Pervert In Stone Age: Breaking Cavewomen with Modern Kinks Chapter 459: Rifle Symphony Massacre 2

From his pelvis to his throat, I sewed a ruthless trail of bullets that shredded his gut, lungs, and neck.

A wet, choking scream erupted from him—blood gushing from his mouth like a spray—as he crumpled to his knees, grasping at his mangled stomach. Steaming coils of intestines slid out through his fingers. He collapsed to the side, jerking in spasms, blood rapidly gathering underneath him.

The jittery one attempted to flee—managing only three panicked strides.

I blasted the backs of both his knees first, sending him crashing down with screams. Then I advanced steadily and unleashed half a clip into his thrashing form.

Gunfire ripped into his spine, lungs, and cranium. His corpse jerked across the sand like a mangled marionette, crimson mist filling the air with each strike. When I ceased firing, nothing remained but a torn, oozing husk.

Chaos erupted across the entire camp.

Mothers shrieked in panic, grabbing their kids and attempting escape. Children cried out in fright. Men yelled and lunged for improvised arms—sticks, stones, whatever lay around.

"RUN! IT’S DEXTER! HE’S KILLING EVERYONE!"

"OH MY GOD — LOOK AT THE BLOOD!"

"HE’S A MONSTER! RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!"

Hailey remained rooted in shock—her face speckled with the scarred man’s blood—gazing at the three bodies with huge, incredulous eyes.

Megan—bound to the tree—began shrieking at me, her voice ragged and frantic.

"STOP! DEXTER, STOP IT! THEY’RE INNOCENT! PLEASE! DON’T DO THIS!"

Hailey chimed in—her tone fracturing with fear and sorrow.

"STOP! PLEASE! YOU’RE KILLING THEM ALL! THEY’RE JUST HUNGRY! THEY DIDN’T KNOW! STOP SHOOTING!"

I refused to halt.

With deliberate steps, I pressed on—the rifle arcing side to side—serene like death incarnate.

A mother lugging her two young children dashed by me.

BRRRRRT—!

I mowed her down—three shots piercing her back. She pitched forward, smothering her infants underneath. The kids wailed briefly before I fired two bullets into each one as well. A broad, dark stain of blood drenched the sand.

"NOOO! MY CHILD!" cried another mother—until I swung the rifle her way and pumped five rounds into her torso. She staggered back, breasts heaving chaotically as projectiles ravaged her, gore arcing out.

Megan screamed until her voice cracked.

"STOP! PLEASE, GOD, STOP! THEY’RE CHILDREN! THEY’RE INNOCENT CHILDREN! DEXTER PLEASE— I’LL DO ANYTHING! JUST STOP KILLING THEM!"

Hailey sobbed without restraint—kneeling now, palms pressed together in supplication.

"PLEASE! I BEG YOU! DON’T KILL ANYMORE! THEY DIDN’T DO ANYTHING WRONG! PLEASE— I’LL BE YOUR SLAVE TOO! JUST STOP! STOP! STOP!"

I continued advancing.

A teenage girl—around fourteen—ducked behind a crate. I fired through it—three shots slamming into her frame. She yelped once, then sagged over, crimson spilling from her lips.

An elderly man tried protecting his spouse. I gunned down both—husband and wife tumbling into a twisted, bloodied pile.

The earth grew crimson. Streams of blood coursed amid the corpses. The cries were overwhelming—women, kids, men—all perishing from my gunfire.

Megan’s throat was raw from her yells.

"YOU MONSTER! YOU’RE A FUCKING DEVIL! THEY WERE INNOCENT! LOOK AT THE CHILDREN! LOOK WHAT YOU’VE DONE!"

Hailey could hardly form words—only shattered, frenzied weeping.

"Stop... please... they were just hungry... they were scared... You didn’t have to... You didn’t have to kill the children..."

At last, I dropped the rifle’s muzzle.

Silence gripped the camp—save for the fire’s faint pops and the slick drips of blood from scores of punctured bodies.

Corpses littered the area—men, women, tiny children—all ripped open by powerful rounds. The sand lay sodden in deep scarlet. The atmosphere reeked of blood, feces, and powder.

Just three souls remained breathing:

Megan—lashed to the tree, weeping hysterically, her head wound’s blood mingling with tears.

Hailey—kneeling amid the gore-drenched sand, eyes locked on the slaughter in utter revulsion.

Paul—too feeble to utter a word, merely gazing at me with dull, broken eyes.

I approached Megan—the rifle still venting smoke in my grip.

She raised her gaze—eyes brimming with utter hopelessness and loathing.

"You... you killed them all..." she murmured. "Even the children... You monster..."

I knelt before her.

"I told you," I murmured gently. "I don’t like disturbances in my life. I don’t like threats. I don’t like people who try to take what’s mine."

Slowly—nearly affectionately—I extended a hand and brushed a tear from Megan’s cheek with my thumb. Her flesh burned hot, flushed with trauma and anguish, the tear smearing blood and grime over her features. She recoiled slightly at my contact but stayed put.

Hailey—still kneeling in the blood-saturated sand—raised her face at last. Her eyes stretched wide, glazed with dread, pupils dilated to black voids. She regarded me as if beholding pure evil for the initial time.

"You... are the devil..." she breathed, voice splintering, faint against the fire’s sputter and far-off child sobs.

I laughed—deep, shadowy, nearly affectionate.

"Yeah," I replied plainly, the admission lingering like haze. "I am the devil."

No excuses. No defenses. Pure fact.

Megan’s breathing stuttered—new tears cascading as she peered up, eyes inflamed and ruined.

I rose—rifle dangling in one hand—and glanced from one to the other.

"I’m going back," I stated softly. "Are you coming with me?"

Megan’s words emerged fractured, raspy, scarcely audible.

"We... will not go with you..." she declared, shaking her head deliberately. "You’re not human... you just murdered children... mothers... entire families... in front of their eyes... you’re a monster..."

Hailey agreed—tears pouring—voice quivering with fury and grief.

"You killed babies..." she whispered. "Little kids... they didn’t do anything... they were just scared... and you shot them... like they were nothing..."

I shook my head—briefly—near to sorrowful.

"Okay," I uttered mildly. "It’s goodbye then."

Megan blinked—dumbfounded.

"Wait... you’re just... leaving us?" she breathed. "After all that... you’re just going to walk away?"

I offered no reply.

I pivoted—rifle gripped—and departed from them without a backward glance.

The camp receded into quiet—merely faint weeping, fire snaps, and blood’s persistent seep from myriad corpses.

I attained the dune’s rim—distant enough for them to silhouette against the blaze.

The magical tool gleamed in my grasp—rifle compressing to a small cube, then reshaping into the streamlined jetpack rig. Engines purred alive—azure flames igniting softly.

I rocketed skyward—sand blasting below—surging swiftly through the dark heavens.

Midway home—perhaps ten minutes distant—I detected them via the world map display:

Drake—somehow enduring, dragging himself along, armless limbs trailing gore.

Jack—guiding a battered band of about twelve guys, wielding looted blades, timber clubs, and Jack clutched the firearm Megan had discovered.

Bill—next to his dad, expression hardened with resolve.

They advanced rapidly—straight for the cave.

I maintained speed.

Didn’t pause.

I soared directly above—close enough for exhaust to whip sand into their faces. They shielded their sight—hurling profanities—but I ignored them entirely.

The cave entrance loomed—golden glow pouring outward.

I touched down—propulsion fading with a gentle hum—magical tool retracting seamlessly into holding.

I entered.

The lantern burned dim and constant—throwing warm glows over slumber pads, organized provisions (refilled from secret stashes), and the basin’s soft water drip.