All MILFs are Mine Chapter 339: Thirteen Damned Souls

Leon's touch connected with Kumigano's form as he enacted his spell.

<Summons Of Darkness>

The incantation left his fingertips, and instantly, Kumigano's entire being dissolved from the ground, vanishing as if it had never occupied that space, completely consumed by the encroaching darkness pooling at Leon's feet.

*Swish*

Then, the very earth ruptured.

A single, stark black line sliced open the stone floor directly ahead of him, wide and intentional, as though an entity on the other side had violently dragged a blade across the world's fabric.

*Crack — Crack — Crack — Crack*

This fissure expanded into a network of jagged cracks that spread like a spiderweb across the unyielding floor. From these deep fissures, a crimson light began to emerge, not the gentle hue of fire, but a furious, angry glow, like embers that had been burning for countless centuries, long past the point of ever being extinguished.

The atmosphere surrounding Leon grew even more oppressive. A deep, resonating hum vibrated through the soles of his boots, as if the stone itself was moaning under the immense pressure from whatever lay on the opposing side.

The cracks widened further.

Crouching slightly, Leon peered down into the widening abyss.

The chasm below seemed to possess no floor, only an unending, turbulent darkness alive with spectral forms. Countless tormented souls pressed against each other in a suffocating throng, their ethereal bodies twisting and lamenting, their cries muffled into a faint, distant chorus that ascended like wisps of smoke.

They were struggling, reaching, pulling back against something, their incorporeal fingers desperately grasping a silhouette that advanced with unwavering composure, ascending through their midst.

Something was climbing from the depths.

It moved with an unhurried grace. Each upward movement was slow and deliberate, akin to a person climbing a ladder they had traversed countless times before. The souls ensnared around it wailed with increased intensity as it ascended, their futile attempts to hold it back growing more desperate with its proximity to the surface.

*Thud.*

A hand, colossal, dark, and utterly devoid of features, pressed flat against the fractured edge of the floor.

Then, it emerged.

Leon's eyes widened in astonishment.

It stood erect. Its form was humanoid—two arms, two legs, a torso, a head—the proportions seemingly correct, even ordinary at first glance. Yet, it possessed no face. No hair. No skin. No discernible texture whatsoever.

Where human features should have been, there existed only a smooth, unbroken void—a silhouette sculpted from pure nothingness, wearing the shape of a person much like a coat rack might wear a jacket.

The ambient light within the chamber seemed to bend inexplicably around its form, as if the very air in its immediate vicinity refused to be illuminated. Even the faint crimson glow emanating from the floor's cracks appeared to halt at the boundary of its being, refusing to make contact.

It was less a creature and more the embodiment of an idea—a shadow that had inexplicably learned to stand.

"What the fuck are you?" Leon inquired, and without awaiting a response, he deployed his ability.

<Inspect>

---

[Name: Malebolge (Thirteen Damned Souls)]

[Race: Spirit]

[Class: ??]

[HP: 800,000 / 800,000]

[Description: Summoned from the deepest abyssal pits, Malebolge is a volatile, walking oubliette containing thirteen damned Arch-Sinners who constantly tear and reconstruct their shared flesh to seize control.

Cloaked in deep, chiaroscuro shadows, this nightmare of shifting anatomy absorbs ambient light, emitting only a faint, low-light crimson glow from the cracks in its rusted, bone-plated armor. As the thirteen distinct, megalomaniacal wills violently cycle through the host body, wielding powers ranging from nerve-flaying strikes to soul-burning hellfire — the entity continually adapts its terrifying, hyper-realistic form to obliterate its enemies, all while quietly hungering for their sanity.]

---

"Malebolge?" Leon repeated, his head tilting slightly, the name feeling peculiar on his tongue.

*Swish — Swish.*

The void rippled. Like ink dispersing in still water, the featureless darkness of the creature's form began to churn and reform—flesh and sutures coalesced from nothingness, pulling together with a wet, rustling sound until a human male materialized in its place.

He possessed broad shoulders and skin as pale as death—ghastly pale—and was covered from his jawline down to his ankles in thick, black stitches that crisscrossed his skin in uneven, overlapping patterns, resembling a body disassembled and hastily reassembled in darkness. His eyes were devoid of color. His smile, however, was not.

"Ah..." he uttered, his voice low and unhurried, resonating with the calm of someone who had never once experienced surprise. "So you are the one who has summoned us."

"I did," Leon responded, his expression impassive, his gaze already meticulously analyzing every detail of the man before him.

"The name is Maverick the Third." The stitched man slowly rolled his neck, the sound of his joints cracking echoing in the stone chamber. "You can also call me the Butcher. I delight in dismembering people, demons, monsters—anything composed of flesh... into minuscule portions of meat." As he finished, his fingernails elongated with a soft *schink*, extending into sharp, curved blades.

He turned them over before his face with evident satisfaction.

"So, you are a butcher," Leon stated, his voice and expression remaining flat.

"That is correct." Maverick widened his grin, the stitches on his cheeks stretching taut with the movement. "I used to flay souls in the netherworld. Humans, when I was alive. Hehehe. Just give me the command, and I will butcher anything for you—now that you are my master."

"Hey." A different voice, sharper and feminine, sliced through Maverick’s words like a keen edge. "Switch places. Now."

The stitched form dissolved.

*Swish — Swish.*

The void briefly reappeared—that same lightless, formless silhouette—and then it reformed, smoother this time, with deliberate grace. A woman took shape.

She was tall, possessing skin the color of the deep ocean. Fine scales traced the contours of her cheekbones and the backs of her hands, akin to natural embellishments—those that appeared both exquisite and perilous.

Her bearing was flawless. When her gaze met Leon's, her eyes did not waver.

Without uttering a sound, she moved forward and executed a bow that was so refined and unhurried, it bordered on the dramatic.

*Bow.*

"My designation is Lady Marla," her voice differed from Maverick's—it was mellifluous, measured, carrying a subtle resonance that seemed to imbue the air with greater weight. "I am a siren master. My songs possess a hypnotic quality, compelling the weak-minded to obey. I can also delve into your opponents' minds, manipulating their emotions—fear, despair, obsession—as I deem fit." She straightened, a slow, intentional smile gracing her scaled features as she maintained eye contact with Leon. "It is a privilege to serve, master."

"Hmm." Leon observed her for a moment before his gaze shifted back to the spectral form that flickered at the periphery of her silhouette. "Thirteen deranged souls inhabiting a single, shape-shifting vessel." A slight smile touched the corner of his mouth. "Most intriguing. I trust you are worthy of the SSS-ranked monster's body and mana core."

*Swish — Swish.*

Marla dissolved.

The entity that succeeded her was more slender—narrow-shouldered and peculiar, with elongated legs that bent slightly backward at the knee, reminiscent of a rabbit's hindquarters. Its feet terminated in broad, clawed pads pressed firmly against the frigid stone floor. In place of a face, there was only smooth, unbroken skin—devoid of eyes or a nose, marked only by a subtle ridge where eyebrows might have been.

It remained motionless. Utterly, unsettlingly still—a stillness that lent an eerie quality to the surroundings.

"Master." Its voice was soft, precise, and utterly devoid of any personal inflection. "My designation is RXV-666. I am a chimera, engineered by Dr. Hofelworth. I possess no ocular organs." A brief pause ensued, as if allowing this information to be absorbed. "However, I can detect any adversary, pinpointing their location, trajectory, and distance with flawless accuracy, irrespective of concealment or proximity. I shall execute your commands. I shall perish at your command."

It performed a bow.

'Chimeras possess souls?' Leon mused, observing the eyeless visage incline downwards. 'I always presumed they were mere constructs, aggregations of disparate monstrous parts fashioned into something more formidable. Apparently not.' He held the thought briefly before dismissing it with the casual ease of one filing away information for future reference. 'Ah well. It matters not.'

He reached down without looking, retrieving a small obsidian shard from the fractured floor.

*Throw*

Leon then lofted the shard into the air.

"Engage it..." he instructed, his gaze fixed upon RXV-666.

"Understood, Master." It responded, instantly vanishing from its position and reappearing in the air directly above Leon.

*SWISH-SWISH-SWISH-SWISH-SWISH-SWISH-SWISH-SWISH-SWISH*

Before Leon could even lift his gaze, RXV-666 dematerialized and rematerialized in its original spot, where it had stood moments before.

The instant Leon looked up, however, he noticed the obsidian shard had vanished from the air, leaving only a trail of fine black dust.

"Did you just pulverize that stone mid-air before it could descend?" Leon inquired, his expression serious.

"Actually, Master... I sliced it into dust."