Ten hours later, the Zhumo District was a hive of noise and motion. Earth mages raised walls from broken dust, hands aglow with arcane light, while construction workers hammered and sawed with relentless rhythm—already sealing the gaping wounds left in Seong-Ho's buildings.
J'Siah had been dragged off hours ago by district security, still screaming, a blood-slick mess of twisted limbs and shattered pride.
Inside Urbano's lavish office, silence pressed down like a weight. He sat slumped at his desk, both hands covering his face. The metallic gleam of his new cybernetic arm caught the low amber light, flickering like a dying flame.
Farrah sat across from him—still, composed. Bella perched on the arm of her chair, a quiet shadow.
"A thousand gold coins…" Urbano's voice was hoarse, almost a growl choked down by disbelief. "It cost me a thousand damn gold coins just to mop up a simple-ass fight."
"Urba, I'm sorry… I tried to—" Bella began, eyes wide, voice trembling with guilt.
Urbano raised a hand—sharp, sudden. Like a blade. The words died in her throat.
"No." His voice was quiet, but each syllable landed like a blow. "You don't apologize. It's not your fault. So don't say a damn word like it is."
His words cut like a thrown shuriken—fast, precise—but his eyes? They sagged under the weight of fatigue, not rage.
Then, with a tired tilt of his chin, he gestured toward Farrah.
"But you…"
His gaze darkened, mouth twitching somewhere between a grin and a growl. "You got a set on you. Walk up on my damn porch like it's a shelter, slice off my hand and my gun—and for the record, that piece cost me eight gold coins—and now I gotta swallow the damages like it's my damn fault?"
Farrah leaned back, arms folded tight across her chest. Not a flicker of regret in her eyes.
"I'm guessin' you want me to—" she began.
"However," he cut in, voice shifting from gravel to something slicker, smoother, "I'm lettin' you stay."
Her brows ticked up—not surprise. Interest.
"Not gonna lie. J'Siah's one tough son of a bitch. If you weren't here, I might be dead. Or worse—Bella could've been dragged into somethin' no one crawls out of."
His gaze flicked to Bella, then back. "She's already sellin' herself. But forced? Nah. I'd rather die. You stopped that from happenin'."
The respect in his voice had thorns. It scraped going down. But it was real.
"You got somethin', Reaper. Somethin' I can use."
Farrah tilted her head, eyes sharpening like glass. "There's a catch. You don't help for free."
Her voice was a slow curl of suspicion, velvet over razorwire. She knew this script—offer a hand, take your leg.
Urbano snorted, leaning back. His new prosthetic thudded onto the desk, stiff and deliberate.
"Not this time. The men from that night paid me back most of what I lost. You protected my investment." A beat. "So now? I owe you a roof. That's it. I sleep easier knowin' you're under it."
Bella lit up, all sparkle and syrup. "Wow, that's really nice of you, Urba! Thanks so much!"
Farrah didn't move. Didn't blink. Her eyes stayed fixed on him.
"That's really it?"
Urbano's face stayed blank—stone calm. "That's really it."
Then: "Unless you wanna be one of my hoes. Then it's 45% of what you make. Simple."
Her jaw flexed, but she didn't snap. Didn't bite. Just looked through him.
Saw the offer for what it was—the leash wrapped in lace.
"I'll pass," she said, voice clean as glass. "But thanks for the room."
"Suit yourself." He jerked his chin at Bella. "Show her to the only one we got."
Bella perked up instantly, blonde hair bouncing as she turned. Farrah followed, boots thudding dully down the hallway.
"This is so awesome! I finally get to have a friend here!" Bella chirped, practically skipping. "We can paint nails, do hair, sleepovers—"
"You make it sound like you're not friends with the others," Farrah teased, her tone light.
But Bella's steps slowed. Her gaze dropped. "I'm not."
Her voice barely carried over the muffled laughter and footsteps echoing from deeper inside.
Farrah blinked. Wait, what?
"What do you mean?"
"They don't like me. I try to be nice, but…" Bella trailed off, her words sinking like stones into silence. "You, Urba, and the clients… that's it. You're the only one who's really been nice to me."
Farrah's hand curled into a fist at her side. She didn't need to ask why. She knew why. That look. That ache. The quiet ache of being tolerated but never wanted.
Her voice softened, low and certain. "Envy's ugly. That's all it is. They see your beauty—inside and out—and hate what they don't have."
Bella blinked up at her, startled. Then her lips curved into a shy, blooming smile. "Hebrews 13:2," she murmured. "I must've entertained an angel… and made her my friend."
Farrah grinned, eyes glinting. "Yeah," she said dryly. "Good friends."
The room was cramped—barely enough space to pace without bumping a knee. Faded wallpaper peeled like old skin, curling at the edges. The bed sat crooked in the corner, its mattress thin and lopsided, like it had given up halfway through existing. A sliver of moonlight cut across the dusty floor like a silver scar.
Farrah stepped in, lips twisting. "Wow... I feel so loved and respected in this luxury suite."
Her sarcasm bounced off the cracked walls like the room was in on the joke. She swept her gaze over the sad little square that now passed as home. It was a far cry from velvet lounges and gold trim—but considering the chaos she'd caused, it was more than she expected.
Bella lingered in the doorway, hands twisting the hem of her skirt. "We never really used this room… no one ever made it that far." Her smile was small. Apologetic. Like she felt bad for things she couldn't control.
Farrah stared at the warped wallpaper, then at the bed with its crooked spine. Still, her shoulders dropped, tension unspooling.
"Eh, fuck it. Bit of wallpaper, sturdier bed... sprinkle some femininity and boom—instant home." She dropped onto the mattress. The springs shrieked like a threat, but held.
Bella's grin returned, brighter now. "Oh my God, my passivity's already rubbing off on you. I'm loving the vibe."
She plopped down beside her, the bed groaning again under the weight. "We could totally fix it up together. I even know a few enchantments—nothing crazy, but I can probably charm the roaches to leave you alone."
They both laughed—real, messy laughter that cracked through the worn quiet like light breaking through boarded-up windows.
Two years passed.
They watched bootleg movies in the dark, shared stolen sweets, tangled themselves in hair dye disasters. One night, Farrah messed up Bella's bangs so bad she had to chop it all off—Bella cried for an hour, and Farrah sat beside her, whispering bad jokes until they were both howling.
The other girls at the Oasis—once cold, sharp-eyed, territorial—started to soften. But it wasn't because Bella was sweet.
It was because Farrah existed.
A few tense stares. A couple "accidental" shoulder checks in tight hallways. One cracked mirror that may or may not have been a warning. Somehow, the snide comments stopped. Respect didn't come all at once—it crept in slow, uneven—but it came.
As for Urbano, things stayed professional. Barely. There was a balance between them—mutual respect wrapped in barbed wire. He didn't cross lines.
Not with Farrah watching.
Her presence was a warning—a loaded weapon that no one dared test.
But peace has a funny way of growing roots right before the storm hits.
And on one fateful day...
Everything changed.
They were out on the porch that afternoon, perched on the cracked concrete steps of the building, steam curling up from the bowls in their hands.
Branson's curry. Special made just for them.
He said it had some rare herb from the Musha Continent—something that made you feel like you were floating on clouds. The spicy aroma danced in the air, mixing with the scent of wet pavement and the faint metallic snap of old street magic clinging to the city.
"I can't believe you got him to hook us up with this," Bella said with a mouthful of curry, cheeks flushed from the heat.
Farrah swiped her mouth with the back of her hand, eyes locked on the street traffic. "It's not a big deal. Just a bit of persuasion."
Bella smirked. "Uh huh. Like how you used your 'persuasion' on the other girls to make them like me?"
"No. I used threats to make those hating-ass hoes shut up about you. For Branson, I used my famine charms. Big difference."
Farrah's voice was light, but the glint in her eyes said: Don't get it twisted. I meant every word.
Bella burst out laughing. "God, you're terrible! But that just proves you're a good friend."
Farrah's eyes softened—just a fraction. She didn't say anything. Just took another bite, slow and thoughtful.
The silence stretched between them, full of city noise and something unspoken.
Then Farrah broke it.
"Why not... come with me?"
Bella's chewing froze mid-motion. Her lips parted in a soft little "O." "What?"
"Come with me." Farrah didn't look at her. Her voice came low, wrapped in steam and hope. "Bella, this doesn't have to be your life. We can leave this place. Leave the Inside. Just you and me. Be happy."
Bella blinked. Her bowl dropped a little in her lap.
"But Farrah... I'm fine. You see?" Her voice trembled between comfort and something sadder. "I have you. Urba's not so bad. The girls don't mess with me anymore. We're—we're one big family now. Even if you and Urba don't see eye to eye."
"But why?" Farrah snapped, her voice suddenly sharp. "He whores you out. Degrades you like you're not even human! How can you be okay just... waking up to this? Day in, day out!?"
Bella didn't flinch. Just looked at her—quiet, steady.
"Survival." Her voice was calm, but it hit like a stone dropped in still water. "He does what he does so we can eat. Sleep. Live. Warm beds. Real food. Shelter that doesn't leak acid rain. All he asks is that we earn our keep. That's the trade. And if we keep the clients happy, Urbano doesn't get killed by his boss."
Her gaze searched Farrah's face. "It's not ideal. But it's home."
Farrah stared. Her jaw clenched.
"So you're just... okay with this being your life forever?"
Her voice was tight, coiled like a spring. "You know there's more than just surviving, right? You could live, Bella. Really live."
Bella took a shaky breath, then whispered like she was quoting something etched deep in her bones.
"The son of Lord Yahawah, Yahaw… He walked in human shoes. He wants us to walk the middle path. Avoid extremes—self-indulgence, self-destruction…"
Her eyes flicked to Farrah's. Soft, but resolute.
"This is the middle way."
Farrah stared at Bella, steam rising from their curry bowls like mist curling through confusion.
"You're quoting religious shit at me again," she muttered, eyes narrowing. "I hate how you do that just to make a good point."
"It's not just religious shit, Farrah." Bella's voice was soft but steady. "It's about peace. About learning to live with what you have, not chasing ghosts. Maybe even... changing things from the inside."
Then they both froze.
Footsteps echoed through the alley like a slow drumbeat of doom—measured, heavy, deliberate.
A figure emerged from the shadows. Hoodie. Leather jacket. Towering. Bella stood up to greet him, voice faltering. "Hello! Welcome to... the..."
Her words trailed off as the man stepped onto the porch.
Both women craned their necks, eyes climbing. The man was massive, easily 7'2", built like a fortress, dreads brushing his shoulders. His presence swallowed the air.
"Wow... You're, uh... really tall..." Bella choked out, eyes wide as dinner plates.
He didn't answer. Just looked at Farrah.
And smiled.
She could see her reflection in his glasses. But behind the mirrored lenses, something watched.
"Mmm... I like your eyes, woman," he said, voice like velvet wrapped around a razor. "You got the eyes of a killer."
Farrah's fingers slid toward her sword hilt. "Thanks for noticing."
"Whoa! Farrah!" Bella's voice pitched high with panic. "No need to get jumpy—he probably doesn't mean any harm... Right, sir?"
The man grinned wider.
Too wide.
His teeth looked like they'd been sharpened by something that chewed souls.
"Ahh, so you're the one they call Farrah the Reaper. And that must be your famous blade..." His eyes gleamed through the glasses. "Kurogane Tsukikage."
Farrah's breath hitched.
Very few knew that name.
She bolted up, drawing a foot of steel in a heartbeat.
"That's it," the man purred. "Give me something to enjoy."
"Bella! Get in the house, now!" Farrah barked.
Bella ran—no hesitation. Her heart pounded like a war drum as she vanished through the door.
Farrah turned, sword raised. The man hadn't moved. Just smiled.
Like a nightmare waiting for its next page.
"Oh, so the whore's your friend, huh? Maybe I should kill her. Then the rest of them—"
SHHHRING!
Farrah's blade sliced through the air—
—and stopped.
Two fingers. That's all he used. Just two fingers to stop her swing mid-arc.
Farrah's heart dropped.
No one's ever stopped that swing... not even a dragon.
His fingers barely trembled. His grin? Unholy.
"Did that make you angry?" he cooed. "Good. Let's put that rage to the test."
He slammed a fist into her stomach. Hard.
Farrah flew—through the air, through a wall, through two more buildings—before she crashed, rolling across broken concrete and coughing up curry and blood.
She groaned, pushing up on shaking arms.
"That bastard hits hard... If I hadn't gone limp when he hit me..." Her mind raced. Her instincts screamed. "...I'd have a goddamn hole in my stomach."
Then he was there.
In front of her. Like he'd teleported.
"Good reflexes," he said cheerfully. "If you hadn't dodged, you'd be dead already. And where's the fun in that?"
"Who the fuck are you!?" Farrah roared, wiping blood from her mouth, rage spitting from every syllable.
He blinked like he was genuinely surprised.
"Oh. You really don't know?"
He peeled off the hoodie.
Brown skin, sculpted muscle, tribal ink dancing up his arms like war paint.
Then the glasses came off.
And behind them—heptagram eyes. Fiery patterns burned in each iris like stars collapsing.
"They call me Mazoku," he said. "But you... you can call me Raiken."
That name hit Farrah like a jolt of lightning.
Her breath turned ragged. Legs shaky. What the hell is happening to me? she thought, her vision spinning.
"Ra... Raiken...?" she whispered.
"Come." He extended a hand. "Let's keep dancing."
FOOM.
He dashed forward with impossible speed, hand flying toward her gut again.
"Not again!" Farrah's blade screamed as it met his arm—splitting it clean down to the elbow.
The stench of burning flesh filled the air.
He screamed in pain...
...but his grin never faded.
"Good job, Farrah!" Raiken howled. Then his split arm reformed, snapping shut around her blade like a trap.
Her eyes widened. "The hell—"
CRACK!
His fist slammed into her jaw, sending her flying again. Her sword clattered free.
"You're not just a man," she gasped, body wracked with pain. "You're a fucking monster."
He walked toward her slowly, dragging the sword from his arm and tossing it aside.
"And you're... weaker than I hoped." His smile thinned. "Petty."
Farrah felt it—something strange in her chest. A tremor. Not fear. Not pain.
Something worse.
She charged.
A last burst of defiance.
He caught her by the throat.
One-handed.
"You hurt me," he murmured, eyes gleaming. "No one ever has."
Then his grip tightened.
"I thought you were perfect enough to let live. But... maybe not."
Farrah's fingers clawed at his arm.
He's… he's built like a fucking terminator… bones like rock! Farrah thought, right before Raiken slammed her into the ground like a meteor strike. Her vision flickered at the edges, dark spots crowding in as his fingers tightened around her throat.
Not like this... life was just getting... better... Her thoughts trailed off as her eyes rolled back, body going limp in his crushing grip.
Raiken let out a sigh. "God damn it... looks like she's out." His voice dripped with amusement, a sadistic chuckle curling from his lips. "But don't worry. I'll make it quick."
He reached for her neck, fingers poised for the snap—
—but stopped dead when her eyes shot open.
Black sclera. Blood-red irises. And pupils glowing pure white like burning coals.
"What the fuck…" he breathed, just before Farrah's fist rocketed into his face with bone-shattering force, snapping his head back and dragging his feet across the ground.
I couldn't even react… she got faster? Raiken thought, wiping blood from his lip. And then he grinned—wide and wild. "So good.~"
She stood perfectly still, her face calm, but those eyes—those eyes weren't human.
"Alright then, Farrah," Raiken muttered, "Let's see you handle—"
He lunged, a blur of speed and muscle, going in for a flying knee—only for Farrah to counter mid-air, driving her knee into the back of his skull and slamming him face-first into the ground.
Even with his face buried in concrete, he managed to wrap his legs around her neck and flip her over—but Farrah twisted from the awkward angle, grabbed his neck, and slammed him into the dirt with a thunderous impact.
"Okay, this is getting so—" Raiken started, but Farrah cut him off by grounding and pounding him, fists like hammers as she drove blow after blow into his face. Blood sprayed. Bones cracked. His face was a crimson mess. But still… he grinned.
"You're a fiery one, aren't you?" he growled through broken teeth, muffled by the street. "Just like I hoped."
He gripped her skull, and with a guttural roar, smashed her through a line of buildings. Concrete exploded. Steel bent. Dust and debris swallowed them whole.
Farrah kneed his elbow mid-flight, finally snapping his grip. His arm broke at the joint—but he laughed.
And then came the brutal exchange. Every time Raiken landed a hit, Farrah came back harder. Her counters cracked ribs, broke fingers, tore through muscle. His own counters landed—but hers were sharper, more devastating.
They punched each other at the same time, and the shockwave leveled the block. Windows exploded. Buildings crumbled. Sirens screamed across the district. The entire city was tossed into chaos.
And still… they stood.
Raiken's laughter turned manic, a crescendo of madness. Blood dripped from his teeth like war paint. Farrah stood across from him, battered, bleeding—but unshaken. Her face was carved from stone. Her eyes still burned like an ancient god's.
What the hell is this power…? It's not mine… it's primal. It pulsed through her veins like wildfire, a force so alien it terrified her more than the monster in front of her.
"You're the only one who's ever lasted this long!" Raiken roared, his wounds knitting themselves shut. "You're perfect, so fucking perfect! I should stop before I kill you by mistake but…"
He tore off his shirt, revealing tribal tattoos glowing like magma beneath his skin. "BUT I'M HAVING TOO MUCH FUN!!"
His body lit up, tattoos crackling with raw power. "One full-power attack. Just survive it. Don't die on me now…" His grin stretched ear to ear.
Farrah didn't move. Her black-and-white eyes locked on him like crosshairs.
Back at the Lustful Oasis, chaos was blooming inside. Urbano and the girls tried to keep calm, but it was like holding back a hurricane with paper shields. The rumbling grew louder, closer.
"Bella! Are you sure that's Farrah fighting a human? This feels like two fucking Chimerasylphs going at it out there!" one of the girls shouted over the chaos.
"It has to be her," Bella whispered, eyes wide. "But I didn't know she—or he—was this strong…"
Urbano gripped her shoulders, staring into her face. "What did he look like?"
Bella's voice shook. "A giant. Dreads. And his eyes… they had stars in them."
Urbano's face drained of color. "Mazoku… Why the fuck is he here!?"
Then—BOOM.
The entire Inside trembled. An impact like the fist of God. Silence fell in its wake… a silence so loud it hurt.
Bella ran outside before Urbano could stop her. "Bella, no!"
She stopped cold at what she saw.
Farrah and Raiken stood like titans at the center of a shattered cityscape. Both barely standing. Both bleeding from every inch. Farrah's arm was inside Raiken's chest, gripping what remained of his heart.
His own arm was inside hers… but had stopped just short.
Her eyes returned to normal, but the energy she wielded still radiated from her like a storm held barely in check. Raiken smiled with blood-stained teeth.
"Not a bad kill shot…" he said, coughing blood. "But… sorry to say… that's not gonna kill me."
He yanked his arm out. Farrah collapsed, face-first in the rubble.
"I've never been this close to death before," he murmured, heart already regenerating.
Farrah coughed, pressing one trembling hand against the cracked earth. Blood dripped from her lips. She rose—barely—but she rose.
"Even with a hole in your chest?" Raiken stared at her with wild reverence. "You're still standing? That tenacity... it's fucking delicious."
He raised a fist, ready to end it—
"STOP!!"
Bella jumped between them, arms spread wide. Raiken halted. His fist stopped an inch from her tear-streaked face.
"Please… just stop," she sobbed. "You won… Look at her… she's not even conscious anymore…"
Raiken blinked.
Farrah wasn't moving. The godlike presence was gone. Her body was limp. Hollow.
Bella began pounding on his chest—soft, trembling punches. "Stop hurting my best friend… please! Look at what you did!"
Raiken looked around.
Total ruin. Blocks gone. Lights out. Streets cracked and blackened. Nothing but silence and smoke.
And for the first time in Raiken's life… he felt guilt.
A foreign, sickening pang twisted in his chest. His heart thumped harder—not from battle, but something else.
"…Is she okay?" he whispered.
The crowd that had gathered stared in silent awe—at the carnage, at the warriors, at the girl who stood between them and stopped a god.
Some time passed before Farrah finally stirred awake. Her entire body ached like it had been crushed under a mountain. Every movement stung like fire beneath her skin. She sat up with effort, her breath catching as she looked down at herself—her body was wrapped in glowing, magical healing bandages.
I'm... still alive? He didn't kill me? she thought, disoriented and tense.
"Ah, finally awake, huh?" a voice said from beside her bed.
Farrah flinched. That voice. No... it can't be.
"You!?" she barked, scrambling to grab her sword—only to wince in pain.
"Farrah, no! It's okay!" Bella stepped in fast, hands up. "Raiken helped you! He saved your life—he got you A-class healing bandages!"
Farrah's eyes flicked between her friend and the man who nearly ended her. The confusion was a storm in her head.
"You saved me... even after trying to kill me?" Her voice came out raspy, thick with disbelief and barely restrained rage.
Raiken's usual grin was gone, replaced with a calm that somehow unsettled her more. "I have my reasons, believe it or not."
He glanced at Bella. "Can you give us a minute? I need to talk to her alone."
Bella looked unsure but nodded, giving Farrah a small squeeze on the shoulder before stepping out. The silence that followed was heavy.
"So what do you want to talk—" Farrah began.
"I want a son," Raiken said bluntly.
Farrah blinked. "Say what now...? Did I just hear that right?" Her voice cracked from the strain, but her glare was sharp.
"I want you to have my child. I don't know why that's so hard to understand." His tone was blunt—but underneath it was something else. Something almost vulnerable.
Farrah stared at him like he'd grown another head. "You're a fucking psychopath!" she spat.
But he didn't flinch. Instead, he held her gaze—and those star-filled eyes were working their strange pull again. She tried to look away, but she couldn't.
"Why me? There's gotta be a million more suitable... women out there," she asked, her voice low, confused, angry.
"I tried. Many times." His eyes darkened. "But they all died. The babies too. The Viltrum effect..."
Her breath caught. Viltrum effect...?
"You know what that is, right? You are a Viltrumlight."
Farrah's heart skipped a beat. "But how the hell do you know that!? That's not something you can just see—"
"I heard. Your rep. Said you were strong for a female Viltrumlight, so I came looking." He shrugged. "Didn't expect you to be working at a whorehouse, but—"
Farrah punched him square in the face.
"I'm no whore! I live here, got it!?"
Raiken's head turned slightly from the hit... then he smiled, his teeth stained faintly with blood.
"Yes!" he grinned and grabbed her punching hand—not to strike back, but to kiss it.
Farrah stiffened.
"That's what I love about you, Farrah..." He rubbed her hand gently. "Rough. Callused. Trained. Your entire body shows me you survived hell and came out swinging."
Then he touched her robotic arm. "Even this... it means you don't give up. And your tenacity... that drive... It's what makes you perfect."
He leaned in, his voice a breath on her skin. "You're the one who can give me the legacy I crave. A child stronger than both of us. This isn't a trick. It's all I want."
Farrah froze. Why do I feel this way? What the hell is he doing to my body? I don't know what it is but... Why do I feel so drawn to him?
The air between them was hot and tense. Every breath felt heavier.
Raiken stood, breaking the moment. "If you don't want to, I'll respect that. But I'll be back to ask again."
As he turned, Farrah grabbed his arm—her robotic one this time.
"Wait..." she said, voice unsure. "What are you doing to me?"
He looked genuinely confused. "What are you talking about?"
"Your... your presence," she said, heat blooming in her cheeks. "It's like it's affecting me. Making me feel things I shouldn't." Her voice cracked. "Every man I've fought—I never felt this. What's happening to me!?"
Raiken smirked. "Oh. I guess I make you horny."
He said it like it was nothing—casual, careless—and her face lit up with enough heat to set the building on fire.
"It's just part of my charm, I guess."
"You—!" she started, but instead of screaming... she pulled him onto the bed and climbed on top.
"Then make it go away."
Her robotic hand trembled on his chest as she straddled him. Anger burned behind her eyes, but so did something else.
Raiken's smile widened. "I can't turn it off like a switch..." His hands rested on her hips. "But I can offer you something better."
He slowly laid her down. "So... is that a yes to my offer~?"
Farrah didn't answer with words. Her grip on his arms tightened—not from fear... but a mix of fury and desire. I need to stop this... before I lose control... But she couldn't move.
"I said no," she hissed, trying to shove him off. But Raiken didn't budge. His strength held her there, solid and unyielding.
"I'm not gonna make it stop unless it's a yes~," he said, that toxic smugness dripping from every syllable.
Gods, he's insufferable... And yet... the heat in her wouldn't die down. His power crawled along her skin, humming through her like a living fire.
"Fine..." Farrah muttered, torn between surrender and rage. "But if I agree—you stay away. No surprise visits. No barging in here like you're ordering a kid off a menu."
"I'll let you raise them however you want. I promise. But we need to make sure it's a fair trade."
Farrah narrowed her eyes. "What do you want?"
Raiken leaned down, breath warm against her cheek. "If it's a boy..." he whispered something into her ear.
Farrah's expression twisted in shock.
"That's fucked up... but I agree."
Her voice shook, her body pressed beneath his, her mind a storm of questions and heat. She didn't know what this meant—what it would lead to—but the seed of something dangerous had been planted.
And Farrah... Farrah had never been one to walk away from danger.
That day I said yes to Raiken? Yeah, that was the first—and only—time a guy ever hit that spot for me. I mean, I had no clue how big a dude was supposed to be down there, but his? His was just ridiculously huge. Like, I could literally see the bump reach my belly button every single time.
It hurt at first—obviously—since it was my first go-around. But Raiken? He was super gentle with me, careful, like I might break or something. Seeing a guy who loved to fight be that sweet and cautious? Yeah... that's probably when I fell for him.
Then, once the pain faded... he got really, really rough.
And the wildest part?
I didn't hate it.
I actually, like... loved it.
I couldn't even stop myself from moaning, screaming his name the whole time like some kind of possessed girl. Raiken, being his usual toxic-ass self, kept laughing at the faces I was making, like it was some big joke. I tried to talk—tried—but every time I opened my mouth, he'd just keep plowing, and I'd just keep begging for more.
That's probably why I started working after that. Not because I had to, not because I needed the money from, you know, being a whore...
But because he said,
"I'm pretty sure nobody could ever make you feel that good again."
And that son of a bitch was right.
Ugh... I hate him for that.
Back to the Present
And honestly? Here I am, still thinking about it.
Still wondering if he was right.
Because even after all this time—all the other guys—
No one's ever come close.
Marla's face had gone completely red from the story.
"You… didn't have to go into that part, Farrah…" she said, voice caught somewhere between shock and awe.
Farrah just shrugged. "It's part of the story. I didn't want to leave it out," she replied, her voice sounding looser now that the most intimate part was behind her.
"So... that's how you met T'Jadaka's father? He seems like a very... odd man," Marla said, trying hard not to let the judgment slip into her tone.
Farrah nodded, her thoughts tangled in a messy knot of anger, desire, and confusion.
"Yeah, he really is. But... I can't say I regret it."
Her voice softened, trailing off as her eyes drifted to the photo of T'Jadaka on the nightstand. The child was a perfect mix—her fire and Raiken's unrelenting power..
His eyes, a piercing brown star just like his father's, held a depth of knowing that went far beyond his years.
"But... you never said what you agreed to. You know... if the baby was a boy," Marla whispered, the question landing heavy between them.
Farrah took a slow breath, her eyes never leaving her son's photo.
"You'll find out soon."
Then her voice dropped. "But we should get Castor's body out of the bed. I'll hire someone to make a coffin for him."
She stood and walked away, her steps slow and shaky.
Marla looked at Castor's lifeless form one last time before heading into the living room to begin the grim work—changing him into something suitable for burial.
The weight of it all pressed in on her as she gently tucked the blanket around his cold, still frame. Her eyes brimmed, but no tears fell. Not yet.
She knew the coming days would be a whirlwind: grief, anger, the unflinching logistics of death. And even as she worked, Farrah's words echoed in her mind—
the truth about T'Jadaka's father settling like a stone in her chest.