Salvation of the Fallen - Chapter 28
Arsena nodded her head, sobbing. Soon after, Tarta’s lips touched her g*nitals. Unlike his fingers, a soft and smooth tongue pushed into the narrow, moist place. Tarta’s fingers didn’t rest. As he twisted and pulled the plump cl*toris, Arsena’s b*ttocks tensed up.
Slap.
“Ha… f*ck. Stay still.”
Tarta lifted Arsena’s thigh abruptly and buried his lips even closer. As her entire g******s were sucked, her chest tingled.
It was then that Tarta, who had been licking her g******s greedily, pulled his body away. He languidly licked his lips, glistening with Arsena’s fl*ids. Tarta stared at Arsena with dangerous red eyes, hazily unfocused. At the sudden chill that came over her, Arsena stopped moving with a start.
“Haaah.”
An incomparably intense pleasure washed over her. Her entire body felt like it was melting, then suddenly tightened, and she couldn’t breathe. Her body, beyond control, jerked as if convulsing, and between her parted lips, she could only gasp for breath she couldn’t expel. Her chest swelled greatly and then collapsed in an instant. And then, pitch-black darkness. Her vision was plunged into blackness.
In her fading vision, she saw her mother engulfed in flames. Rosalyn, her limbs twisted, with her head in a pool of blood. Morpheus, dead from hanging by a rope. Viareche drowned in the winery she so loved. And finally, the Count, left alone in the now-empty estate, ending his life in solitude, stained with regret. All of them, in their ghastly forms, clung to Arsena’s ankles.
Let’s go together. You must be unhappy.
With agonized faces, they screamed and grabbed Arsena’s delicate ankles. Blood pooled in their eyes, and as their faces melted away leaving only skulls, they disappeared into the abyss with rattling bones. And Arsena, bound in iron chains, watched them drift away. While bursting into hysterical laughter.
4. The Fruit of Misfortune
He was there in the middle of the miserable battlefield. At the apex of the flood of corpses and bloodshed, he stood smiling, in an immaculate form untouched by a single speck of dust.
Tarta.
In the beginning, in a world where all kinds of things grew tangled together haphazardly, he was the cruelest of the eight divine swords that appeared to punish evil.
Everyone feared him. The one who passed cruel judgments in the most beautiful form. He had no mercy. He spread his wings, so vast they seemed to cover the sky, to punish evil. As if it was his sole pleasure until red blood formed rivers.
Even at the sight of his flashing light, wicked beings were colored with fear and held their breath. But even so, they couldn’t escape his blade.
It couldn’t even be called a war. It was a one-sided massacre. Carried out by Tarta’s hand.
The sense of mission to punish evil had long since disappeared. Tarta simply enjoyed drawing his sword and spilling blood.
Even after annihilating entire clans until nothing remained, he persistently carved away even their traces. Even as the whole world was dyed in blood and trembled in fear, Tarta didn’t care. The screams of evil were incomparably sweet to him.
But there was something even he missed.
A being that survived because it was too insignificant. The last Saira, not even given a name.
Its presence was faint due to living in hiding even from its own kind with its lowly power. It only kindled small sparks within humans. Lies. Jealousy. Desire. Fear. Thanks to this, it could avoid Tarta’s blade. Surviving tenaciously for hundreds and thousands of years.
Even when the chaotic world found order and the gods issued a return command, Tarta remained in the world. He didn’t care if he would be recorded as a fallen one who defied the gods’ orders. He couldn’t return until he broke the neck of that barely visible being.
“Please spare me.”
The being he finally found. As he put his blade to the pale, tear-filled, lowly neck, a laugh filled with madness burst forth.
It was finally ending. This long and enjoyable hunt.
That’s why he hesitated. Because he was reluctant to put a period to his journey. And because this ending was just such an insignificant thing.
In the moment he laughed emptily with a deflated heart, it escaped. Without a trace.
It was impossible for him, who had never once lost his prey. When he couldn’t find the escaped beast even after searching the whole world, Tarta’s eyes burned red. With ghastly anger. With obsessive attachment. And with a strange excitement for the hunt that wasn’t over.
Thus, Tarta’s waiting began again. From the deep bottom of the abyss. Waiting for that insignificant being that had escaped him to appear again. So that he could grasp its neck again, twist it, and grandly decorate the end.
The wait was long, and Tarta’s patience was even longer. Until the mound of corpses he had piled up formed a black forest, and his achievements carved in stone turned to sand and disappeared, Tarta’s time stood still. All for that insignificant Saira.
And finally.
Even though it had changed its form, he could recognize it at a glance. The last prey that he had let slip away.
Arsena….
Although he wasn’t particularly pleased with her being reborn in a human form, the new name wasn’t bad. It was a name perfectly suited for the hunt that had begun anew.
Tarta had always been by Arsena’s side. Waiting for her to grow into a more appetizing prey, sometimes as a raven mocking her misfortune, or as hellish nightmares. Cheering for her unending misfortune for the sake of his perfect harvest.
When he finally gathered up Arsena, who had terribly collapsed in irreversible despair and fear, and confined her in his space, how he trembled with ecstasy.
Just thinking about that moment still made him hum a little tune. But Tarta decided to enjoy his last hunt even more.
It was for this reason that he blindfolded and toyed with her, fed her blood to tame her, and revived her lost past. The more she trembled in fear and despair, the sweeter the scent Arsena emitted. So much so that even Tarta wanted to devour her in one bite, losing his reason.
Tarta lowered his gaze.
Arsena was sucking his red c*ck deep in her throat as if eating candy, her cheeks hollowing with the effort. Anticipating the seductive scent that would soon burst forth.
At the corners of her mouth, stretched to its limit and almost torn, saliva that she couldn’t swallow pooled and flowed down her chin. Her blue eyes, hazy like a bottomless sea, were shadowed deeply. She looked like a beast that had lost its reason, hazily pursuing only pleasure.
Feeling her own twitching, w*t g******s, Arsena urged Tarta’s ej*culation. She took the gl*ns, tempting like a red fruit, deep into her throat and tightened around it while dry heaving. Below, she licked the dark red pillar incessantly, flicking her tongue.
Just a little more. Just a little more.
Tarta’s cl*max wasn’t far off. The way it swelled and throbbed in her cramped mouth told her so. With unbearable anticipation, Arsena’s g******s also emitted a lewd scent.
“Haa….”
With a low moan, Tarta pushed away Arsena’s head that he had been gripping. With the strong force, Arsena’s powerless face was lifted up. Arsena moaned urgently.
“Hah. In, in my mouth….”
It was a lewd request that she couldn’t imagine coming from her own mouth, but Arsena became desperate. If the man were to spill his s*men on the floor, she would even lick it off the ground.
Even if it was an act lower than a beast’s, she couldn’t help it. She didn’t want to waste even a single drop that might seep into the cold stone floor. She couldn’t miss out on the pleasure more intense and thick than anything she had tasted before.
“In your mouth what? You should finish your sentences. Hm?”
