"I'm going to nut in you" = Yapping
'Kyaaa! I'm sooo hard ungghh!~' = Schizo Yap
PLAP! PLAP! PLAP! SPLUURRGHHZZ! = Sounds
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I'm not gonna sugarcoat it. If you haven't figured it out by now, this is gonna be freaky, brainrotted, and some other wild shit. Don't say I didn't warn you, bozo.
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~Start~
It was one of those sunny weekends where the whole world seemed to breathe a little easier. The streets had that lazy, golden glow to them, like the sun had personally decided to stick around and watch people go about their lives. The air was warm but not unbearable, carrying the faint scent of street food from a nearby vendor and freshly cut grass from the park down the block.
A guy was being dragged along by his two overly excited dogs—one small and yappy, the other big and clumsy, both convinced they were leading some grand expedition. Across the street, a sweet old lady clung to her cane as a young man gently offered her his arm, carefully walking her across. Not far from them, a cheerful girl in a sundress bounced along the sidewalk, beaming at strangers as if everyone she passed was an old friend. Her energy was contagious—people couldn't help but smile back.
Further down, a group of friends was making their way toward the theatres, laughing loud enough that passersby could catch bits and pieces of their banter. They were buzzing with excitement, talking over each other about the new movie they were about to see, debating whether to grab snacks before or after.
In the park, kids were running wild, chasing each other with the kind of boundless energy that could make adults tired just from watching. Their mothers sat nearby on benches, keeping a loose eye on them while slipping into gossip—half complaining about work, half bragging about their kids. The squeak of swings, the thud of basketballs hitting the pavement, and the occasional bark from someone's dog all blended into the weekend soundtrack.
It was just another ordinary day in the city—calm, bright, and full of little human moments. Nothing seemed out of place. Nothing at all.
Or so everyone thought...
And then, just like that, the world went to hell. Out of nowhere, World War III broke out—no warning, no buildup, just a chain reaction of panic and rage as every major country on the planet decided it was time to unload their entire nuclear stockpile on each other. Sirens screamed across cities, the skies lit up with fire brighter than the sun, and the world as people knew it burned in a matter of minutes.
People panicked.
They prayed.
They cried.
They screamed.
They shit themselves.
And then, they died.
But this is not important.
Not at all.
Because this story isn't about the end of the world.
It isn't about the bombs, or the ashes, or the billions gone within moments.
This story is about a man.
A man who has done the impossible.
And will continue to do the impossible.
Again.
And again.
And again.
While the rest of the world was screaming, crying, and scrambling for their lives, one man had a completely different reaction. He smiled. Not out of madness, not because he wanted to see the world burn—no, his smile was one of pure relief, like he'd just been handed the greatest news of his entire existence.
Because he knew. He finally knew.
It was time.
Time to goon.
And listen—this wasn't just some run-of-the-mill gooning session. This wasn't the kind of thing you do on a bored Saturday night or when you've got nothing better to do. No. This was destiny. This was fate. This was the gooning session to end all gooning sessions. The Alpha. The Omega. The final entry in the saga of all sagas.
The world was ending, and everyone else was panicking. But him? He was ready to lock in for the greatest goon mankind had ever witnessed.
~~~
~~~
It all started when the so-called impossible man, Henry, was just a horny little 10 year old shit. Puberty didn't just tap him on the shoulder, it hit him like a sledgehammer straight to the skull and never stopped swinging. From the very first day those hormones kicked in, Henry was different. He wasn't just horny—he was terminally horny. A horny-ass motherfucker, the type of kid who made other horny kids look like monks.
While most boys his age were still fumbling around trying to figure out what the hell was happening with their voices cracking and their bodies betraying them, Henry dove headfirst into the trenches. He was gooning twenty-seven times a day, sometimes more. If dedication to the craft was an Olympic sport, Henry would have taken home the gold before he even hit his teens.
But here's the kicker: despite all that effort, despite the gallons of sweat and hours upon hours of commitment, Henry was never truly satisfied. Every nut felt empty. Pointless. Like eating food with no flavor. Each release just left him staring at the ceiling, hollow inside, asking himself, "Is that it?"
For a while, he thought maybe that was all life had to offer—an endless loop of half-assed nuts and post-goon clarity. He was ready to call it quits.
And then… he discovered the technique.
The forbidden art.
The one thing that would change the course of his life forever.
Edging.
At first, Henry thought it was dumb. Why stop when you could finish? Why suffer like that? But desperation made him reckless, so he gave it a try. He edged for a whole week, refusing to let himself finish, building up the pressure like a bomb ticking down. And when he finally allowed himself to bust… oh, it was divine. For the first time ever, Henry felt satisfaction. That nut wasn't just good—it was legendary. The kind of nut that made him see colors he didn't know existed. The kind of nut that put the fear of God into him.
But it still wasn't enough. It was never enough.
Henry realized then that he didn't just want a good nut—he wanted the nut. The ultimate nut. The once-in-a-lifetime nut that would eclipse all others. So, at the age of 13, he made a vow to himself: never again would he allow himself to bust. He would only edge. He would hold back, and hold back, and hold back—until the right time came.
And so the years rolled on. Days turned into weeks, weeks into months, months into years. Henry grew up edging multiple times a day, every single day, never once releasing, never once letting himself cave. Every night ended the same—lying there in frustration, contemplating whether it was finally time to bust or not to bust, only to shake his head, call it a day, and do it all over again tomorrow.
The strain of it all warped him. He grew frustrated. Anxious. Tense. Extremely horny. But instead of crumbling under the weight of his obsession, Henry channeled that raw, pent-up energy somewhere else. He pushed his body to the limit, working out until his muscles failed. He studied harder than anyone else, always two steps ahead of whatever was being taught in school. He threw himself into martial arts, learning technique after technique, mastering discipline, speed, precision, and raw power.
Still, he was quick to anger. That bottled-up horniness turned into volatility, and Henry became prone to violence. Schoolyard brawls were common. Street fights with tweakers and cracked-out homeless weren't out of the question. By the time he was older, bar fights became his favorite pastime. The legend of Henry grew—not just as a man who never busted, but as a man who would beat the shit out of anyone stupid enough to test him.
And through it all, he held strong. Despite temptation. Despite girlfriends. Despite having sex more times than he probably should've at his age, Henry never once allowed himself to release. He endured—through obsession, ambition, pride, a sprinkle of insanity, and sheer unbreakable willpower.
Henry was no longer just a man.
He was the impossible man.
And his nut… was still waiting.
Until now.
Inside his cramped apartment, Henry lay flat on his back, completely naked. His body was a monument to decades of discipline—every muscle sharp and cut, his skin gleaming under the dim light, slick with oil that dripped and pooled beneath him. His chest rose and fell slowly, deliberately, each breath steady but heavy with meaning.
His eyes—cold, steel-grey, yet burning with a hidden fire—locked on the ceiling above him. He didn't blink. He didn't move. He was waiting.
This was it. The moment he had been chasing his entire life. Now, at the age of fifty, it had finally arrived.
It had been so long since Henry last released that the memory of it had turned foggy, distant, almost mythical. What did it even feel like to bust? He couldn't remember. Not really. All he knew was the endless ache, the constant pressure that had been his companion for nearly four decades. His life had been nothing but a balancing act between sanity and madness, his mind forever teetering on the razor's edge of restraint.
For any ordinary man, it would have been impossible. But Henry was no ordinary man. He was a man of extreme libido, cursed with hunger beyond reason, yet blessed—or damned—with the will to cage it. His existence had been suffering, frustration, and fire. But now… now the moment was here.
And Henry was ready.
With a beastly, thunderous roar that could have rivaled a dragon, Henry finally let loose. He gripped his meat with his right hand, knuckles white, and began stroking with the fury of a man possessed.
"GRAAAAHHHHH!!!"
Schlorrk-thwopp! Schlorrk-thwopp! Schlorrk-thwopp!
His arm pumped like a piston, a machine running on pure lust and forty years of pent-up rage. Every stroke cracked through the silence of the apartment like gunfire, wet and furious, shaking the very air around him.
Henry's mind spiraled, his fuel nothing less than a mental harem of anime women, genderbent characters, and femboys he had hoarded in his brain for decades. He screamed their names with the same passion other men reserved for war cries.
"RAAAHHHH!!! YUKI!!! UTAHIME!!!"
Schlorrk-thwopp! Schlorrk-thwopp! Schlorrk-thwopp!
His face twisted into a monstrous snarl as his tempo climbed faster, faster, faster. His teeth grit, saliva dripping from his mouth as every vein in his body bulged like cables of steel.
"GRUUUUHHHHHH!!! KIRARA!!! KASHIGYAAT!!! FEM NAOYA!!!"
The room shook. The floor trembled beneath him. His growls, grunts, howls, and moans rattled the walls until his neighbors could only cower in silence. Henry had become less of a man and more of a beast, a primal engine of pure edge-fueled madness.
"MAHITOOOO!!! KENJUSSY!!!"
Schlorrk-thwopp! Schlorrk-thwopp! Schlorrk-thwopp!
Sweat poured off him in rivers, mixing with oil until it gathered beneath his back in a glistening pool. His muscles tightened like coiled springs, every inch of him carved and flexing, his body looking like a marble statue come alive, pulsing with angry veins. His arms became blurs as he brought in his second hand, doubling the force, doubling the speed, a blur of flesh and fire.
And then—his voice cracked the heavens.
"FEM SUKUNAAAA!!! GOJUUSSSY!!! MAMARAGAAAAAA!!!"
SCHLORRK-THWOPP! SCHLORRK-THWOPP! SCHLORRK-THWOPP!
This was it. The brink. The very edge of existence.
A phenomenon only whispered about in theory. Achieved when a man aligns his body, his spirit, and his lust so perfectly that release itself ceases to be biological—and becomes divine. The margin for error? Less than one ten-thousandth of a second.
When it happens, it doesn't simply happen. It detonates. The nut transcends its own natural laws, magnifying its volume, its stickiness, its thickness, until it surpasses human comprehension
.
In the history of this world, only one man had ever achieved it.
And across the entire multiverse, only a rare few had come close.
It is not merely a phenomenon.
It is not simply release.
It is transcendence.
And Henry, the impossible man, had finally reached it.
This was…
"WHIIIIITE SPLAAAASSSHHHHHH!!!"
At the same time Henry achieved his fabled release, fate itself decided to test his might.
One of the many nuclear warheads launched, arced across the sky and detonated directly above his shabby apartment.
BOOOOOOM!!!
The explosion tore the heavens open. Fire consumed the skyline. A blinding flash stretched across the horizon, swallowing everything in light. The earth quaked, concrete turned to ash, steel bent and melted, and entire blocks were flattened in an instant.
Nothing should have remained. Nothing could have remained.
And yet—when the dust finally settled, when the radioactive smoke parted, the soldiers and survivors who dared to peek upon Ground Zero bore witness to an impossibility.
There, at the absolute epicenter of destruction, stood a shape. Not rubble. Not shadow. But a massive, egg-shaped cocoon. Gleaming white, smooth, glossy, and steaming faintly from the residual heat.
Henry's semen.
So thick, so dense, so absurd in volume and composition that not even the wrath of a nuclear blast could destroy it. The explosion had done nothing more than warm it up.
This bizarre cocoon, this "cum-shell," as crude records would later call it, was the only thing that survived intact at ground zero. And it would remain there, unbroken, untouched, for years.
Eventually, when the flames of nuclear war burned themselves out and the scattered remnants of humanity began to claw back their existence, the cocoon was discovered again. Its surface resisted fire, blade, and bullet. Nothing could shatter it. But slowly—painstakingly—people learned to chip away fragments of it.
What they found was even stranger: the substance was alive with potential. Processed correctly, consumed carefully, it carried vitality. Energy. It allowed barren land to grow crops, sick bodies to heal, and—most importantly—fertile wombs to conceive.
And so it came to pass that the next generation of humanity was fathered not by mortal men, but by Henry's impossible seed. His essence spread across villages and tribes, birthing a new mankind from the aftermath of his White Splash.
Decades passed. Centuries followed. Kingdoms rose and fell. The cocoon was whittled away, used, absorbed, dispersed into bloodlines across the world. Until, finally, all that remained was a single artifact at the heart of it all:
An indestructible statue.
Frozen in time, preserved perfectly within the last hardened shell of that legendary release, was the body of Henry himself. Veins bulging, muscles flexed, his face twisted in that final, feral snarl of transcendence. The ultimate moment of lust immortalized in stone-like seed.
It did not crumble. It did not fade. Through storms, through the erosion of centuries, even as stars dimmed and galaxies collapsed, the statue endured.
And from that endurance, faith was born.
The survivors and their descendants gathered around it, knelt before it, built shrines and temples around it. In time, they gave him names—The Seed Father. The Daddy of Mankind. Lord White Splash. A figure both sacred and profane, prayed to in desperation, thanked in harvests, and feared in droughts.
Entire civilizations traced their existence back to him. Songs were sung. Rituals performed. Statues erected to mirror the one that stood unbroken. His legend stretched not just through history but through eternity itself.
Because while his body remained sealed within that statue, his soul had long since ascended. Untethered, unleashed, traversing the realms, wandering through dimensions in search of another vessel. One that could withstand, embrace, and utilize the impossible force of lust he once bore.
And so, even as the universe drifted toward its heat death, even as stars winked out and galaxies fell into silence, there remained one monument at the end of time:
The Cum Statue of Henry.
Unyielding. Eternal. Worshipped.
The foundation of mankind, and the promise of his return.
~~~
~~~
Inside a dark alley, a brown-haired teenager was fighting for his damn life, legs shaky, pants soaked in piss, fists clenched.
"Dammit! What the hell is happening?!" he spat between ragged breaths, barely dodging as a bladed arm sliced through the air where his head had been a second ago. 'I wake up—and suddenly I'm getting jumped by some freakin' man-sized bug?! Ugh, my head—!' His temples throbbed like drums, pain exploding every time he tried to think.
The monster, a towering mantis with serrated scythe-arms gleaming under the dim streetlight, tilted its head back and cackled.
"Kekekekeke! I thought you were done for the moment you pissed yourself at the sight of me! Humans are so pitiful, so weak! Kekeke! I'll toy with you a little longer—eating stiff corpses gets boring. I want to hear you scream!~"
It swung its arms like a deranged maniac, each strike a blur. Sparks flew as its blades scraped against the brick walls, showering the boy in dust and debris. He stumbled, ducked, twisted out of reach—barely—each dodge leaving him nicked and bleeding.
"Fuck!" the boy hissed, clutching his side where a shallow cut oozed. 'Why does my body feel so… slow? Weak?! Like I'm running underwater!' He tried to steady his breathing, but more cuts bloomed across his arms and cheek as he slipped past the mantis's wild slashes. His clothes were turning into ribbons.
The mantis hissed and raised its arms high. The boy gritted his teeth.
"Fuck it!" he roared, charging headfirst instead of backpedaling. "Eat shit, you overgrown pest!"
He dropped low, letting a scythe whistle right over his scalp, close enough to shear strands of his brown hair, then launched upward with an uppercut straight into the monster's jagged chin. Crack!The mantis reeled, dazed, its insectoid eyes spinning.
"Not done yet!" The boy followed up with a flurry of jabs—left, right, left, right, left, right—hammering into its face and torso. His knuckles split, but he didn't stop until the mantis staggered back, screeching in outrage.
"YOU!" it shrieked, mandibles clacking, voice vibrating like steel on glass. "HOW DARE A FILTHY HUMAN HURT ME!"
It lunged, both blades extended like skewers, aiming to impale him on the spot. At the last heartbeat, the boy twisted his body, spinning around the thrust, and planted his heel into the back of its head with a sharp thwack! The insect tumbled forward, skidding across the grimy pavement.
"KRRIIIEEEEEK!" it screeched, rising again, eyes blazing crimson. Between its mandibles, energy crackled, a sickening red glow building into a sphere of raw power.
The boy's stomach dropped.
'Shit. It can do magic? I really don't wanna find out what happens if that hits—AAAGHHHH!'
Pain seared through his skull as memories he didn't recognize tore into his mind—childhood friend called Irina, pervy old man, porn mags, hentai, hentai games, big asses, boobs, boobs, boobs, blurry faces, and finally the messy chain of events that had led this body here, broken and cornered in this alley.
'What the hell?! These… aren't my memories… AIN'T NO FUCKING WAY!!!'
But when the flashing torrent of foreign memories finally faded, he snapped back into reality too late.
The mantis had already fired.
BOOM! CRACK!
The red orb slammed into him point blank, detonating against his chest. His clothes shredded instantly, his skin sizzling as the blast burned across him. The front of his upper body was charred black and red, angry with second-degree burns. The sheer force hurled him like a ragdoll into the far wall of the alley, the impact spiderwebbing the bricks as his body embedded deep, half-buried in rubble.
Before he could even groan, the mantis was on him. With a screeching laugh, it lunged, driving its scythe-arm straight through his chest. The jagged blade pierced his heart with a sickening crunch.
"Kieekekeke! So this is all? Just some weak human who got lucky!" the creature taunted, twisting its arm inside him before yanking it out with a wet schlkkk!Blood gushed like a burst pipe, spraying across the alley. The boy's limp body slumped out of the wall, landing in a crumpled heap, blood pooling fast beneath him.
The mantis pulled back, clutching at its cracked face with both claws. Blood leaked between its mandibles as it cursed.
"Damn human! He wasn't even strong! He just kept punching like a lunatic, even breaking his own fists just to hurt me. Gah! Ow! Ow! How stupid can you be?! Kekekek!"
Meanwhile, the boy's world was fading. His body felt cold, heavy, numb. His eyes wanted to shut, to surrender, to sink into the dark.
'So this is it? After all that? I finally wake up in a second life, and this is how I go out? Just some random alley fight with a bug? Pathetic…'
His vision swam, the edges black. But then—his jaw clenched hard enough that his teeth creaked. He bit into his cheek until blood filled his mouth, the copper taste snapping him back. His fists tightened, refusing to let his body go slack.
'No. No fucking way. I'm not going out like this. If this world is really what I think it is—if this is the same damn world from those hazy memories—then I'll be damned if I roll over like some no-name side character. I am not losing to trash. I refuse to be another fraud, another bum, another pathetic extra. I'm not gonna be like that clown Fraudssei Bumdou, dying to fodder. Hell no. I AM HENRY ALEXANDER, GODDAMMIT!'
Inside, something snapped. Or maybe it ignited.
A fire erupted in his chest—not literal flames, but a heat so intense it felt alive. It spread through every vein, every nerve, fusing with his willpower, sharpening his resolve until his entire being blazed like a furnace. His body should've been dying—hell, his heart had a hole in it—but instead he felt stronger. A second wind screamed through his soul.
His eyes widened.
'This feeling… this is… I know this. I'm sure of it. This is Spiral Power!'
His lips curled into the faintest grin, even as blood dripped from them.
Strength welled in him, strength to stand, strength to fight back. But he didn't move yet. He kept his body still, playing dead, watching. The mantis—no, the stray devil—was too busy nursing itself to notice.
He knew the truth: the only thing keeping him alive right now was his unbreakable will. His shredded heart should've left him a corpse, but sheer stubborn defiance was tethering his soul to his body. One moment of weakness, one slip of his will, and it was over.
Henry thought fast, his mind sharper than it had ever been. If this was really Issei Hyoudou's body, then that meant…
A spark of realization lit up in his brain.
'Of course! Ddraig! The Boosted Gear! If I'm already on the edge of death, then now's the time—I'll just awaken it here and now…!'
Henry dug deep into his soul with his will. His voice roared from the depths of his being, shaking the very core of his soul:
'WAKE UP, DDRAIG! YOU BIG RED SCALY LIZARD! LEND ME YOUR POWER, CUZ I REFUSE TO BE FODDERIZED TODAY!'
—And the world shifted.
In the next heartbeat, Henry's vision burned red. The ground beneath him was not earth, but endless crimson flames, surging and writhing like a living ocean of fire. The air was suffocating, thick with power ancient and overwhelming.
A voice boomed, deep and thunderous, shaking the realm itself.
"You… are not my host, Issei Hyoudou. Who dares stand before me?"
Henry spun around, eyes widening.
From the heart of the inferno emerged a titan. A dragon, vast beyond comprehension, each crimson scale glowing as though forged in the heart of a dying star. Wings spread wide enough to blot out the burning sky, eyes like emerald suns that pierced straight through Henry's soul. His mere presence radiated raw domination.
Henry's grin stretched wide.
"Heh. Nice to finally meet you, Ddraig. Gotta say… you look a hundred times cooler in person!"
The dragon lowered his head, fire spilling from his fanged maw as his voice rumbled like an earthquake.
"Do not jest with me, mortal. Answer. What have you done with my host, or I shall reduce you to ash in crimson purgatory."
The flames swirled violently, ready to consume Henry whole.
Henry simply smirked, eyes glinting with defiance.
"No time for speeches. So I'll give you the truth… my way."
He raised one hand and pressed his fingers together into a handsign, voice sharp and unwavering:
"Domain Expansion—Lifelong Lore Dump!"
The realm shattered.
In an instant, an unending torrent of visions engulfed them. Flashes of Henry's past life—late nights hunched over manga, debates about power scaling, glazing, agenda posting, brainrot, fanfics, anime marathons, the mundane pains of life, his struggles and tiny triumphs—all spiraled around them. Then came Highschool DxD, its characters, battles, and lore. And finally—his absurd, blazing end. The White Splash. His death, his transcendence, his rebirth.
The visions ended as suddenly as they began. The flames returned.
And for a moment, the Dragon of Domination stood utterly still.
Then—
"HOLY FUCKING SHIT!" Ddraig's voice split the world apart. His laughter thundered like collapsing mountains. "I WAS RIGHT! HAHAHAHAHA! I KNEW IT! I KNEW I WASN'T INSANE! HAHAHA! ALBION! SUCK MY MASSIVE SCALY NUTS, YOU PATHETIC WORM! FUCKING BUM DRAGON EMPEROR HAHAHAHAHA!"
The flames themselves quaked under his roar, as if the realm itself was laughing with him.
Henry tilted his head back, laughing despite himself. "So… I take it you're on board?".
The dragon finally lowered his gaze, a dangerous, intrigued gleam flashing in his eyes.
"You understand the path you walk. This could destroy you. Even with my power, your body may not endure."
Henry's smirk only widened, his spirit burning hotter than the flames around him.
"As if I'd let something like that stop me! So what do you say, partner? You in?"
He thrust his fist forward, small yet unwavering.
For a beat, silence. Then, a rumbling chuckle rose from the dragon's chest.
Ddraig extended his arm and formed a fist and pressed it against Henry's own fist.
"HAHAHA! Fuck it, we ball! From this moment on… you are my partner!"
The impact sent a shockwave through the realm, flames erupting skyward as if celebrating their pact.