Blessed By A Yandere Goddess

Chapter 7: A Good Enough Mount

Ronan sat frozen against the wall, his back still pressed to the cracked plaster, his body screaming at him in ways that had nothing to do with pain.

The warmth was gone. freewёbn૦νeɭ.com

The weight was gone.

But the evidence of her remained.

The bite mark on his collarbone throbbed faintly, a bruise already forming beneath the indentation of her teeth. His hip, where she had been grinding against him, felt damp and hot even through his clothes.

And below his belt...

"Fuck," he whispered.

He was painfully turned on.

His summoned skitter watched him from the corner, violet eyes pulsing in that slow, dim rhythm. Its head was cocked at that unnatural angle again, like it was trying to understand what it had just witnessed.

"Don’t," Ronan said flatly.

The skitter’s jaw unhinged slightly, then closed.

Ronan pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes and tried to breathe.

Forty-seven days of hell and watching people die, then crawling into a shrine to bleed out. And finally, accepting a power from a forgotten goddess who had apparently decided that "divine pact" meant "I can touch you whenever I want, wherever I want, and you don’t get a say."

He should be terrified.

He should be furious.

Instead, his body was still straining against his pants, and his face was burning, and all he could think about was the way she had spoken against his throat.

"Sarael," he said, loud enough for the empty room to hear. "I know you can hear me. I know you’re watching."

No answer.

Just the faint scent of night-blooming flowers, curling through the broken windows like smoke.

Ronan laughed. A short, breathless sound that bordered on hysterical.

"You vanish every time I open my eyes."

He continued, staring at the ceiling.

"I blink, and you’re gone. I wake up, and you’re gone. What am I supposed to do with that? Huh?"

The skitter made a clicking sound.

Ronan ignored it.

"I’m not asking for much," he said, his voice dropping. "Just... stay. For more than five seconds. Let me actually see you. Talk to you. Figure out what the hell this bond actually means."

She neither answered nor appeared. Ronan found himself speaking into empty darkness, yet he knew she was listening, one way or another.

"No answer, huh?"

Ronan pushed himself to his feet, stretching his stiff limbs as he tried to shake off the last traces of sleep. It was clear she wasn’t going to show herself willingly for now.

"I guess I’ll figure it out later..."

His voice echoed off the cracked walls, unanswered.

The bite mark on his collarbone throbbed. The damp heat on his hip was already cooling, turning uncomfortable. He ignored both as best he could and focused on what he could control.

His summon.

The skitter still crouched in the corner, violet eyes dim, watching. Always watching.

"You," Ronan said. "Anything out there while I was asleep?"

The creature’s head tilted. Its jaw unhinged once, then closed. No sound, and no indication it understood anything beyond basic commands.

"Right..." Ronan muttered. "I wonder what happens if I consume something more intelligent in the future..."

He crossed to the broken window and looked out at the dead city. Same violet moon, same collapsed buildings, and same oppressive silence that pressed against his ears like water.

But somewhere out there, the forward camp waited. And with it was the exit gate.

Ronan checked his inventory one more time.

First came the food: four days left, if he rationed carefully. Then the water, two days at best. Next were the potions: seven minor, three moderate, and one major. Weapons? Enough. Ammunition? More than enough.

He had enough tools for killing, but he definitely needed food and water.

"I need to get out quick."

Ronan turned from the window and crossed to the dresser he’d dragged in front of the door. He shoved it aside with one hand, casually, like it weighed nothing. and stepped into the hallway beyond.

The skitter followed.

Its too-long limbs clicked softly against the floorboards, that eerie silence from before replaced by something more deliberate.

Like it wasn’t trying to hide anymore. Like it knew nothing in this building could threaten its master.

Ronan didn’t correct that assumption. He didn’t know if it was true or not.

But he’d take the confidence.

The fire escape groaned under his weight as he descended, the rusted metal flexing with each step. The skitter flowed down the side of the building instead, claws scraping faint lines into the brick as it kept pace.

Ronan hit the street and looked at the creature. Then at his own legs. Then back at the creature.

"You’re strong enough to carry me, right?"

The skitter’s head tilted. Its jaw unhinged slightly.

"That’s not a no."

Ronan walked up to the monster and, before he could talk himself out of it, swung a leg over its back. The skitter’s body was all wrong for riding, too many joints, a spine that curved in places it shouldn’t, but it was solid.

And it didn’t throw him off.

"Go," Ronan said. "Fast."

The skitter moved.

Not a run. Something faster. Its too-long limbs propelled it forward in long, loping strides that ate up the cracked pavement. Ronan gripped the creature’s torso, fingers digging into its too-smooth hide, and held on.

The wind whipped past his face.

Buildings blurred on either side.

It wasn’t comfortable. Every stride jarred his spine. The skitter’s unnatural gait made his stomach lurch with each uneven step.

But it was fast.

Faster than he could ever run.

The other city, the one with the forward camp, the one with the exit gate, was half a day’s travel on foot. At this pace, he’d make it in under two hours.

"Fuck yes," Ronan hissed, a grin splitting his face.

The skitter clicked beneath him, almost like it was pleased.

***

The ride was miserable.

Ronan’s thighs burned from gripping the creature’s uneven torso. His hands ached from holding on. Every few minutes, the skitter would change its gait without warning, and he’d nearly slide off its slick hide.

But they covered ground.

Mile after mile of dead city, then open fields, then more ruins. The violet moon never moved, but Ronan could feel the distance passing in the ache of his muscles.

He didn’t complain.

He’d carried supplies for three years. He knew how to endure discomfort.

As for his direction...

Ronan wasn’t guessing where to go.

On day thirty-one of the expedition, before everything fell apart completely, he’d done something that had seemed pointless at the time.

The expedition leader, an S-Rank named Garrick Russel, had handed out coordinate stones to every team leader. Basic dungeon navigation tools that pulsed when pointed toward a bonded anchor stone.

Russel had anchored one at the forward camp.

"So you can find your way back if you get separated," Russel had said.

Every team leader had taken one. And when the team leaders died, Ronan had looted their bodies like he had looted everyone else’s.

He pulled the coordinate stone from his inventory now. A small, dull grey crystal no bigger than his thumb. It pulsed weakly, a faint heartbeat of light pointing northeast.

Toward the city with the exit gate.

Three of the dead team leaders had carried these. Ronan had taken all of them. Two were cracked now, probably damaged in the fights that killed their owners. But the third still worked.

He’d been following it since he left the shrine.

The skitter slowed as they approached a ridge overlooking the other city. Ronan slid off its back, legs nearly buckling when they hit the ground, and crawled forward to peer over the edge.

The coordinate stone pulsed faster.

They were close.

The city below was... intact.

It wasn’t pristine, nor was it alive. But it was standing, with buildings that hadn’t collapsed. Streets that weren’t completely choked with rubble. And lights, warm, orange, yellow lights, flickering in windows and along streets.

"Why is everything suddenly lit up?" Ronan whispered.

The skitter crouched beside him, violet eyes fixed on the city below. Its jaw unhinged, and that low warning sound rumbled in its throat again.

"Something’s down there," Ronan said. "Something you don’t like."

The creature clicked.

"Good, I don’t like it either."

Ronan scanned the city, searching for any sign of the forward camp. The coordinate stone pulsed more urgently now, a rapid flutter against his palm. Somewhere in those lights, probably near the center, the anchor stone was waiting.

But the expedition’s forward camp had been dark when they lost it. No lights. No activity. Just bodies and broken equipment.

This was different.

Someone, or something, had turned the city on.

"We wait," Ronan decided. "We managed to avoid monsters on the way here, but I doubt we’ll be that lucky this time." freeweɓnovel.cøm

The skitter settled into the darkness beside him, its violet eyes dimming to a faint pulse.

Ronan pulled out his binoculars. He needed to be careful. He had traveled a long distance and, so far, everything had been safe. They had spotted a monster here and there, but his invisibility and the skitter’s naturally shadowed skin had been enough to hide them.

The coordinate stone pulsed one last time in his hand, then went still.

He was here.

The forward camp and the exit gate were somewhere in the city below.

But a city that was completely lit up?

The moment he set foot inside, he’d likely be swarmed.