Disclaimer: I do not have any rights of ownership for the characters used except the OC's. All the credit goes to the authors. Only the plot belongs to me.
Chapter 1
The air in the Gremory Underworld arena was thick with the coppery tang of blood and the electric hum of spent magic. It was a coliseum carved from obsidian, a stage for his rise to power, and for the last three years, it had been his crucible. Dust, ground from bone and stone, lay gathered around a figure that was less a man and more a monument to primal power.
His skin, the color of rich, dark earth, was a canvas of healing wounds and fresh ichor. Sweat, thick as oil, traced the canyons of muscle that defined his torso, his back, his colossal limbs. From his temples, two long, brutally thick horns of polished darkness curved forward, a declaration of his monstrous lineage. He stood over 8 feet tall, a bronze titan born of myth and forged in hellfire.
This was Taurus, the Bronze Bull of Gremory, and his final test was reaching its climax.
Around him lay the broken remnants of a legion—over three hundred captured criminals, strays, rebels, and traitors deemed worthy of a final, violent purpose. They were High-Class devils, some brushing the lower rungs of Ultimate-Class, a force that could have laid siege to a lesser Pillar's territory. For Taurus, they were simply grist for the mill.
His breaths were deep, ragged bellows that sent plumes of steam into the chilled air. His heart hammered against his ribs, a war drum counting out a rhythm of victory. A gash on his side, deep enough to have felled any other devil, was already knitting itself shut, the skin puckering and sealing with an unnatural vitality. Pain was fuel. Exhaustion was a prelude. The glorious violence of battle was only the first half of the ritual that defined his existence.
The last standing enemy, a hulking bat-winged devil with four arms, shrieked a curse and lunged, its claws wreathed in corrosive demonic energy. Taurus didn't even bother to turn fully. He moved with the deceptive speed of a landslide, his massive hand catching the devil's face in a grip that sounded like cracking stone. There was no struggle, no contest. Just a surge of raw, physical dominance. He squeezed. The skull imploded with a wet, final pop, and the body dropped to the floor, a discarded puppet.
Silence descended upon the arena. A profound, ringing quiet that was broken only by his own harsh breathing. He stood there, a king surveying his conquered domain of corpses, his body thrumming with a power that demanded release.
A single set of soft, elegant footsteps echoed from the shadowed archway of the victor's gate. A woman of impossible beauty glided into the light, her flaxen brown hair a waterfall against the deep violet of her gown. Her purple eyes, the same shade as the rest of the Bael family, held a mixture of pride, profound hunger, and a deep, possessive affection that transcended simple lust.
Venelana Gremory. Matriarch of the House. And for the past three years, his keeper, his teacher, and his 'mother.'
"My strong, beautiful son," she purred, her voice a silken caress that soothed the savageness in his soul. She came to a stop before him, unafraid of the blood and gore that clung to his skin. With practiced ease, her magical power flared, cleaning his form of the dirt of inferior beings that sullied him. The Power of Destruction dancing around his behemoth form, cleaning every last crevice that may contain any impurity.
Her delicate hand rose to cup his jaw as he knelt, her thumb stroking the hard line of his cheek. "You have passed. Though, there was never any doubt."
He leaned into her touch, his massive frame bowing slightly in a gesture of pure devotion. His own voice, a low, rumbling bass that could shake the very foundations of the castle, was soft with reverence. "Mother."
The word was a bond, an oath. She was the first to show him a kindness that was not pity, a desire that was not fear. She had taken a lost, frightened boy, a half-breed abomination, and seen the god slumbering within. She and her staff had nurtured that god, fed it, worshipped it, and in doing so, had bound him to the House of Gremory with chains far stronger than any contract.
"You are magnificent," she whispered, her eyes tracing the raw power etched into his physique. "But the battle has taken its toll. You are spent. You must be… replenished."
As if summoned by her words, they emerged from the shadows behind her. A procession of the Gremory household's elite maids, a dozen women of various ages and appearences, all devilishly beautiful, all moving with a singular, hypnotic purpose. Their eyes were fixed on him, glazed with an adoration that was fanatical, an addiction that ran soul-deep. They had been his sparring partners in a different kind of combat, his healers, the vessels for ensuring his continued growth.
They surrounded him, their hands beginning a practiced, reverent work. One unclasped his loincloth, revealing his virile glory to the rest of her fellow sisters, as they gathered around him, touching his form, savouring his presence. The air grew thick with the scent of their expensive perfumes mingling with his own primal musk of sweat and blood.
Venelana murmured, her lips brushing against his ear, "Your victory must be celebrated. You have passed your final test with flying colors. It is time for your reward, my son."
He offered no resistance as they guided him to the center of the blood-soaked arena, to a large, cushioned dais that seemed to rise from the floor for this exact purpose. The contrast was stark—the opulence of velvet and silk against the savage backdrop of slaughter. He was laid back, a willing sacrifice on an altar of pleasure.
The maids descended upon him, their movements a choreographed dance of decadent worship. Their mouths and hands sought to soothe his wounds, to erase the memory of pain with an overwhelming tide of sensation. A lingering ache in his shoulder was met with the soft pressure of a maid's lips, her tongue laving at the skin, her saliva carrying a faint, numbing magic. But the true healing, the true source of his transcendent recovery, came from a deeper place.
It began as a low thrum in his loins, the power he had absorbed from the life forces of his fallen enemies churning, transmuting into a different kind of energy. A potent, virile force that demanded to be unleashed. Venelana herself knelt between his legs, her flaxen brown hair pooling on his bronze thighs. She looked up at him, her crimson eyes smouldering with an insatiable need that mirrored his own.
"Show me the spoils of your war, Taurus," she commanded softly. "Fill us with your strength. Make us remember why you are the greatest treasure of our house." And with her final words, her mouth descended around his massive penis, her lips stretched around the head, her eyes crossed in pleasure as she tasted his essence.
His body responded, the final vestiges of fatigue burning away, replaced by a godlike stamina. The maids worked over him, their touches growing bolder, their whispers more desperate. They were addicts craving their fix, priestesses partaking of their sacrament. His seed was more than mere fluid; it was a distillation of his life force, a narcotic of unimaginable potency.
As Venelana worked her mouth and massive breasts over his length, a collective sigh of ecstasy rippled through the maids. For hours, he would be both king and captive, a fount of endless pleasure and power. The maids and matriarch of the Gremory family were used as mere holes for his pleasure, to satiate his hunger, to make sure his power grows so he could remain the prized soldier of the family.
This was the secret of the Bronze Bull. His strength was not merely forged in battle, but perfected in conquest of a far more intimate kind. A curse from his ancestor, the ancient and archaic Minotaur of Crete, but a blessing for the one who now was ready to leave his mark on this world.
As he lost himself to the rising tide, his last coherent thought was of his King, the red-haired girl who had gambled on him three years ago by begging her mother to help an injured boy she found on a trip to Greece.
The training was over. It was time to go home.
~ Rias Gremory ~
The air in the Occult Research Club room was thick with anticipation. The Gremory crest, emblazoned on a grand magical circle on the floor, burned with an incandescent crimson light, pulsing with a pressure that made the floorboards groan and the teacups on the table rattle.
Rias Gremory stood before it, her hands clasped, her expression a cocktail of nervous anticipation and fierce pride. Beside her, Akeno Himejima wore a sultry, knowing smile, though even she couldn't completely hide the flicker of curiosity in her violet eyes. Kiba Yuuto maintained his pleasant, princely demeanor, while Koneko Toujou, perched on the sofa, simply stared with her usual stoicism, a chocolate bar halfway to her lips.
A new addition stood slightly behind them, a young man with spiky brown hair and an earnest, if perpetually lecherous, expression. Issei Hyoudou, recently reincarnated as Rias's pawn (used 4 pieces) after a rather unfortunate encounter with a Fallen Angel. He watched the spectacle with wide-eyed confusion.
"Buchou, what's going on?" he asked, his voice a little shaky. "This feels… way more intense than when you brought me back."
Rias's smile was tight. "That's because it is, Issei. Today, someone special who has been away from me for a long time, is returning."
The light of the circle flared, forcing them all to shield their eyes. A wave of heat washed over the room, carrying with it a primal musky scent with heavy hints of earthiness and brimstone. A shadow began to resolve within the light, a silhouette so vast it seemed to suck the very light into itself.
When the glare subsided, he was there.
Issei's jaw dropped. Kiba's hand instinctively went to the hilt of the sword at his hip before he forced himself to relax. Koneko's deadpan expression finally broke, her golden eyes widening in shock.
The man— the giant — who stood in the circle was a creature of myth. He had to duck his head to keep from smashing it on the ceiling, his shoulders so broad they seemed to span the width of the circle itself. His skin was the color of burnished bronze, gleaming under the clubroom lights. His hair was a wild, untamed mane of jet-black silk that fell past his shoulders, and from his brow sprouted those two menacing, forward-curving horns. He wore simple black trousers and heavy leather boots, his torso bare, revealing a physique that would make Hercules look small. He looked as if he were carved from the very bedrock of the world.
His eyes, the color of molten gold, swept the room, and the ambient temperature seemed to rise several degrees. The sheer weight of his aura was suffocating, a physical weight that pressed down on all of them. It wasn't malicious, but it was absolute, an unapologetic declaration of presence.
Then, his gaze fell on Rias, and the oppressive weight vanished, replaced by a warmth that was just as overwhelming. A slow, deep smile spread across his face, a feature that transformed his brutal visage into something surprisingly gentle.
"Rias," his voice was a low rumble, the sound of tectonic plates shifting. He took a single step out of the circle, and the floor trembled.
Rias let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. This was him. The boy she had used her mutated rook on, the gamble her mother and herself had insisted upon. But the creature before her was no boy. He was a force of nature. A living siege engine. Her monster.
"Taurus," she breathed, her own voice unsteady. "Welcome home."
In two massive strides, he closed the distance between them. Before she could react, he had scooped her up into his arms as if she were a doll. Her feet left the floor, and she found herself pressed against a chest as hard and warm as a forge. The sheer scale of him was dizzying. Her entire body was enveloped by his embrace.
"I missed you, my King," he rumbled, his lips brushing the crown of her head. He held her for a long moment, a possessive, grounding hug that staked an unspoken claim. When he set her down, she felt unsteady on her feet, her senses reeling from the contact.
His molten gaze then shifted to Akeno. "Ara, ara. Look at you, all grown up," she purred, her usual teasing tone laced with a genuine tremor of excitement.
Taurus's deep chuckle rumbled, a tremor against her, as his colossal, calloused hand cupped her face with brutal tenderness, his thumb tracing the sharp line of her cheekbone. The other moved with predatory grace, plunging beneath her, sweeping under her thighs, bracing her lower back. Before she could fully register the shift, Akeno was effortlessly lifted, her body arcing to press flush against his formidable chest.
Her ample breasts flattened against his solid form. Legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, seeking purchase, as the hand that had swept her up settled, heavy and possessive, on the plump curve of her ass. His fingers splayed wide, cupping and squeezing the warm, inviting flesh through the fabric of her skirt, an undeniable claim that sent a shockwave through her core.
Akeno's gasp was a choked surprised sound, a searing flush blooming across her cheeks as an involuntary carnal shudder, coursed through her.
"Still so soft, Akeno," he rumbled, his voice a low, intimate growl that vibrated through her very bones. He leaned in, his hot breath a tantalizing promise against the sensitive skin of her ear. "You have become so beautiful. And ripe." His fingers tightened, a possessive squeeze that kneaded the full swell of her backside, a silent declaration that buckled her knees, even as he held her suspended.
"Th-thank you, Taurus-kun," she stammered, the words thick with breathless surrender and a burgeoning, molten heat pooling deep within her. He held her there for another heartbeat, his golden eyes promising a world of exquisite pleasure and pain, before releasing her. Akeno stumbled back a step, fanning her face, her composure completely shattered.
He gave a nod to Kiba, a gesture of respect between warriors sworn to the same side, and a soft smile to Koneko, as he bent a little, patting her head. "You've gotten stronger, little one."
Koneko just blinked, her chocolate forgotten, and gave a tiny, almost imperceptible nod, blushing at having her head scracthed by his hands.
Finally, his gaze fell upon Issei. It was a brief, dismissive glance. He noted the boy's presence, the faint magic of a Gremory servant, the feeble draconic scent clinging to him, and then looked away, as if assessing a piece of furniture. He had not earned Taurus's attention.
"The territory feels… tainted," Taurus said, his tone shifting back to business as he looked to Rias. "Stray Devils. Fallen filth. They've grown bold."
Rias quickly regained her composure, her pride as a King overriding her personal fluster. "We were just about to handle a Stray Devil situation. It seems your timing is perfect. A chance to stretch your legs after your journey."
Taurus's lips peeled back in a grin that was all predator. "Excellent. I'm feeling a little stiff." He cracked his neck, the sound like a falling tree. "Lead the way, my King."
Author's Notes
New story. This is purely for the horny ones like me out there. If you are looking for more plot driven stories, I would advise you to look at my profile and the link in the notes and give the other ones a read. There are images available as well.
Peace.
Posted - 26/10/2025