By the time Allen stepped out into the broken sunlight, the temple's stone doors were already weeping milky condensation, glowing softly with each breath the mountain exhaled. Behind him, the sacred womb he'd awakened pulsed steadily, its new priestesses asleep in orgasmic comas, their bellies swollen and glowing with quiet purpose. The air outside tasted different—lighter, but not clean. Tainted. The wind carried the scent of what had happened deep below. Not just sex. Not just cum. Rebirth.
He cracked his neck and adjusted the waistband of his trousers, still half-soft, cock gleaming from hours of worship. He didn't bother wiping it. Let them see. Let them smell what he'd done.
The first to meet him were the guards.
