All MILFs are Mine Chapter 344: The Thirteen sinners

The Sephir Kingdom basked in daylight, its streets alive with leisurely conversation.

A yawn escaped Morin as he ambled through the bustling market, a weary expression clouding his features.

"Mr. Morin... Good morning."

"Morning, James."

"Sir Morin... Good morning."

"Morning Lisa. How are the kids?"

"They are good, sir."

"Good, good..."

As he continued his walk, warm greetings and small gifts were offered by everyone he passed.

"Hah... I really need to sleep. That kid completely messed up my sleep schedule; that black creature keeps invading my dreams," Morin muttered under his breath as he approached his home.

He opened the front door, stepped inside, closed it behind him, and headed straight for his bedroom.

"Home sweet home..." Morin sighed, drawing the curtains to plunge the room into comforting darkness.

He carefully set his magic wand aside andsetLayout himself upon the bed.

"Haa... This feels so good," Morin giggled, clutching the pillow tightly before closing his eyes.

"Yeah, hug it tighter." Suddenly, a whisper brushed against his ear.

"What?" Morin jolted awake, his eyes darting around the pitch-black room with a serious mien. Yet, nothing seemed out of place.

He remained still for three minutes, straining to detect any presence, but only silence met his senses.

"Fuck... The sounds are returning. I need to start drinking alcohol again," Morin declared, pulling the pillow close once more and shutting his eyes.

Abruptly, a dark silhouette materialized near his legs, a menacing dagger clutched in its hand.

*Lick*

The shadow elongated its tongue, licking the dagger before raising it high. Then, with full force, it plunged downwards, striking Morin's left leg.

*STAB*

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH...." Morin's piercing scream ripped through the silence as he jolted awake.

"Shhh... You shouldn't shout like that. My master dislikes loud noises." A woman's voice echoed, and Morin found his mouth sealed shut, his own body betraying him.

*Clink*

The window curtains were suddenly drawn back, revealing a blue-skinned woman standing nearby. It was none other than Lady Marla.

"Mnhhhhhhh... MNHHHHNHHHH..." Morin struggled to cry out, his gaze fixed on the dagger's wound in his bleeding leg. Words refused to escape his lips.

"How about you get up from that bed and walk out of the room... Now." Marla's voice was laced with a smile. The moment her words left her lips, Morin's body began to move against his will.

He rose from the bed, his bleeding leg throbbing with pain, and started walking towards the exit.

The agony was immense, yet Morin was utterly powerless, a puppet on strings.

*Click*

He opened the door and stepped out of the room, tears streaming down his face.

Upon exiting, Morin glanced to his right and saw a man standing by his extensive collection of alcohol.

The man's back was to him, engrossed in selecting a drink.

"Hmm... This one is good." Leon picked up a clear bottle from the shelf, turned, and reached for a wooden mug to pour himself a drink.

But upon seeing Leon's face, Morin's eyes widened in sheer terror. His legs trembled uncontrollably, his entire body shaking.

"Oh... You're awake. Come join me for a drink, old man," Leon said with a smile, grabbing another mug from beneath the counter and placing it beside his own.

Morin raised a finger towards Leon, mustering every ounce of his willpower to break free and flee the house. He succeeded in shattering Marla's control.

Without a moment's delay, Morin turned and sprinted towards the exit gate.

However, as he ran, the gate seemed to recede, the path stretching endlessly before him. No matter how fast he ran, he couldn't reach it; it was as if the very ground conspired against him.

Leon watched him, a smile playing on his lips as he poured his drink and took a sip. Just then, a man in a pristine black tuxedo approached him.

He carried a stick and wore a mask resembling a clown's face, obscuring his features save for two glowing red eyes that fixed upon Morin.

'The Malebolge harbors thirteen distinct evil souls. I have encountered and assessed twelve of them.

The Butcher: Maverick the Third – a deranged maniac reveling in the dismemberment of all living and non-living things. He can flay anything without delivering the final blow.

The Siren: Lady Marla – the siren queen capable of manipulating the weak-minded into servitude. Her depredations claimed so many sailors that none who entered her domain ever departed the sea alive.

The Chimera: RVX-666 – a mass murderer so prolific he was nearly consigned to purgatory, yet I intervened at the critical moment.'

The Executioner: Tropida, a ruthless killer... So many men and women met their end by her hand that the line between right and wrong blurred into oblivion. She reigned with her powers, leaving a trail of bodies in her wake.

The Trickster: Merlin Weaverns, a master illusionist of unparalleled danger, standing right beside me. His misuse of powers led to the sexual assault of countless women, a heinous act for which Tropida herself executed him, right at the moment of their carnal act. A most agonizing demise, it must have been.

The Possessor: Saint John. During his mortal life, he was a revered figure within a prominent church. He mercilessly slaughtered thousands of men and women who refused to embrace the religion he founded, proclaiming himself God. Even after death, his spirit persisted, inhabiting the living and perpetuating the illusion of his continued existence.

The Plague Bringer: Alchemist Trucer. In life, his experiments necessitated the deaths of thousands; it is whispered that he eradicated an entire kingdom overnight with a virulent contagion.

The Architect: Luyur, an architect of legendary renown, yet a twisted sadist to the core. It is said he constructed a prison, incarcerating innocent souls within its confines, subjecting them to torturous ordeals until they craved death's release. Once they reached that point, his cruelty intensified, prolonging their torment.

The Puppeteer: Madame Vesper, a truly wicked aristocrat. She commanded a forbidden art known as blood-threading, granting her absolute physical dominion over others, turning them into mere puppets. Her cruelty extended beyond mere killing; she compelled victims to end their own lives. Her infamy stemmed from her habit of seizing control of doting parents, forcing them to butcher their own kin while their minds remained agonizingly aware, feasting on the sheer horror as their sanity fractured.

The Blood-Drunk: General Kael. A military leader who fought not for allegiance to king or country, but solely for the brutal act of slaughter. When a vast city, after a prolonged siege, finally yielded, he showed no mercy or prisoners. Instead, he commanded his soldiers to shatter the limbs of all fifty thousand citizens before burying them alive in a colossal trench, intending to use their mangled forms as the very foundation for his new fortress. Ultimately, his own mutinying soldiers, driven to terror by his insatiable bloodlust, tore him limb from limb.

The Vampire: Cassian Von Bloodmoon. His depravity went beyond simple blood consumption; he established subterranean human farms where thousands were suspended from meat hooks. Generations of families were bled dry, drop by agonizing drop, kept in perpetual darkness and on the brink of death for decades, merely to achieve the perfect aging of their blood.

The Skinwalker: Vane, a shape-shifting serial killer who preyed upon royalty. He would assassinate a monarch, don their skin, and plunge the empire into devastating, pointless wars. He would abandon the decaying guise only when the kingdom was reduced to utter ruin, seeking a new host.

I have no knowledge of the thirteenth form; despite my repeated demands for its revelation, it remained silent. Leon mused, taking a slow sip of his drink, an insidious grin spreading across his features.

*Thud*

After a prolonged flight, Morin finally collapsed, overcome by sheer exhaustion.

"Release him and have Vane take his place..." Leon commanded.

"Yes, Master." Merlin's voice responded as he instantly dissipated into shadowy darkness. In his stead, a figure devoid of facial features materialized.

The newcomer was diminutive, with a grotesquely deformed physique.

"Master..." Vane's voice rasped from the figure.

"Vane, can you assume the likeness of his grandfather?" Leon inquired.

"Hmm... I am capable of that, Master, but to do so, I would need to know his grandfather's appearance. This necessitates delving into his mind.

Only Saint John can possess his body. Once he achieves that, I shall inherit the visage of his grandfather," Vane replied.

'Ah... Indeed, given their shared existence within the same Malebolge's shapeshifting form, their minds are also interconnected.' Leon's thoughts surfaced.

"Excellent... Summon John. I desire his presence," he commanded, a malevolent smile gracing his lips as he raised his glass for another drink.