Chapter 231
He no longer saw Aldraya as a fallen teacher or a wounded brother, but as a vessel, a final reservoir of something immensely valuable.
The authority of the Supreme Angel.
It was the remnant of divine power still dwelling within that dying body, a direct inheritance from Quil-Hasa.
And Ilux wanted it.
More than that, an even more cunning and poisonous plan began to coil within his mind.
He did not merely intend to seize that authority, but to poison it, to stain it with something foreign and corrosive.
Given that Aldraya was the source, the foundation, even a "miniature embodiment" of Quil-Hasa for the other twelve Angels, any poison spreading from Aldraya would easily infect them all.
It was annihilation and domination at once, the most perfect form of betrayal, one that would erase an entire generation of old guardians in a single motion.
While restraining the obscene surge of thoughts that viewed Aldraya's beautiful body as an object readily available for pleasure, Ilux set his will in motion.
One of his five elemental powers, wind, rose in silence.
Not as a violent gust, but as a subtle, precise, and invisible grip.
The air around Aldraya thickened, forming an unseen embrace that lifted his limp body from the cold stone he leaned against.
Aldraya was no longer lying at the edge of reality.
He was now floating, powerless, a puppet at the center of a stage entirely controlled by Ilux.
Aldraya did not resist.
There was no strength left to resist.
Only his flat gaze remained fixed upon Ilux, an empty stare perhaps too exhausted to express fear or revulsion.
That blank expression, however, only seemed to further ignite Ilux's desire for control.
And then, using nothing but telepathic command over the element of wind, Ilux began to pull.
Aldraya's floating position slowly drifted closer.
Every centimeter reduced was an assertion of dominance, a deliberate erasure of distance carried out slowly to prolong this moment of power.
'Every strand that falls is one step closer to the summit.'
Buuuk!
'I can hardly wait to feel your final energy before I destroy everything.'
That ten-meter distance felt like a vile ritual procession.
When Aldraya's suspended body came to a halt at an intimate distance, close yet not touching, a new, piercing tension filled the damp air of the cave.
This was no longer the distance between teacher and student, nor between victor and vanquished.
This was the distance between predator and fully subdued prey, between a collector and a rare object about to be desecrated.
Within the silence, broken only by Aldraya's ragged breathing and perhaps the anticipatory thrum of Ilux's heart, the next act began with cold, measured cruelty.
Without a word, without direct physical contact, the force of Ilux's will manipulating the element of wind—or perhaps something subtler and more malicious—began to work upon Aldraya's clothing.
The outer layers still covering that limp and wounded body, perhaps a robe or the remnants of a tunic shredded by battle, began to come loose.
This was not a rough or reckless change, but a slow, systematic opening, filled with deliberate intent to demean.
Every revealed seam, every exposed fold, was a calculated humiliation.
Each piece of fabric that slipped free and fell to the damp cave floor with a nearly inaudible sound was a blow against the last remnants of dignity that might still have clung to Aldraya.
And with every piece of clothing that fell, the dark desire within Ilux continued to swell.
He restrained himself, not restraining his intent, but merely suppressing the reflexive movement of his tongue as it yearned to lick his lips in impatience.
The sense of "power" he anticipated was not physical strength or strategic victory, but the sensation of total dominance, absolute possession, and the dark pleasure of ruining something once so exalted and untouchable.
In his mind, this was the peak before the true climax.
Decapitation.
The removal of Aldraya's head from his neck would not be mere murder, but the taking of a trophy, a final severance and a symbolic appropriation of all the authority and essence he craved.
This process of stripping away the clothing was a vile prelude, a way to lay bare not only Aldraya's physical body, but also the remnants of sacred aura, dignity, and protection that might still cling to him.
He was preparing his offering before his own ritual slaughter, savoring every second of weakness exposed before his eyes.
'Almost… almost perfect. Just one more piece—'
"You're making love without inviting me?"
Hhhh!
"How cruel, especially when there's still time to talk before it's too late."
When ninety percent of the clothing had become a pile of filthy fabric on the ground, and Aldraya's body was nearly fully exposed to the cold air and devouring gaze, a total resignation enveloped his soul.
He felt the softness of the air brushing against his skin—skin once described as pale and smooth—a touch that should have been neutral, yet felt like a violation because of the context.
He no longer had the intent, the desire, or even the energy to resist.
His shattered mind had accepted every possible ending, including this most humiliating one.
To be violated and then annihilated by the student he had once taught with unquestioned authority.
It was the pinnacle of horrific irony, and he was too exhausted to feel anger or disgust.
There was only a vast emptiness.
Aldraya drew one last preparatory breath, his eyelashes beginning to close, a final attempt to separate his consciousness from the physical reality that was about to be defiled.
The world began to dim, offering a brief, dark escape before the end arrived.
Yet just before that darkness could complete his escape, a voice pierced the cave's silence, heavy with lust and despair.
It was not a shout, not a chant, nor a threat.
The voice was light, almost playful, familiar enough to carve into the deepest layers of memory, and entirely out of place.
It was a voice Aldraya knew all too well, one etched into his mind from conversations he once found irritating, but which now sounded like echoes from another life.
That voice sliced through the lethal tension of the space, inviting them—Aldraya, naked and helpless, and Ilux, consumed by dark desire—to simply banter.
An absurd offer in the midst of a near-perfect ritual of destruction.
Buuuk!
"Stop hiding, you coward!!"
Dooooor!
Without warning, the subtle force holding Aldraya's body in the air vanished.
His naked, limp body fell, not in a gentle motion, but in a harsh, unstoppable crash onto the damp cave floor.
He collapsed, his nearly spent bones striking the cold stone, delivering a new, dull pain atop the weakness that already paralyzed him.
Yet that physical pain was almost meaningless compared to the shock of the sudden interruption.
As Aldraya lay sprawled, gasping, eyes wide open, he witnessed the sudden ignition of rage in the figure before him.
The dark delight and burning lust in Ilux's eyes instantly transformed into a cold, lethal fury.
The disruption of his activity at the brink of its climax was not merely an interruption, but an insult to his moment of victory and absolute dominance.
The pleasure he was about to claim was abruptly torn away, replaced instead by a primitive need to obliterate the source of that disturbance immediately and without remainder.
To be continued…