Ultimate Villain's Return as a Doctor in the Cultivation World-Chapter 245 - An Earthquake Due to Pounding

He looked at both of them.

At the daughter lying beside the mother, foreheads together, the daughter's hand on her mother's face, both their bodies running and open and spent — the specific sight of it doing something to his reading that the system noted and did not comment on.

He drove harder.

PAH PAH PAH PAAH!

"'—AAAHN~!!! HAANN~!!! AAAHN~!!! AAAHNNNN~~~~~!!!!—'"

The mother's free hand found the daughter's.

Fingers locking, holding — and the daughter held back, both of them gripping each other's hand on the stone while he drove the mother toward whatever was coming.

He reached the edge of his own.

Not the cultivator's managed output — this was different, this was the Yin-Devouring-Body data having accumulated over the course of the entire session and building past the specific point where management was interesting anymore, the specific point where the body simply decides.

He pulled out of the mother's back.

Drove into her front.

PAAAH!

Full depth.

And held there.

The filling was warm and deep and the mother felt it arrive in both specific increments — the pulse of it, the warmth spreading from the specific depths of her, running into spaces that had already been mapped by the first session and were now being mapped again at twelve-inch depth with two additional inches of girth.

Her belly.

The visible swelling of it, the skin stretching slightly over the warmth entering her.

"'—AAAHNNNN~~~~~!!!!!!!—'"

He pulled out.

Immediately drove into her back entrance again.

The second filling — different chamber, same warmth, the specific fullness of a back entrance receiving what had been given to the front — and she felt both, simultaneously, the warmth in the front from the first and the warmth filling the back from the second, both locations overflowing, running together on the stone between them.

"'—KYAAANGHHH~!!! AAAHN~!!! AAAHNNNN~!!!—'"

He looked at the daughter.

Who was lying beside her mother with her forehead still against her mother's temple and her eyes closed.

He moved.

The daughter barely registered the repositioning — felt herself turned, felt herself placed on top of her mother, face up this time, her mother beneath her, both of them stacked — and he drove into the daughter's front.

PAAH!

"'—AAAHN~!!! I can't — I can't anymore — AAAHNN~!!!—'"

He drove into her back.

PAAH!

"'—KYAAANGHHH~!!!—'"

Front.

PAAH!

"'—AAAHN~!!!—'"

Back.

PAAH!

"'—AAAHNN~!!!—'"

Alternating, the rhythm building, both her entrances receiving him in rotation with barely enough interval between them to distinguish one from the other — and she could not distinguish them anymore, both locations burning and stretched and overflowing with what he had already put there and her body had no address for the incoming because all her addresses were already occupied.

PAH PAH PAAH PAH PAAH!

"'—AAAHN~!!! HAANN~!!! AAAHN~!!! AAAHNN~!!! AAAHNNNN~~~~~!!!!—'"

He filled the front.

Deep, warm, the second filling of the daughter's womb — and this time her belly swelled visibly, the young flat skin stretching with the warmth of it, the specific seed-and-blood geography of the session all arriving at the same address.

He didn't stop.

PAAH — into her back.

The third filling, the back entrance receiving what the front had just received, and both channels running warm and full and overflowing onto her mother below, onto the stone, into the pool water at the ledge edge.

"'—AAAHNNNN~~~~~!!!!!!!—'"

And then there was nothing left in the daughter.

Her eyes went to the chamber ceiling and stopped focusing.

Her hands, which had been gripping the edges of her own thighs, loosened — fingers going slack, the grip leaving, arms falling sideways — and her breathing went from the ragged desperate cadence of a body under full use to the shallow, barely-present breathing of a body that had simply run out of running.

She went quiet.

Not dead — breathing, chest moving — but absent, gone to the specific elsewhere that bodies go when they've been addressed past the edge of the available.

The mother felt the daughter go limp on top of her.

Felt the specific weight-change of it — from moving weight to still weight.

She looked up at the ceiling.

Her own eyes — amber, still open, still running tears — went to the stone above and found the specific quality of stillness that arrives after everything that had just arrived, her own body overflowing from both locations where he had been, warm and running and unable to stop, the near-manifestation physique having received more than its mortal framework had any architecture for and was simply letting everything run.

"'—I cannot feel my legs,'" she said.

Not to him particularly.

Just — said it, to the ceiling, because it was true and she wanted to say a true thing.

Her arms came up and wrapped around her unconscious daughter on top of her.

Holding.

The way she had always held the girl — from above, arms around the small body, hands at the back of the dark hair — except the girl was not small anymore and neither of them was what they had been at the beginning of today.

He sat back.

Looking at them.

Both bodies, stacked, the mother's arms around the daughter, both of them overflowing at both locations, the stone beneath them carrying everything they had been given in a slow warm spread toward the pool.

He exhaled.

The specific quality of a full exhale from a Nascent Soul cultivator who had run a system modification and run two Yin-Devouring bodies through the full architecture of a morning session — not tired, not depleted, but 'present' in the specific way that presence arrives after something significant.

He opened the system window.

'[YIN CULTIVATION HARVEST — SESSION COMPLETE]'

'[Yin quality absorbed: Exceptional. Source A (Near-Manifestation): 47 units. Source B (Foundation-Establishment-Early, Yin-Devouring): 61 units. Total: 108 units.]'

'[Note: Dual Yin-Devouring lineage confirmation. Recommend continued cultivation.]'

He closed it.

The mother's eyes found him.

Still on him — amber, exhausted, barely a sentence left in her, her daughter unconscious on her chest.

She said nothing.

He said nothing.

And then the mountain came down.

It arrived as sound first — not near, not close, but enormous, the specific bass frequency of something massive and irreversible happening at distance — a crashing that started low and built into the specific rolling thunder of geological weight surrendering, stone against stone, the kind of sound that makes the air vibrate at a frequency you feel in your chest before you hear it in your ears.

The pool water moved.

Concentric rings moving outward from the center, the pool's surface carrying the seismic echo of whatever had just happened miles away, the chamber walls transmitting the faintest tremor through the stone, through the floor, through the bodies on it.

The mother looked at the ceiling.

Her arms tightened around the daughter.

He looked at the pool water.

At the rings spreading.

Then he smiled.

Slow, genuine, the specific quality of a smile from someone who had known this was coming and had been waiting to say the thing that went with it.

"'—hm,'" he said.

The mother looked at him.

He looked at her.

At the amber eyes. At the unconscious daughter on her chest. At both of them overflowing.

"'—it seems,'" he said, the same calm delivery he used for everything, "'—clapping you both this hard caused an earthquake.'"

He paused.

"'—my apologies to the mountain.'"