Ultimate Villain's Return as a Doctor in the Cultivation World-Chapter 227- Leaving while taking a MILF

The flat, present, God-complex, matter-of-fact delivery.

He looked at the men.

"You watched my devotee receive what I gave her."

He paused.

"You saw what you were not permitted to see."

The crowd.

The specific, going-quiet, what-does-that-mean, receiving-a-sentence crowd sound of two hundred people hearing a declaration.

He looked at them.

He was still inside her.

She was still arcing.

Still running.

Still at the full, warm, mortal-woman, foundational-event, everything-available output.

He looked at the men.

The Herb Integration passive.

He ran it.

Not the broadcast — the specific, targeted, cultivator-precise, selected-recipients deployment of the passive at the specific, full, overwhelming, everything-at-once output level that the system could produce when he ran it at full output.

Not at her.

At them.

At every man in the square.

The specific, full, point-blank, overwhelming, mortal-male-system-overloading, nothing-can-manage-this deployment of the Herb Integration passive at full, targeted, cultivator-grade output directly into two hundred mortal-male systems simultaneously.

It hit them.

Not gradually.

The flat, immediate, full, overwhelming, all-at-once arrival of something that a mortal body had no architecture to receive at this output level and was receiving regardless.

They made sounds.

All of them.

Not the same sounds — the specific, two-hundred-individual, simultaneous, different-voice, same-general-direction sounds of two hundred mortal men receiving the same thing at the same moment from different starting positions.

The fat man went first.

The flat, belt-already-undone, been-at-threshold-longest, first-to-arrive, mortal-male physiological completion event of the fat man in the front row who had been the specific, particular, first-and-closest target and had been at the accumulated threshold the longest.

He went.

The flat, complete, involuntary, everything-at-once, against-every-available-will mortal event of the fat man whose body filed its report at full, honest, present volume.

His face—

The specific, eyes-rolling, completely-occupied, this-is-the-last-thing-I-will-process quality of a face at the specific, full, overwhelming, mortal-system-exceeding event.

He fell.

The tall slave trader next.

The short one after.

Then the crowd—

The flat, multiple-simultaneous, every-man, sequential-within-the-same-second arrival of two hundred mortal men whose bodies had hit the absolute, unmanageable, system-overload threshold of a Nascent Soul Mid Stage cultivator’s full, targeted Herb Integration passive output and whose mortal systems did not have the architecture to process the event and continue operating.

He watched them.

The flat, present, assessor’s watch of someone reviewing the result of a qi application.

He noted: all of them.

He noted: the women.

The women were not targeted.

The women were still kneeling.

The women were watching their husbands and brothers and fathers and the slave traders and the fat men reach the specific, complete, involuntary, final mortal event and fall.

One woman.

At the back.

Young.

Seventeen, maybe eighteen — the specific, young, mortal, not-yet-a-woman-not-quite-a-child quality of someone who had come to the square this morning for a different reason and had been in the wrong place for the wrong thing and was now at the back of the crowd watching everything.

He looked at her.

She looked at him.

He noted: she had not moved. She had been kneeling since the cultivation pressure arrived. She had watched everything.

"Women may remember," he said.

The flat, present, God-complex, completely-matter-of-fact delivery.

He looked at her.

"Men die," he said.

He looked at the men.

At the flat, complete, done, all-of-them, finished, every-male-in-the-square reality of a square that no longer had men standing in it.

He looked at the young woman at the back.

She was looking at him.

Her face — the specific, wide-eyed, completely-occupied, witnessing-something, present, seventeen-year-old face of someone who had processed several things in the last ten minutes that were going to take considerably longer than ten minutes to fully process.

She was not crying.

She was not screaming.

She was looking at him with the specific, flat, present, I-am-still-here quality of someone who had received the declaration that women may remember and had filed it with the serious, immediate, everything-is-different quality of a woman who understood what ’may remember’ was going to cost her for the rest of her life.

He looked at her.

He looked at the square.

At the empty square.

At the kneeling women.

At the young one at the back.

He looked at the woman in his arms.

She was—

Still running.

The flat, continuous, warm, foundational event was still running through the near-manifestation yin lineage depth with the specific, irreversible, completing quality of a foundational activation that had been initiated and was not done.

She was making sounds.

The low, soft, continuous, nothing-left-for-management, completely-present sounds of a woman whose body was at the specific, foundational-activation, everything-running state and was reporting it at the register available when management had entirely departed.

"—’Aaahn~... aaahn~... mmnh~... aaahn~...’—"

Her head was back on his shoulder.

Her hair was across his chest.

Her hands were still on his.

He looked at her.

He leaned forward.

His mouth found the side of her neck — the flat, warm, present, full-lip contact of someone finding a surface — and he moved from there to the specific, warm, present, forward location.

His teeth.

He bit.

The flat, deliberate, full-tooth, left nipple bite — the specific, complete, everything-in-the-teeth, warm-milk-running, hard bite of someone who had made a decision about this location and was applying it.

"—’KYAAANGHHH~!!!’—"

The milk ran from the bite location with the flat, warm, pressure-released, immediate, warm-stream quality of a release point that had been addressed directly.

He gripped.

The right.

His hand — the full-palm, everything-in-the-grip hold — at the right one, and his fingers closing with the flat, deep, comprehensive, locking grip of someone who was applying all available pressure.

Both inputs.

Simultaneously.

"—’AAAHNNNN~~~~~!!!’—"

She arced.

The final arc.

The flat, complete, total, everything-committed, last-available-architecture arc of a woman whose body had been at the foundational activation event for the last several minutes and had received both direct inputs simultaneously and had the specific, final, absolute, complete, nothing-more-available response.

He bit harder.

He gripped tighter.

He drove the final depth.

PAAAH!

"—’AAAHNNNN~~~~~!!!!!’—"

The foundational activation completed.

The flat, warm, deep, four-generation, complete, irreversible event of a near-manifestation yin lineage receiving its full, foundational activation from a Nascent Soul Mid Stage cultivator’s complete, unmanaged, full-transfer output at the deepest available level.

It ran.

Through her.

From the lineage depth upward — the flat, warm, rising, present, she-could-feel-it-moving quality of something that had been activated at the base and was now traveling through every available channel.

Her eyes.

They went.

The specific, complete, final, everything-occupied, nothing-left, total white of eyes that had processed everything available and had reached the specific, final, graceful, absolute end of available processing.

She went limp.

Not the managed limp.

Not the post-breakthrough-tired limp.

The complete, total, absolute, dead-weight, entirely-spent limp of a woman whose body had given everything available and had filed the final report and was done.

He caught her.

The flat, present, both-arms, complete, her-full-weight catch of someone who had anticipated the outcome and was there for it.

He looked at her face.

The warm, amber-eyed, wet-cheeked, completely-at-peace face of a woman who was out with the specific, absolute, warm, present quality of someone who had arrived somewhere and was staying there.

He looked at the square.

The empty square.

The kneeling women.

The specific, stone, morning-light, everything-that-had-happened-here, done-now quality of a square that was finished.

He looked at the young woman at the back.

She was still there.

Still looking at him.

He looked at her.

He looked at the woman in his arms.

He looked at the sky.

He stepped.

The flat, present, single-step, spatial-technique, no-ceremony, already-gone step of someone who had somewhere to be and was going there.

He took her with him.

The square was empty.

The morning light continued on the stone.

The kneeling women breathed.

The young woman at the back looked at the space where he had been.

She looked at it for a long time.

Then she looked at the square.

At everything in the square.

At the morning light on the stone.

She breathed.

She filed the memory.

’Women may remember.’