The Lustful Villain: Every Milfs and Gilfs are Mine!

Chapter 867: 867. I Choked A Goddess For Not Answering Fast Enough (I’m Mad ASF!)

Rex stood, his massive frame uncoiling with a predatory grace that belied the sheer amount of trauma his body had just endured. He could feel his infinite regeneration working in the background, a silent, invisible army of cells rushing to seal microscopic tears and stabilize his neurochemistry.

It was a successful recovery, but the "success" came with a heavy asterisk; his muscles felt dense and heavy, as if they had been forged in a furnace and then plunged into ice. His body wasn’t just healed; it was recalibrated after a massive, violent load.

He wasn’t concerned about the comfort of the domain. He cared about the truth.

"What external influence?" he demanded, his voice cutting through the amber light like a serrated blade. "And don’t give me that ’unstable’ bullshit again."

"What is actually out there?"

Lustia opened her mouth to respond, her eyes flickering with a momentary hesitation.

"Be precise, you fucking goddess of a lustful bitch," Rex growled, stepping into her personal space. The sheer heat of his presence seemed to challenge the divine aura she radiated. "I don’t have the patience for metaphors or any of that bullshit anymore because I’ve felt stupid now!"

"Give me the raw data!" Rex gritted his teeth. "What is hitting the island?!"

She met his gaze, refusing to flinch, though he saw the way her fingers tightened almost imperceptibly at her sides.

"A divine presence," she said, her voice dropping into a solemn, heavy register. "But it is not mine..."

"It is not the patron deities of the Apostle network; those bastards are content to watch from the sidelines, exerting a passive, distant influence."

"This is... quite different... this is something active. " Lustia crossed her arms. "Something sustained and something that has been digging its fingers into Aethelgard’s foundational layer and pulling."

A cold, sharp sensation washed over Rex, the specific, chilling dread that comes when a man realizes his entire understanding of the battlefield has just been rendered obsolete. His mental map of the world was being shredded and reassembled in real time.

"For how long," he said, the words coming out as a low, dangerous rumble.

"That," she replied, her voice wavering just a fraction, "is the complicated part."

Rex stared at her, his eyes narrowing into slits of pure, focused intensity. He could feel the mark of lust on his wrist still thrumming, a frantic, dying heartbeat of white light.

"How long has this influence been operating?" he repeated, his patience fraying like a rope under tension. "I’m not asking for a feeling, Lustia."

"I’m asking for a timeline!"

"I am not certain," she admitted, and the admission seemed to weigh a ton. "The very nature of the influence makes a standard duration assessment nearly impossible."

"It defies the logic of linear progression."

"Because the influence is temporal," Rex stated, the realization hitting him with the force of a physical blow.

He wasn’t just experiencing a headache; he was experiencing a collision of eras.

Lustia looked at him with a weary, almost pitying expression, the look of a teacher who had spent an hour explaining a concept only to realize the student had already grasped the terrifying reality of it.

"Yes," she said, her voice a grim confirmation. "Because the influence is temporal."

"Say that again," Rex commanded, his voice dropping to a deadly, quiet hiss. He stepped even closer, his shadow swallowing her. "Say it fucking slowly."

"Because my brain is already trying to skip ahead to the part where this shit gets ugly, and I want to make sure I heard the actual words and not just the version my mind is hallucinating to make sense of this madness."

Lustia took a breath, her eyes locking onto his with unflinching gravity. "Sigh..."

"A god with authority over time has been applying a ’working’ to the island you are standing on," she said, enunciating every syllable as if each were a heavy stone dropped into a well. "A divine manipulation of the temporal flow."

"And that working is the reason your sense of how long things have taken... why your very existence is currently out of sync with everyone else on Aethelgard."

"That is not ’slower,’" Rex spat, a flash of pure, unadulterated fury crossing his face.

He slammed a fist into his open palm, the sound echoing like a gunshot through the silent hall. "That is just calmer!"

"It’s a distortion! It’s a fucking lie!" Rex stomped the ground hard. "I didn’t ask for a slowed-down reality, you fucking bitch!"

"And I didn’t ask to be a ghost in my own timeline!"

"Then stop expecting a version of this that is going to feel calm to you!" Lustia snapped back, her divine composure finally cracking under the pressure of his rage.

The air between them crackled with tension, the golden light of the domain flickering wildly. "I am choosing to speak with calm because one of us needs to maintain a sense of reality, and you have already made it abundantly clear which one of us that is not going to be!"

Rex stood in the center of Lustia’s sanctuary, but he no longer felt like a guest or even an apostle. He felt like a predator whose territory a ghost had breached. This wasn’t the hot, adrenaline-fueled rage of a battlefield, nor the sharp, tactical frustration of a failed maneuver.

This was something far more primal and terrifying: the deep, glacial, soul-crushing anger of a man who had just realized the very ground he stood on was a lie. He had been playing a game where the rules were being rewritten by an invisible hand, and he was the only one who hadn’t been given the new manual.

The air in the domain began to vibrate, not with divine music, but with the sheer, suffocating pressure of Rex’s killing intent.

He didn’t walk; he launched. In four explosive, predatory strides, he bridged the gap between them.

Before Lustia could even draw a breath to offer another measured, "calm" explanation, Rex’s massive, calloused hand shot out like a striking viper.

CRACK.

His fingers clamped around her throat. It wasn’t a clumsy strike or a desperate grab; it was a precise, suffocating grip, the flat, overwhelming force of a man who had decided that words were no longer sufficient and that the conversation now required the language of violence.

He lifted.

With a guttural grunt of pure, unadulterated power, Rex hauled her upward. Lustia’s feet left the warm stone floor by half a meter, her divine robes fluttering uselessly in the sudden vacuum of her own breath.

She hung there, suspended by the sheer strength of his arm, staring down at him with an expression that defied the history of her realm. It was the look of a goddess being physically dominated by her own apostle, a look of profound, jarring shock.

"EXPLAIN!" Rex roared, the sound tearing from his lungs like a landslide.

His eyes were no longer human; they were pits of dark, swirling fury. "EXPLAIN EVERYTHING, YOU DIVINE BITCH!"

"NO MORE POETRY! NO MORE ’CALM’! GIVE ME THE RAW, BLOODY TRUTH!"

He tightened his grip, his thumb pressing into the soft tissue of her neck, forcing a small, pained whimper from her lips.

"WHICH ONE WAS IT?!" he bellowed, his voice vibrating in her very bones. "WHICH COCKY, OVERSIZED PIECE OF DIVINE SHIT THOUGHT THEY COULD REACH INTO MY WORLD AND START TWISTING THE FUCKING CLOCK?!"

"WHICH GOD THOUGHT THEY COULD TOUCH SOMETHING THAT BELONGS TO ME?!"

His rage was a physical thing, a dark aura that seemed to bruise the very light of the domain.

"DON’T TEST ME, LUSTIA!" he hissed, his face inches from hers, his breath hot and smelling of iron and dominance. "YOU THINK BECAUSE YOU RULE THIS PLACE THAT YOU’RE SAFE?"

"IF YOU DON’T START GIVING ME NAMES, I WILL TEAR THIS ENTIRE DOMAIN APART PIECE BY PIECE!"

"I WILL SNAP YOUR DIVINE NECK JUST TO SEE IF THE BLOOD RUNS GOLD OR RED!"

"I DON’T GIVE A FLYING FUCK IF YOU’RE A GODDESS; IF YOU’RE STANDING IN THE WAY OF THE TRUTH, YOU’RE JUST ANOTHER BODY FOR ME TO BREAK!"

Lustia flinched, her eyes widening in genuine, mortal terror. A small, choked gasp escaped her as the pressure on her windpipe intensified, a sharp, stinging pain radiating through her throat.

For the first time in eons, she felt the terrifying sensation of vulnerability. She felt the crushing weight of a man who had transcended the need for divine permission.

Her hands flew up, her slender, elegant fingers wrapping around his massive, bulging forearm. She wasn’t trying to pry him off; she knew she couldn’t break that grip even if she tried.

She was merely holding on, anchoring herself to the only solid thing left in a world that was melting into temporal chaos, her knuckles white as she struggled to maintain her composure while her throat burned under his iron command.

"Aggghh... gacckk..."