The Prelude to Hell

She had been thoroughly used. Serina broke free of the vision.

"As you've seen, tormenting souls with the Holy Sword comes with no great restriction. Which means a vision of you killing me, Saintess, is something I can conjure with ease. Do you follow?"

Kneading her breasts, Lean watched with relish as her expression slowly drained white. The shock had been so great she had no room left to feel pleasure, yet her body was honest this time as well. As he worked the flesh spilling between his fingers and then tormented her nipples one after another, her body flinched, heat rising through it.

Even while being toyed with like this, Serina cursed herself for growing aroused. But opening her mouth was impossible.

"You seem to be feeling it properly, so I'll take that as your answer."

The moment her lips parted even slightly, the wanton cry he wanted felt ready to burst free. All she could do was glare at him fiercely. Even that glare shimmered with tears, and her legs had all but given out, leaving her hanging limp in Lean's unresisting hold.

That she could still fire off a look like that seemed worth a great deal—at least, that was how Lean appeared to see it. His smile was wider than it had ever been.

"Since you deserve to know why I kept this hidden—it's because my taste is for breaking strong-willed women. That's why I've come to prize the resistance you've shown me all this while, Saintess. It's only when you come out like this that forcing you to your knees has any flavor to it."

Lean's hand left her breasts and traveled down to her waist. His fingers traced the soft skin as he bowed his head, dragged his tongue in a long stroke along the nape of her neck, and then pressed his lips there. Gazing down at her nape, he let out a short laugh.

"Much prettier to look at now. Just thinking of carving my marks into you again from here on has me giddy inside—I feel like a boy again."

Serina kept silent. Lean's hand slid past her waist and lower, caressing the soft inner skin of her thighs. Everywhere his touch passed was smeared with the juices that had dripped from her, and Serina shuddered at the feel of his slickened palm gliding over her skin.

"Yes. You must be terribly confused, so I won't ask for much. Respect me as I have respected you. If you would simply call me by the name of Hero, properly, I believe that alone would satisfy me."

Lean's hand, still cradling her thigh, returned to her sex. Before he even touched her, a single drop of her arousal fell away. Serina trembled with dread, and Lean caught it perfectly.

The fingers that spread her cleft open thrust suddenly inside. Two of them drummed against her walls ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠one after the other, while his remaining hand began to grind against her clit. It was a place he had fondled without end already, slowly laying siege to it bit by bit.

With his practiced touch pressing her weak points again and again, she couldn't hold out even a minute. Her back bent all at once, and she came without a sound.

"Hngh—!"

So when his fingers slid out of her, she couldn't hold back the moan. Moments later, fingers drenched in her juices touched her face. They trailed across one cheek to her lips, and as they rubbed there, they painted her mouth thick with the sticky fluid.

"How does it taste?"

Serina stared at him without a word. Her eyes already spoke of resignation, and Lean gave a small nod.

"Do just that, and I won't torment you this way anymore. That's a fair enough trade, wouldn't you say?"

The Saintess knew instinctively that one more exit had just closed. She didn't think she could ever do the same thing again. The feeling of certainty when she believed she had killed Lean, and the feeling of watching the child dying in that vision, were far too alike.

"……Yes. Hero."

She accepted the offer. She never wanted to taste that feeling again. Nothing much would change—it would be the same as with him, nothing more than speaking politely to one another and calling each other by proper titles.

So, for now……

"Saintess. Will you lie down beside me like this?"

"……Yes."

"I've wondered for a long time."

"Mmh, ah… ah."

"How wonderful it might feel, I thought, to keep you tucked in my arms and tend to you with all my care."

"Hah—!"

"But having tried it for ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠myself, I find it terribly hard to hold back."

"Hhaah… haah—"

"Just know that I await the day you tell me it feels good to be held by me. You understand that means I cherish you that much, don't you?"

I can endure this. I have to find another way—before it's too late.

Serina lay on the bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. With their provisions nearly gone, he had gone out to comb through the intact shops nearby, so it would take a generous hour or two for Lean to return. After five days of living at such a frantic pace she'd scarcely slept, it felt like her first real holiday in ages. Of course, she couldn't call it a day well spent.

"Honestly, it was exhausting. All we did was fuck, night and day."

With a long sigh, Serina moved ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠sluggishly and sat up against the headboard. If she walked over just as she was and simply reached out, she could have wrapped her hand around the door handle. But with what Lean had mentioned so confidently weighing on her mind, she had never once tried.

"He did say he'd know at once the moment I came near a window or a door."

He had that much confidence—clearly that was why he could even consider leaving her behind and going out alone. And thanks to the strange magic he'd strung through the entire room, even her divine power was sealed. There was nothing she could do.

Of course, she couldn't shake the thought that Lean had taken excessive measures. After all, he had realized long ago that escape by obvious means was impossible. After a brief spell of thought, she chose to lie back down.

"Might as well rest a little longer."

She pulled the blanket up to her chin. The weather wasn't cold, but the emptiness below left her legs shivering. Small wonder—the clothes she wore now were neither her cherished habit nor her nightgown, but things Lean had provided.

Her precious nightclothes had been torn to ribbons in the dream, just as she'd expected, and since he professed no interest in the feel of touching her through a bra, even the freedom of her underthings had been taken from her. All she'd been given now was a single pair of snow-white panties and a men's T-shirt in the same shade. As if to prove no one could call him less than a man, he had a certain flair for this kind of taste.

"The problem is I'm not that bastard's girlfriend. Ha. I hate it. I hate this."

She'd received those clothes only after the punishment for beating Lean's duplicate into a mangled wreck had run its course. Right after witnessing the vision of the child being murdered, still numb with shock, she had been held in his embrace, impaled on his cock.

It was the beginning of a vicious gaslighting.

The trouble was that at that very moment, she had only just begun to harbor doubts about the Goddess's existence. It gnawed at her. Did the Goddess truly exist?

Not once had that noble voice ever deigned to speak to her. No small word of comfort for a woman fallen into this pit—nor even a rotten admonition to endure for the greater good—had ever come.

The doubt swelled. Was all of this nothing but a smokescreen, meant to cage her inside the mold of 'Saintess'? Nursing that doubt, she had stayed in his embrace—while her womb was filled again and again with the seed he spilled.

And the graver problem began the day after she surfaced from the shock of the vision. For her, it was nothing short of the opening act of hell. First the shock of rape; then the desolation left by the child so brutally slain.

But when she woke in the morning, nothing of it remained. The terror wrought by that unreal shock had melted away entirely overnight. It was the kind of moment that reminded her, anew, that humankind is a creature of forgetting.

In that moment, she had been, quite literally, out of her ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠mind. So when the fear dulled, she began repeating the same mistake. All that was left to her was to deny the wretched reality that she would be violated by the man yet again.

"No—stop! Stay away from me!"

"Fuck—get off me!"

"Don't touch—aaah!"

This time, it was violence in its purest form. He struck her across the cheek and slammed down into her belly.