SSS-Class MILFs And Their Yandere Daughters, I Want Them All! Chapter 14: Wolf In A Sheep’s clothing

The warehouse was a slaughterhouse, its air thick with the reek of blood and scorched tal, the floor a grisly screen of crimson pools and mangled flesh.

The leader’s corpse lay at the center, his head a pulpy ruin fused with another’s, bone and brain matter splattered across the concrete in a grotesque fusion.

No one was left alive and even the most seasoned killer, hardened by years of blood and betrayal, would have shown so flicker of emotion after such a massacre: a tremor of guilt, a spark of rage, or the thrill of dominance...But Mika?

He stood amidst the carnage, the bone, gripped dagger in one hand, and cast a glance at his blood, soaked clothes with a scowl of pure annoyance, like he’d stepped in mud.

"Ugh, what a pain." He muttered, his voice laced with exasperation, as if the slaughter was a chore gone wrong. "I’m drenched in this crap. Blood’s all over my face, my jacket, hell, I reek."

He swiped a hand across his cheek, saring the crimson, and grimaced at the sticky residue on his fingers.

"Charlotte wouldn’t co within ten feet of slling like this. She’s probably think I rolled in a butcher shop." He shook his head, flicking blood from his hand with a disgusted snort. "Next ti, I’m bringing a damn raincoat. No way I’m getting soaked like this every ti so morons need dealing with."

He then surveyed the carnage, his shoes squelching in the blood as he stepped over a severed limb.

"Look at this ss." He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Do I just leave it for the rats, or clean it up myself? Probably easier to—"

His words cut off abruptly as all of a sudden, out of nowhere, a searing heat erupted before him, two massive fireballs roaring through the air, aid straight for his face.

They moved too fast to dodge, too fierce to brace against, and before he could utter a sound, they slamd into him with a thunderous boom.

"Boom!~"

Flas exploded, a towering inferno that licked the warehouse’s rusted roof, the shockwave rattling beams and sending debris cascading and the spot where Mika stood was a blazing crater, concrete scorched to a glassy black, smoke billowing in choking plus.

And then, out of nowhere, from the entrance, a voice broke through the crackle of flas, smug yet tinged with unease.

"That’s, that I guess." The man said, stepping into the dim light. He was tall, lean, his dark coat billowing, his eyes glinting with cruel satisfaction. "One fireball’s enough to turn a normal human to dust, but I threw two, just to be safe." He stared at the flas, his lips curling into a shaky smirk. "Kid scared the hell outta with that little horror show. But now?...Not even his ashes are left."

This man was no re thug. His presence pulsed with power, an A-tier blessed, his mana crackling faintly, marking him as a force far beyond the goons Mika had butchered.

He was the employer, the cult’s enforcer behind the plot to kidnap Charlotte, tasked with delivering her to his shadowy masters. He’d co here to collect his ’parcel’ expecting to find Charlotte bound and ready.

Instead, he’d walked into a nightmare, his hired n hacked to pieces, their bodies strewn like broken dolls, and a boy standing over the leader’s corpse with a casual indifference that froze his blood.

Despite sensing no mana from Mika, sothing in his empty gaze, his blood, drenched calm, had scread lethal. So he’d acted, hurling two fireballs to erase the anomaly, and now he stood, convincing himself the threat was gone.

"Overkill, sure." He muttered, shaking his head as he watched the flas die down. "But after seeing the look that kid had in his eyes? Nobody would bla ."

His gaze then swept the warehouse, his face twisting with disgust and indignation.

"Godammit. I hired these dumbasses to grab one girl, and they swore they’d nail it...But now they’re minceat, all because of so college punk." He spat, uncaring of the dead, only furious that Charlotte had slipped away. "I should’ve done it myself, instead of leaving it to these idiots"

Seeing that there was nothing else he can do, he turned, ready to vanish into the night, already plotting another sche to capture Charlotte for his cult’s twisted ends, the massacre a bitter footnote to forget.

But as he pivoted, a flicker in the fading flas caught his eye, stopping him cold.

His breath hitched, his heart lurching, and he slowly turned back to the scorched crater and the mont he did his eyes widened, a gasp tearing from his throat as the impossible took shape.

The flas parted, revealing the incomprehensible...the boy he thought was barbecue after his attack, standing untouched amid the sizzling concrete.

Not burned, not scarred, not even singed. His blood, soaked uniform was intact, his face etched with a bored, faintly annoyed expression, as if the inferno had been a pesky mosquito.

Even the ground around him was molten, the air shimring with residual heat, but he stood like a monunt, unscathed, his eyes locking onto the man with chilling indifference.

"I-Impossible." The blessed whispered, his voice trembling, his mind scrambling to make sense of it.

His fireballs were devastating, their heat and force enough to wound even an A-tier blessed. Yet this boy, no mana, no blessing, just a human, stood as if nothing had happened.

Confusion and terror churned in his gut, his sadistic confidence crumbling. As a cult enforcer, he thrived on fear, relishing manic taunts and the screams of his victims.

But now, facing Mika’s blank stare, he couldn’t muster a word, no mockery, no questions. about his survival. His instincts scread that this boy was a void, a enemy beyond his reckoning.

Panic surged and above his head, two more fireballs sparked to life, then three, then five their heat warping the air, their glow casting jagged shadows across the carnage.

His only thought was annihilation, to erase this anomaly before it could move. He didn’t care that the blast would collapse the warehouse, drawing every authority in the city.

Survival was all that mattered, and Mika’s existence was a threat he couldn’t fathom, so he raised his hands, the fireballs swelling, ready to unleash oblivion,

But Mika clicked his tongue, a sharp, irritated sound that sliced through the roar of the flas.

"Tch." He muttered, his voice dripping with exasperation. "I was trying to keep this simple, you know? Just the dagger, slicing and dicing like the old days, like how n used to fight in the trenches." He glanced at the blade in his hand, its edge slick with blood, and gave a half, shrug. "I even bought this thing to avoid my usual tricks, less hassle, less fallout from after effects that are a pain in the ass to deal with. I thought I’d hack through so goons the classic way."

His gaze eyes flicked to the man, narrowing slightly.

"But then you had to show up with your fancy fireballs. Can’t let have a quiet knife fight, can you?" He sighed, his shoulders slumping like he was stuck with a tedious errand. "Guess I’ve got no choice. Gotta handle this properly and maybe show off a little."

The man froze as Mika’s words sank in and the mont he did, his instincts scread at him to throw the fireballs immidietly before he acted in his own if he cherished his life and he was about to do so.

But sadly for him, before he could react, Mika whispered a few words soft, but resonant, that sealed his fate

[Chains of Asphodel, That Which The Gods Cannot Break]

The second the words were uttered, the air shuddered, reality itself warping, and from the void around the man, ancient chains erupted, massive, iron, forged, etched with glowing runes that pulsed with eldritch power.

They lashed forward, four chains snapping around his limbs, wrists and ankles, hoisting him into the air like a sacrificial lamb, while he thrashed, his screams echoing.

But the chains were simply too unyielding, their grip absolute. His fireballs also sputtered out, nullified instantly, as if the chains devoured his mana, stripping his power bare.

Seeing this, the man’s face was a mask of horror, his eyes wide and wild as he thrashed against the unyielding chains and once he realized escape was impossible, panic surged, and he shouted, his voice raw with desperation.

"This ain’t fair!" He spat, glaring at Mika below. "You, you’re playin’ dirty, actin’ like so innocent kid when you’re a damn wolf in sheep’s clothin’!"

"Hidin’ your blessing with so magical artifact that’s underhanded! If I’d known you were blessed, I wouldn’t have attacked! I’d have walked away, left you alone!"

His words tumbled out, frantic, clinging to the delusion that Mika’s lack of detectable mana was a trick.

"What kinda artifact you using anyway? Even now, it’s holdin’ strong! Most artifacts crack when you use your powers, show your true level, but I still can’t see through you! What the hell is it?"

He leaned forward as much as the chains allowed, his voice shifting to a forced, wheedling tone, like he was bartering for his life. He thought stalling would buy ti, that Mika would bite, taunting or boasting like most with power did before the kill.

It was a desperate gambit to negotiate, to worm his way to safety now that his life dangled in the hands of this terrifying boy.

But Mika didn’t take the bait, as he approached slowly, his blood, soaked shoes squelching, his face a blank slate of indifference.

The only response he actually got was the chains tightening, their runes flaring brighter, pulling the man’s limbs taut. His bones creaked, muscles straining, a low groan escaping as the pressure built, threatening to tear him apart.