天天摸夜夜添添到高潮水汪汪

The man flashed a disarming smile, a hint of something deeper flickering in his eyes. He rubbed his chin in mock contemplation. "Hmm, let me think..." A beat of silence stretched, then a playful smirk replaced his feigned seriousness. "Nah, I\'m afraid not." With a confident swagger, he sauntered towards Pride, the lingering scent of another woman clinging to him.

Pride\'s frown deepened as she instinctively took a step back.

"Well, well, beauty," the man drawled, his voice smooth as honey. "What brings a pretty face like yours to a place like this? Perhaps you need something more...entertaining? For example…"

The man attempted to touch Pride\'s chin with his hand, Pride darted back, narrowly avoiding the man\'s intrusive touch.

"Don\'t you dare!" she spat, disgust flaring in her eyes as she spotted a strand of her own light blue hair clutched in his hand. He inhaled deeply, savoring the scent with a disturbing reverence that sent shivers down her spine. Reacting purely on instinct, Pride hurled a fireball at him.

Boom!

The fireball detonated against the man\'s raised arm, a cruel lesson for his rudeness. But Pride\'s smirk vanished faster than it appeared. The flames danced and sputtered, leaving his arm completely unscathed. Not even a single strand of hair on his arm singed.

An unsettling grin stretched across his face. "Feisty, I like that," he chuckled, then looking at his arm that just blocked the fire ball. "And also kind. That fireball wasn\'t meant to kill."

"But seriously… you need to stay here." With these words, he rushed toward her with incredible speed, his arm reaching out. Pride quickly retreated out of his reach.

His true target wasn\'t Pride herself; it was the spear he had thrown at her earlier. Using her magic, Pride conjured a katana from her storage space and gripped it tightly and prepared for anything.

She knew that the mysterious man before her was a formidable opponent. While he might not be as strong as Momotaro, whom she had fought in Japan, he likely possessed some magic or blessing that made him impervious to low-power spells like the fireball she had just used.

With a grunt of exertion, the man wrenched the spear free from the wall, his relaxed posture gone. He held the weapon in a firm grip, watchful and wary.

"I\'ll warn you one last time," Pride\'s voice vibrated with an icy threat, "Open the cell!" But the man only regarded her with a smirk that didn\'t quite reach his eyes.

It was clear Pride\'s outburst was less a threat and more a gnat buzzing around his head. "Why don\'t you make me, beauty?" His amusement seemed to spark defiance, and he lunged forward, the spear a blur in his hands.

Pride swiftly unleashed a single slash aimed at the man\'s chest, prompting him to react with lightning reflexes. The tip of his spear whipped out, meeting the descending blade in a shower of sparks.

"Too eas..," he began, a cocky smirk still present on his face.

However, the smirk quickly vanished. Before the last word could escape his lips, a blur of steel materialized from an unexpected angle, forcing him to twist his spear in a desperate block.

A deafening clang echoed as metal met metal, the sheer power causing him to stagger backward. His heart pounded against his ribs as he stared in disbelief at the pristine weapon in his hand.

A jagged scar now marred the previously flawless surface of the spear, a testament to the brutal force of the blow. This was no ordinary weapon; it was an artifact woven with a myriad of magic enchantments, though not his old Pelian spear, it was still an artifact tailored to his hand.

Disbelief churned in his gut. Either the blade in the woman\'s hand possessed its own potent magic, or she wielded it with a skill that rivaled his mastery of the spear.

"What\'s that sword called?" the man demanded, his voice stripped of its earlier amusement. His gaze, once playful, now held a keen judge\'s scrutiny.

Pride smirked. "It\'s just an average sword." she replied, the single word dripping with veiled defiance.

Upon seeing Pride\'s smirk, the man snorted, clearly unconvinced by her words. His posture shifted to a more serious stance, indicating that he was not going to underestimate her anymore. Pride also sensed the change and knew she had to step up her game.

The man\'s posture transformed; the casual stance evaporated, replaced by the coiled tension of a predator. Now, he faced Pride as an equal. With a blur of motion, he launched into a relentless assault, spear flashing like a viper\'s strike aimed for her abdomen.

Pride responded with a whirlwind of her own, her katana a silver blur deflecting the deadly thrust. This time, the man stood his ground, his body a blur of controlled movement as he ducked beneath the follow-up slash. But Pride was relentless.

Before he could fully recover, a diagonal slash arced down from above, targeting the vulnerable space at his neck. It was a move so swift, so unexpected, that only his honed reflexes saved him. The spear whipped upwards in a desperate block, the clang echoing through the hallway.

He took a step back, his eyes now filled with newfound respect. It was evident that this was no ordinary fighter; he possessed formidable skills. Keeping a bit of distance from Pride, he displayed a sense of solemnity and deep respect.

Gone was the cocky facade, replaced by the wary assessment of a warrior who had just encountered his equal. The way he held himself, the newfound tension in his posture, spoke volumes about his formidable skills. It was clear, underestimating her again wouldn\'t be an option.

With a swift, practiced motion, he lowered his spear, its blade gleaming in the harsh fluorescent light. The tip hovered a hair\'s breadth from the ground, a silent promise of unleashed fury. This wasn\'t a playful spar anymore; this was a duel steeped in respect, a dance on the precipice of violence.

His voice, devoid with any hint of amusement, with a newfound gravity, he spoke.

"I am Achilles," he boomed, his voice echoing in the sterile confines of the base. "Achilles of Phthia, Son of Peleus, Hero of the Trojan War. And you, warrior," he continued, his gaze unwavering, "may I know the name of the one who has earned the respect of Achilles?"

Pride\'s initial smirk faltered. Though not a warrior herself, she recognized the shift in Achilles\' demeanor - from amusement to respect. A flicker of something else crossed his face too, something she couldn\'t quite decipher.

"Pride," she declared, her voice ringing with a hint of defiance, "one of the Seven Deadly Sins."

Achilles\' smirk returned, wider this time. "Pride, is it? Then perhaps victory can earn me a reward. If I win this duel," he declared, his eyes gleaming with a challenge, "will you become my woman?"

Pride bristled. The audacity! "Too bad, Achilles," she retorted, "I already like someone else."

Disappointment flickered across Achilles\' face, replaced a moment later by renewed determination. With a burst of speed that defied logic, he lunged at her, the Serpent\'s Fang a blur aimed straight for her heart.

Pride retreated instinctively, twisting her body to avoid the fatal blow. Her katana met the spear in a deafening clang, the force of the impact nearly ripping the weapon from her grasp. But Achilles wasn\'t finished. Anticipating her parry, his left hand lashed out, a fist aimed for her abdomen.

Thinking fast, Pride slammed her katana\'s scabbard into his oncoming fist, the impact slowing it momentarily. It was all the time she needed. A vicious slash arced towards his hand, fueled by both anger and a desperate need to disarm him. Deep down, a seed of doubt had sprouted - this wasn\'t a mere mortal man, that much was clear. But Pride didn\'t believe that this man is the real Achilles.

The clang that followed was different. This time, the metal of her blade met solid flesh. But a sickening realization dawned on Pride as she witnessed the result. The blade hadn\'t cut through his skin, not even a scratch.

It had merely left a dull mark on his arm. In the same instant, a searing pain erupted in her abdomen. Achilles\' fist, seemingly unfazed by the scabbard\'s blow, had connected with its target.

The impact sent her flying backwards, her back slamming against the reinforced wall with a sickening crack. The air whooshed from her lungs, replaced by a wave of nausea as the taste of bile rose in her throat. Clutching her stomach, Pride crumpled to the ground, a whimper escaping her lips.