(Volume 3 Chapter 10: The Devil I)( Volume 3 Chapter 11: The Devil II)

The morning......

Shin opened his eyes and begin walking with no emotion or expression.....

Shin didn't informed anyone

He just walked toward eslimya....

And then,
(So, are you ready? If yes then let's go in)

There was a portal to some other place........

Shin said : (Yeah, let's go bitch

I want my those fucking memories back right now i am tired...)

Eslimya and shin walked in the portal...

................................................

As they walked in,

Shin saw a empty black room in front of him....
(Hey, is this where you will help me get those fucking memories back, now i really want to know ...

Why i am in so love with her)

The room was not merely dark; it was an absolute absence of light, a vacuum that seemed to swallow the very sound of his own breathing. 

Shin stood in the center, his hands hanging limp at his sides. 

Shin: (Hey, Eslimya... is this it? 

This empty box? 

I didn't drag myself through twenty-nine days of hell for a blank slate.)

Eslimya materialized behind him, her presence like a cold needle against his spine. 

She didn't look like a torturer anymore; she looked like a curator.

Eslimya: (You think your memories are just files you misplaced, Shin? 

You think they’re waiting in a neat row? 

You tore them out yourself. 

You burned the garden, you silenced the birds, and you buried the girl. 

This room isn't an archive. 

It’s a mirror.)

Shin turned, his eyes—still haunted by the image of Yui in pieces—glaring at her.

Shin: (Then show me. 

Show me the face.

 Show me why I’m so hopelessly addicted to a shadow, and show me why... why I keep hurting the only person who actually reached out to me. 

tired, Eslimya. I’m so tired of the smell of ozone and the sight of her blood.)

Eslimya: (You’re tired because you’re trying to reconcile a God's hunger with a human's heart. 

You want to know why you love her? You want to know why she was the 'anchor'?)

She stepped back, and the black floor began to fracture, leaking a soft, pale blue light from beneath—the color of the flowers in his lost garden.

Eslimya: (Then look. But remember, Shin... once the wall falls, you don't get to choose which parts of the wreckage you keep. You have to live with all of it.)

The dark void of the archive didn't feel cold anymore; the air grew heavy, thick with the scent of intoxicating jasmine and something darker, like ozone over a storm-ravaged sea.

Shin stood in the center, his guard finally lowering. 

He was so hollowed out, so desperate for the "truth" of his past, that he didn't notice the atmosphere changing. 

He was like a man walking into a trap he had built himself.

Eslimya stepped into the light. 

Her golden eyes weren't mocking anymore; they were hungry. 

She had spent a month watching him break another woman’s heart and soul, and now, she wanted to see what kind of man was hidden beneath that porcelain skin.

Eslimya: (You think the truth is free, Shin? 

You think you can just march into the halls of your own mind and demand answers?)

She moved closer, her touch like burning silk.

Eslimya: (You’ve spent your life chasing a ghost, and the last month playing a game of dead house with a mortal. You don’t know what it’s like to feel something real. Not the obsession for the Blur Girl, not the guilt for the maid. Just... raw, divine hunger.)

Shin stared at her, his eyes unblinking. 

He was numb. 

He was so tired of the pain of the mansion that Eslimya’s advances felt less like a choice and more like a necessary surrender.

Shin: (If this is the way to the memories... if this is what it costs... then do it. 

Take whatever you want. Just give me the face. Give me the reason why I am who I am.)

Eslimya smiled—a genuine, sharp-toothed smile. She leaned into his space, her presence overwhelming.

Eslimya: (You are a fascinating creature. 

You’ve had loves, you’ve had lives, and yet... 

you are still so remarkably, pitifully untouched. You are a locked vault, Shin.

I am aware, you are a virgin...

 And tonight, I’m the one who gets to hold the key and two virgin would became one together)

Shin said: (What the heck?

 You are a virgin?

I mean, you are lust goddess so......)

Eslimya shouted being flustered: (Shut up, don't even say one more word..

You don't have any shame even if i am lust goddess i am still a woman and asking some women question like this)

Shin said: (Really? sorry i didn't knew it....)

Eslimya: (Remember i am virgin and i also don't know how to do this so i would be wild....

I am just going to do what i saw in human movies, shows , anime etc..

If you want memories back you have to make me feel awesome.....)

Shin blinked then suddenly he found himself chained with the bed...
(What is this?
Why did you chained me like this?)

Suddenly his eyes shifted everywhere and he got terified just by looking...

 The room was not a chamber; it was a cathedral of suffering. 

The walls were lined with the Cruel Inventory: shelves of jagged, cold metal instruments, leather restraints, and devices that hummed with a sick, magical vibration.

 These weren't for pleasure—they were instruments of debasement, designed to shatter the psyche as much as the body.

The air smelled of ozone, stagnant blood, and the metallic tang of fear. 

Chains hung from the ceiling like cobwebs of iron, swaying in a wind that shouldn't exist.

Shin’s skin went cold.

 He didn't see an erotic setting; he saw an execution chamber.

Eslimya: (You think the truth is free? You think you can march into your own mind and demand answers?)

She moved like a predator, her touch burning against his skin like liquid fire. 

She pushed him back, and the shackles—heavy, enchanted iron—snapped shut around his wrists and ankles, pinning him to a slab that felt like the altar of a forgotten sacrifice.

Shin: (What the hell? 

Eslimya, are you insane?

 You’re using these for your amusement?)

He stared at the display of torturous apparatuses. 

There were hooks, barbed restraints, and pulsing, vein-like conduits that clearly weren't meant for anything resembling romance.

 They were tools of absolute erasure.

Eslimya: (I told you. I’ve never done this. 

I’ve only watched the human records—the films, the forbidden archives, the darkest scripts of your kind. I’m just going to replicate what I saw.)

She hovered over him, her golden eyes wild and unpracticed, fueled by a terrifying, divine curiosity.

 She reached for a jagged, pulsating device, her grip clumsy but her intent lethal.

Shin: (You bitch! Those aren't from movies!

 You’ve been scavenging the deepest pits of reality to find this filth!

 You’re not just learning—you’re experimenting on me!)

Eslimya: (If you want your memories, you will make me feel 'awesome,Shin. You will endure whatever I’ve learned from those archives. 

And if you break the chains? The memories burn with you.)

She leaned down, her shadow consuming his entire field of vision. 

She didn't know the limits of the human body, and she didn't care. 

She was a Goddess of Lust wielding the tools of a torturer, and Shin was about to spend a century learning that the most dangerous thing in existence is a divine being who has no idea when to stop.

chapter 10...................................................................................

She didn't know the limits of the human body, and she didn't care.

She was a Goddess of Lust wielding the tools of a torturer, and Shin was about to spend a century learning that the most dangerous thing in existence is a divine being who has no idea when to stop.

The torture was no longer just about the iron and the hooks; it was about the collision of two realities. Eslimya, the eternal, cold Goddess, was suddenly experiencing the frantic, surging warmth of a human body—a body she had only ever observed from a distance, through the lens of forbidden archives and twisted records.

She hovered over him, her golden eyes dilated, her expression a terrifying blend of divine arrogance and bewildered, sudden ecstasy. 

She hadn't expected the sheer intensity of the sensation—the way his heart hammered against her chest like a trapped bird, the heat of his skin, the physical reality of him.

"Is this..." she whispered, her voice cracking, her divine composure completely shattering. "Is this why they lose their minds? Is this why they kill for it?"

She moved with a clumsy, experimental ruthlessness, driven by the hundred years she intended to claim from him. 

She felt every agonizingly slow, rhythmic pulse of him—a sensation that sent a shockwave through her immortal nerves.

"You..." she gasped, her hands digging into his shoulders, her claws leaving thin lines of red across his porcelain skin. "You are not just a vault, Shin. 

You are... so much more than these pathetic human records suggested. 

You’re massive."

She laughed, a jagged, broken sound that echoed off the cold walls of the void. 

It wasn't the laughter of a Goddess anymore; it was the laughter of someone who had just discovered fire and was intent on burning the world down with it.

"I don't need the memories yet," she hissed, her eyes glowing with a feral, possessive hunger as she leaned into the sensation of him. "I have a century to learn every inch of this 'virgin' vessel.

 And I will make you scream until the only name you remember... is mine."

She tightened her grip on the restraints, her movements becoming wilder, more demanding, driven by the realization that she could break him and rebuild him a thousand times over before the first year even passed.

The void had ceased to be a place of time and had become a dimension of pure, sensory overload.

 For Eslimya, the Goddess of Lust, this was not just an act; it was an archaeological dig into the forbidden.

 She had spent eons observing mortal indulgence from afar, but now, with Shin pinned beneath her, she was a frantic, divine child playing with fire.

She reached for the "Cruel Inventory"—the sleek, cold apparatuses she had scavenged from the deepest reaches of forbidden human reality. 

She didn't understand the nuance of pleasure or pain; she only understood the hunger of discovery.

"Look at me, Shin," she purred, her golden eyes dilated, her divine form glowing with an unnatural, feverish heat. 

She manipulated the devices with a clumsy, yet terrifying precision, watching his reactions with the detached curiosity of a scientist dissecting a rare specimen.

She arched her back, her own divinity pulsating with the novelty of the contact. "My... are they not magnificent?" she whispered, her voice laced with a mixture of ego and newfound, raw fascination.

 "They have never known a touch, yet for you, they burn. And here... between us... is this what mortals call the threshold of madness?"

Shin lay beneath her, his body a map of red marks and trembling muscles. 

He had long since stopped fighting. His face was a mask of hollow stone; he felt the bile rising in his throat, a constant, sour pressure of nausea he forced down with every ragged breath. 

He was dissociating, his mind retreating into a corner of the dark room, watching himself from the ceiling, refusing to acknowledge the girl—the maid—he had traded this for.

Eslimya was becoming unhinged, her movements escalating from experimental to chaotic. 

She was a hurricane of divine instinct, using the tools to push the boundaries of what a mortal frame could withstand.

 She didn't care that he was vomiting, or that he was losing himself to the pain; she only cared that he was hers.

"You are so quiet, my little vault," she laughed, a sound that grated against the silence like sandpaper on bone. 

She leaned down, her hair falling over his face like a silk veil, her breath hot and smelling of ozone. "Does it please you? To be unmade by a Goddess? Or is this the price you pay for a past you don't even remember?"

She increased the intensity, her divine strength overriding any physical limitation of his body. She was going "wild" in the truest sense—unconstrained by morality, biology, or reason. 

The room vibrated with the sound of her frantic, immortal pulse and the dull, rhythmic thud of Shin’s soul trying to disconnect from his skin.

He was being hollowed out. 

She was using everything—the tools, her form, her raw, terrifying curiosity—to ensure that by the time this century ended, there would be nothing left of the man who loved strawberry shampoo.

The air in the void grew thick, not just with the scent of ozone, but with the metallic, copper tang of impending violence.

 Eslimya sat back on her heels, her golden eyes glowing with a terrifying, fractured light. 

She looked at Shin not with love, but with the cold, scientific fascination of a butcher looking at a carcass that could never truly die.

"You’re too quiet, Shin," she whispered, her voice dropping into a register that made the shadows crawl.

 "You’ve retreated so far into your own mind that I can’t even see the flicker of your soul anymore. That won't do. A Goddess deserves a reaction."

She reached out, and one of the jagged, pulsating instruments from her inventory floated into her hand.

 It wasn't designed for pleasure; it was a tool for partition.

"I have a century to play with this vessel," she murmured, a jagged grin spreading across her face. "I wonder... if I remove a limb, do the memories spill out of the wound? Or if I divide you in half, will I find two versions of you to torment at the same time?"

Shin, pinned and shivering, finally felt a spark of something ignite in the cold, dead hollow of his mind.

 It wasn't pleasure. It wasn't even fear anymore. It was pure, unadulterated hatred.

"You..." Shin’s voice was a guttural, wet rasp, his eyes snapping open to reveal the pits of black abyss. "You shitty, pathetic goddess. You think you’re a deity? You’re just a parasite scavenging for a personality."

Eslimya paused, the blade hovering over his abdomen. 

She didn't look angry; she looked delighted. "Oh? The vault has a voice? I was worried I’d have to break your spine just to hear you scream."

"Kill me," Shin spat, his voice trembling with a rage that defied his helplessness. "Cut me into pieces. Burn this body until there’s nothing but ash. 

But every single time you heal me, every single time you put me back together, I will remember the smell of your blood. I will hunt you through every century of this void, and I will tear your divinity out of your throat."

Eslimya laughed—a high, shrill, echoing sound that filled the void. "Do you hear yourself? You’re a prisoner, pinned to my altar, begging for pain just so you can feel human again. 

You are mine, Shin. Not because I want you, but because I am the only thing you have left to hold onto."

She didn't hesitate.

 She pressed the edge of the jagged tool against his skin. 

She didn't want him to break; she wanted to see how many times he could be obliterated before he forgot who he was, and who—or what—he was trying to protect.

The void was no longer a room; it was an eternity of jagged iron, crimson fluids, and the rhythmic, sickening sound of Eslimya’s divine whim.

Time, for Shin, had lost all meaning.

 There were no days, only cycles of destruction and reconstruction. He had been partitioned, flayed, and stitched back together by Eslimya’s clumsy, maddening curiosity until his very biology had begun to mutate under the stress of her magic.

At the start, she was a predator, wild and unpracticed. But as the years crawled by, she became a master of his anatomy. She didn't just use the tools; she began to merge with them, her own divine essence bleeding into the cold metal.

She spent hours—years—tracing the lines of his muscles, her touch no longer burning silk, but a cold, clinical pressure.

 She spoke to his body as if it were a temple she was slowly desecrating.

"Look at you, Shin," she would whisper, her voice echoing in the vast, hollow chamber. 

"Two hundred years of this, and you’re still so... fragile. 

My own divinity is weaving into your marrow. Do you feel it? You aren't just a man anymore. You’re becoming my masterpiece."

She would lean over him, her form shimmering, half-goddess and half-beast, her breath smelling of the rot of his own wounds. She would trace her fingers over the scars she had carved into his chest, her eyes wide with a manic, possessive love.

"My body," she would brag, her voice thick with arrogance, "is becoming the only thing you know.

 My... are they too much for your brittle ribs? Does the way I move against you remind you that you are nothing but meat for my altar?"

She would use the cruelest instruments—the ones that didn't just cut, but unravelled the nerves—simply to watch him twitch. 

She was obsessed with the way he felt inside her, often stopping mid-torture just to savor the tightness of his divine-touched flesh, her movements slow, languid, and agonizingly deliberate. 

She was no longer curious; she was addicted to the total, utter erosion of his will.

Shin’s body was a tapestry of scars that pulsed with a faint, black light.

 He had long ago stopped screaming. His eyes, fixed on the ceiling of the void, were dead, empty pits. He was a shell. 

He didn't blink when she cut him; he didn't gasp when she pushed him to the brink of physical extinction.

Eslimya pulled back, breathless, her golden eyes dimming from the sheer exhaustion of her own indulgence. She had consumed him, layer by layer, and now, she felt the barrier of the "Lead Wall" in his mind finally begin to buckle under the weight of his trauma.

"It’s time," she hissed, her voice barely a tremor. "Two centuries of me. Two centuries of blood. Tell me, Shin... after all I’ve done to you... after I’ve turned your insides into my own private sanctuary..."

She leaned down, her lips brushing his ear, her voice a poisonous whisper.

"Did you enjoyed?"

Shin’s chest heaved—a slow, ragged movement. 

He looked at her, his vision clouded by the haze of two hundred years of systematic violation. 

He saw her not as a Goddess, but as a parasite that had fed on his humanity until there was nothing left to digest.

He didn't speak. 

He didn't have the strength. 

But deep within the black pits of his eyes, a flicker ignited—not of love, not of his past, but of a cold, calculated void.

Eslimya said: (So, i am leaving from here..

Your memories would be back under one day but for that you have to stay in this room and let them do whatever they want to you) 

After eslimya walked out...
(Hey, such a long time to see shin or rather my son)

Vol 3 chapter 10 end...

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