Pervert In Stone Age: Breaking Cavewomen with Modern Kinks Chapter 540: The Slaughter in Slow Motion

Diana’s respiration grew rapid and shallow. She spoke once more, her voice cracking with emotion as she continued to shield me entirely, urging,

"Katrina... you may shoot me. You are welcome to end my life this very second. I truly do not care. However, should any of you even lay a finger on Dexter the wrong way..." Her tone shifted, becoming frigid and laced with lethal intent, "I shall ensure every last one of you meets a agonizing, screaming demise. Slowly. Painfully. I pledge this upon everything I hold dear."

She propelled me further back against the wall, nearly crushing me with her frame, utilizing her entire body as an unyielding barrier. One of her arms remained behind, holding me in a protective grip, while the other kept her firearm leveled forward.

"Grace," Diana commanded without diverting her gaze, "if they open fire, you get Dexter out first. Drag him if necessary. Pay no mind to me."

Grace appeared conflicted but complied, nodding and positioning herself to provide cover for us as well.

Diana tilted her head infinitesimally towards me, her eyes shimmering with a seldom-seen vulnerability. Her voice descended once more into the softest whisper:

"Please... remain behind me, baby. I cannot bear to lose you. Not after I have finally attained you. You are the sole entity of consequence to me."

The tense confrontation escalated, becoming even more perilous. Crimson laser sight dots crept insidiously across Diana’s chest and brow like ravenous vermin, each one a harbinger of instantaneous death. The armed assailants stood poised, their fingers trembling mere millimeters from the triggers, their expressions cold and professional.

Yet, Diana remained resolute. She stood as an insurmountable bulwark before me, her comparatively small form the only safeguard separating me from an imminent deluge of projectiles. Her breathing, though steady, could not conceal the rapid palpitations of her heart against my own chest. She was consumed by terror—not for her own safety, but for mine.

The corridor succumbed to an unnerving, suffocating stillness. Only the heavy sounds of strained breathing, the subtle clicks of safety catches being disengaged, and the distant clamor of pandemonium from the levels above broke the silence.

Abruptly, the individual who appeared to be the leader of the contingent raised a digit to his Bluetooth earpiece, speaking in a low, measured tone:

"Understood... Boss... I have received your directive."

He lowered his hand and fixed his gaze upon us, his eyes devoid of any discernible emotion.

"We have successfully located Ms. Linda and Ms. Selena. There is no longer any necessity for any of them to remain alive. Eliminate them all."

The instant those words left his lips, every weapon in the group began to ascend.

Grace immediately interposed herself before Diana, her firearm drawn, prepared to make the ultimate sacrifice to protect her superior.

Diana swiveled towards me instantaneously, spinning with desperate speed and embracing me tightly, pressing her entire body against mine with a fierce intensity, as if she could absorb every bullet intended for me. Her arms encircled my back like unyielding steel bands.

"I love you, Dexter... Forgive me... this is all because of me..." she whispered brokenly against my chest, her voice fractured by unadulterated fear and profound regret.

Enough.

I invoked God Speed.

The surrounding reality instantly warped, plunging into a state of extreme temporal dilation.

All phenomena appeared to stretch and distort, as if the very fabric of time had been immersed in an impossibly viscous, unseen medium. The fingers of the armed assailants, poised to act, were frozen in the agonizingly slow process of disengaging their triggers, the minuscule metallic clicks of the firing mechanisms elongating into protracted, resonant groans.

Projectiles, barely having commenced their exodus from the muzzles, hung suspended in the void like venomous, metallic insects entombed within amber.

Their visages—contorted by fury and intense concentration—were now eerily immobile, each wrinkle, each bead of perspiration, every infinitesimal facial tremor captured with absolute fidelity in this suspended instant. Grace’s defiant cry transformed into a deep, distorted ululation that seemed to persist for an eternity. Diana’s desperate embrace conveyed the sensation of warm, languid silk enfolding me.

Within this temporally decelerated realm, I moved with the grace of a celestial executioner—effortlessly, weightlessly, and with impossible swiftness.

I conjured the Magical Tool with a singular mental command. The artifact instantaneously reformed in my grasp into a lengthy, lethally sharp combat knife, its edge glinting with a perfection that promised death. The blade felt devoid of weight, an intrinsic extension of my very volition.

I became a blur, hurtling forward.

In a temporal span equivalent to a single heartbeat in conventional time, I transmuted into an ephemeral specter of silver and shadow. I traversed the distance between each assailant with dispassionate precision, my form a fleeting arc of motion that the decelerated temporal flow could scarcely register.

First, their leader. I approached him directly, met his frozen, malevolent gaze, and executed a single, clean, unhindered sweep of the blade across his throat. The gleaming edge parted skin, muscle, and artery with absolute ease. A fine crimson line materialized instantly, yet the individual droplets remained suspended in the air like flawless ruby spheres, refusing to descend.

I did not falter. I flowed seamlessly to the next adversary, and then the next. Each incision was flawless—a solitary horizontal severance extending from ear to ear, bisecting the carotid arteries and windpipes in a single, fluid motion.

Their heads tilted back infinitesimally within the temporal stasis, their expressions still fixed in mid-grimace, utterly oblivious to the fact that their existence had already irrevocably concluded. Blood erupted in elegant, frozen arcs that possessed an almost surreal beauty in this timeless state—crimson ribbons suspended mid-air, resembling a macabre masterpiece.

Every assailant's weapon was expertly removed while they remained suspended in mid-fall. My hands became a flurry of motion, disarming them of their rifles and pistols, then arranging them orderly in a distant corner of the passage to prevent accidental discharges when normal time resumed. Twenty-three individuals in all – each man's throat met a brutal, precise end.

Yet, my work wasn't finished.

I vanished from the subterranean passage, traversing the entire villa with unimaginable swiftness. The world beyond the decelerated zone was a tableau of frozen disorder – guards caught mid-stride, fragments of glass suspended mid-air from previously broken windows. I located every sniper's perch systematically.

Across the rooftop, three marksmen were positioned, their gazes locked through their scopes.

I materialized behind each like a wraith, delivering the same mercilessly exact slashes to their throats – clean, profound incisions guaranteeing they would never fire again. Their forms commenced a gradual descent as I moved away.

Two additional snipers occupied vantage points at commanding windows in the eastern wing. Their demise was identical – a flicker of my blade, a suspended crimson mist that would only start its descent once I ceased my intervention.

The final sniper occupied the western balcony. His life, too, was extinguished.

Only Katrina remained entirely unharmed; I intended for Diana to confront her treachery directly.