Eriri surged upward with surprising ferocity, shoving Seiran onto his back and straddling his hips in one fluid motion. Her twin-tails swayed like golden whips as she glared down at him, cheeks still flushed from the spanking but eyes blazing with defiant pride.
"You think you can just flip me around and slap my ass like some cheap heroine?" she hissed, voice husky. "I've drawn every position, every technique, every way to break a man. Today you're the one who's going to beg."
She reached down, small hand wrapping around his thick, already-hard cock, stroking it with deliberate, practiced twists—exactly the way she'd depicted in countless secret panels. Her thumb circled the swollen head, smearing the leaking precum while her other hand braced on his chest. Then she rose up, positioned herself, and sank down in one slow, greedy drop.
"Ah—! Fuck… so big…" Eriri bit her lip hard, a whimper escaping despite herself as her tight, dripping pussy stretched around him. She was soaking wet from the earlier teasing and spanking, her slick walls clenching rhythmically as she bottomed out.
She started riding him hard—rolling her hips in deep, filthy circles, then bouncing with sharp, aggressive snaps. Her pert tits jiggled with every downward thrust, pink nipples stiff. Each time she slammed down, her ass clapped against his thighs, the sound mixing with wet, obscene squelching.
"Nngh—! Take that… and that—!" she panted, leaning forward so her twin-tails draped over his chest like reins. She grabbed his hands and planted them on her waist, but used the leverage to grind her clit against his pelvis on every downstroke. "You like my pussy? It's tighter than you deserve, you arrogant prick—hah—!"
Seiran's lazy smirk only widened. He let her have her moment, let her ride him like she was trying to milk him dry, her inner walls fluttering and squeezing with expert control. For a few minutes she really did look victorious—flushed, sweaty, riding him with the stamina of someone who had fantasized about this exact revenge for years.
But then his grip tightened.
In one powerful surge he sat up, wrapped one arm around her slim back, and flipped their positions again—pinning her beneath him without ever pulling out. Eriri's eyes widened.
"W-wait—!"
Too late.
Seiran drove into her with a single brutal thrust, burying himself to the hilt. Then he fucked her like a man who had zero intention of losing. Hard, deep, relentless strokes that made her small body jolt and her breasts bounce wildly. The wet slap of skin on skin filled the room as he pounded her into the mattress.
"Kyaaa—! Too deep—! You idiot—slow down—ahhn!"
He grabbed her twin-tails like handlebars exactly as she'd accused him of earlier, yanking her head back just enough to arch her spine perfectly while he railed her. His other hand reached down to rub tight, merciless circles on her swollen clit.
Eriri's thighs shook. Her pussy spasmed violently around him as the first orgasm ripped through her.
"I-I'm—cumming—! Don't—don't look at my face right now—!"
But he did. He watched every second of her breaking—eyes rolling back, tongue slipping out, drooling slightly as she squirted around his cock.
He didn't stop.
Seiran flipped her onto all fours, yanked her hips up, and mounted her from behind like an animal. One hand fisted her twin-tails, the other slapped her already-red ass again as he slammed into her even harder. Her arms gave out; she collapsed face-down into the sheets with her ass still raised high, getting fucked senseless.
"Too much—! I can't—Seiran—Seiran—!"
Every thrust forced another broken moan out of her. Her pussy was creaming obscenely down his shaft, juices dripping onto the sheets. He reached around and pinched her clit, and Eriri screamed into the pillow as a second, stronger orgasm tore through her.
Only then did Seiran finally let himself go.
With a low growl he buried himself as deep as possible and flooded her womb with thick, hot spurts of cum. Pulse after pulse, filling her until it overflowed and ran down her trembling thighs.
Eriri finally gave up struggling.
Lying in the aftermath of her absolute defeat, her small body trembling with every aftershock, she still managed to raise her right hand and make a firm, spiteful decision. She couldn't always be the only one getting bullied…
What about the primary culprit who served her up, Sayuri?
And… could she also drag that certain long-legged, black-stockinged bad woman down into this degenerate pit to get bullied alongside her?
Thinking of this, Eriri's blurry, tear-filled blue eyes seemed to brighten with a dark, vengeful potential. That bad woman—Utaha Kasumigaoka—always bullied her and looked down on her doujinshi. But now, Eriri had an impossibly powerful, high-ranking God backing her up. So, it was time for the bad woman to pay a steep price.
'What did that arrogant jerk say earlier?' Eriri thought, a wicked, broken smile forming on her lips. 'Ah, right. "Remove the armor." Let's see how Utaha handles getting her precious armor stripped away.'
Meanwhile, in a completely different part of Tokyo, the famous high school novelist Utaha Kasumigaoka couldn't help but sneeze violently a few times.
Of course, she had no idea that a certain sleazy blonde with twin-tails, even while her toes were still curling in post-coital tremors, was actively digging a massive, inescapable pit for her.
Utaha rubbed her nose, merely lamenting that she hadn't seen Eriri at school for several days.
At the same time, her gaze towards Tomoya Aki turned somewhat unfriendly.
'Eriri isn't here. Couldn't you just find another illustrator?' Utaha thought, deeply annoyed. 'Why halt the entire project to wait for that blonde brat? Is Eriri really that important to you?'
Utaha crossed her arms, her dark eyes narrowing. He'd probably only realize his mistake after the blonde inevitably screwed him over…
California: The Coastal Town
"They're back."
Hahn Cliff finally breathed a massive sigh of relief. Through the window of his rotting cabin, he saw Yusaku Kudo's rental car pull up, accompanied by the imposing figure of Chief Gray.
Although they arrived late, nothing visibly serious had happened to them. As they stepped out of the car, Yusaku and Gray also secretly breathed heavy sighs of relief. They had suffered absolute hell on the drive back.
If it weren't for Chief Gray's official police status, they would probably still be entangled in an endless string of bizarre "accidents" along the highway. Gray could easily tell that Yusaku had definitely gotten himself into massive, unprecedented trouble. But whoever—or whatever—was behind the supernatural blockades was also wary of pushing things too far into the public eye. Otherwise, the unseen entity wouldn't have let the two men escape the city's gravitational pull so easily.
Cliff rushed out and exchanged a knowing, grim glance with Yusaku. He silently accepted the heavy human-skin book that the detective solemnly handed back to him.
At this moment, Cliff no longer ignored the "useless" diary. Instead, he gripped the leathery cover so tightly his knuckles turned white.
'Father, I didn't throw it away,' Cliff thought, his heart pounding. 'I just asked someone to look for clues...'
"…I'm sorry, Mr. Kudo. Please forgive my earlier, disrespectful tone on the phone," Cliff said earnestly, bowing his head. "Also... are you willing to continue taking on this case?"
To be completely honest, Yusaku hesitated greatly at this question. He didn't want to continue. Because there was clearly a lethal amount of trouble involved. Whether the supernatural phenomena were real or a highly orchestrated syndicate illusion, the Hahn family possessed a dark secret, and powerful eyes were watching them.
However, Yusaku saw Chief Gray patting him on the shoulder with righteous indignation, his lips twitching into a hard scowl.
"Don't worry, Mr. Hahn. Kudo is a responsible detective," Gray declared firmly. "No matter what cartel or cult trouble you've encountered, Kudo and I will not stand idly by and let them terrorize you!"
This was the truth. Yusaku also understood his old friend's stubborn, heroic temperament. Otherwise, the two wouldn't have become such close friends over the years.
"Alright," Yusaku sighed, resigning himself to the vortex. "We're in."
"Thank God!" Cliff gratefully invited the two men inside the cabin. He had been terrified that his frantic tone had offended them, causing the famous detective to drop the case. Moreover, what had just happened to him on the commercial street left his mind in absolute turmoil. He couldn't recall exactly how the old fortune-teller had vanished, but it certainly wasn't a threat he could handle alone.
He subconsciously rubbed the human-skin book, his heart growing increasingly heavy.
He harbored a hope that felt like a luxury: Perhaps... his father wasn't just a scoundrel who abandoned his wife and children to play in the woods. Perhaps he had his own terrifying, compelling reasons for leaving.
Entering the simple, rune-scarred house, the three men sat around the wooden table.
Cliff had a good impression of the warm-hearted Chief Gray. Similarly, Gray held a great fondness for this blue-collar man who appeared to be a rough, uncouth dockworker, yet was actually very methodical and articulate. A pitiful yet strong man who had worked himself to the bone since childhood, raising his siblings after losing his parents to madness and grief.
"So, may I ask... are you two absolutely sure you're not joking about what happened to you?" Gray tapped the wooden table lightly, his sharp gaze sweeping uncertainly over Cliff and Yusaku's faces.
Hallucinations? Auditory anomalies? Time reversal? Premonitions of the future?
"I'm a little worried about your mental states," Gray admitted bluntly. "Do you know how insane you both sound?"
Yusaku, deep in thought, didn't rush to refute his friend. He also felt his own mental state during the time-loop alleyway incident was highly suspect. But while he could try to explain away his own strange occurrences with stress or drugs, Cliff experiencing a simultaneous, identical supernatural encounter suggested a localized phenomenon tied directly to the human-skin book.
And the possibility was terrifyingly high. It gave Yusaku a sinking feeling that even if he withdrew from the case now, he likely wouldn't escape the curse's hidden manipulation. He was already marked.
For a moment, Yusaku felt extremely troubled. This trap was inescapable…
He sighed. He had always told himself he shouldn't get involved in occult matters. Once you step into the abyss, it doesn't let you leave.
"Gray, perhaps we can't simply analyze this with traditional police logic," Yusaku said quietly, observing Cliff's burdened expression.
The surname Hahn could no longer be ignored or underestimated. Hahn Rasford.
The bandaged man's violent greed for the human-skin book still haunted Yusaku, the memory of the gun barrel slamming into his gut lingering vividly in his mind. He was a fanatic. A madman who would stop at nothing to get his hands on the artifact.
"This book is incredibly important, but it must stay exclusively in Cliff's physical possession," Yusaku instructed.
These words caused Chief Gray to frown and fall silent. What was so important about a book resembling a macabre Bible… and why did it only offer protection when held by a blood relative of the Hahn line? This was becoming increasingly bizarre.
"Can we take a closer look at the text?" Gray asked. "If so, let's uncover all its secrets tonight."
Cliff said nothing, sliding the book across the table to the two men. He too wanted to know its secrets. He had never considered the diary's importance before today. The bizarre encounter on the street, while exhausting his sanity, also forced him to re-examine this disturbing heirloom left by his father.
Was it just a madman's charade, or a profound, dangerous truth…?
Cliff was unsure. In his thirty-odd years of life, he had never witnessed anything supernatural firsthand. He took a few deep breaths to steady his shaking hands and made a silent gesture of prayer.
Yusaku's extreme seriousness drew a closer look from Gray. The detective carefully opened the human-skin cover. The devout, blasphemous prayers remained unchanged on the parchment pages. There were no obvious new clues.
"Perhaps it's an encrypted text?" Gray suggested.
"Possibly. But what encryption method or keyword did old Hahn use?" Yusaku mused.
Encryption? Cliff's heart skipped a beat.
He suddenly realized how his father might have encrypted the fanatic ramblings.
The Illuminati. And his father's obsessive pride in their Baronial title. Put together, it formed the phrase his father used to scream at him...
"Baron of Light..." Cliff muttered. No. Not that.
Under the astonished gazes of Yusaku and Gray, Cliff anxiously pulled the book back and flipped through the pages.
"The Illuminati originated in Bavaria," Cliff explained rapidly, his eyes scanning the text. "But it was heavily influenced by British occult culture and even became a front for Britain's shadow government at one point. And my family's title was granted by the British crown. So, the Latin translation of the Illuminati's common terminology, combined with our bloodline, would be..."
Cliff swallowed hard.
"Lionheart. Baron Lionheart..."
As if the sudden epiphany had exhausted all his remaining strength, Cliff slumped back in his wooden chair, staring blankly at the table.
The title of Baron Lionheart obviously originated from King Richard the Lionheart of Great Britain. But Hahn Rasford was an ordinary, blue-collar citizen of the United States. How could a destitute American dockworker possibly inherit a bloodline title directly linked to the ancient Kings of Great Britain?
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