Blasphemous Grace - Chapter 63

As Lekia withdrew, another priest from below the dais seized her hips.

—Thwack!

As if finding a well-worn path, his length slid along her cleft, stimulating her. And that alone—

“Ahng!”

—was enough to tear a cry from her. Greenish fluid mingled with white at their joining, spraying everywhere. It spattered the priests’ black robes, but only inflamed them further.

Her face, her hair, her passage—nothing was spared. One priest roughly seized her hand, the only thing still bracing her against the floor.

“Ah!”

She swayed, but with her upper and lower body both claimed, her b*****s groped, she could not fall. Seeing this, another priest grabbed her other hand; with nothing left to support her, her body tensed instead.

The reaction was immediate—from the priests stroking themselves and the one pounding into her.

“Hhuu!”

Gasping, they spent almost simultaneously, unable to restrain their release.

—Spurt!

Anonymous seed splashed across her pale skin. A second man finished on her b******s, and immediately another took his place.

—Thwack! Thwack!

A different shape, a different angle, scraping against her sensitive peak as he drove upward.

“Aaaahk!”

A scream tore free. Her body, utterly consumed by pleasure, rocked her hips; the priest could not last, spilling inside her.

“Hhuu!”

Before he had even finished, he was shoved aside and another’s length pressed against her.

—Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!

This one withdrew completely, then thrust deep with brutal force.

“Hhnng! Ahk!”

Her entire body was being claimed. Each stimulus made her lower belly feel heavier, fuller.

“Hhuhk, nngh!”

With her mouth and core violated without cease, breathing became difficult. Dizziness swept over her; she closed her eyes.

She felt she might lose consciousness.

Yet even so, the men’s relentless rhythm did not cease. How many had claimed her between her twitching thighs, how many had filled her mouth, how many had spent themselves upon her body—she had lost all count.

—Thump.

Even when consciousness flickered and returned, she found herself still being taken—pressed into, pierced. Her body, once prone, now faced the sky. The only constant was that she remained spread open for the men.

“Hyaaahk! Aaaahk!”

And the more she was violated—perhaps due to that green-tinged fluid—the more vividly, maddeningly her senses responded, driving her hips to move. Until her mind was utterly lost.

Delonas, senseless, was discarded like cargo back into the iron cage and transported to the temple. Even then:

“Hh, hhuu…”

Soft moans escaped her lips. Her body twitched intermittently.

It was Pope Ian who calmed her.

“It would hardly do to leave her unattended,” he murmured, pouring his divine power into her. Whether due to this, she calmed more swiftly than the severity of her seizure suggested.

But Lekia found the process displeasing.

“Hmm. Resistance, is it?”

He studied the mirror in his private chamber—the one connected to Delonas. Unlike Ian’s, which remained clear, hers was utterly clouded.

“Has the brainwashing magic failed?”

Of course, he had expected a woman raised as a revered princess would require time to break. But after being so thoroughly and repeatedly defiled, after such painstaking education to make her forget her station—still this state?

“Does the princess possess stronger mental fortitude than expected?”

He had assumed the more delicately raised would crumble more easily. Perhaps imperial blood truly was imperial blood.

Lekia’s eyes narrowed. He could not have the princess go mad now. There were those both within and beyond the temple who eagerly anticipated personally breaking the last princess of Beakin—the continent’s peerless beauty, still sane.

The commands that came to Delonas were, as always, abrupt. This time, before she could prepare herself mentally or otherwise, the order arrived:

“You are commanded to attend the Grand Assembly presided over by His Holiness.”

The Grand Assembly—it seemed to involve nearly every figure in the temple. The very word carried an ominous weight as it fell upon her. The memory she wished not to recall, its traces not yet faded from her body, was about to be repeated.

The Grand Assembly was held in a vast underground chamber containing an altar. The space was so enormous she had not known such a place existed beneath the temple. At its center stood the altar. Carved into the chamber wall at an angle providing a direct view of it was a colossal statue of Ephina. Perhaps because he was the God of Dreams, the halo, shaped like a constellation, shimmered with an uncanny light. Some might have called it beautiful.