Fate/Ultimate Antagonist

[85] Hell

The tranquil moonlight outside the window, pure and bright as it cascaded gently into the bedroom.

Lying on the bed was a silver-haired woman, her figure voluptuous, her healthy wheat-colored skin still faintly marked with traces of last night's passionate storm.

Caenis's resilience was indeed remarkable... her robust physique endowed her with excellent endurance, capable of withstanding the wrath of Sparta completely embraced in her broad bosom.

When did it become like this?

...the subtle sensation of going with the flow.

The wise king, no matter how gentle and modest he appeared in front of others, harbored a brewing anger and violence, fueled by faith, which Caenis wholeheartedly embraced and absorbed into her broad embrace.

Caenis became the outlet for his release, opening her arms with warmth, tenderness, and fullness.

The fierce storms of the sycamore tree were not something everyone could endure, even the materials used in his palace were specially reinforced, lest it would have collapsed several times over.

Just as she described... throughout Sparta, only her constitution could fulfill such conditions.

"No matter how much you ravage and ruin me... it doesn't matter, Your Highness."

Indeed.

No matter the thunderous storms endured the previous night or the indulgence in cream puffs.

This land named Caenis, the more it was cultivated, the more it turned into fertile soil... amidst the ceaseless grace of the young king, it shed the solemnity and fierceness of a warrior, appearing flushed and charming.

This... couldn't help but remind Kratos of a certain cat whose loved riddles.

Regardless of appearances and words, how fierce and sharp they might be.

Running his fingertips over her fading facade, then delving into her fiery heart, one would discover... the belly of a cat, warm and soft, yearning for its owner's touch.

Though compared to Caenis...

In fact, there was also a cat, named Atalanta, easier for Kratos to envision as Kal'tsit, who often approached, sniffing the pleasant scent emanating from the young king, intoxicated by it.

Both were cat-eared maidens with green hair and eyes, their personalities carrying a similar fierceness and independence.

But in front of Kratos, the sharpness of the huntress princess was wholly contained, leaving only the softness of a cat.

Strolling through the woods, picking up various plant leaves, Atalanta listened attentively as Kratos introduced their uses.

The huntress princess's upright pupils, however, did not focus on the flora Kratos held, but instead observed the black-haired youth, his handsome profile illuminated by the dappled sunlight filtering through the branches.

Her delicate face tinged with a blush, her light green irises blinked, her keen nose sniffed lightly, and her fair neck glistened with subtle beads of sweat, like a cat in heat.

In the past month, Kratos could clearly see that Atalanta, too, hoped for his affection.

But due to her lingering reserve, shyness, and hesitation towards her own reawakened feelings, she couldn't bring herself to confess.

Disdain Caenis, question Caenis, understand Caenis, envy Caenis, and then aspire to be like Caenis.

Atalanta struggled to endure, striving to keep her love and care from souring.