Chapter Seven: The Desecration of the Truth

Kyle suddenly opened his eyes.

Sweat trickled down his forehead, dripping into his eyes and causing a stinging pain. But he had no time to care. A cold, sticky sense of unease, like an undercurrent in deep water, silently wrapped around his limbs and bones, slowly dragging him out of his dream of desire.

Flora's kiss remained passionate, carrying a false scent of violets. Her tongue clumsily mimicked the teasing in his mouth, but the imitation was too deliberate, lacking the subtle trembling and warmth that true passion should possess. Her nail-painted fingers traced patterns on his chest, the sensation of her nails scraping against his skin more like examining the texture of her prey's fur than a tease.

Cecilia pressed close behind him, her soft breasts against his back, her breath hot against his ear. She continued to emit those delicate, tearful moans, pleading for his tenderness. But that sound… Kyle's heart clenched. Deep within that ethereal voice, there seemed to be an extremely faint, almost imperceptible, masculine, rough hoarseness. Like a hairline crack appearing on exquisite porcelain.

What sent chills down his spine was Arya. She was pinned beneath him, enduring his violent thrusts, her emerald eyes half-closed, the flame burning not of lust, but a… cruel, observant excitement. Her body responded, her legs, clad in thick stockings, tightly wrapped around his waist, the hard soles of her deerskin boots digging into his flesh. But her gaze was like that of a butcher watching a lamb's final struggle. When his movements faltered slightly in surprise, her legs around his waist would immediately apply pressure, pulling him even closer, as if urging him to continue this…performance.

No. None of them are correct.

Their movements, their reactions, the inhuman coldness that could not be concealed deep in their eyes... all of this wove together into a huge, suffocating web.

Kyle tried to stop, to prop himself up and confront them. But just as his muscles tensed, and he was about to break free of this alluring trap, an invisible, heavy pressure suddenly descended upon him!

It wasn't a physical constraint, but a suppression originating from the soul. It was as if countless cold, sticky hands reached out from the void, tightly gripping the core of his consciousness, forcefully extinguishing any thought of resistance. His body remained in the joined position, even becoming more stiff and burning from the sudden tension, but he had lost control of his body. He could only watch and feel helplessly, like a conscious sacrifice bound to an altar.

"Oh? You found out?" a voice rang out. It was Flora's voice, but her languid, magnetic tone was now filled with undisguised goblin-like mockery and cruelty. She stopped kissing, slightly raised her head, her chestnut curls falling beside her cheeks, and her eyes, which should have been full of wisdom and mystery, were now like two deep wells, reflecting Kyle's horrified face.

Kyle made a hoarse sound in his throat, unable to form a complete sentence. He wanted to ask, "Who are you?", wanted to roar, wanted to struggle, but all his efforts were in vain under the oppressive weight of that invisible soul. Only his eyes could still convey endless fear and anger.

Arya, straddling him, also stopped her contorted moans. Her emerald eyes scrutinized every muscle twitch on Kyle's face with interest, a malicious smile playing on her lips—a smile completely at odds with her aloof elven demeanor. She didn't speak, but her hips began to rise and fall slowly and deliberately, continuing that despairing rhythm, as if mocking his powerlessness with her own body.

Cecilia chuckled softly behind him, her voice still ethereal, yet chillingly cold. She abandoned her feigned weakness, tightening her arms around his waist with astonishing strength. "Poor little hero," she whispered in his ear, her voice a mixture of holiness and blasphemy, her warm breath sending shivers down his spine, "isn't it strange? How could the saintess, mage, and elven ranger you admired have become like this?"

Kyle's pupils contracted sharply.

Flora reached out and lightly traced her fingertips across Kyle's jawline, which was taut with shock and fear. "Let me tell you a secret, Hero," her voice held a cruel, cat-and-mouse schadenfreude, "the women in your arms, beneath you, behind you... are no longer the women you know."

Cecilia continued, her tone as flat as if stating an obvious fact: "Their skin is very useful, warm, and...sensitive. It allows us to experience many...interesting sensations." As she spoke, one hand slowly slid down Kyle's spine, finally stopping at his tailbone, pressing lightly, bringing a shiver that was a mixture of pain and strange stimulation.

“As for what’s inside…” Arya finally spoke, her voice still clear and melodious Elvish, but filled with a savage possessiveness, “It’s us. The maggots of the dungeons you despise the most, goblins.” She thrust her hips upwards sharply, causing Kyle to let out a suppressed groan. “Right now, the ones doing this to you, this noble hero, are the lowly monsters you speak of. How does it feel? Isn’t it… even more exciting?”

The truth, like the most vicious curse, pierced Kyle's mind, word by word, accompanied by the relentless, blasphemous thrusts beneath him. His worldview crumbled in an instant. The holy saints, the wise mages, the proud elves… beneath their facades lay… beneath those filthy, ugly, foul-smelling goblins!

A wave of nausea surged up like a tsunami, threatening to burst his throat. But even stronger than the nausea was a deep-seated fear and a despair of being utterly defiled, a despair from which he could never be redeemed. He... he was actually with three goblins...!

“Look at your expression, it’s quite a sight.” Flora (Bonebreaker) chuckled, her voice distorted. “Don’t worry, we won’t kill you… at least not now. Your vigorous energy and vitality are excellent ‘tonics.’” She leaned down and kissed Kyle’s lips again, this time not in imitation, but with a naked sense of predation, as if she wanted to suck his soul away through this contact.

Cecilia (Grush) also began to move. No longer content with merely touching him, she started to imitate the lewd scenes in her memory, using her saintly body to rub Kyle's back more actively. At the same time, she tried to mobilize the faint power of light, her fingertips wandering over several key acupoints on Kyle's back. The power was no longer healing, but carried a corrosive, drowsy ****, quietly eroding his will.

Arya (Skullbreaker), after revealing the cruel truth, became even more ferocious. She gripped Kyle's arms tightly, her nails digging almost into his flesh, her hips and waist moving like a tireless pile driver, undulating, rotating, and grinding wildly, each thrust engulfing him completely, as if trying to absorb his entire being into the depths of her elven form. Her emerald eyes were fixed on Kyle's despairing face, reveling in this twisted pleasure that surpassed the existence he once looked up to. The tightness and warmth of Arya's body became the cruelest instrument of ****, tightly binding the goblin's victory with the hero's humiliation.

Kyle completely broke down.

He was unable to move, unable to resist, and couldn't even close his eyes to escape this nightmarish scene. He could only stare with his eyes open at Flora's face, so close to his, with its cruel smile; feel the chilling power emanating from Cecilia's holy skin behind him; and endure the continuous, intense pleasure and impact from Arya's elven body beneath him, a pleasure made terrifying by the truth.

Nausea, fear, despair, humiliation… and that damned, uncontrollable physical pleasure, still aroused by his body's instincts even in such circumstances, like countless red-hot blades repeatedly cutting into his nerves. His consciousness screamed and roared, but his body betrayed him, shamefully responding to the continuous and powerful ****, even more violently than before.

Tears streamed uncontrollably down his cheeks, mingling with sweat and disappearing into the moss. He was like a broken puppet, wantonly manipulated and exploited by three beautiful yet inwardly hideous bodies.

Flora licked away the tears from the corners of his eyes, savoring the salty taste, her eyes gleaming with greed. "Cry, struggle, the more you suffer, the better you'll 'taste'..."

Cecilia whispered in his ear, like a demon's prayer: "Accept it, hero. This is your destiny, to become nourishment for our growth..."

Arya declared her conquest with the most direct actions; each deep thrust seemed to say, "Look, this is the fate of you strong humans."

The wind in the forest seemed to have stopped flowing, unable to bear witnessing this utterly desecrated and cruel scene. The sunlight remained dappled, but it could no longer bring any warmth, only a bone-chilling cold. The hero, Kyle, upon learning the truth, had already fallen into an abyss darker than ****. This protracted sexual encounter, seasoned with the truth, became an endless, agonizing **** in his conscious state. His power, his dignity, everything he possessed, was slowly and resolutely devoured and assimilated by those three monsters occupying his beautiful body with each impact that pierced his flesh.