, Dante."
"Kratos isn't dead! He's alive! Why can't you understand?! He's waiting for us to rescue him!"
"So, can you do it?" Dante's expression was emotionless as he held Rebellion, "So, have we not tried for these three years?"
"The gates of hell have closed and reopened countless times. We've tried every method to locate Kratos, but our sweeping searches have only led to heavy losses for our Spartan forces!"
"If Kratos isn't there, Sparta's blessings gradually fade. We've relied on various supports, previous godly selections, devil transformations, and the sacrifices of our warriors to maintain Greece's stability!"
"Do you think I don't want to find Kratos? Do you think I don't know he might be suffering in some corner of Hell?!"
Boom!
Spartan blades were hurled forcefully into the sand, the sword sinking straight into the ground.
Dante lunged forward, seizing Vergil's collar, roaring like an enraged lion.
"My feelings are the same as yours!"
"Do you think I want to be this King of Sparta? I'm a warrior! I'm not cut out for politics! Those daily reports are driving me insane! Only after sitting in this position did I realize the burden Kratos carried!"
"But! People need stability! Greece and Sparta crave it! We are the frontline against Hell! Fighting is Sparta's legacy ingrained in our blood!"
"I know you want to find Kratos, but your relentless pursuit is destabilizing the balance between the realms! Stop using that fucking Yamato! Can't you mature a bit?! Vergil! Sparta needs you! People need you!"
"What about... Kratos?"
Vergil murmured, causing Dante to freeze momentarily.
Vergil raised his hand, brushing aside Dante's wrist.
Amidst the clamorous sea breeze, he recited each word deliberately.
"Fukc them, fuck them all..."
Like a floodgate releasing, Vergil suddenly roared.
His overwhelming aura stirred up clouds of sand around them.
"For the sake of protecting these useless fools! For protecting this damn weak Greece! Kratos wanted to establish the gates of hell! He accepted those scheming individuals into the city! That's why he was defeated by those pieces of shit, they deliberately put pawns into Sparta to plot Kratos, Dante!"
"If you won't search, I'll do it alone! I'll tear through hell! I'll go to the depths of the underworld! I'll search until my last breath! I won't rest until I see Kratos!"
"Kratos is still waiting for you all! Yet you, a bunch of spineless cowards, betray his call!"
"Yes, you're right, I'm insane! I'm mad! But everyone's already mad, Dante! Without Kratos, everyone has gone mad!"
"What's the point of guarding a city without Kratos? You can't even protect your own family, yet you want to protect Sparta? What are you guarding? What have you protected?!"
"Dante!!"
Vergil's roar struck Dante's face like crashing waves, gradually dissipating.
With this final roar, as if exhausted and relieved, all emotions seemed to drain away.
Vergil closed his eyes tightly, pushing away Dante's body with a gentle shove.
"Get lost. I no longer hope for your assistance, Dante, but at least don't hinder me. Kratos sacrificed himself to save me, not to let his little brother witness his death in vain."
"...You've disappointed Kratos's expectations, Vergil. Do you think he would want to see you like this, consumed by madness, chasing power like a lunatic?"
Dante gazed at him as if in lament.
"You... you're a worthless, raging idiot."
"But, you're more worthless... Dante."
A mocking smile crept onto Vergil's lips.
"Without power, you can't do anything, just like how you could only watch as Kratos was taken away... once, you could only watch as Father was crushed before your eyes."
Crack!
Dante slammed a fierce punch onto Vergil's face.
"You fucking dare say that!"
Shaking his hand, which now throbbed with pain.
"Huff... huff..."
A hint of bloody rage tainted Dante's eyes crimson.
He breathed heavily, struggling to suppress the rising, bloodthirsty frenzy within him, flicking the blood off his fingertips onto the ground.
"You're too extreme, Vergil."
He shook his head in sorrow, shaking it vigorously.
"You insult your brother, your father."
"You insult all Spartans, the blood spilled for the peace of the people."
Vergil staggered back a few steps.
Wiping the blood from his lips.
He spat a bitter-sweet mouthful onto the ground.
"I'm extreme... I just feel like I'm not extreme enough."
Vergil cracked his neck, then smiled brightly.
"Insult me if you want, I don't care what people say.
"I... just want to find Kratos."
He spread his arms wide, exuding fervent encouragement.
"Come on, Dante!"
"If you don't like me, then come and correct me! Isn't that what you want?!"
"Without our brother here, the two of us have never been able to persuade each other!"
"In that case, let's just fight! Let our fists do the talking!"
"I mean, my little brother Dante, when did you become so bureaucratic? Have all those documents rotted your brain? It's pathetic!"
"Come, let me show you what you're made of, Dante!"
Vergil dropped his Yamato, chuckling as he loosened his coat collar, then strode forward and delivered an unrestrained punch straight to Dante's face.
Thud!
The devil hunter in red fell to the sandy ground, kicking up a cloud of dust.
Spitting out the displaced tooth, Dante's mouth quickly regenerated a new, pristine one.
"Haven't had enough breakfast... Vergil?"
Propping himself up from the ground, Dante slowly rose to his feet, a smirk playing on his lips.
"Your punch, it's nothing to brag about..."
No swords, no devil trigger, no defenses.
Just pure strength, the most visceral of blows, and unbridled, anger-fueled release.
The Spartan brothers, also the most renowned devil hunters in Greece, grappled on the sand like street thugs.
Friendship, character correction, favorite quarrels, brotherly respect, family tradition.
Intense emotions, conveyed through the collision of fists and cheeks, resonated forcefully in each other's minds, a more powerful expression than words.
Unfortunately, this didn't stop the siblings from hurling insults and curses at each other.
"Dante, your weak punches! It's laughable how weak they are!"
"Vergil, you can't even air hike!"
"Air hike? What's the point of such a weak skill? My Yamato can tear through space!"
"You're still bringing up Yamato?! The last time you tore open a rift, it caused so much trouble! I feel like stabbing you right now!"
"Stab! If you don't stab me to death today, you're not a man!"
"Fuck your mom!"
"My mom is your mom, dumbass! You've been reading too many reports, you're growing a beard and wrinkles, are you sure you're seventeen? You look seventy-one! Have you been called Uncle Dante in town yet?!"
"You're disgusting and greasy?! That's called maturity! You with your big, combed-back hair wouldn't understand!"
"You're just jealous of my hair gel!"
"Fuck this! How about this gut punch? How's it feel in your mouth?"
"..."
On the cliff overlooking the coast.
The Argonauts watched the Spartan brothers wrestling on the beach below, their expressions somewhat speechless and choked.
The ideological conflict between these two brothers, they chose not to intervene.
However, every attempt by Dante to persuade Vergil always ended up like this.
They had seen enough.
They were not worried about what injuries the two brothers might suffer from this fistfight.
Even if it was just fisticuffs, or even if they were to stab each other with their respective devil arms and puncture each other's guts, after a few sips of blood, they'd be jumping around lively again in a matter of minutes.
After all... Dante and Vergil, strictly speaking, were no longer human.
Vergil, having been beheaded by Ares, had only his head left, and under the rescue of Asclepius, he urgently used an immature research plan... shaping a new body for him from the flesh of devils and reattaching his head, much like what happened to a certain blonde vampire.
This so-called devil body was considered a last resort at the time... a human subjected to experiments on human bodies never lived half a day.
However... what was extremely surprising was.
In regards to this devil body, Vergil showed no hindrance, almost perfect adaptability... as if this devil body was the true flesh he had longed for.
With Vergil's perfect body cooperating, the experiment of human and devil integration made rapid progress.
More and more humans found ways to harness devil power.
Some devils with less overt hostility, possessing reason, began to form contracts with humans in exchange for their devil strength.
Humans with stronger adaptability to devils could gain some devilic characteristics by transplanting devil flesh.
These pioneers who used devilic power were called fusion warriors.
They possessed both human rationality and devil physique, relying on blood drinking to heal fatal wounds, and could also use some of the bizarre abilities of devils.
However, gifts always come with a price... correspondingly, the more one used devil power, the greater the risk of completely falling into a devil.
In today's Sparta, blessed by Kratos, countless Spartans voluntarily lined up to undergo transformation.
Spartan fusion warriors had become a solid force against the invasion of hell.
Since the wise young king was thrown into hell, the city had experienced three years of violent turmoil and gradually stabilized.
Asclepius's latest research progress had reached the point where he could transplant devil hearts into humans.
Unfortunately, there were now only Dante and Vergil as successful recipients of this research.
These two brothers seemed to possess extraordinary qualities... naturally almost perfect adaptability to devil power.
After Vergil had the devil's heart transplanted into him, he drew out a slender devil blade straight from his chest.
"This is the sword that judges gods and judges hell without thinking."
"So, I named it Yamato."
Compared to his older brother Vergil.
Dante drew out a giant sword from his chest, resembling the one Kratos had once given him after transplanting the devil heart into himself
However... Dante abandoned the moniker Rebellion for the sword and instead named it Spartan Blade.
This also signified that he was taking on the responsibility of ruling Sparta.
From Leonidas, to Kratos, and now to Dante.
Their will to protect Sparta had been passed down through generations.
Except for the heads.
The bodies of the two brothers were now entirely made of devil flesh, with no trace of human elements.
However, using this devil body, the two brothers felt as comfortable and clear-headed as they did when they were human.
This perfect adaptability made Asclepius rack his brains trying to uncover the secret behind it, but after various studies, he remained clueless.
Could it simply be... natural talent?
With devil hearts transplanted into them, the brothers could now transform into devil-like forms similar to Kratos which after a while they named the ability as Devil Trigger, greatly boosting their attributes, but at the cost of consuming a tremendous amount of devil power, making it unsustainable.
The ability of the sword devil, even allowed the brothers to tear open rifts to hell with the power of their blades, which they could use to traverse themselves.
However, doing so would disturb the operation of gate of hell, so the less frequent, the better.
Dante had become the appointed ruler of Sparta, taking on the responsibility of governing the city-state.
Initially, he was overwhelmed, making mistakes, and feeling physically and mentally exhausted.
Only in this position did Dante finally understand the immense pressure Kratos faced.
Planning for development, focusing on agriculture, ensuring reserves stability, maintaining public order.
And various tasks, appointments, diplomacy, trade, and even reports from the front lines of hell...
His brain had to consider countless matters every moment, and he had to review and make decisions on thousands of documents every day.
Thanks to the assistance of the administrative team left by Kratos and the wholehearted support of the Argonauts, Dante managed to persevere through fatigue and exhaustion.
He restrained his wild and reckless nature and gradually grew into a qualified ruler in the responsibility of protecting the city-state.
Vergil, on the other hand, took over Dante's military authority.
However, he had no interest in this, as he repeatedly ventured alone into the depths of hell, searching for any trace of their brother Kratos.
Over the past three years, numerous nationwide searches of hell had caused heavy losses to Sparta.
Although people eagerly hoped for Kratos's return... Dante ultimately chose to prioritize maintaining the stability of the gates of hell and refrained from generating new rifts for various stability considerations.
The Argonauts attempted to assemble an elite force to conduct extensive searches deep into hell.
However... in the vast abyss of hell, searching for the whereabouts of two individuals was like finding a needle in a haystack.
Without reinforcements from the rear, even the most elite forces would be worn down and corroded by the continuous onslaught of devils.
Dante, striving to maintain his composure, persuaded them with great effort and finally suppressed the impulses of Caenis and Atalanta.
Yet Vergil did not give up. He continued to tear open random portals to hell, slaughtering alone, drenched in blood, in search of their brother Kratos.
He increasingly enhanced his rate of modification, upgrading himself with every available strength, training almost madly and desperately to hone his abilities and combat skills... in his pursuit of power and his brother.
Dante's desire to maintain stability in Sparta was consistent with Kratos's longstanding wish.
Vergil's desire to rescue Kratos from the depths of hell, though high-risk, promised high returns... everyone believed that if Kratos returned, Sparta would immediately flourish, instilling confidence in the people, as this was what a wise king would bring.
Such a situation left the Argonauts torn, caught between a rock and a hard place.
Of course, they all wanted to rescue Kratos.
But helping Dante maintain the stability of the city-state was the best understanding of Kratos's intentions... they knew this was what the wise king truly wanted.
"Alcides..."
Standing on the cliff by the sea, Atalanta gazed at the two brothers wrestling below with a complex expression, softly calling out the name of the great hero.
"Would you mind going and persuading them?"
Alcides remained silent for a moment, then leaped directly from the cliff, his strong arms grabbing the collars of the two battered brothers, pulling them apart.
"No fighting."
Alcides spoke softly, gently releasing them and holding them back by their chests.
"This won't solve the underlying issues."
Their mentor stood before them.
Dante and Vergil wiped the blood from their mouths, turned their heads away from each other simultaneously, refusing to meet each other's gaze.
The silver-haired woman stood on the cliff, wearing a dazed expression, her eyes lowered as she gazed at the azure sea.
In Caenis's eyes, it seemed that the figure of the lost king sat on the rocks of the beach. He slowly turned his gaze and smiled gently at her.
"...Your Highness."
The silver-haired woman called out softly.
Upon hearing the title, Atalanta, standing nearby, felt a surge of loneliness and desolation in her mint-green eyes.
"Your Highness."
A thousand sunrises and moons setting.
Every night, they faced the empty bedchamber, whispering this nickname to themselves.
In sleepless nights, whether the warrior's recklessness or the hunter's coldness, in the deserted nights, they transformed into a tender and enchanting beauty, stunning but unseen by anyone.
His scent had dissipated entirely, and Atalanta would sit on the bed, holding the beddings he had brushed against to her chest, feeling empty and lonely.
Slowly.
The silver-haired woman, facing the azure sea, slowly squatted down, hugging her knees.
The ethereal sea breeze brushed Caenis's forehead.
As a warrior, she always laughed wildly, always fought fiercely on the front lines... never before had the silver maiden shown such vulnerability in front of others.
Bathed in the gentle breeze.
Caenis murmured almost absentmindedly.
"I'm going crazy, Atalanta."
The equally silver, berserk form of the huntress princess fell silent for a moment.
"...It's not just you, Caenis."
Vergil's words were right on point.
With Kratos gone, everyone's mental state was in turmoil.
In other words, everyone was on the verge of madness.
"Alcides is even more heartbroken than us. When Your Highness was thrown into hell, he was only a district away from him... Have you ever seen the great hero shed tears?"
Atalanta spoke softly.
"But... we all must endure, Caenis."
"Because that's His Highness Kratos.
"His name represents miracles. We mustn't lose our minds, we must choose to believe in him."
Speaking so softly.
The cat's agile figure landed on the beach without leaving a trace.
"The priests in the temple can't reach His Highness Kratos through prayers. The power of faith is gathering, but it has nowhere to flow... His Highness is undoubtedly trapped in the deepest part of Hell, so he hasn't been able to come out for thirty days."
"But, even if he's been thrown into the deepest part of hell."
"He will come back, because he's Kratos."
"Dante, Vergil, think about what your brother would say here, would he expect to see you fighting?"
In the silence of the wind.
The black-haired young king stood in the eyes of everyone.
He smiled and spoke silently, saying the answer that everyone had already imagined a thousand times in their minds...
"Take care of yourselves."
Thud.
Vergil knelt on the ground, emitting intermittent sobs. He hated his own powerlessness so much. This imagined comfort from his brother tormented him like a nightmare every sleepless night.
He opened his arms.
Dante slowly knelt down, embracing Vergil.
"We've fought so many times, Vergil."
"...Too many to count."
"No more fighting. I'll go with you. No one else can, only I can go with you... leave Sparta to Miss Atalanta."
Dante comforted his brother, holding Vergil's silver hair.
His gaze, covered with scars, gradually became firm. If his brother truly needed help, they, the brothers who could tear open rifts in Hell, were the only ones who could help.
What did it matter if it was devils? What did it matter if it was Hell?
What did Olympus matter?
Even that divine mountain, they would advance steadily, unwavering.
"You and I, we."
"Together, let's pierce through hell."
Dante's gentle voice dissipated in the wind.
Countless bizarre creatures in hell would shudder at this.
But...
Vergil's trembling, tearful face slowly lifted.
In the frozen expressions of Dante and everyone else.
Vergil whispered softly.
"No, Dante."
"We must live, take care of ourselves, live happier and more peacefully than the gods, so that when Kratos returns, he can see a prosperous city."
"Miss Atalanta is right."
"Kratos, he will definitely come back..."
"Because..."
"He is a miracle, he is victory, he is courage."
"Because he is... Kratos."
...
"The accumulation of magical energy has reached 1278%, I feel more powerful than ever before."
In the depths of hell, where Kratos had been relentlessly slaughtering devils for over three months, he had nearly exterminated everything alive within a radius of ten kilometers.
Now, those devils with even a modicum of intelligence fled for their lives at the mere scent of him, as if they had seen a ghost.
Humph, trying to escape?
Kratos unleashed his fury with lightning whirlwinds!
What devils? He was the fucking DOOM!
Those he truly wanted to kill had no chance of escaping.
However, as it turned out, the devils' panicked flight turned the slaughter, which was supposed to be a delivery of heads, into a game of cat and mouse.
Those weaker and less worthy of pursuit were left alone for the sake of efficiency.
As the bodies of devils continued to pile up, a thick, viscous pool of blood gradually formed in the laboratory of Hecate, providing a constant supply of purified, pure magical energy.
With Hecate's assistance, Kratos absorbed knowledge and magical power at an unprecedented rate. The power of this magically-driven body surged even higher than before, filling him with more than ten times his previous strength.
However, thanks to the infusion of divine power from the mortal world, his endurance was strong.
Similarly, with the help of Hecate, a method of compressing magical power was adopted to store the excess magic within his body... while the upper limit had indeed increased, every bit lessened meant less.
Each time he released the compressed spell, the magical energy would almost overflow with abundance, and these excesses should be put to good use as well.
"Teacher, I think that's enough."
Adhering to the principle of not wasting energy, Kratos greeted Hecate, who was in a beautiful state, and went to the palace to find the witch to enjoy some cream puffs.
Under his training and nourishment, Medea's figure had become more voluptuous and mature over the past three months. The round curves had started to take on a full size.
Her figure had also grown taller... ten times the growth rate had caused her to surpass Kratos's height. Amidst the violent bumps of the usual developers' convention, there was a sense of excitement akin to driving a big car.
Although drifting away from healing, Medea's magical proficiency had indeed improved... various curses, decay, corrosion, piercing shadow magic... gradually became readily available, making her doubt her talent and wonder what she was really focusing on.
It was obvious that learning medicine couldn't save the Greeks!
Tsk, she had really turned into a witch, adorable.
Kratos thought that perhaps female magus around him were prone to witchification?
Stepping out of the thick blood pool, which continued to ripple, Medea's bewitching face blushed slightly under Hecate's subconscious, unwavering gaze.
Hecate in the state of a beautiful woman, even she herself hadn't noticed it, slowly swallowed a mouthful of saliva.
Curiosity.
Curiosity about magic.
This should be... a thirst for knowledge, right?
She stared fixedly at her cheap disciple, as if she wanted to imprint the black-haired youth's figure into her eyes as a material for future spells.
Releasing a burst of flame-colored magic, she evaporated all the bloodstains clinging to her body.
Under Hecate's subconscious, unwavering gaze, Kratos casually put on a robe, his evenly toned and sturdy muscles faintly visible amidst the thin folds.
Ah, it looked even better when worn!
Standing in the deep shadows, Hecate wiped away the saliva from the corner of her mouth without changing her expression.
Although, with the power and vision of the Goddess of the Dark Moon, it was impossible to be covered by a thin robe.
But, it was all about pursuing this kind of ambiguous feeling!
Yes, that's right! It was the goddess's curiosity! It was merely a thirst for the mysterious!
Having already developed patience for peeping under the guidance of the previous witch, this kind of gaze, as if licking, made Kratos feel like he was back home.
The black-haired youth raised his gaze, gently smiling at Hecate, his deep crimson eyes seemingly soaked in the moonlight pouring down from the dome.
"Teacher, is there something dirty on my face?"
Of course, there was nothing dirty on his face.
But...
Take a look! Let me show you!
What rank are you to challenge me? Watch me send you back to the spring!
Feeling embarrassed? Feeling shy?
Trembling, avoiding eye contact, blushing without saying a word?
Tsk, Kratos had seen too many witches with high attack but low defense, he was simply slicing through them effortlessly.
However...
In the slightly stagnant smile of the black-haired youth.
The Goddess of the Dark Moon nodded approvingly.
"...There is!"
?
The tall and voluptuous woman, Hecate, swayed gracefully towards him, her amber eyes narrowing slightly, and the tear mole below her eye adding to her allure.
Hecate extended her fair fingertips, stirred the thick blood pool, then directly wiped the blood off Kratos's cheek in front of her, followed by an exaggerated exclamation of surprise.
"Oh! Kratos, why are you so careless? You haven't cleaned your face properly before coming out..."
"..."
"Oh well... let the teacher... clean you up."
In the slightly frozen gaze of the black-haired youth.
The enchanting and beautiful face of the Goddess of the Dark Moon slowly approached, she stuck out her tongue and gently licked the bloodstains off Kratos's face.
The delicate tip of the goddess's tongue, touching his cheek.
Leaving behind a subtle, slightly tingling wet sensation.
Kratos looked a bit dazed.
Watching Hecate come closer, ready to continue licking herself clean.
Kratos raised his index finger and pressed it against Hecate's lips.
Isn't that enough licking? Let's not overdo it.
The black-haired youth tilted his head with a smile that seemed almost mocking.
"Teacher."
He emphasized the title.
"Medea is still waiting."
"Energy shouldn't be wasted."
"Guh?!"
Pfft...
The direct hit made Hecate suddenly clutch her chest, trembling as she took a few steps back.
Kratos shook his head.
He turned his gaze away, about to turn around, when suddenly there was a sound of books being swept aside on the ground in front of him.
Bang...
A withered, bony hand with sharp nails suddenly grabbed Kratos by the neck, slamming him against the bookshelf.
Looking at the hideous skull mask in front of him, thick blood seemed to drip from the edge of its mouth.
The devilic desire to devour Kratos was almost uncontrollable.
"Get... away... from... me.."
The hoarse, muffled voice came from beneath the skull.
But...
Kratos raised his hand, gently opened Hecate's arm in her frozen gaze, then reached out and casually removed her mask... revealing the bewitching and alluring face adorned with the tear mole beneath the skull.
"It's okay."
Kratos leaned in, licking away the saliva dripping from her lips.
With a hint of sweet blood.
He smiled.
"You can't defeat me now."
"So... there's no need to endure it."
The Goddess of the Dark Moon in front of him trembled slightly, exhaling a cold breath like moonlight.
The black-haired youth lifted her voluptuous figure by the waist and headed straight for the palace.
Near her ear.
Kratos smiled and whispered softly.
"I'll try to... satisty your appetite."
ความคิดของผู้สร้าง 
XElenea
XElenea If you're interested in reading more, feel free to visit my pa treon :
https://www.pa treon. com/XElenea
สถานะพลังงานรายสัปดาห์
-- การจัดอันดับด้วยพลัง 
-- หินพลัง