The Crimson Parliament was quiet, too quiet.
Not with peace, but with dread.
Something ancient had crossed into their land—an emissary whose presence was not announced by trumpets or heralds, but by silence that sucked the air from the lungs of every court mage attuned to the Lust Currents. The Astral Scribes had collapsed mid-incantation. The Crimson Oracle's pool boiled black. And even the Flame of Dominion that flickered in Elian's chamber guttered low.
Atop the palace spire, Elian stood with Kaela, Lysandra, and Nyssa by his side. The sky had grown darker than it should have been, even at twilight. A haze, unnatural and hungry, crept like fingers across the city walls.
"Elian," Nyssa whispered, her breath a shiver of heat and tension. "It's not just a threat. It's a feast looking for a table."
Kaela's twin blades hissed as she unsheathed them. "What do you mean?"
Nyssa turned, her eyes glowing faintly with Painbind's energy. "The Lust-devourers do not conquer by armies. They send one... just one. A Hollowborne, a Seedless emissary. They do not tempt, they take. Everything. Your Lust System becomes their meal. Your memories, your pleasures, your power—swallowed."
Lysandra's fists clenched, emerald sparks rippling along her arms. "Why now? Why here?"
"Because," Elian answered, "we've grown too strong. Lust is no longer passive indulgence. We've weaponized it. Structured it. That makes us a threat—and an opportunity."
The palace bells tolled, not with ceremony, but as a warning. A slow, tolling chime—an ancient code of emergency rarely heard. A foreign vessel had breached the skies.
At the Parliament's Outer Court
The emissary's vessel descended like a teardrop of obsidian. Black, faceted, and utterly alien, it hovered just above the marble, casting no shadow but absorbing all light.
It opened—not with a hiss, but with a sigh. As though it mourned the world it had come to visit.
The emissary stepped forth.
It—or rather he—was tall and gaunt, cloaked in silvery robes laced with void-weave. His skin was pale, almost translucent, etched with vein-like runes that glowed faintly lavender. His face was beautiful, horrifyingly so, like someone had carved divinity out of hunger. And his eyes—bottomless, shifting pools—were devoid of any human warmth.
"I am Vorrin," the being spoke, voice echoing in the mind more than the ears. "Harbinger of the Final Touch. First of the Hollow Lineage. I come to taste your empire."
The nobles recoiled. Some wept. A few collapsed, drained of will by the mere presence of Vorrin.
But Elian stepped forward.
"We are not your feast, Vorrin."
The emissary turned, smiling gently. "No, Elian Flameborn. You are the wine to cleanse my palate. I've tasted lust in every corner of the dying stars. But you... your Lust System is an anomaly. A miracle. It sings too loudly."
"Then I'll silence it," Elian said.
"Or I shall take it from you. Piece by piece."
Hours Later — The Chamber of Shadows
Elian gathered his inner circle. Kaela, Lysandra, Nyssa—and now, too, Lady Mavara, a noble empath who had defected from the Southern Dominion faction, bringing vital intelligence.
"The Lust-devourers operate on a parasitic system," Mavara explained. "They don't bond or contract like we do. They overwrite. Vorrin's presence alone weakens our bonds to our own Systems. His aura numbs the channels that tie Lust to power."
Nyssa's lip curled. "Then we need to anchor ours deeper."
Elian nodded. "Exactly. No more passive reliance. We integrate."
Kaela's brow furrowed. "Integrate?"
"We merge our Lust Systems. Bind them not just to ourselves, but to each other. A net of mutual desire, loyalty, and carnal power. If Vorrin tries to consume one thread, he'll be entangled in all."
Lysandra stepped forward. "Then let us begin."
Ritual of the Bonded Flame
That night, deep in the vaults beneath the palace, Elian, Kaela, Lysandra, and Nyssa stood naked before an obsidian altar, their Lust Systems alight with raw energy. The air pulsed with carnal magic, each heartbeat syncing closer in rhythm.
Elian placed his hand on Nyssa's bare chest, just over her heart. Her Painbind shimmered, flaring in resistance before surrendering to him. She gasped as his Dominion threaded into her, not overpowering, but harmonizing.
Kaela traced runes of Griefbind along Lysandra's spine, their moans echoing against stone as ancient sigils awakened between them.
They kissed, tangled, cried out—not in pleasure alone, but in mutual defiance. Their Lust Systems became a woven net of trust, desire, memory, pain, and hope.
When the ritual ended, they lay entwined, bodies slick with sweat, hearts still thundering.
And outside, Vorrin paused in his steps.
He felt it.
A wall.
A flame.
Not a feast—but a fortress.
The Battle Begins
Vorrin did not attack the palace directly.
He began with dreams.
Courtiers woke screaming, their Lust Systems corrupted. Memories of lovers twisted into nightmares. Contracts turned to chains. Lesser nobles slit their own throats, weeping as their desire turned to ash.
Elian acted quickly, invoking the Unmasking Flame—his gift of truth—to cleanse the dreams. Kaela's Griefbind calmed the worst-afflicted, pulling their pain into herself. Nyssa stalked the halls, executing those who'd already turned.
Lysandra, ever the queen of flame, ignited wards in the skies—runes that shimmered with emerald and violet, warding Vorrin's influence with raw, sovereign will.
But Vorrin escalated.
He appeared in the Great Court, walking past guards who simply forgot how to breathe in his presence. His voice carried across the chamber like poison honey.
"Elian. I will take her first."
He pointed—not at Lysandra.
But at Kaela.
The Duel of Devourer and Flamebearer
Elian met Vorrin in the Moonlit Courtyard, where duels were settled by will and system. No blades, no spells—only Lust.
They stripped—ceremonial and slow. Vorrin's body was inhumanly perfect, his flesh marked with circular scars that pulsed with hollow energy.
Elian stood, marked by flame and memory, eyes burning.
Vorrin began the dance.
His aura surged forward like a wave, suffocating desire and replacing it with needless void. A noble watching screamed as her womb turned cold.
But Elian unleashed the Flame of Dominion—not as attack, but as invitation.
He cast Lust forward like a tide, not to consume but to connect. Every moan, every kiss, every chained breath between his bonded allies fed him strength. The net of unity held.
Vorrin struck deeper, trying to tempt Kaela through her grief. He whispered in her mind:
"He does not see your tears. I will unmake your pain."
Kaela bared her neck, but her reply was not surrender—it was defiance.
"I am my grief. And I choose him."
She reached out through the bond.
Power surged into Elian.
He screamed—and struck.
Vorrin Falls Back
For the first time, the emissary of the Lust-devourers staggered.
The bond-net had reversed his feeding.
Instead of taking, he had felt. Lust not as food—but as fire.
Vorrin's robes burned. His hollow eyes flickered.
"This... is impossible..."
"You came to consume," Elian said, stepping forward, "but Lust is not a weakness. It is love, pain, memory, rebellion, joy, hunger, shame—everything."
Nyssa stepped beside him. "And you, Vorrin, are nothing."
The emissary turned to smoke—and fled.
But he would return.
And behind him, others would follow.
Aftermath and Warning
As the court recovered, Elian met with the Circle of Heroines.
Mavara's voice was grave. "Vorrin was just a scout. There are others. Their empire sleeps... but it's stirring."
Lysandra placed a hand on Elian's. "Then we must awaken faster."
Nyssa leaned against a pillar, licking blood from her thumb. "Let them come. I'll show them how shadows bite."
Kaela nodded. "We need more allies. More heroines. And faster bonding rituals."
Elian's gaze turned outward.
To the edges of the map.
To where the devourers waited.
"I will not let our Lust be devoured. I will turn it into a sword—and cut down gods if I must."
The war for Lust had just begun.
And Elian Flameborn stood ready.