Pervert In Stone Age: Breaking Cavewomen with Modern Kinks-Chapter 459: Rifle Symphony Massacre 2

I stitched him from pelvis to throat — a merciless line of bullets ripping through his stomach, lungs, and neck.

He screamed — a wet, gurgling howl — blood spraying from his mouth like a fountain as he dropped to his knees, clutching his shredded belly. His intestines slipped out between his fingers in steaming ropes. He toppled sideways, twitching, blood pooling rapidly beneath him.

The twitchy one tried to run — three frantic steps.

I shot him in the back of both knees first, dropping him screaming. Then I walked forward calmly and emptied half a magazine into his writhing body.

Bullets tore through his spine, lungs, and skull. His body danced on the sand like a broken puppet, blood misting the air with every impact. When I finally stopped, he was nothing but a shredded, leaking corpse.

The entire camp exploded into pure pandemonium.

Mothers screamed hysterically, snatching their children and trying to run. Children wailed in terror. Men shouted and scrambled for anything they could use as a weapon — sticks, rocks, nothing.

"RUN! IT’S DEXTER! HE’S KILLING EVERYONE!"

"OH MY GOD — LOOK AT THE BLOOD!"

"HE’S A MONSTER! RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!"

Hailey stood frozen in horror — face splattered with the scarred man’s blood — staring at the three corpses with wide, disbelieving eyes.

Megan — still tied to the tree — started screaming at me, voice raw and desperate.

"STOP! DEXTER, STOP IT! THEY’RE INNOCENT! PLEASE! DON’T DO THIS!"

Hailey joined her — voice cracking with terror and heartbreak.

"STOP! PLEASE! YOU’RE KILLING THEM ALL! THEY’RE JUST HUNGRY! THEY DIDN’T KNOW! STOP SHOOTING!"

I didn’t stop.

I walked forward slowly — rifle sweeping left and right — calm as death itself.

A mother carrying her two small children tried to run past me.

BRRRRRT—!

I cut her down — three rounds through her back. She fell forward, crushing her babies beneath her. The children screamed for only a second before I put two rounds into each of them, too. Blood soaked the sand in a wide, dark puddle.

"NOOO! MY CHILD!" another mother wailed — before I turned the rifle on her and emptied five rounds into her chest. She flew backward, tits bouncing wildly as bullets tore through her, blood spraying in arcs.

Megan was screaming so hard her voice was breaking.

"STOP! PLEASE, GOD, STOP! THEY’RE CHILDREN! THEY’RE INNOCENT CHILDREN! DEXTER PLEASE— I’LL DO ANYTHING! JUST STOP KILLING THEM!"

Hailey was sobbing uncontrollably now — on her knees, hands clasped together like she was praying.

"PLEASE! I BEG YOU! DON’T KILL ANYMORE! THEY DIDN’T DO ANYTHING WRONG! PLEASE— I’LL BE YOUR SLAVE TOO! JUST STOP! STOP! STOP!"

I kept walking.

A young girl — maybe fourteen — tried to hide behind a crate. I shot through the wood — three rounds punching through her body. She screamed once, then slumped sideways, blood pouring from her mouth.

An old man tried to shield his wife. I shot them both — husband and wife falling together in a tangled, bloody heap.

The ground was turning red. Rivers of blood flowed between the bodies. The screams were deafening — women, children, men — all dying under my bullets.

Megan’s voice had gone hoarse from screaming.

"YOU MONSTER! YOU’RE A FUCKING DEVIL! THEY WERE INNOCENT! LOOK AT THE CHILDREN! LOOK WHAT YOU’VE DONE!"

Hailey could barely speak anymore — just broken, hysterical sobs.

"Stop... please... they were just hungry... they were scared... You didn’t have to... You didn’t have to kill the children..."

I finally lowered the rifle.

The camp was silent now — except for the soft crackling of the fire and the wet sounds of blood still flowing from dozens of bullet-riddled corpses.

Bodies lay everywhere — men, women, and small children — all torn apart by high-caliber rounds. The sand was soaked dark red. The air stank of blood, shit, and gunpowder.

Only three people were still alive:

Megan — tied to the tree, sobbing uncontrollably, blood from her own head wound mixing with tears.

Hailey — on her knees, staring at the massacre with pure horror in her eyes.

Paul — too weak to even speak anymore, just staring at me with glassy, defeated eyes.

I walked over to Megan — rifle still smoking in my hands.

She looked up at me — eyes filled with pure despair and hatred.

"You... you killed them all..." she whispered. "Even the children... You monster..."

I crouched in front of her.

"I told you," I said softly. "I don’t like disturbances in my life. I don’t like threats. I don’t like people who try to take what’s mine."

I reached out—slowly, almost tenderly—and wiped a tear from Megan’s cheek with my thumb. Her skin was hot, feverish with shock and grief, the tear streaking blood and dirt across her face. She flinched at my touch but didn’t pull away.

Hailey—still on her knees in the blood-soaked sand—finally lifted her head. Her eyes were wide, glassy with horror, pupils blown black. She stared at me like she was seeing the devil himself for the first time.

"You... are the devil..." she whispered, voice cracking, barely audible over the crackle of the dying fire and the distant sobs of surviving children.

I chuckled—low, dark, almost fond.

"Yeah," I said simply, letting the word hang in the air like smoke. "I am the devil."

No explanation. No justification. Just truth.

Megan’s breath hitched—fresh tears spilling as she looked up at me, eyes red-rimmed and shattered.

I stood—rifle still loose in one hand—and looked between them both.

"I’m going back," I said quietly. "Are you coming with me?"

Megan’s voice came out broken, hoarse, barely above a whisper.

"We... will not go with you..." she said, shaking her head slowly. "You’re not human... you just murdered children... mothers... entire families... in front of their eyes... you’re a monster..."

Hailey nodded—tears streaming—voice trembling with rage and despair.

"You killed babies..." she whispered. "Little kids... they didn’t do anything... they were just scared... and you shot them... like they were nothing..."

I shook my head—once—almost regretful.

"Okay," I said softly. "It’s goodbye then."

Megan blinked—stunned.

"Wait... you’re just... leaving us?" she whispered. "After all that... you’re just going to walk away?"

I didn’t answer.

I turned—rifle still in hand—and walked away from them without looking back.

The camp behind me was silent now—only soft crying, the crackle of fire, and the wet sound of blood still flowing from dozens of bodies.

I reached the edge of the dune—far enough that they were just silhouettes against the flames.

The magical tool shimmered in my palm—rifle folding back into a compact cube, then unfolding again into the sleek jetpack harness. Thrusters hummed to life—blue fire blooming low and silent.

I launched upward—sand exploding beneath me—climbing fast into the night sky.

Halfway back—maybe ten minutes out—I spotted them on the world map overlay:

Drake—still alive, crawling somehow, handless stumps leaving bloody trails.

Jack—leading a ragged group of maybe twelve men, all armed with scavenged knives, wooden logs, and Jack was holding the gun that was found by Megan.

Bill—beside his father, face set in grim determination.

They were moving fast—toward the cave.

I didn’t slow down.

Didn’t stop.

I flew straight over them—low enough that the thruster wash kicked up sand and dust in their faces. They shielded their eyes—screaming curses—but I didn’t even glance down.

The cave mouth appeared ahead—warm amber light spilling from within.

I landed—thrusters cutting out with a soft whine—magical tool folding back into storage in one fluid motion.

I walked inside.

The lamp still glowed low and steady—casting golden shadows across the sleeping mats, the neatly arranged supplies (now restocked from hidden caches), the faint trickle of water into the basin.