NTR: Mommy Will Help You! Chapter 315 315: I Want to Go Home

Swish.

Swish.

Swish.

The swift passage through the forest was punctuated by the sounds of rustling leaves and snapping twigs.

Despite the oppressive darkness and silence, these noises cut through the eerie night as they traveled.

Something lurking in the shadows instilled a primal fear of death in those fleeing its pursuit.

Their hearts hammered against their ribs, lungs burning with exertion, yet they propelled themselves through the trees. Survival was their sole objective, yet they were relentlessly hunted as if it were a twisted game for their pursuer.

Abruptly, a figure materialized from the gloom, leaping onto the back of a fleeing tribesman and swiftly slitting his throat with a blade. In the subsequent moment, the figure vanished like a phantom.

"Owwww!" The lead tribesman cried out, a mix of fear and fury in his voice as he glanced back. Witnessing one of his kin fall directly behind him, he still didn't falter in his sprint.

He and the remaining tribesman pushed on, their every stride an act of desperate escape from this waking nightmare. Their eyes constantly scanned their surroundings, alert for any sign of danger. Sweat streamed down their faces, muscles screamed, and their breaths came in ragged gasps.

Yet, even with adrenaline coursing through their veins, their efforts proved insufficient to outrun their relentless phantom adversary.

Continuing their blind flight, the shadowy assailant reappeared, striking the second tribesman's legs and sending him tumbling to the ground.

He cried out, attempting to rise, but was pinned down. His head was forced back, exposing him to the view of the lead tribesman.

In that suspended moment, the lead tribesman saw two piercing eyes glinting in the moonlight, sending an icy dread down his spine. They bore the malevolent, demonic gleam of pure evil.

Before he could even process the sight, a dagger sliced across the downed tribesman's throat. Blood arced through the air as his life ebbed away.

Consumed by sheer terror, the lead tribesman bolted, his speed exceeding his previous limits. His sole focus was to survive and escape this place alive.

However, despite every fiber of his being concentrated on escaping this terrifying ordeal, the inevitability of capture loomed large.

As he rounded a massive tree trunk, he found himself face-to-face with the very figure that had been relentlessly pursuing him.

"GAAAHHH!!" he screamed hysterically, captivated by the abyss-like eyes staring directly into his own.

The figure revealed himself in the pale moonlight.

Clad only in tight shorts reaching his thighs, he was coated from head to toe in a gruesome mixture of blood, grime, and forest debris. The stench of death clung to him, and his very presence radiated palpable danger.

Without a word, the figure surged forward. The tribesman instinctively raised his weapon in a desperate, futile attempt at defense. The attacker easily sidestepped the clumsy blow and proceeded to slit his throat.

As blood gushed from the gaping wound, the figure gazed into the dying man's eyes with his own empty sockets and whispered.

"Your people brought this upon yourselves."

Thus, the last of the tribal men drew his final breath.

Oliver looked down at the lifeless form at his feet, his expression utterly blank.

He pondered the sheer number of lives he had taken since his arrival on this desolate island.

He reflected on the countless times he had been forced to flee from these very tribesmen.

He considered the sheer frequency with which he had run for his life through these treacherous woods.

All these harrowing experiences replayed vividly in his mind.

He longed to erase these memories, to leave them all behind. Yet, his body and soul had become disturbingly accustomed to these brutal acts. They now felt as natural as breathing.

The sensation of ending a life, the coppery smell of blood, the raw terror etched onto his victims' faces in their final moments—he felt a profound sense of self-disgust. He was a murderer. He had become a savage beast, slaughtering anyone who dared cross his path.

The encroaching darkness within Oliver's heart expanded daily on this island. With the relentless passage of time, maintaining control became an increasingly arduous struggle. It felt as though an inner monster was clawing its way out from the deepest recesses of his soul.

His gaze fell upon the dagger clutched in his hand, the same instrument he had wielded innumerable times. His hand had grown accustomed to the cold weight of the metal. His body had ingrained the precise movements required to extinguish a life with a single, fluid motion.

How had it come to this point?

How had everything spiraled into this devastating outcome?

Oliver couldn't help but pose these questions to himself.

But ultimately, it no longer seemed to matter. Because he no longer cared. Not now, and certainly not after enduring everything he had.

"This island stripped me of my humanity..." Oliver murmured under his breath, the words barely audible.

"No," a deep voice responded, jolting Oliver from his contemplation. "It merely enhanced your strength. Nothing more."

"Stronger..." Oliver gave a bitter scoff, surveying his surroundings. His entire existence seemed to be saturated with death, enveloped in darkness. "Yeah, right."

"Do not delude yourself into thinking you've become some sort of demon," the deep voice spoke again. "You simply enacted what was necessary. That is all. You defended yourself. That's what transpired. Consequently, you have now become capable of safeguarding those dear to you. Hence, take pride in this transformation."

"Protect..." Oliver whispered the word, a hollow sound that felt distant and unreal to his ears. Yet, the more he pondered it, the more the true meaning of the word began to dawn on him.

He yearned to protect. He desired to shield all that he cherished – his companions, his beloveds, his kin. And paramount among all, he was determined to protect his mother, irrespective of any circumstance.

Abruptly, a powerful gust of wind swept over him, carrying with it a torrent of memories. Memories of his mother, his family, his lovers, and the entirety of his past...

These recollections infused Oliver with a profound sense of warmth, igniting a glimmer of hope for a brighter future that lay ahead.

This hope, coupled with unwavering faith, had been his sole anchor, sustaining him throughout the arduous journey.

And now, a singular, overwhelming desire solidified in his mind.

The profound yearning to return home.

"I...I wish to go home," Oliver mumbled, struggling to maintain his composure. "I want to return and see them again."

The deep voice emitted a chuckling sound. "Then why do you hesitate?"

Oliver's eyes widened almost imperceptibly. "What?"

"Your training has concluded. You possess all the requisite knowledge. Therefore... you are free to depart from this place at your own discretion," the deep voice stated casually.