Transmigrated As The Perverted Young Master

Chapter 227 The loss

Chapter 227  The loss

After the intense session, Damien slumped his sister's body to the ground. She was breathing heavily but her eyelids were closed, as she was in deep slumber.

And it was what he wanted too. If she was conscious, he would be in big trouble.

But now he was possessed by another problem. Dress.

"She really took all of it, didn't she?" he stood there, hands on his hips and mused out loud. "That kid's going to kill me once she finds me."

There was no doubt she has seen him. She could even find him with just only his smell. She didn't even leave him in his underwear. But he was not discouraged for he have plenty of houses to choose with.

He shot a glance at the peacefully sleeping naked woman, thinking about something. "What a mess!"

He then proceeded to walk towards the woman and simply swoop her in his arms and walked back. His destination was the house and he intended to give her a proper bed to sleep. No matter what they have done to each other, she was still his sister.

That love was always there and no amount of shit from her could waver that feeling and then he suddenly thought about both Serielle and Blaire and just as he picked her up, he just suddenly dropped her to the ground.

"Fucking bitch!" She groaned as she was hit on the floor but didn't wake up from her sweet slumber.

"What a mess!" he repeated his previous sentence and began to walk again.

Damien stumbled out of the place, his mind in turmoil. The chaos of emotions inside him was overwhelming, yet there was a strange numbness, a void he couldn't understand. He didn't even realize he was still naked, the pain of his loss eclipsing any sense of modesty.

Two weeks ago, he had spoken to her, laughed with her, shared memories of their childhood. And now, she was gone. The reality of her death felt like a cruel joke, something too absurd to be true. But as he looked at the lifeless surroundings, the place that once held the vibrant energy of his sister, the truth crashed down on him like a tidal wave.

"Why don't I feel anything?" he asked himself, his voice hollow. "Is this depression? Denial? Or am I just numb from all the pain?"

The undead still avoided the area, as if they sensed the lingering sorrow that hung heavy in the air. But Damien couldn't escape it. A bile rose in his throat, and he doubled over, emptying the contents of his stomach onto the ground. Tears streamed down his cheeks, mingling with the vomit, as the floodgates of his emotions finally burst open.

He felt a deep sense of loss and regret, wishing he had done more for her, wishing he had spent more time with her, wishing he had been there to protect her. The weight of his guilt and grief was crushing, and he sank to his knees, his body trembling with sobs.

In that moment of vulnerability, Aviora flew above him, her watchful eyes observing her bond. She held his beloved sword, Monke, in her talons, a solemn reminder of the battles they had fought together. The sight of his trusted companion brought a mix of comfort and pain, a reminder of the life he had lived before this tragedy.

But despite the pain, he knew he couldn't stay lost in his grief forever. He had to keep moving forward, not just for himself, but for his whole survival, too. He wiped the tears from his eyes, trying to steady his breathing. Aviora let out a soft coo, a gentle encouragement, as if telling him to be strong.

Then she came straight at him, dropping the sword in the midair and crashed on to him. Tightly embracing him with her wings. Her small body gave him comfort. The tears fell freely once again. He didn't even know how long he stayed there, locked in a tight embrace with his bond.

As Aviora's warm feathers wrapped around him, Damien felt an overwhelming sense of solace and companionship. She was more than just his loyal companion; she was a friend who understood him on a level no one else could. In her embrace, he found a momentary respite from the weight of the world, a comforting reminder that he wasn't alone.

The tears continued to flow, but this time, they weren't just tears of grief and pain; they were tears of release, of letting go. In Aviora's arms, he felt safe enough to allow himself to feel the full extent of his emotions, to confront the sorrow and the heartache head-on.

He didn't know how long they stayed there, locked in a tight embrace, but it didn't matter. Time seemed to lose its significance in the depths of their bond. All that mattered was the connection they shared, the unspoken understanding that passed between them.

As the minutes turned into what felt like hours, Damien finally found the strength to pull away from Aviora gently. He looked into her eyes, a silent gratitude passing between them. She had been there for him through thick and thin, and he knew he could always count on her unwavering support.

"Thank you," he whispered, his voice hoarse from the tears. "I don't know what I would do without you."

Aviora let out a soft coo, almost as if she was telling him that she would always be there, no matter what. She nuzzled her head against his cheek, and Damien smiled through the lingering sorrow.

With newfound determination, Damien got to his feet, feeling a sense of clarity he hadn't felt before. He knew he couldn't remain trapped in the depths of grief forever. Life was a journey, and he had to keep moving forward, no matter how difficult it might be.

He picked up Monke, the sword that had been a constant companion throughout his adventures, and held it tightly in his hands. With Aviora soaring by his side, he set his gaze ahead, ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead. Still naked.