SSS-Class MILFs And Their Yandere Daughters, I Want Them All!

Chapter 623: Monsters Unleashed

Charlotte had thought she understood the depths of human depravity.

She had watched Marcus torture Mika for seven days straight and witnessed her own teacher reveal herself as a monster.

So, she thought she had seen the worst the world had to offer.

She was wrong.

Because now they were coming. Pouring through the doors like rats emerging from a sewer.

People whose faces she recognized from television screens and magazine covers.

People the world considered heroes. Saints. Pillars of their communities.

And every single one of them was a monster in disguise.

—

The first to arrive was a titan.

He had to duck to fit through the library doorway, his massive frame filling the entire entrance.

Muscles bulged beneath his shirt like boulders wrapped in fabric. His face was hard and angular, carved from granite, with deep-set eyes that held no warmth whatsoever.

When he walked, the floor seemed to tremble beneath his weight.

Charlotte recognized him immediately. Her blood ran cold.

“Wait.” She whispered. “No. It can’t be.”

But it was. The Iron Sentinel. An S-Class Blessed whose body was virtually indestructible.

Someone had saved countless lives by serving as a human shield during emergencies and disaster relief operations.

He was known throughout the realm as a gentle giant, a man of few words who let his actions speak for him.

Children adored him. The media praised him. He was held up as an example of what a Blessed should aspire to be.

And he was here.

“You…” Charlotte’s voice trembled. “How can you be here? You’re supposed to be—you’ve saved so many people—how can you—”

The Iron Sentinel looked at her. And then he smiled. It was not the gentle, humble smile that the cameras captured.

It was something darker. Something hungry.

“Lady Charlotte.” He said, his voice a low rumble. “It’s an honor to meet you properly. I’ve seen you at events before, but we’ve never had the chance to speak.”

“Don’t talk to me like that! Don’t pretend this is normal!”

She positioned herself in front of Mika’s chair, even though she knew she couldn’t stop him.

“You’re supposed to be a hero! You’ve saved thousands of lives! Why are you here?!”

The Iron Sentinel’s smile faded. His massive hands clenched into fists at his sides.

“Hero.” He repeated, as if tasting the word and finding it bitter. “That’s what they call me on the news. The Iron Sentinel. The gentle giant. The shield that protects the innocent.”

He let out a humorless laugh. “Do you have any idea how exhausting it is to be me?”

He began to pace, his heavy footsteps cracking the floorboards.

“I have so much power inside me. So much strength. Just one small push—” He tapped a bookshelf lightly, and the entire thing shattered into splinters. “—could bring down an entire building. A single squeeze of my hand could crush a man’s skull like an eggshell.”

“Every moment of every day, I have to hold back. I have to be careful. I have to be gentle. Because if I’m not, people die.”

He stopped pacing and turned to face her, his eyes blazing.

“Do you know what that’s like? To live your whole life in constant awareness of your own destructive potential? To be surrounded by fragile little things that could break at any moment if you’re not careful enough?”

He shook his head. “It’s maddening. Absolutely maddening.”

“But in here—” His smile returned, wider and more terrifying than before. “—in here, I don’t have to hold back.”

He walked over to a bookshelf and, with a casual backhand, reduced it to kindling.

“I can break things!” He kicked a table, sending it flying across the room. “I can destroy things!” He picked up a heavy armchair and tore it in half with his bare hands. “I can finally—FINALLY—use my strength the way it was meant to be used!”

He turned toward Mika. Mika met his gaze without flinching.

“And most of all.” the Iron Sentinel said, his voice dropping to an eager whisper. “I can do something like this.”

His massive hand wrapped around Mika’s thigh and squeezed.

Charlotte heard the bones crack. It was a wet, grinding sound like rocks being crushed in a vise.

Mika’s leg was being compressed, the flesh flattening, the bone splintering into fragments.

“YES!” The Iron Sentinel roared, his face alight with ecstasy. “THIS is what I’ve been missing! THIS is what I’ve been denying myself! The feeling of using my full strength! The sound of bones breaking beneath my fingers! The—”

He ripped Mika’s leg off.

“ARGHHHH!”

Mika screamed. Charlotte screamed. The Iron Sentinel laughed.

And it didn’t stop there.

Piece by piece, the Iron Sentinel dismantled Mika’s body with his bare hands alone.

He crushed bones. He tore muscle. He popped joints out of their sockets with sickening cracks.

He was like a child playing with a doll, testing how much force it could take before breaking.

And through it all, he laughed with the pure, unbridled joy of someone who had been denied their deepest desire for their entire life and was finally, finally indulging it.

When Mika’s body was a ruined mess of shattered bones and torn flesh, the Iron Sentinel stepped back with a satisfied sigh.

“Thank you.” He said reverently. “Thank you for this gift.”

And then he walked out, leaving Charlotte to stare in horror at what remained of Mika.

—

But it didn’t stop there.

The next to arrive was an old man with a kindly face, white hair, and a balding head.

He looked like the kind of man who would offer you a hard candy from his pocket and ask about your day at school. He walked with a slight stoop, and his eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled.

Charlotte recognized him too.

William Warfield. One of the wealthiest men on the entire continent.

His company had handled logistics during the war against the Eternal Queen, and he had profited enormously from it.

In the years since, he had donated hundreds of millions to charitable causes—rebuilding homes destroyed by dungeon breaks, funding schools in impoverished areas, providing medical care to those who couldn’t afford it.

He was revered as a philanthropist. A saint. A man who used his vast wealth to make the world a better place.

“Why?” Charlotte asked, her voice hollow. “Why are you here? You’ve helped so many people. You’ve rebuilt entire communities. Why would you—”

“Helped?” William interrupted, his kindly smile twisting into something ugly. “You think I helped those people out of the goodness of my heart?”

He chuckled—a dry, rasping sound.

“Girl, I’ve been doing far worse things than this for decades. During the war, when chaos reigned and no one was watching, I trafficked refugees. Sold them to the highest bidder. Used my logistics network to move human cargo across borders without anyone noticing.”

He shook his head. “The donations, the charity, the saintly reputation—it’s all a cover. A mask I wear so that people don’t look too closely at what I’m really doing.”

He pulled out a case and opened it, revealing an array of surgical instruments that gleamed in the firelight.

“But in recent years, it’s become harder. Your aunts—those damned Battle Angels—they’ve increased surveillance on everything!”

“Every transaction is monitored! Every shipment is inspected! I can barely move without someone looking over my shoulder!”

His expression darkened. “What’s the use of all this money and power if I can’t freely do whatever I want?!”

His smile returned as he looked at Mika.

“But this place…Marcus’s domain is paradise. Here, there are no consequences. No surveillance. No Battle Angels watching my every move. Here, I can finally indulge my true desires!”

He selected a thin, curved blade from his case.

“I’ve been doing this for a very long time, boy. I’ve developed techniques that even Marcus doesn’t know about. Let’s see how long you can last.”

And then he began to cut.

—

After William came a news anchor, Lola Voss, a woman Charlotte had seen on television every single morning.

She was known for her passionate reporting, her willingness to confront corrupt officials on live broadcasts.

Unlike other anchors who maintained a formal detachment, she wore her emotions on her sleeve.

But now, she set up a camera in front of Mika’s chair. The red recording light blinked on.

“Good evening.” She said, her voice taking on the polished cadence of a professional broadcast.

“This is Lola Voss, reporting live from the Devil’s Playground. Tonight’s special feature: the torture of a young boy who has been gifted to us by our generous host, Marcus Williams.”

She picked up a hammer from the instrument tray.

“Our subject today is remarkably resilient. Previous attempts to break him have been unsuccessful, but we’re going to try something new. I’m told the bones in the human hand contain some of the highest concentrations of nerve endings in the entire body.”

“Let’s test that theory, shall we?”

She brought the hammer down on Mika’s fingers.

Mika screamed.

“Remarkable!” Lola’s voice remained perfectly professional, even as blood spattered across her blouse.

“The subject is exhibiting a classic pain response. Note the vocalization, the muscle spasms, the tears. This is truly fascinating material for our viewers!”

She continued her “broadcast” for the next hour, narrating every moment of torture in the detached tone of a journalist reporting on a natural disaster.

She broke bones and described the sounds they made.

She cut flesh and analyzed the bleeding patterns.

She drove nails under fingernails and speculated about nerve density.

And through it all, she smiled.

When she finally left, she took her camera with her. Charlotte could only imagine what she planned to do with the footage.

—

There was Dr. Alistair Crane, a surgeon of such renown that he had been invited to consult with Fauna herself on several occasions.

He had saved countless lives with his scalpel and even pioneered new surgical techniques that were now taught in medical schools across the realm.

He was, by all accounts, a genius.

And he was completely, utterly insane.

He approached Mika’s chair with a scalpel in hand and a serene smile on his face.

“Surgery.” He announced. “Is the noblest of professions. To cut into a living body and repair what is broken—it requires skill, precision, and an intimate understanding of human anatomy.”

“But there’s one aspect of modern surgery that I’ve always found…distasteful.”

He made the first incision. Mika’s abdomen opened like a zipper.

“Anesthesia.” The doctor’s voice dripped with contempt. “We pump our patients full of drugs so they don’t feel what we’re doing to them. We rob them of the experience. We deny them the opportunity to truly understand what it means to be opened up and reconstructed.”

He reached into Mika’s abdominal cavity and began to pull out organs, one by one, examining each with professional curiosity.

“Liver. Slightly enlarged, but otherwise healthy. Stomach. Excellent muscle tone. Intestines. Remarkably pink.”

He held up a length of Mika’s small intestine for Charlotte to see.

“Do you know how difficult it is to perform surgery without anesthesia? The patient’s screams can be…distracting. But it’s so much more authentic. So much more real.”

Charlotte felt sick.

“This isn’t the first time I’ve done this.”

He continued, his voice casual as he continued his work.

“Being a doctor is actually the perfect profession for someone like me. You can kill your patients whenever you want, and no one ever finds out. A minor complication here. An unexpected reaction there. The records are easy to falsify, and the nurses will cover for you if you pay them enough.”

He smiled down at Mika’s open body.

“I’ve killed dozens of people on my operating table. Hundreds, perhaps. I’ve lost count. And every single time, the family thanked me for doing everything I could to save them.”

He laughed. “It’s truly the perfect profession for a man of my…tastes.”

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