In the End, Taken Away
Everything was pure white. Not even sound existed. Through his violently shaking vision, he caught the shape of something collapsing with a heavy thud.
Dain instinctively snatched up his shield and bolted upright. On the stairs lay only the lower half of Marus. The torso, still spurting thick gouts of blood from the severed waist, soon rolled limply down the steps.
Marus was dead. Then where was Ceres? What had become of the blade he had failed to block?
“Dain!”
At Ceres’s cry, Dain hurled his shield aside and ran. His foggy sight gradually returned, and what met his eyes was Zarco, collapsed and bleeding profusely. Blood poured from the deep slash across his thigh and abdomen where Marus’s blade had struck. The split flesh of his thigh seemed to expose bone. Zarco’s face was deathly pale, his body twitching irregularly, yet it was wrapped in a faint, shimmering light.
Ceres held Zarco’s hand pressed tightly to her chest.
“What do we do, Dain… the Hero…!”
“I… I… damn it all…! Can you heal him?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never seen injuries this severe…!”
It felt as if all the blood in his head had frozen solid. His body, drained and emptied, held nothing but a spreading chill. Unable to look any longer at Zarco’s wounds, Dain turned his trembling head and noticed the soldiers standing nearby.
These bastards wore expressions of concern for the Hero, yet their eyes kept sliding sideways to Ceres’s breasts. They swallowed hard while staring at the areola peeking between Zarco’s fingers. At the very moment the Hero’s life hung in the balance!
Dain barely swallowed the rage boiling up inside him, stripped off his armor and outer tunic, and draped the cloth over Ceres.
“Open the door.”
He spoke with every emotion strangled from his voice. The soldiers only twitched their shoulders in reply, their eyes never moving.
“What… what did you say?”
“I said open the damn door!”
At Dain’s roar the soldiers finally scrambled to drag open the heavy stone slab sealing the entrance. Between the grating sounds of stone on stone, the kingdom troops and monsters clashing at the entrance gradually came into view. With Marus dead, the enchantment that had bewitched the villagers must have broken. The gap had to be filled.
Dain seized the sword that had fallen to the ground, charged forward without even a shield, and prayed the blood would fill him as he rushed toward the monsters.
Late that evening, Gardan’s expression inside the command tent was grim. He stared fixedly at the map of the Marant region, repeatedly raking his fingers through his hair. At length he let out a short sigh and looked at Dain.
“How is the Hero?”
“Ceres… the Saintess is treating him.”
“I see.”
Gardan fell into deep thought, then lifted his head as if he had reached a decision.
“You performed admirably in subjugating Marus and rescuing the villagers. It could not have been easy.”
Dain kept his head bowed and could not answer.
“…I will leave fifty soldiers here and depart for Darmes Mountain ahead of you. Without the Hero we can do little more than buy time against the demons… but we cannot abandon the refugees.”
Gardan placed a hand on Dain’s shoulder as the younger man continued to stare at the table.
“Do not blame yourself. The Hero still lives, does he not? We will hold out as long as we can until he arrives. Stay by the Saintess’s side and assist her recovery efforts.”
Gardan gave Dain’s shoulder a couple of firm pats, then immediately picked up his helmet.
“Y-you’re leaving now?”
“Yes. The refugees are still being pursued.”
Gardan offered a small smile, donned his helmet, and strode out of the tent. His commanding shouts and the disciplined responses of the troops rang out, and even as their marching footsteps faded into the distance, Dain found it difficult to leave the tent himself.
Only after a long while did he finally step outside. The villagers were wholly occupied with caring for the rescued survivors, and the remaining soldiers were helping them. Through the window of one house he saw a family clutching the hand of an elderly man lying in bed, weeping tears of joy.
How many lives had been saved? How many families restored? None of it filled the hollow inside Dain’s chest.
When he entered the inn he paused briefly at the entrance before climbing to the second floor. Each creak of the stairs tightened around his heart. He stopped before Ceres’s door, drew a steadying breath, and slowly opened it.
Ceres sat beside the bed, holding Zarco’s hand. His face remained deathly pale. The bandages wrapped around his abdomen and leg were still snowy white, yet the waste bin beside the bed overflowed with a mountain of blood-soaked wrappings.
“Is he conscious…?”
Ceres glanced up at him.
“He opened his eyes for a moment earlier, but fell asleep again right away.”
“…I see.”
The anxiety that surpassed even his guilt kept the words lodged in his throat. Should he tell her that Gardan had already left? Should he say the troops had gone to face the demons without the Hero? The image of the Saintess baring her breast while Zarco clutched it kept flickering through his mind. It felt as though a hole had been punched through his solar plexus.
“Um…”
Don’t say it. Don’t.
“Gardan…”
His clenched fist began to shake uncontrollably.
“Gardan’s unit… has set out for Darmes Mountain. To rescue the refugees.”
“…I see.”
He wished he were a coward. He wished he could be like those soldiers earlier, a man who followed his desires no matter the circumstances. Yet the man who had dreamed of becoming a hero all his life, veins bulging at his temples from the strain of holding back, ultimately forced the words out.
“He said they would hold out as long as possible until the Hero arrives.”
“…Understood.”
Even while endlessly convincing himself that nothing would happen, the Saintess lifted her head.
“Aren’t you tired? Go rest. We’ll set out in the morning.”
“H-huh?”
“Don’t worry. I…”
The Saintess seemed to bite her lip for a moment.
“I’ll manage somehow.”
It looked like her usual smile. Unable to return it, Dain turned away and closed the door. Behind him, the Saintess murmured something. It was not meant for him. Through the narrowing gap, Ceres’s face gradually disappeared from view.
His own room was still dark. He considered lighting a lamp but simply tossed his sword and gear aside and sank into a chair. The mother who had held back her tears while seeing him off, the men of Siko Village who had cheered him on, the villagers outside embracing one another in joy—various scenes floated through his mind.
After staring blankly out the window for a long time, the moon had sunk lower and now cast its light into the room. That was when he noticed the crack. A small fissure in the wall that had been invisible when the lamp was lit now revealed itself faintly in the moonlight. It was behind the equipment rack, a spot normally hidden in shadow.
Dain wanted to trust Ceres. This was nothing more than confirmation. His heart tightened as he slowly approached the rack. He ran his fingers along the seam. It felt like rectangular wooden paneling. He shifted the rack aside, traced the wood again, and found a spot where his fingernail caught.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
It must not have been opened in a long time; his nail kept slipping and the panel refused to budge. He took out a knife, wedged it into the gap, and applied careful pressure. With a small click the wooden board lifted slightly. Dain pried it free and set it gently on the floor. Then he reached into the space it had covered and felt a definite hole.
Guilt and anxiety stole his breath, yet Dain slowly, slowly brought his face to the opening. The hole looked directly at the bed in Ceres’s room. Zarco lay there, still wrapped in that faint glow, while Ceres held his hand. The Saintess rose slowly. The priestess coat she had draped over herself slid to the floor with a soft rustle. She stared down at the oversized tunic Dain had given her.
She clutched the hem and buried her face in it. The smooth curve of Ceres’s belly was revealed. A sigh that sounded almost like “Haa” seemed to reach him even here. Her trembling shoulders stilled, and she slid her skirt down. When her bare legs—legs that had shaken him every time they flashed into view—appeared, Dain bit his lip. She grasped the hem of the tunic again and lifted it slowly upward. The way the fabric crumpled and rolled felt like watching himself being stripped away. When the garment finally left her bountiful body and was laid aside on the bed, Dain’s eyes fell on Ceres in nothing but her exquisite underwear.
She pulled back the blanket and carefully straddled Zarco’s waist. The beautiful buttocks he had secretly glimpsed in the bath now pressed down on the Hero’s groin. Her hands moved behind her back to the clasp of her bra. With a tiny click, her enormous breasts—visible even from behind—fell heavily forward. When the Saintess’s body enveloped the Hero, the surrounding light grew stronger. Zarco’s knees twitched, and the Hero slowly raised his upper body. His face had regained some color; he gazed at the Saintess’s beautiful breasts—hidden from Dain’s view—and licked his lips.
“Mmph…!”
Zarco immediately buried his face between her breasts. He sucked greedily at the nipple Dain could not see, like a starving dog. Ceres’s back arched, yet her breast remained stretched long between his lips. Something seemed to burst inside Dain’s temple, but he did not even blink, his eyes fixed on the hole.
“Ah!”
At last Zarco’s mouth released the Saintess’s breast. The voice that came from Ceres was one Dain had never heard before; his breathing grew more and more constricted. Zarco, his skin now vibrant with life, wrapped his arms around Ceres’s waist and began to turn their bodies.
“…Haa…”
Now he could see Ceres’s face as she lay beneath. He had never seen that expression—flushed crimson—on her before either. When the Hero’s hand touched one of her enormous, softly spread breasts, Ceres’s waist gave a light jolt. Above the gently swollen areola, her nipple—glistening with Zarco’s saliva—had grown rock-hard.
Zarco lifted Ceres’s arm. Delicate pink folds appeared in the plump hollow of her armpit. The Hero’s long tongue began to taste her there. At the same time his hands never stopped squeezing, twisting, and kneading her soft breasts. Zarco shifted his still-injured leg and lay back. What rose rigidly between his legs was a dark-red organ of a size Dain had never seen. It had grown so swollen it looked as thick as Dain’s own waist. It felt as if his heart were shattering.
Ceres’s movement as she leaned down and took hold of it was far too natural. When she lightly stroked it with her hand, the organ throbbed even harder, and her moist lips touched it. As her mouth slowly opened around the shaft, the only word that came to Dain’s mind was “bit.” Ceres’s head began to move up and down. Each time the motion quickened, her hanging breasts swayed heavily from side to side. When Zarco grabbed her shoulders, the Saintess lifted her head; a long string of saliva stretched from her lips to the tip of his cock.
“Not yet.”
Zarco’s hand grasped Ceres’s panties. Her shoulders flinched. Yet she only turned her head away with a frown. She pressed her trembling hands together, enduring. Or at least that was what Dain wanted to believe. The Hero slowly pulled the panties down. They caught on her generous hips; he yanked them roughly from behind and continued. Platinum-blond pubic hair the same color as Ceres’s head was revealed. Dain did not notice how his own arms had gone numb from clenching. Every nerve was focused on the scene inside the hole.
When the panties finally caught on one ankle, Zarco forcefully spread Ceres’s legs. “Kyaa…!” Tightly closed petals? No—it was her pussy. Between her pure-white thighs, a pink pussy shamelessly displayed itself. Not the brief glimpse from the bath, but Ceres’s pussy with her thighs spread wide before a man, glistening with arousal from the tightly sealed slit. The moment the word flashed through his mind, blood seemed to flow backward through his veins. It was not rage. It was the terror that the blood might never flow normally again that made Dain tremble.
Zarco slid two fingers between her folds. Ceres’s thighs reflexively clamped together, but when his fingers withdrew they were coated with sticky nectar. The Hero moved between her still-trembling legs. The Hero’s cock—now even more brutal-looking than before—pressed against Ceres’s pussy. He gripped it firmly and pushed, but her closed entrance did not yield easily.
Stop. Stop. Please. I’m begging you. Please stop here.
The edges of his vision blurred red.
“Ugh… uuu…”
The Hero adjusted his position again, aimed precisely at the Saintess’s pussy, and slowly drove his hips forward. Ceres’s hand clutching the sheets began to shake. Despite Dain’s desperate prayer, the Hero did not stop. Inch by inch, the dark-red shaft disappeared inside her. The reality did not stop.
“Mmmph!”
With a sharp cry, Ceres’s back arched violently. Blood trickled from Dain’s bitten lip. Zarco’s body gave a slight satisfied shudder, and the nectar flowing from the pussy joined to him was tinged with crimson.