5th Day of the 1st Fire Cycle[1], 2000 g.c.
The atmosphere inside the Sycamore Tree had thickened—slowly, subtly, like a stew left to simmer in the shadows of tension. What was once a grand hall of sensual decadence and euphoric hedonism had now taken on a darker, sharper edge. The shift was almost imperceptible at first. But as the Duel of Dominance began to shape itself like smoke into flame, the air crackled with potential violence.
The once-foreplay-sweet scent of incense now hung heavier, almost metallic. It mixed with mana discharge the way ozone stung the air before a thunderstorm. The audience? Still naked, still high, still tangled in limbs and lust—but now, their heads slowly turned. Curiosity bled into anticipation.
Karissa Mbuzi and Ameera Una faced each other across the artificial battlefield, their feet planted at opposite ends of the spatially separated stage. The magickal dome glowed faintly with swirling glyphs—a barrier that bent distance and space to house the fight safely within the same room, yet far beyond reach. I perched on my conjured throne like a king of pettiness, popcorn in hand, waiting to see which of these wild women would claim the prize: Alex.
Karissa's posture oozed control. Her body was angled with the casual readiness of someone who'd done this dance many times and never stumbled. Her whip—an elegant artifact wrapped lazily around her wrist—hummed with menace. Her smile was wide, amused. Her eyes? Violet slits, horizontally aligned like a goat too bored to rush. She saw this battle not as a threat, but as foreplay—aggressive, intimate, dominant. She was already undressing Ameera with her eyes, the fetish of the event bare to see.
But Ameera… she was a storm of nerves. She postured with bared fangs, puffed tail, and defensive readiness, but her eyes—the sharp, byzantine orbs that so often shone with hope—betrayed her inner churn. Trauma left an odor, and hers smelled like scorched pride. I could taste the electricity of old wounds still crackling along her aura.
I glanced toward Alex.
The poor kid was sitting up straight on the pedestal I'd poofed him into, clearly unsure of what emotion to display. His fists were clenched on his lap, his face rigid, but his eyes betrayed his heart. He wanted to shout for her. He wanted to be her reason to win.
"Yo, Ameera, you don't have to do this for me, you know?"
She tilted her head slightly, confusion in her narrowed gaze. "Huh?"
I leaned over from my velvet throne, mouth full of popcorn. "Guess you don't know much about women, huh, Alex?"
"What's that supposed to mean, Xi?"
I grinned. "Nothing. But don't act like you don't know that girl likes you."
He blinked, mouth halfway open as if mid-denial—but stopped. "I… I mean, yeah, you're right. I was just trying to keep focus on Dad's killer."
"Focus, huh?" I said, smirking. "Yeah, I get it. But don't disrespect the girl's pride like that."
Alex gave a nod, small but significant. His jaw set tighter, and he turned his full attention back to the ring, eyes warming with something stronger than duty.
Karissa caught his look and grinned wider. She must've loved this. She was salivating now, literally—drool glistened at the corners of her smirking lips. She cracked her neck and lifted her whip, letting it trail along the floor like a lazy snake. Caprigyne culture was steeped in blood, power, and sensual violence. She was getting off on the fight.
Ameera tried to bare her fangs, but she wasn't fooling me. I saw through the posture. Her last real fight still haunted her—against Kiranna. That beatdown was an open wound in her psyche. Ameera had guts, yeah, and she made a hell of a leap to help her dad and her people. But she wasn't ready. Not fully. She'd been thrown into the deep end before learning how to tread water, and the trauma still rippled under the surface.
Then my eyes went back to that whip.
"Ayo, Sugar Tits, where you get that whip from? That's a gorgeous artifact."
Karissa's ears twitched, eyes flicking toward me. "You have a fine eye, Oni. To think one of your kind would be educated in artifacts."
I raised a brow. "My kind? What the fuck does that mean?"
She chuckled, running her fingers along the leather coils of the whip like it was a lover. "This beauty is called Whisperscourge. It's the ancestral weapon of the Mbuzi Clan—passed down for centuries to only the strongest Clanmistress. It sings pain into the bones and carves obedience into the flesh."
That made me pause. Because then I noticed something else—Ameera had no weapon.
"Ayo, Ameera, where's your blade or stick?"
She gave a half-laugh, though her voice trembled beneath it. "More jokes, Lord Xiro? Would you or Lord Alex like to help me out with that?"
"Oh, I got you," I murmured.
While Karissa tossed her whip into the air with a flourish, I connected a thread of mana between my hand and the battlefield. [Moon Sage: Tsukuyomi] had finished scanning the structure of the space. With [Dimensional Detection], I pinged Ameera's mana signature—found her like a heartbeat in the dark.
A white ripple opened like a small portal above her, the soft hum of spatial hyperspace whispering into existence. I flicked a shard of Omnis Mana into it, shaping the raw potential into a weapon mid-flight.
It shimmered—a double-edged longsword, clean and silver with traces of moonlight blue glowing at its center. As it formed fully in front of her, Ameera caught it by the handle, as if instinct had told her it would come. She held it for a moment, tested the weight, and then slid into a combat stance that told me one thing:
Her father, the Electric Blade of Velonica, had definitely taught his daughter how to use that bitch. The second she gripped, her entire presence changed. Her mana pulsed brighter, sharper. The doubt didn't vanish—but it got buried under something stronger.
"You have my thanks, my lord," she said, not breaking eye contact with Karissa.
"Let's go, Ameera! Show her what you can do!"
That was Alex, finding his voice.
I grinned and thought to myself, "That's right, Cuzzo. You gotta root for your woman."
Ameera didn't hesitate after that. With a rallying cry that echoed across the spatial chamber, she charged like lightning reborn. Her feet exploded off the ground, and the new sword buzzed with electricity as it drew lines of blue fire in the air. She closed the distance in a blur of power.
But Karissa didn't flinch. She flicked her wrist casually, snapping Whisperscourge through the air. The bladed tip met Ameera mid-sprint. She parried—barely—but the whip had a second surprise.
A rush of Wind Mana detonated from the impact point, like a hurricane condensed into a single breath. Ameera was ripped off her feet by invisible blades of air and flung backward like a ragdoll.
"UGAHHH!!!"
She was ripped off her feet, flying back like a leaf in a storm. Gravity caught her and smashed her into the ground hard enough to leave a shallow crater.
"Ameera!!"
Dream gasped. "Oh no!"
Karissa's laughter was syrupy. "Hehehe. How do you like my weapon's ability? Sonic Winds allows even a Caprigyne to use mana like a wizard or M-Cee."
Ameera struggled to her knees. I didn't need a system prompt—I could see her mana flaring erratically, her body leaking stamina like a cracked dam. She was at half-health, maybe less. Her defensive stats were trash, and she wasn't a tank or a barrier user. She should've stayed at range and cast her spells. Why was she forcing close combat? The shit was odd to me.
But then... her teeth gritted, and her mana flared again.
"I am the daughter of Melech Una. Allow me to show you the strength of my clan. Fear the fangs—Art of Una: Ranga's Bite!"
Crackling arcs of electricity flooded her sword, then wrapped around her whole body. The storm she carried lit her fur like lightning in motion. Then she vanished. Blink-fast, bouncing from one side of the arena to the next in a trail of flickering sparks. A zigzag bolt looking to strike from above.
But Karissa was a veteran. With a twist of her torso, she spun Whisperscourge above her head like a shield, then flared it outward.
"A bite of honey—Art of Ravonna: Crimson Spiral Fang."
The whip's tip fractured mid-spin, sending its segmented blades out like saw teeth in a swirling red tornado. It met Ameera mid-dash with a screech of clashing arts. The Vulpin crashed into the defense, shredded across her arms, legs, and face before being thrown like a doll into the far end of the arena. She slammed into an invisible wall and crumpled.
"Damnit. Ameera, get up!" Dream called out.
"Ameera!" Nicole echoed.
"Shit. She's in trouble." Alex muttered.
Everyone felt it. That clash—just two moves—proved the skill gap. Karissa had experience and mastery. Ameera had spirit. But sometimes, that just ain't enough.
"Pathetic little girl," Karissa sneered. "Pretending to be a Sword Singer."
But damn if that fox didn't have fight in her spirit. Her body twitched. Broken. Bleeding. Still trying to get up. I saw it in Karissa's eyes—the respect. Her ears twitched, and she bleated lightly.
"A warrior spirit deserves a warrior death."
Alex's voice hit me through the [Telepathy] link like a fist.
"Yo, Xi..."
"I'm already on it. Get ready."
Karissa began the finishing motion. Whisperscourge twirled, slicing arcs through the floor and air. She spun on her heel and lashed it out toward Ameera's skull.
That's when Alex and I moved.
With a snap of my fingers and a twist of space, I warped him into the arena. Simultaneously, I used [Smooth Operator] to slide into the bubble behind him. At the last moment, Alex appeared like a ghost of wind and shadow, grabbing the tip of the whip mid-swing.
"That's enough."
Karissa's shock was genuine. She blinked. "How the... Tengu, what do you think you're doing? Remove yourself from my duel."
"I said that's enough." His voice was steel.
Her jaw clenched. For a moment, the smugness vanished, replaced by something rare in Karissa—uncertainty. Not fear. Not yet. But surprise with sharp edges.
With a fierce tug, Alex ripped the whip from her grip. She gasped, staggered. I was already kneeling beside Ameera's twitching body, watching her muscles fire involuntarily.
She'd trained. Hard. This wasn't beginner stuff. Her instincts, even unconscious, wanted to keep fighting.
I snapped my fingers and summoned a bubble of warm gold—[Yang Mana Arts: Recovery Sphere]. Light bent around it like sun through honey, bathing her in a 360° field of regeneration.
"Ugghh, damn..." she muttered, groggy.
"Looks like she needs a second to breathe," I said. "Yo, Alexander, I'll be subbing in for her. You see about your new follower."
"You're just going to take the battle like that? I wanna fight, too."
"You wanna fight me for this?" I asked with a devilish grin.
He groaned. "You're annoying sometimes, bro."
"Here you go."
Using a soft magnetic grip of telekinesis, I lifted Ameera's body and gently flung her into Alex's arms. He caught her easily, a look of gentle worry softening his features. I waved my hand, sending them both through a portal that dropped them back outside the arena, near Dream and Nicole.
"Is she okay?" Dream asked.
"Yeah. I think she just needs a moment."
Nicole's eyes flicked with awe. "While she didn't win, it was impressive that she could use Melech's favorite attack."
"With a little more practice," Dream added, "she could be one hell of a Sword Singer."
Alex nodded. "She has real potential, that's for sure."
Dream smirked. "But now we get to see the Devil King fight."
Nicole folded her arms. "With Lord Xiro, this won't even be a battle."
Alex chuckled under his breath. "She's right about that. This is considered bullying, if anything."
The shift in Karissa's posture was immediate. One second, she stood poised to claim her kill, her entire being radiating dominance and ritualistic satisfaction. The next, her smirk faltered, eyes narrowing as she looked me over with a rising mixture of confusion and suspicion. She hadn't expected me to step into the ring—let alone steal the whole damn stage.
She tilted her head like a curious jackal, one hand resting on the hip that angled into her arched thigh, the other still twitching from the aftershock of her failed finishing move.
"What is happening? How are you just stepping in to fight for her?" she asked.
"I didn't hear any rules that said I couldn't."
"Such ego of a man," she scoffed, her voice curling like the lash of her whip, "to believe he can just do whatever he wants."
"It's only ego when I can't back it up."
The comeback dropped with a chill in the air. I was already enjoying myself more than I probably should've. Feeling bold, maybe a little high from the pressure of the three-eyed shades biting the side of my skull like ice teeth, I flicked my wrist, and with a magnetic pull, Whisperscourge lifted from the ground beside us and floated toward me, coiling through the air like a curious serpent.
I spun it once around my fingers, then tossed it back through the space between us. A streak of wind cut behind it like a sonic ripple. She caught it in a motion so graceful, I'd give it a nine outta ten on any circus runway.
"Returning an enemy's weapon is a foolish strategy," she said, unfurling the whip and giving it a sharp crack against the air. "You Oni are quite stupid. Who do you think you are?"
"Demon Lord Xiro of the Mikazuki Clan."
She blinked once. That was all. Then again. Twice. Then her brow furrowed in amused disbelief.
"A Demon Lord? Surely you jest. No way a Demon Lord would be found at a gathering of the Panty Raiders."
"You're all in my business, Pretty Tits."
She smiled, baring those pretty herbivore fangs like she was still trying to intimidate something higher up the food chain. "Hmm… If you are truly a Demon Lord, then this will be the perfect chance to see how I stand up against a top-tier Legendary Monster."
"Don't let me down, now."
My voice dropped low, gravel thickening the words. The seductive kind of danger that makes predators flinch and prey get wet. I could feel the smolder of Wind Mana coiling in the distance like someone heating up a blender full of razors.
Her ID Status had already told me enough. A-Class. Solidly strong. Seasoned fighter. Her stats were admirable, but compared to me? Nah. It wasn't even a contest. But Death's Mask was gnawing at the back of my Soul Core, like a wolf chewing through the wires of my restraint.
The thrill of it all just kept building—faster heartbeat, sharper vision, and this damn itch crawling down my spine begging me to let go and just play. So I dropped my defenses completely. No [Spatial Barrier]. No [Auto Evade]. Let her hit me. Let her show me her best.
"Don't be silly and hold back. You better give it all you got."
Her aura flared—green and silver streams of Wind Mana collecting at the tip of Whisperscourge like a tornado was forming right inside her palm.
"Then you shall feel honored to lose to my strongest attack. Art of the Bleating Wyrm: Drilling Eruption!"
Wind Mana screamed. Her whip spun, cutting the air like a helix of death, coiling like a wyrm waking up to rage. With one sharp crack, she launched it at me. The speed was impressive—hypersonic, bladed, precise—but to me, it looked like a slow-motion boomerang coming in for a hug.
I braced for the impact.
But then something shifted. Something intervened.
A ghost of a flicker across the chestplate of the Noir Empress. My armor didn't like my little stunt.
"Counter protocol initiated—target now hostile to papi."
"Huh?"
The instant the artifact's tip touched my body, the embedded skill [Karma's Return] activated. I didn't even command it—it just triggered, flipping her attack like a divine bitch slap from the universe itself.
The whip reversed direction midair at double the velocity. Karissa never saw it coming.
CRACK.
The bladed tip buried itself between her eyes with surgical violence, and the Wind Mana exploded inside her skull. Her eyes rolled upward as blood sprayed from the back of her head in a burst of red mist and gray matter.
She didn't scream. She didn't even blink. One second, she was confident. The next—dead.
Her long, goat-legged frame crumpled into a heap of twitching muscle and broken pride. Whisperscourge clattered beside her, wet with bits of brain and mana residue. Just like that, it was over.
Alex blinked once. "Just like I said. Bullying."
Dream shouted from the stands. "Hot damn! What just happened? How did she attack and end up dying?!"
Nicole tilted her head in awe. "I've never seen a Godwalker with so much power. He truly might be the Greatest M-Cee of All Time. Like...for real."
Dream snapped her fingers. "What even was that ability? I didn't register what happened."
But while they all gawked, I stood there, dead calm on the outside. Yet, in my head?
"...Tsuki, what was that? Who told you to interfere?"
[Moon Sage: Tsukuyomi] answered like a loyal AI butler. "That was an autonomous choice by Karma Nova, sir."
"...Karma?"
And then her voice, soft, almost childlike—but unsettling and possessive.
"Yes, Daddy. No one gets to touch you if I don't like them."
I stared into the nothingness of my thoughts.
"...Huh? Well damn."
I should've been angry. I wanted to interrogate Karissa—milk her for info, see if she knew anything useful about the Sycamore Tree, maybe see those titties bounce one more time. But honestly? The mask had me drifting further from "should." Her death didn't weigh anything in my chest. It didn't feel like justice, or cruelty, or loss. It felt like taking a breath and exhaling nothing.
No regret. No guilt. Just...
...hunger.
And I knew deep down, that wasn't simple me. That was also the mask.
As the spatial field shimmered and snapped back into alignment, I reappeared at the Sycamore Tree—Karissa's limp, brainless body thudding beside me like a sack of dead mutton. The laughter and chatter of the masquerade barely paused. In fact, the scattered crowd that had paused to spectate our little soap opera erupted into delighted claps and hoots, some even whistling as if I'd just performed a stage act. The absurdity of it all didn't even register to them.
And then, it happened. That shift in the air.
It was subtle—almost invisible—but I could feel it on my skin like heat rising from a devil's breath. A wave of arousal wafted through the atmosphere, thick and carnal. Some of the Imps in the crowd started grinding against the air or each other, their eyes glowing like cracked rubies, their mouths slightly open in awe and desire. The violence had turned them on. You could taste it—like warm copper and strawberries—sweet, metallic, and sinful.
Karissa's dead body wasn't a warning. It was an aphrodisiac to these freaks.
Meanwhile, across the platform, Ameera stirred. Alex knelt beside her, gently cradling her against his chest as she blinked up at him with eyes like a confused kitten who just woke up from a dream she didn't ask for.
"Oh, hey. Welcome back. How are you feeling?" he asked, his voice laced with that easy concern he always wore around people he liked.
"Huh…" Her tail swayed groggily. "What happened to me? Did I lose?"
Dream leaned over her shoulder with that sassy smirk. "Yeah, you can kinda say that."
"I think you did well out there," Alex said with a smile, tucking one of her orange-tipped ears behind her head. "And I want to thank you for fighting for my honor. That was really cool of you. I've never had that happen before."
Ameera blinked several times as her cheeks turned a redder shade than her fur. "Oh? Well… I… I just… Umm…"
Nicole stepped in with her soft voice, complimenting her from the heart. "That was an excellent execution of your father's Combat Art. You almost looked just like him out there."
"I have a ways to go before I could look as good as my father in battle," Ameera admitted, her ears drooping humbly.
"I don't think you're that far off. If you like, we could train together sometime," Alex offered. "I could give you a couple of pointers to help."
"Really, Lord Alex?" She sat up straighter, spark lighting in her eyes. "I just may take you up on that."
I clapped once. Loud enough to cut through the cutesy moment. "Oh good, Foxy Orange is up. Y'all ready to head upstairs?"
Nicole turned to me with admiration radiating from her. "Lord Xiro, that was amazing. You defeated her without even lifting a finger."
"Honestly, a nigga didn't do a thing," I shrugged. "She killed herself, really."
Dream tilted her head, still processing it. "How did she do that?"
"Trying to touch me," I said. "And my Guardian Armament didn't like that."
Alex's brow shot up. "The Red Queen?"
"No," I said, tapping my chestplate. "The Noir Empress."
Alex blinked hard. "Nigga, you have another one?"
"I have all three of them now. Remind me to introduce you."
Alex chuckled. "That reminds me, bro, I got a Bible of my own."
"Word, my nigga? Congratulations, twin. That's big shit right there…"
As we dapped each other up, Dream Flower and Nicole had frozen in place—minds clearly buffering from the last few things I'd said.
Guardian Armament. That term hit them like a slap.
While I'd tongue-kissed all three of mine and casually helped Mom with surviving hers, these two came from places where Guardian Armaments were fairy tale weapons—Genesis-grade tools whispered about in lore, not actually seen in the wild, definitely not by someone dressed like a stripper-slash-sage casually strolling through a panty-themed gala.
Dream gasped. "Hold the freak up. Di-Did you really say Guardian Armament? As in the Genesis-Grade weapons of legend?"
Nicole's eyes were wide as moons. "Like the ones said to be made with a real soul living in it?"
"Yeah, yeah," I waved a hand over my shoulder, already turning toward the stairs. "I'll introduce y'all later. Come on, let's get moving."
The two of them looked at each other in utter disbelief, then burst into laughter—not because it was funny, but because they had no other way to process it.
Alex helped Ameera up, letting her lean on him for support. The Vulpin girl blushed hard, ears twitching in embarrassment, and bowed her head low in thanks.
"Thank you, Lord Alex… for saving me."
I snapped my fingers—one crisp sound—and her sky-blue dress reformed around her body, replacing the tattered bikini ensemble she'd been wearing. Her tail fluffed out as she looked down in surprise, then up at me with a quiet nod of thanks.
Dream Flower returned to my side with a thousand questions bubbling in her throat about my gear, my skills, my bloodline, and my very existence. But I wasn't trying to give a lecture right now.
Before we moved, I waved my hand in a circle, summoning a micro-gate beneath Whisperscourge. The long-distance portal slurped up the weapon and deposited it into my [Midnight World]—a private storage dimension I'd made a habit of abusing.
As for Karissa's body?
It was still there. Lifeless. Cooling. And no one even blinked. The masquerade rolled on like her death was just another appetizer at the orgy buffet. That told me everything I needed to know.
She wasn't special here.
And neither was death.
Meanwhile, multiple floors above me—far above the carnage and climax building on the ballroom stage below—a secret elevator came to a silent stop on the 69th floor. Its brass-lined doors opened with a soft hiss, revealing the curved frame of a red-skinned Imp hunched forward, using her gloved hand to smear away the translucent, creamy remnants of a very personal encounter. Kiranna Roselett's jade-green bra armor barely clung to her breasts, the leather still moist from the heat of her activities, while her fingers darted quickly across her face, wiping the sheen of submission from her cheeks and chin. Her tongue flicked out, tasting a stray drop, then curling her lip in annoyance.
The softest click of heels against marble tile greeted her ears as she stepped into the lounge—and came face to face with a woman whose presence could freeze lava. Pale as bone china and dressed in a floor-length robe of indigo velvet patterned with faint constellations, Zawa Moon stood near the lounge's doorway entrance, watching the dark expanse of the masquerade through a small crystal ball. Her silver eyes gleamed like polished mercury, reflecting the light of soul-crystals glowing dimly from sconces overhead.
"Thanks for the info, Trixy," Zawa said, her voice as calm as an executioner's breath. She didn't look at Kiranna immediately, still focused on whatever she had seen in the ball. But her lips curled in satisfaction, as though she'd just finished solving a puzzle no one else in the room even knew existed. "I think I know just how to deal with him."
Only then did her gaze shift, locking eyes with the Imp. Her silver eyes scanned Kiranna from head to toe, lingering with thinly veiled amusement on the mess the Imp had half-succeeded in cleaning up.
"Oh, look who finally made it," she added, her tone like silk dipped in sarcasm. "I'm sure they'll catch you up inside, Cum Witch."
Kiranna rolled her eyes and strode forward, hips swaying like a flame daring someone to try and touch it. "Hmph. Whatever, bitch."
Zawa's smirk widened slightly. "And you got a little something white on the corner of your mouth."
Her words slipped from her tongue like venom dipped in frosting, sharp and sweet all at once. Kiranna froze mid-step, one crimson claw wiping the corner of her lip with slow calculation. She didn't answer. Her eyes narrowed into a leer so venomous it might've melted the skin off a lesser witch.
The two women stared at each other with the poised stillness of a blade about to fall. Magick subtly twisted the air between them—Kiranna's mana flaring dark and hot like blood pooling on obsidian, while Zawa's felt cold and crushing, like gravity wrapped in a dream. Nothing was said. Nothing needed to be. It was a cold war waged in glances and breath, a quiet promise of future violence.
Then the orichalcum elevator doors glided shut with a whisper, slicing their tension in half and leaving silence in its wake.
From inside the lounge, the sultry voice of Luvina Puff floated through the air like smoke curling from a ritual pipe.
"Hurry and join us, Kiranna." Luvina cooed. "We have threads to pull, and a Devil to amuse before he tears the veil down."
Kiranna's head tilted slightly, and for a second, all the fire in her expression twisted into disbelief.
"The Devil?" Her hips froze mid-sway. The flirt left her posture. For just a breath, the air felt colder than it had any right to.
"He's here?"
Zawa was forgotten. Whatever rivalry simmered in her blood turned instantly cold as her thoughts shifted to the one figure none of them had prepared for enough. Me.
Because downstairs, in a hall dripping in secrets, masks, and mana-charged lust, my team and I had just begun our climb through the den of witches, illusions, and ambushes. And Luvina, sharp as ever, knew the clock had started ticking the moment my foot hit their floor. She knew there wouldn't be another chance like this—not tonight, not ever.
They all wanted something from me. Power, favor, revenge, or something far more carnal. And they'd take it, even if it meant stepping over one of their own to do so.
But that was fine. I wasn't here to play by their rules.
This was my masquerade now, and this wasn't a sex party anymore. It was a countdown.
[End of Chapter]
[1] April on Earth