The Lustful Villain: Every Milfs and Gilfs are Mine!

Chapter 869: 869. I’ll Tear The Seconds Out Of His Throat, Very Reasonable Threat

Rex fell into a silence so heavy it felt as though the gravity in the domain had tripled. He didn’t move; he didn’t even seem to breathe.

He just stood there, a monolith of simmering, lethal realization.

"I... I fucking get it now..." he whispered, but the whisper held the vibration of a tectonic plate about to snap.

"The six months," he said, his voice cracking like dry earth. "That’s the bullshit everyone keeps saying. ’It’s been six months.’ ’We’ve had six months of progress.’ ’The timeline is six months.’ There is no way... there is no fucking way it has already been six months..."

Lustia watched him, her heart aching for the man who was currently dismantling his own sanity. She saw the way his hands began to shake, not from fear, but from a violent, kinetic energy that needed to be released, a need to reach out and throttle the very concept of time itself.

"Everyone around me has been referencing six months," Rex continued, his voice rising in a terrifying, rhythmic cadence. "Elizabeth. Valentina. The resource access. The research timelines."

"Six months of archives... Six months of documented research..."

"I have been operating on a subjective timeline that does not correspond to the reality of the world! I’ve been living in a lie of duration!"

"Yes," Lustia said, her voice a soft anchor in his rising storm.

"Because the island’s temporal substrate has been manipulated!" Rex roared, the sound echoing off the divine walls like a thunderclap.

"Because Celestina Von Starlight contracted with the God of Time," Lustia said, her voice gaining a sharp, clinical edge to combat his raw emotion. "And the specific term of that contract was a temporal influence on Aethelgard’s foundational layer."

"It was designed to allow Celestina to manage the engagement timeline at a level she could never achieve through conventional operational planning."

"She didn’t want to follow the clock, Rex... She wanted to own it."

Rex stood perfectly still. The air around him began to distort, a shimmering heat haze born of his sheer, unbridled killing intent.

’A puppet,’ he thought, the word screaming in the dark corridors of his mind. ’I wasn’t a leader...’

’I wasn’t a warrior... I was a goddamn marionette...’

’Every struggle, every drop of blood, every moment of growth... it was all just a rehearsal in a theater controlled by a woman who wanted a better schedule.’

"She could accelerate or decelerate the timeline," Rex said, his voice now unnervingly quiet, the kind of quiet that precedes a massacre.

"More specifically," Lustia added, "she could introduce what I would describe as a loop architecture."

"A temporal working that causes a defined period to repeat or extend without the people within it registering the repetition."

"You could live a thousand years in a single afternoon, and you would never know you were walking in circles."

"Time loop," Rex spat, the words sounding like a curse.

"With the potential for a time reset as its full expression," Lustia said, her eyes wide with the gravity of the horror. "If Celestina had achieved the specific conditions she required before the working reached its maximum expression, Aethelgard would have entered a reset state."

"Everything that had occurred within the working’s duration would have been undone."

"The people on the island would have returned to the state they were in at the working’s beginning... a total, violent erasure of progress."

Rex turned his head slowly to look at her. His eyes were bloodshot, burning with a madness that was purely, beautifully vengeful.

"With no memory of what had occurred," he said, the realization settling into his marrow like ice.

"Correct... with no memory of what had occurred," she confirmed.

"Including the Underlayer’s reconstruction," Rex growled, his hands curling into fists so tight his nails drew blood from his own palms.

The red droplets fell to the floor, bright and visceral against the divine stone.

"Including every development you have produced since the work began," she said. "Every alliance, every technological leap, every scar you earned..."

Rex’s aura suddenly exploded. It wasn’t just energy; it was a roar of pure, unadulterated hatred.

He looked up, not at Lustia, but at the very heavens, as if he could see through the layers of reality to the golden, mocking face of the God of Time itself.

"YOU COWARDLY, SHIFTING PIECE OF DIVINE SHIT!" Rex screamed at the sky, his voice a jagged blade of fury. "YOU THINK YOU CAN PLAY WITH US LIKE WE’RE NOTHING?!"

"YOU THINK YOU CAN FOLD OUR LIVES LIKE PAPER JUST TO SUIT YOUR FUCKING SCHEDULE?!"

"I SWEAR TO EVERYTHING HOLY AND UNHOLY, IF I EVER GET MY HANDS ON THAT CLOCK-WATCHING BASTARD, I WILL TEAR THE SECONDS OUT OF HIS THROAT!"

"I WILL BREAK THE VERY CONCEPT OF ’FOREVER’ UNTIL TIME ITSELF BLEEDS!"

He turned back to Lustia, his face a mask of brutal, desperate demand. The tension was so thick it felt like it could be sliced with a knife.

"Say the rest of it," Rex commanded, his voice low and lethal, his eyes boring into hers. "Do not make me pull the list out of you one item at a time, Lustia."

"Do not treat me like a child who needs to be coddled."

"Tell me everything. Tell me exactly what that bitch would have stolen from us."

"Tell me everything the reset would have taken!"

Lustia stared at him, her gaze unwavering even as the sheer, violent pressure of his aura threatened to crack the very foundation of her domain. She saw the madness in his eyes, the primal urge to reach up and strangle the concept of causality itself.

She knew there was no way to soften this blow. To offer him comfort now would be a second insult, a lie to wrap around a truth that was already jagged enough to kill.

She chose to be the surgeon. She would cut deep, she would be precise, and she would not flinch when the blood started to flow.

"Mara and Marceline’s pregnancies," she began, her voice steady despite the storm raging before her. "Gone... Not just lost, Rex, but completely erased..."

"They would have reverted to the moment before conception, meaning those children would never have been ’unborn’; they would simply never have existed."

"They would be ghosts of a timeline that never happened."

Rex’s jaw tightened so hard a small, sickening crack echoed in the silence. A single vein throbbed violently in his temple.

"Every maximum bond you have forged since the anchor point of this working would have reverted," Lustia continued, her voice gaining a grim, relentless momentum. "The connections, the souls entwined... they would have snapped back to whatever shallow desire existed at the moment the loop began."

"Several of the women you have fought beside, women you have bled for, would have been strangers to you."

"They wouldn’t just have forgotten you; they would have never even met you."

She watched a flicker of agony cross his face, a silent scream of a man realizing how much he had to lose.

"Lily’s telepathic link? Severed."

"The Underlayer’s entire governance structure? Dissolved into chaos."

"Mordecai’s submission? Reverted to defiance."

"The Legion purge? Undone, leaving the rot to fester once more."

"Pavellia’s reconstruction review? A dream that never woke."

"And Elizabeth..." Lustia swallowed hard, her eyes softening for a fraction of a second before hardening again. "Elizabeth’s pregnancy. All of it... All of it is gone..."

"And the most brutal part, Rex... the most goddamn cruel part... is that everyone involved would have simply woken up in a version of Aethelgard where none of it had ever happened."

"They would have no reason to mourn, because to them, there was nothing to mourn."

"They would be happy in their ignorance, while you would be the only one left standing in the wreckage of a life that was stolen from you."

The silence that followed was not empty. It was heavy, suffocating, and thick with the scent of ozone and impending catastrophe.

Rex didn’t roar. He didn’t scream.

He didn’t even move. He stood like a statue carved from the very essence of fury.

But the air around him was changing. This wasn’t the hot, explosive rage of a soldier in the heat of battle, the kind of anger that makes a man swing a sword harder or scream a war cry.

This was something far more terrifying. This was a cold, structural anger.

It was the deep, tectonic shifting of a man who realized he had been building a cathedral on a foundation of shifting sand, only to find that the sand was being moved by the hand of a god.

’They were playing with us,’ his mind whispered, a dark, rhythmic chant that echoed the pounding of his heart. ’They were playing with our lives, our children, our very souls... like pieces on a board.’

’We weren’t living...’

’We were being managed...’

’We were being curated.’

The realization settled into his marrow, turning his blood to liquid ice. He wasn’t just angry at Celestina.

He wasn’t just angry at the God of Time. He was angry at the very fabric of reality for allowing such a deception to exist.

He felt a profound, existential vertigo, a sense that the ground beneath his feet was no longer solid but a thin, fragile membrane stretched over an infinite, mocking void.

He was no longer just a man fighting for survival; he was a man who had realized he was a character in a story written by a liar, and he was finally ready to tear the pages out.