The ridge was a jagged blade of black stone jutting above the crimson road, wind howling through the bone-white trees like mourning ghosts. Twenty-one cultivators crouched in perfect formation, grey and white robes blending with the ash-dust, breathing synchronized, killing intent locked down tight.
At the very front, on a solitary boulder slick with dried demon blood, sat their captain.
Lian Wuxin.
Peak Golden Core. Twenty-eight years old. Face carved from winter steel, long black hair bound by a single thread of molten gold that never cooled. His white outer robe fluttered like a funeral flag. In his pale, calloused hands he held a palm-sized jade phone (ancient model, cracked screen, still glowing with the soft light of one saved photograph).
The picture: a wedding scene twenty years past.
A breathtaking human woman in her early thirties, cheeks flushed, crimson silk wedding gown clinging to every obscene curve, silver fox ears peeking shyly through her bridal veil, nine luxurious tails curled possessively around the waist of the groom (an impossibly handsome demon with nine spiralling horns and a smirk that promised apocalypse between the sheets).
The groom was unmistakably a younger Asmodeus Kain Veyl.
One of Lian's lieutenants, a scarred, one-eyed Foundation expert named Huo Ba, crept closer, voice barely above the wind.
"Captain… that woman in the photo. That's… your mother?"
Lian Wuxin did not look up. His thumb traced the curve of his mother's smile on the cracked screen.
"Yes."
Huo Ba hesitated, then pushed.
"Then why in the nine hells are we taking a contract that is guaranteed to make the entire House of Lust want our balls on a silver platter?"
Lian finally lifted his gaze. Eyes flat. Voice flatter. The kind of dead calm that comes after you've already murdered your own soul.
"Because," he began, tone never rising, never falling, "when I was twelve, I fell in love with my mother. Not the childish kind. The real kind. The kind where I lived for the way her pink, dripping-wet pussy clenched around me when she came screaming my name. We fucked every single day for six years. Sometimes three, four times before breakfast. She said I was the only man who ever made her squirt so hard she saw stars. She promised me forever."
The wind itself seemed to choke.
Twenty hardened killers turned to statues.
Lian continued, clinical, merciless.
"Then one night I came home early. Found her bent over the kitchen table, moaning like a bitch in heat, nine tails wrapped around that demon's waist while his cock (bigger, thicker, veins like rivers of sin) rearranged her insides. She didn't even notice me standing there. She just kept screaming his name. Kept begging for more. Kept choosing him. A week later she completed the succubus transformation and left with him. Never looked back."
He closed the phone. Slid it into his sleeve.
"So every time I cut down one of House of Lust's dogs, I close my eyes and pretend it's him I'm gutting. Or her. Doesn't matter anymore."
Absolute, suffocating silence.
Twenty-one grown men (men who had disemboweled dragons, men who bathed in blood for breakfast) stood frozen, mouths half-open, blinking like innocent kindergarteners who just overheard the dirtiest secret in the universe and had no idea what to do with it.
Blink.
Blink blink.
Someone's sword slipped from numb fingers and clattered on stone.
Nobody moved to pick it up.
Miles away, inside the thundering black carriage…
Ace had his succubus pinned face-down on the velvet bench, hips slamming so hard the entire cabin shook, balls slapping her ass with wet, rhythmic cracks while she clawed the cushions and screamed his name like a prayer.
Kai was on his back, one succubus riding him reverse-cowgirl, fat ass bouncing, another sitting on his face, grinding her dripping cunt against his tongue while he growled into her folds.
Riven had both succubi stacked (one riding his cock, the other riding his fingers), frost and water swirling in a chaotic storm of ice mist and squirting juices, the windows completely fogged.
The driver never slowed.
Deep in House of Lust's shattered throne room…
Asmodeus Kain Veyl, nine horns dimmed to funeral black, sat alone on a throne built from the fossilized spines of fallen angels. The mirrors were still bleeding from his earlier rage. He looked… small.
He pulled out a private orb (one that only connected to a single contact).
It lit instantly.
A voice like liquid sin poured through.
"Asmodeus, my sweet, broken little boy… what's wrong?"
He actually whimpered (the Lord of Lust himself, whimpering).
"Mommy… I don't want to do this anymore. I'm tired."
A low, hungry laugh.
"Your father left for the Eternal Abyss Auction. He'll be gone seven days. Come home, darling. Mommy's bed is cold… and so very, very wet for you."
The orb hadn't even dimmed before Asmodeus Kain Veyl, Patriarch of the House of Lust, vanished in a pillar of crimson flame that scorched the ceiling black, silk robe already sliding off his shoulders, cock straining against his pants like it had a mind of its own.
And in a volcano a thousand miles away…
Azrath Kain Veyl sprinted across rivers of molten stone, each footstep exploding mountainsides into lava fountains, eyes twin dying suns, killing intent so thick it crystallised the air into blood-red snow.
Big brother was coming.
And the wolf (the real wolf) was laughing somewhere in the dark, licking crimson from its teeth, waiting for the exact moment all these beautiful, broken monsters collided.
The story was starving.
And dinner was almost ready
The bedchamber looked like a warzone of sin.
Black silk sheets (once pristine) were now twisted, soaked, streaked with frost-melt and foxfire ash. Pillows lay scattered across blood-marble floor like the corpses of overstuffed angels. The vaulted ceiling's crystal chandelier still swung lazily from the force of earlier screams. Every mirror in the room was completely fogged, some cracked from the sheer pressure of lust that had detonated inside these walls for the last six hours.
Seraphine Frostborn lay flat on her back in the center of the ruined bed, moon-pale skin glowing with a thin sheen of sweat and melted ice. Her frost-pink nipples stood hard as diamonds, chest heaving, thighs trembling uncontrollably. Between her legs, her smooth, swollen pussy glistened obscenely (red, used, dripping a slow river of mixed arousal onto the sheets).
Straddling her face was Tamamo Lyris Veyl, nine silver-white tails fanned wide like a living throne of fur and flame. Her heavy breasts bounced gently with every roll of her hips, golden nipple rings chiming softly. She rode Seraphine's mouth slow and deliberate (golden eyes half-lidded, lips parted, soft moans spilling out like honeyed poison). Seraphine's tongue worked eagerly between Tamamo's folds, lapping deep, nose buried in silver curls, hands gripping those plush thighs hard enough to leave bruises.
Love and lust hung so thick in the air it distorted the air like heat haze.
Then the private communication orb on the obsidian nightstand pulsed (once, twice, three times) in urgent crimson.
Tamamo didn't stop grinding. She simply reached sideways with one clawed hand, thumbed accept, and kept rolling her hips in that same lazy, possessive rhythm.
Valthorne Greysoul's voice crackled through, tight with barely restrained panic.
"Young Miss. Catastrophic news. Lady Lilith and the entire two-thousand-strong retinue were ambushed on the canyon road. Neutral-path cultivators. Every servant dead. Lady Lilith lost both legs, left arm, and half her torso. Emergency artifact triggered. She is currently submerged in the primary blood vat, regenerating. Estimated full recovery: three days."
Tamamo's golden eyes didn't even flicker. Her voice came out perfectly flat, almost sleepy, while Seraphine's tongue still swirled obediently inside her.
"What now."
One word from Valthorne (heavy, ancient, laced with dread):
"Your grandfather."
Click.
The orb went dark.
Tamamo dialed again without ever breaking rhythm. The new call connected before the first ring finished.
A voice rolled through like velvet soaked in whiskey and brimstone (old, amused, infinitely dangerous).
"WhatsApp, baby girl. You never call unless you want something… or someone."
Tamamo's tone stayed ice-calm, even as she reached down and lazily circled her own clit while Seraphine kept licking.
"Grandpa. I need two thousand fresh bodies. One thousand hell-forged demons, one thousand succubi. Combat-ready. Loyal. Immediate delivery."
A low, filthy chuckle rumbled through the orb, deep enough to rattle the cracked mirrors.
"Abyss Auction House opens its gates in four hours. Rarest stock in a century coming up for bidding. Come with me, princess. We'll shop, we drink angel tears from crystal skulls, we fuck in the VIP skybox, we fuck again in the slave pens. Bring the little ice princess too; been decades since I had a proper threesome."
Tamamo glanced down. Seraphine's pale blue eyes stared up, pupils blown wide with lust, mouth still working diligently, cheeks flushed crimson. Tamamo smiled (small, fond, predatory).
"Deal. Seraphine's coming. Prepare the imperial bed. And the chains. She likes those."
Seraphine let out a muffled, needy whimper against Tamamo's pussy at the word chains.
Grandfather's laugh was pure sin.
"Already wet and waiting. Hurry, baby girl. Grandpa's impatient."
Both orbs went dark.
Tamamo finally lifted herself off Seraphine's face with deliberate slowness. Thick, glistening strings of arousal stretched between swollen pink folds and Seraphine's lips before snapping. Tamamo leaned down, cupped Seraphine's chin, and kissed her slow and deep (tongues sliding, sharing the taste of Tamamo's own cum, soft moans swallowed between them).
When she pulled back, Seraphine's lips were swollen, chin dripping, eyes glazed.
Tamamo stood, tails swishing once. A new battle dress materialized in a swirl of crimson foxfire (black silk, gold embroidery, slits high enough to flash everything when she walked).
"Get up, love. Grandpa's taking us shopping."
Seraphine blinked, hoarse, still dazed.
"What… happened?"
Tamamo was already sliding thigh-high obsidian boots, sliding a dagger into each.
"Someone killed my toys. Grandpa's replacing them. Also, threesome. Move."
Seraphine just nodded, legs still shaking, and began pulling on her own ice-blue combat lingerie (frost crystals forming across the fabric as she touched it).
Neither woman mentioned Ace, Kai, or Riven.
They didn't need to.
Azrath Kain Veyl was already tearing across the infernal continent at continent-cracking speed, and when big brother arrived, the concept of mercy tended to file for divorce.
The girls had an auction to attend.
The wolf had teeth to sharpen.
And blood to drink.
The ridge had become a frozen tableau of death.
Wind died mid-gust.
Ash hung in the air like grey snow.
Every blade of crimson grass bent ninety degrees toward the east, crushed by the sheer weight of what was coming.
Then the horizon split open.
A vertical column of molten gold and obsidian flame punched through the sky, roaring loud enough to rupture eardrums. The ground for a hundred li spider-webbed with glowing cracks. Temperature leapt from blood-warm to furnace-hot in the space of a heartbeat. Rivers of lava erupted from nowhere and began crawling toward the ridge like hungry snakes.
From the heart of the inferno stepped Azrath Kain Veyl.
Three meters of living apocalypse.
Skin etched with glowing magma veins that pulsed like heartbeats.
Nine black horns spiralled backward in perfect symmetry, edges sharp enough to cut the concept of mercy.
Bare torso scarred by centuries of volcano training, every muscle carved from obsidian and wrath.
Golden Core aura rolled off him in visible shockwaves (black fire laced with gold lightning that scorched the air itself).
Nineteen Foundation-realm cultivators turned instantly to statues.
Jaws locked open.
Eyes bulged until veins burst.
One man's sword slipped from paralyzed fingers and stabbed three feet straight into solid basalt, quivering like it had been thrown by a god.
Another's knees buckled but never finished falling; he hung suspended mid-collapse, piss streaming down his leg in a perfect frozen arc.
Only one man remained untouched.
Lian Wuxin stood at the front, white robes immaculate, long black hair still bound by that single thread of molten gold. His face was a perfect mask (no anger, no fear, no life).
Ten full seconds of silence.
Two Golden Core monsters measuring each other like swords measuring throats.
Then recognition sparked behind Azrath's molten eyes.
He reached into the fold of his half-burned battle kilt, pulled out a fist-sized crimson orb, and thumbed the call without ever breaking eye contact.
Speaker on.
The orb connected instantly.
The entire ridge was blasted with crystal-clear audio of raw, depraved incest:
Wet flesh slapping flesh in perfect rhythm.
A mature woman's voice screaming in ecstasy:
"Yes, baby boy, fuck Mommy's pussy harder, stretch me, breed me, just like that—"
A masculine growl, breathless and laughing:
"Take it all, you greedy slut, every inch—"
Asmodeus Kain Veyl answered mid-thrust, cock buried to the hilt in his own mother, balls slapping wetly against her ass.
"Yo! Son! You melt the little shits yet or what?"
Azrath's voice stayed perfectly flat.
"Dad. The leader's name is Lian Wuxin. Ring any bells?"
A loud, wet squelch, a feminine shriek of orgasm, then Asmodeus's delighted cackle:
"Ohhh, Lian! That sad little cuck! Yeah, I remember. Cute kid. Thought he was gonna marry his mommy and live happily ever after, raw-dogging her every night. Turns out she saw my cock and forgot his name in ten seconds flat. I turned her succubus on the spot, made her my personal bedroom maid. Poor bastard walked in while I had her bent over the altar, balls deep, tails wrapped around my waist. Been salty for twenty years. Absolute gold."
The entire ridge heard every syllable.
Nineteen hardened killers turned purple trying not to breathe.
Azrath stared at Lian Wuxin.
Lian stared back.
One heartbeat.
Two.
Then Azrath Kain Veyl, the man who collapses mountains for cardio, lost it.
A real, uncontrollable, belly-deep laugh exploded out of him.
"Pfft, HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Holy fucking shit, Dad, you absolute degenerate!"
He doubled over, clutching his stomach, tears of lava steaming down his cheeks. The ground cracked beneath him from the force of his laughter.
The killing pressure vanished like a popped balloon.
Nineteen cultivators collapsed in a heap, gasping, coughing, some literally weeping with relief.
One guy hit the dirt and started rolling, pounding the stone with both fists, howling with laughter he could no longer contain.
Another tried to stay dignified, failed, and snorted so hard he choked.
A third just whispered "no way… no fucking way…" over and over, face in his hands.
Lian Wuxin stood perfectly still.
Face still flat.
Eyes still dead.
But the golden thread binding his hair snapped with an audible twang.
A single blue vein began throbbing at his left temple, pulsing in perfect time with his heartbeat.
Azrath finally straightened, wiping lava-tears from his eyes, still chuckling.
"Well then," he said, voice warm with amusement, cracking his knuckles until lava dripped from his fists and hissed into black glass on the stone.
"Guess this just became a family matter."
He smiled (all teeth, no mercy).
"Shall we dance, little cuck?"