The corridor outside Tamamo's private wing was deathly silent except for the soft click of two sets of heels.
Rows of maids in black-and-crimson uniforms and butlers with silver tails bowed in perfect synchronization as the nine-tailed princess and the ice prodigy passed, hands loosely entwined. No one lifted their gaze. Everyone knew the rules: when the Young Miss and Lady Frostborn walked like this (fingers laced, tails brushing, faint smiles that promised ruin), the entire wing was off-limits until further notice.
The double doors (obsidian carved with scenes of writhing lovers) swung open on silent hinges and sealed behind them with a low, resonant boom.
Crimson hellfire sconces flickered to life the moment the lock clicked.
The bedchamber was obscene in its luxury: a vaulted ceiling dripping with black crystal chandeliers that chimed like distant moans, walls paneled in bloodwood and mirrored glass that reflected every angle, and in the center a bed large enough for an orgy of twenty (black silk sheets already turned down, pillows embroidered with the nine-tailed crest).
Tamamo turned the key slowly, deliberately, golden eyes never leaving Seraphine.
Seraphine's voice came out husky, teasing, almost a purr.
"Locking the door already, sister? Someone's hungry."
She reached behind her neck and pulled the single silver clasp. Her ice-blue dress sighed to the floor in one fluid motion, pooling like frozen water. Moon-pale skin glowed under the hellfire light (full, heavy breasts with nipples the color of frost-kissed roses, already peaked and begging; a narrow waist that flared into hips made for bruising grips; and between her thighs, a perfectly smooth, flushed pink pussy already glistening, a single bead of arousal tracing a slow path down the inside of her leg).
Tamamo's tails flared wide, nine silver-white plumes shimmering with inner fire.
She didn't speak.
She simply let her own uniform burn away in a ripple of golden foxfire (fabric igniting and dissolving into harmless sparks that rained around her feet). The blazer, the pleated skirt, the black lace lingerie (everything gone in a heartbeat). What remained was breathtaking: sun-kissed skin, breasts even heavier than Seraphine's, pierced with delicate golden rings that chimed softly when she breathed; a toned stomach leading down to wide, fertile hips; and a dripping, swollen pussy framed by a neatly trimmed silver landing strip, slick already coating her inner thighs and threatening to drip onto the marble.
They stood three steps apart, naked, eyes locked.
Lust crackled like static.
Love (ancient, possessive, unbreakable) glowed beneath it.
Then the distance vanished.
Seraphine lunged first; Tamamo met her halfway. They collided hard enough to stagger back a step, mouths fusing in a kiss that was all teeth and tongue and desperation. Saliva spilled instantly, dripping down chins, coating lips as they devoured each other. Seraphine's ice-cold fingers found Tamamo's soaked heat and plunged in without warning (three fingers, then four, curling hard against that spot that made the fox princess's knees buckle). Tamamo snarled into the kiss and answered with equal brutality, sliding three clawed digits into Seraphine's dripping cunt, thumb grinding mercilessly over her clit.
They finger-fucked standing in the middle of the room (hips rolling in perfect sync, breasts crushed together, nipples dragging sparks of pleasure with every breath). Wet, obscene sounds filled the chamber: squelch, slap, moan, gasp (echoing off mirrors that showed every angle of their debauchery): tails wrapping around Seraphine's waist, frost mist curling around Tamamo's thighs, melting against burning skin.
Tamamo broke the kiss first, gasping, golden eyes glowing like molten metal.
"Bed. Now."
She shoved Seraphine backward. They stumbled together, mouths reconnecting, fingers never stopping, until the backs of Seraphine's knees hit the mattress and they fell in a tangle of limbs and tails and frost-kissed moans.
The bed accepted them like it had been waiting centuries.
Girl's week had begun (and the mansion staff outside quietly adjusted their schedules, knowing no one would see either woman until they were sated, marked, and glowing).
Possibly days
The carriage thundered down the crimson road like a black comet, hell-stallions snorting fire, wheels spitting sparks.
Inside, the air was pure sin.
Ace had his succubus flat on her back in full missionary, knees pushed to her shoulders, cock buried to the hilt with every brutal thrust. His mouth latched onto one leaking nipple, sucking hard while his balls slapped her ass in wet, relentless rhythm (smack-smack-smack-smack). Her wings flapped uselessly against the velvet bench, tail wrapped around his thigh, begging in broken moans.
Kai had folded his succubus almost in half, ankles over his shoulders, pounding so deep her eyes rolled white. He kissed her sloppy and savage, tongue fucking her mouth in time with his hips, drool and pre-cum mixing on their chins.
Riven's succubus was pinned beneath his full weight, legs spread impossibly wide, frost and water swirling around them as he drove into her with slow, punishing strokes. Every time he bottomed out, her whole body jolted, breasts bouncing, pussy squirting in tiny arcs that froze mid-air and shattered like glass.
Loud, wet sounds (slaps, squelches, guttural moans, demonic growls) filled the carriage until the windows rattled.
The grizzled incubus driver, Thorne Varg, eight centuries old, scars like canyons across his face, didn't even twitch an eyebrow. He cracked the soul-whip again and kept the stallions galloping toward Obsidian Heartwood, twelve hours of road still ahead.
Far ahead, on a parallel route…
Lilith's convoy rolled through a narrow canyon of black glass and bone-white trees.
Then the sky fell.
Twenty-one human cultivators dropped from the ridges like silent meteors.
Twenty Foundation-realm grunts in ash-grey robes, faces hidden behind porcelain masks.
One Golden Core leader, white robes fluttering, long black hair tied with a single golden thread, eyes cold as winter steel. His sword hummed with neutral-path qi (neither righteous nor demonic, simply annihilating).
The leader raised a jade talisman to his lips.
"Target confirmed. Lilith and two thousand fresh converts. Execute."
The ambush was a massacre carved in slow motion.
- Foundation cultivators flung chained detonation seals (neutral qi met demonic essence and erupted in blinding white suns). Hundreds of newborn hell demons were blown apart mid-step, torsos vaporized, legs still running for two steps before collapsing.
- Succubi tried to seduce; porcelain-masked cultivators answered with soul-cutting wires that whipped out faster than thought (wings severed, throats opened, bodies collapsing in fountains of black blood).
- One hell brute charged roaring; a masked cultivator flicked a finger (a spear of neutral qi punched through his sternum, twisted, and ripped the still-beating heart out the back). He crushed it like overripe fruit.
- Another succubus leapt skyward; the leader himself moved (one casual sword arc). She was bisected from crown to cunt, both halves hitting the ground still twitching, pink pussy leaking a final spurt of arousal mixed with blood.
In seventy seconds, two thousand bodies became a carpet of meat and broken horns.
Lilith alone stood in the center, milk and blood streaming from wounds, claws dripping.
She killed six Foundation cultivators (ripped one's spine out through his stomach, crushed another's skull with her thighs) before the Golden Core leader descended.
He was a ghost.
First slash (left arm gone at the shoulder, arterial spray painting the canyon wall).
Second slash (both legs severed mid-thigh in a single diagonal cut, Lilith collapsing forward).
Third slash (collarbone to hip, ribs flayed open, intestines spilling onto the dirt like pale snakes).
She hit the ground hard, horn cracked, one crimson eye staring at the slaughter of everything she'd built.
The leader raised his sword for the killing blow, face calm, almost bored.
Lilith's blood-soaked lips moved.
"Tamamo… I'm sorry…"
The emergency artifact in her tongue (a single black pearl gifted by the Patriarch himself) detonated in crimson light.
She vanished inches from death.
She reappeared in the grand throne hall of House of Lust, slamming into blood-marble with a wet thud (armless, legless, torso carved open, milk and blood pooling beneath her ruined body).
Butler Valthorne Greysoul, ancient vampire, silver hair, perfect suit, dropped to his knees beside her.
Patriarch Asmodeus Kain Veyl stormed in barefoot, silk robe hanging open, nine majestic horns circling his head like a crown of sin, eyes twin collapsing stars.
The temperature in the hall dropped twenty degrees from his killing intent alone.
"What. Happened."
Voice like the end of worlds.
Lilith, choking on her own blood, rasped the entire story (ambush, neutral path, Golden Core leader, two thousand dead).
Every mirror in the palace cracked simultaneously.
Asmodeus seized the communication orb with shaking fingers.
Heaven's outer gate.
A bored archangel answered.
"What."
Asmodeus's voice was barely a whisper, yet the walls bled from it.
"We had a deal. Neutral-path humans just butchered two thousand of my daughter's retainers. Explain."
Flat reply: "Not us. Humans are complicated. That faction answers to no one. This wasn't sanctioned."
Click.
Asmodeus crushed the orb to diamond dust.
Miles away…
The same twenty-one cultivators reformed on a ridge, watching the dust cloud of Ace, Kai, and Riven's carriage.
The leader smiled, small and cold.
"Next."
Word reached House of Lust in heartbeats.
Asmodeus exhaled a sigh that tasted like extinction.
"Valthorne… message my firstborn."
Deep inside an active volcano that had served as his training ground for six centuries…
Azrath Kain Veyl, shirtless, skin glowing with living lava veins, horns black as midnight, punched the air.
Inferno Demon Fist (Final Form).
The entire mountain range detonated.
His emergency jade lit up.
One line:
"Little brothers under attack. Neutral-path cultivators. Same ones that hit Lilith."
The volcano itself screamed.
Azrath's voice was the sound of galaxies dying.
"Who… dares… touch my brothers?"
The mountain range cracked in half.
Every demon within a thousand miles felt their blood freeze.