I stayed on the floor long after Morgana's footsteps faded down the corridor.
The marble had gone from cold to numbing. My knees ached. My jaw ached worse—from clenching, from begging, from being used as her personal seat. Dried cum cracked on my skin every time I breathed too deeply. The golden light that sometimes flickered around my fingers now felt like a taunt, a shiny sticker slapped on a broken toy.
How is this my life?
I dragged myself upright using the edge of the bed. Legs wobbled like I'd run a marathon drunk. I caught my reflection again in that cursed mirror—the same one that had shown me "enhanced" Alex when I first woke up here.
Bigger arms. Sharper cheekbones. Cock that looked like it belonged in a premium JAV title. But the eyes… fuck, the eyes were still the same. Still the guy who'd spent entire weekends refreshing character gacha banners instead of asking the barista for her number. Still the one who'd apologize to NPCs in games if he accidentally killed them. Still the pathetic shut-in who thought "getting the girl" meant maxing affection stats in a visual novel.
I slammed my fist against the glass. It didn't crack. Of course it didn't. This whole place was built to withstand gods, not my tantrums.
"This isn't how it's supposed to go," I muttered to my reflection. Voice hoarse. "In every single one of those games, every doujin, every trashy isekai light novel I read at 4 a.m. with one hand down my pants… the protagonist wins. He levels up. He turns the tables. The girls who started off dominating him end up collared and calling him 'Master-sama' while they crawl."
I laughed. It sounded ugly.
"But me? I get face-fucked until I cry, get my own cum spoon-fed to me like baby food, and then I'm left on the floor like used toilet paper while the queen walks away humming."
I wiped at the crust on my cheek. Tasted salt and bitterness.
It can't be me. It has to be her.
Some kind of aura. Some High Sorceress glamour that turns my knees to water and my pride to vapor the second she enters a room. Some magical dom-sub cheat code hardcoded into this world's physics. Because if it isn't—if this is just who I am—then I'm cooked. Done. Permanently the bottom bitch in my own harem fantasy.
No.
I refuse.
I refuse to spend the rest of however-long-I'm-stuck-here as the cosmic butt-monkey who gets to stick his dick in goddesses but never gets to be the one holding the leash.
I'm going to train.
I'm going to squeeze every drop of this borrowed magic out of my veins until it's mine. I'm going to figure out how to make the golden light do more than sparkle like cheap Christmas lights. I'm going to get faster, stronger, meaner. I'm going to learn their weaknesses—the little hitches in their breathing when they cum, the way their thighs tremble right before they lose control, the exact second their eyes glaze over and they forget they're supposed to be in charge.
And when I'm ready… I'm going to walk up to Morgana. I'm going to look her in those endless black eyes. I'm going to push her down onto that same cold marble floor she left me on. I'm going to make her beg. Not politely. Not cutely. I'm going to make her sob for my cock, make her crawl, make her thank me for every degrading inch I force inside her until her perfect voice cracks and she forgets the word "High" ever belonged in front of her name.
I want to be the one who uses them.
Not the other way around.
I want them lined up on their knees, mouths open, eyes glassy, waiting for permission to taste me. I want Morgana's throat working around me while tears run down her cheeks and she whispers "thank you, Master" between gags. I want the First Circle to compete over who gets to clean me after I've finished inside the others. I want the Second Circle—the scary leather bitches with actual weapons—to drop their blades and spread because they know what happens when they don't obey.
I'm done being the joke.
I wiped the last of the mess off my face with the corner of a silk sheet. Tossed it aside like it had personally offended me.
The magic in my chest felt different now. Not brighter—sharper. Like a blade being honed instead of a candle being lit.
I flexed my hand. The golden light answered faster this time, coiling around my fingers like liquid fire before snapping into a small, steady orb. I crushed it in my fist. Felt the power ripple back into my arm, into my core.
Yeah.
I can do this.
I'm going to—
The door opened.
Not gently.
Five silhouettes filled the frame—taller than the First Circle, bodies honed for war instead of simple sorcery. Pale skin gleaming under torchlight. Silver hair braided with steel rings. Crimson eyes that looked like fresh blood. Leather harnesses instead of flowing robes—straps tight across full breasts, around thick thighs, daggers and short whips hanging from belts like jewelry.
The Second Circle.
The tallest one—the one with the jagged scar running from left collarbone diagonally across her sternum to disappear below her navel—stepped forward first. Her smile showed too many teeth.
"We heard you got brave with little Elara," she said, voice like a blade dragged slowly across stone. "Thought we'd come see if that spine of yours holds up when the toys have teeth."
Behind her, the others shifted—coiled, predatory, already wet between the thighs from whatever rumors had reached them. One licked her lips. Another cracked her knuckles around the handle of a coiled whip.
I straightened. Felt the new edge of the magic settle into my bones like armor. Opened my mouth to say something stupid and cocky, something that would flip the script, something like—
A sound like the world tearing open.
BOOM.
The entire Haven lurched. Stone groaned. Tapestries ripped free and fluttered like dying birds. Crystals in the vaulted ceiling cracked with sharp, musical snaps and rained glittering shards that cut the air like snow made of glass.
The Second Circle froze mid-step. Heads snapped toward the corridor. The scarred leader's hand flew to the dagger at her hip.
From somewhere deep in the complex—far below, far outside—came a second roar. Deeper. Older. Wrong.
Something that didn't belong in this perfumed paradise of silk and sex.
The leader's smile vanished completely.
"Intruders," she snarled.