WARNING!!! 18+ EXPLICT SCENES!!
Within the Polian Empire, the emperor, Polian, a true Mythical Being was sitting on his throne. He looked to be in his late 30s. He sat half naked as his royal dignity was nowhere to be found, his face was scrunched up in pleasure. His robes undone , revealing his exposed bare-chested body. Yet one part of his body, his cock remained unseen. It was buried in the mouth of a gorgeous women, who was kneeling with her head bobbling up and down, as she served her emperor with passion.
She who though a mighty sage, and a Empress to her people, did not lose her focus when it came to pleasuring her husband and emperor. Battles weren't just won in the wild battlefields between enemies.
There were special battlefields. Though her husband was much stronger than her, she was winning this battle by a landslide. A technique called the dragon twister.
She would use one hand to stroke the shaft of Polian's main length while the other would care for his round delicate orbs, her mouth and tongue busy with the head and shaft of his lower tool. She slurped , at times she spat, her mouth stained with her own saliva, yet that filth only served the king well, who gripped at her head as if urging her to continue.
Polian was fighting for his life…he was losing it , figuratively and literally.
The Empress smiled and merely continued to please her husband. She knew he was close. She showed endurance and persistence as she sought to bring him over the edge. She was proud and happy as if what she was doing was not a shameful act at all. Why should she be? this was her Emperor and Husband, a true Mythical being. And one at level 2 at that!
How could she not be happy serving him?
Polian groaned in pleasure "I'm close my love doesn't stop!" The empress obliged as she continued, seconds later she continued to pleasure him with her tongue and mouth.
Yet…
No liquid poured pour out into her mouth as she expected, nonetheless she resumed,
yet…
'Is he getting soft?'
Confused, she lifted her head and looked up to see why he had stopped moaning only to see her husband staring not down at her, but something behind her.
The emperor, whose breaths had been ragged, suddenly went still. His expression hardened; his pleasure ridden face replaced by apprehension. His gaze no longer rested upon his devoted wife but instead locked onto a shadow lurking just beyond her. The Empress sensed the shift instantly, pausing, her instincts screaming at her before she even turned. Slowly, she lifted her head, his now soft member slipping out of her mouth and followed her husband's gaze, her body tensing as her eyes settled upon the intruder hastily getting up as she wiped her face.
A silhouette stood there small in stature, a build of a teenager to be exact. Yet there was nothing innocent about it. The figure was wreathed in darkness, its outline barely distinguishable from the surrounding shadows.
Only two features were distinct: the long strands of white hair that cascaded down its back and the piercing blue eyes that glowed in the void.
She wanted to scream, to call for the guards, but centuries of wisdom told her better. Instead, she turned her eyes to her husband, silently seeking reassurance, some kind of explanation, but all she found was his tightened jaw and narrowed eyes.
Then, the voice came. Light, almost playful, yet carrying an eerie weight beneath the casual tone.
"No need to stop on my account," the shadowed figure said, his voice almost amused. "I wasn't planning on interrupting your… bonding time. Trust me, I know how frustrating it can be when someone ruins the moment." He tilted his head, then added with an exaggerated sigh, "Okay, maybe I don't know firsthand, but I can imagine. Still, don't mind me—go ahead, I can wait."
The Empress's mind reeled. 'Is this intruder truly standing here, acting as though watching us like this is normal?!'
Polian himself was at a rare loss for words.
His mind screamed at the absurdity of the situation. Someone had infiltrated his domain—the very heart of his empire—stood before him with audacious ease, and instead of making demands or issuing threats, he was… cracking jokes?
Taking a steadying breath, the emperor rose, pulling his Empress gently to her feet as he adjusted both their robes with an air of practiced calm. Then, regaining his composure, he finally spoke, his voice firm yet controlled. "May I ask the name of this unexpected guest? And, more importantly, what business brings you here?"
Moreover…" He narrowed his eyes. "How did you enter?"
Dante merely tilted his head slightly, as if the question itself was more of an inconvenience than the act of trespassing. "That's a lot of questions, don't you think?"
Polian and the Empress exchanged a bewildered glance. 'Is this childlike specter truly so shameless? He infiltrates the royal palace, witnesses what no outsider should, and that is his response?!'
Dante merely shrugged, absently adjusting the folds of his robe. The sight before him had stirred something—annoyance, perhaps. Jealousy, even. He despised how far he still had to go before he could enjoy such pleasure. But shaking the thought aside, he refocused on the matter at hand. With a flick of his wrist, an empty throne—the Emperors own seat—shuddered before vanishing from its place beside Polian. A heartbeat later, it reappeared next to Dante.
With an amused smirk, he stepped toward it and casually took a seat, resting one leg over the other as he made himself comfortable.
"Well then," he mused, his voice carrying both playfulness and quiet menace, "shall we talk?"
The Empress was incensed, but as she felt her husband hold her closer, she forced herself to calm down. She realized something unsettling—neither she nor Polian had sensed anything until the throne had simply shifted. Now, the childlike silhouette sat upon it, reclining in his usual lazy posture. One arm draped over the armrest, the other hanging freely, while one foot rested on the throne and the other dangled. His head leaned against his propped-up hand, exuding a calm yet commanding presence.
Dante finally spoke. "Listen, Polian, I need you to go to the Josten Empire. Fight a few rounds with their Ancestor and keep him occupied. My subordinate needs him out of the way, and I'm too lazy to deal with both that old man and the weaklings like those sages. So, how about it?"
Polian studied the shadowed figure before him. The boy neither answered his previous questions nor acknowledged the sheer audacity of his intrusion. He had simply shifted space as if it were nothing and made his demands. It was absurd.
'How shameless is this fellow?!'
Still, he kept his composure and scrutinized the figure further. "And if I refuse?"
Dante, still idly swinging his foot, merely shrugged. Then, without warning, he reached into space itself, tugging at something unseen. A heartbeat later, he pulled forth a sleeping baby, gripping its robes like one might hold a stray animal.
The Empress and Polian froze, horror dawning upon them.
Dante tossed the infant forward without a care, letting it land in the Empress's arms, who caught the child swiftly in horror.
The moment she did, an infinitely condensed beam of light formed in front of Dante. Small, yet impossibly powerful.
Polian's blood ran cold. He bellowed, "NOOOOO!" A tidal wave of aura erupted from him, crashing outward in a desperate bid to halt what was about to happen.
But it was useless.
A tiny point of space tore open, and the beam shot forward, unimpeded. It struck the baby's leg, severing its tiny foot in an instant.
The Empress let out a cry of anguish, clutching her child to her chest. Fear, rage, grief— an overwhelming storm of emotions twisted her beautiful face as she frantically poured her power into healing the wound. Yet the more she tried, the more her skill collapsed around the severed area, unable to mend the damage. The cries of the child were loud, she tried her best to ease her child's pain, but the skill used was simply to powerful.
Polian trembled with fury. He wanted to fight. He wanted to rip the silhouette apart for what he had done. But he was not a fool.
As a Level 2 Mythical Being, he understood the disparity in strength between himself and those below him. Even Level 1 Mythical Beings were nothing before him. Yet he had never in his life encountered someone so utterly dismissive of him, so effortlessly dominant.
Dante's casual use of space manipulation, the way he did as he pleased without a shred of concern—Polian understood the terrifying truth.
This being was at least Level 3.
Or worse—someone who had been at Level 3 for a long time, with a mastery so high that resisting him was nothing more than a dream.