aircannonsinc Chapter 809- The Plea of Brother and Pleasure of Sisters
Chapter 809- The Plea of Brother and Pleasure of Sisters
Chapter 809: Chapter 809- The Plea of Brother and Pleasure of Sisters
The laugh, the cruel, mocking, "your-sisters-got-fucked" laugh, filled the dungeon. All three guards laughed. The sound, the echoing, bouncing-off-stone-walls, cruel sound, was there.
Shen Mu, his body, the chained, beaten, bloody body, was there. His eyes, the gold-flecked brown eyes, the eyes that had been defiant, that had been holding on, that had been surviving — those eyes changed.
The gold, the flecks, the gold in his brown eyes, blazed. The sword intent, the suppressed, hidden, prodigy-level sword intent, surged. Not deliberately. Not strategically. Not the calm, calculated, planned release.
The rage. The absolute, past-life, present-life, reality-breaking rage. The rage of a brother who had just heard that his sisters — his eighteen-year-old, virgin, innocent sisters — had been fucked by the man who killed him in his past life.
"You BASTARDS!" he roared.
The chains, the spiritual-suppression chains, the iron that nullified cultivation qi — shattered. The links, the iron links, burst. The fragments, the shrapnel, flew. The guards, the Nascent Soul cultivators, the smirking, laughing guards, were hit.
Shen Mu stood. His body, the beaten, bloody, broken body, stood. His hand, his right hand, extended. The sword qi, the suppressed, hidden, prodigy-level sword qi, manifested. The blade, the qi blade, the condensed, focused, transcendent sword intent, was there.
The sword form cycle, the ancient, sword-sovereign-exclusive technique, activated. The form, the first form, the "Severing Wind" form, was there.
He cut. Both guards. In a single, simultaneous, impossible-cut. The blade, the qi blade, passed through both men. At the same time. The cut, the clean, surgical, impossible cut, was there. The two guards, their bodies, split. The blood, the arterial, spraying, fountain-like blood, was there. The bodies, the halved bodies, fell.
The third guard, his face, the terror, the "what-the-fuck" terror, was there. His scream, the "DEMON!" scream, started.
Shen Mu’s blade, the qi blade, ended it. The cut, the clean, final cut, was there. The third guard, his body, fell. The dungeon, the stone floor, was red. The blood, the pooling, spreading, three-bodies-worth of blood, was there.
Shen Mu, his body, the standing, blood-covered, sword-qi-radiating body, was there. His robes, the torn, simple dark cloth, were soaked. Red. The blood, his own and the guards’, was there.
"I WILL KILL THAT BASTARD!" he roared. His voice, the raw, primal, past-life-fueled roar, filled the dungeon. The qi, the sword qi, the prodigy-level, no-longer-suppressed sword qi, blazed. The walls, the stone walls, cracked. The floor, the blood-covered floor, split.
He moved. Toward the door. Toward the stairs. Toward the surface. Toward the guest quarters. Toward Tianlong.
’He made them... he made them... I WILL KILL HIM!’
The sword, the spirit sword, the Heavenly Sword, the weapon of his past life, the blade that had been sealed in his spiritual core since birth — the sword, the seal, the dormant blade — stirred.
The materialization, the premature, forced, unplanned materialization of his spirit sword, began. The qi, the sword qi, the prodigy-level qi, surged. The seal, the spiritual seal that kept the Heavenly Sword dormant, cracked.
But it was too early. His body, his cultivation, his meridians — they were not ready. The seal, cracked but not broken, released. The spirit sword, the Heavenly Sword, the half-formed, premature blade, materialized. The qi, the spiritual energy, the half-formed sword, drained him.
His body, the standing, blood-covered, sword-qi-radiating body, was there. The sword, the half-materialized, glowing, unstable spirit sword, was in his hand. The weight, the impossible, divine, soul-draining weight of a premature spirit sword, was there.
His eyes, the gold-flecked eyes, rolled. The whites, the showing whites, were there. His body, the suddenly, drained, emptied body, was there.
His knees, buckling. His legs, giving. His body, falling.
’He... they... I will kill... I will kill you, Tianlong...’
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The first light of dawn crept through the crystal window in a pale wash of grey, not quite golden yet, and fell across the disaster of the bed. Silk sheets twisted into damp ropes. Pillows on the floor. The iron smell of dried blood layered under something sweeter, thicker — the musk of divine seed that had been soaking into the fabric for hours.
Tianlong lay on his back, one arm behind his head, eyes half-closed. Not sleeping. Meditating, maybe. Or just resting with the satisfaction of a man who had worked through the night and found the labor agreeable. His dark hair fanned across the pillow, loose and untied, and his robe — what remained of it, a bunched crimson thing tangled around one ankle — was the only scrap of clothing in the room that belonged to him.
The rest of the clothing was a scattered trail from door to bed. Two sets. Both small. Both torn at the sash.
Shen Yue’s hand was wrapped around his cock.
She stroked him with a slow, devoted rhythm — up, twist the wrist at the head, down — her fingers barely meeting around the girth. Her other arm was hooked across his thigh, and she pressed her chest against him, her perky breasts flattening against his warm skin, the pink nipples dragging back and forth with each movement of her arm. She wasn’t looking at his face. She was watching her own hand work, brows drawn together in concentration, lip caught between her teeth, as if she were trying to master a technique and feared getting it wrong.
’This is real. I am doing this. Last night happened and now it is morning and I am stroking his cock like it is the most natural thing in the world.’ The thought sat somewhere between horror and acceptance, suspended in that grey space where her mind had leaked out sometime around the third hour of the night. ’My cultivation broke through. I am Nascent Soul middle stage now. Because of him. Because I let him... because he...’
She swallowed. Her throat clicked.
Below her, at his other side, Shen Ling was lying on her stomach with her face between his legs. Her round cheeks were flushed a deep, persistent pink — the kind that had set in around midnight and never quite faded — and her tongue was working the head of his cock in slow, deliberate circles whenever Shen Yue’s hand descended far enough to give her access. When it wasn’t, she contented herself with sucking his balls. One at a time. Her lips sealed around the heavy sac, pulling gently, her tongue rolling the skin, and the sound — wet, soft, rhythmic — filled the quiet room.
’Schlrp... schlrp... schlrp...’
"Thank you," Shen Yue whispered. Her voice was hoarse, wrecked from the night, and the words came out cracked. "For blessing us with the breakthrough. I never thought I would..." She paused. Swallowed again. Her hand kept stroking, never stopping. "I was stuck at that bottleneck for so long. I thought I would die at Nascent Soul early stage. I really did."
Shen Ling pulled her mouth free just long enough to add her own gratitude. "Indeed," she breathed against his shaft, her lips brushing the skin. "Me too. Foundation Establishment peak for two years. I thought I didn’t have the talent. But last night..." Her tongue found the head again, swirled once. "Last night, something just... broke open. Inside me. Like a dam." She kissed the tip. A small, reverent kiss. "Thank you, Lord Emperor."