John stepped into the art room, the heavy door clicking shut behind him. The space smelled of polished wood and something sharper,. Marrianetta stood exactly where he had left her, crimson dress clinging to every impossible curve, wide-brimmed hat casting a shadow across her blood-red eyes. She was adjusting one of the porcelain dolls on its shelf, long nails clicking against the tiny porcelain shoulder.
"Hey," John said, voice steady in the new throat. "It's me."
She turned slowly. Those eyes swept over him—black hair, yellow gaze, blood-scar X across his face, the sharp designer jacket and baggy black pants, gold chain resting against his chest. No recognition flickered. Only a faint tilt of her head, like a predator reassessing a familiar scent that had suddenly gone wrong.
John tried again. "Marrianetta. It's John. I changed the avatar a little. New hair, new eyes, new… everything. Still me. The same guy who built this room for you."
Silence. She took one step closer, nails glinting.
"I know it looks different," he pressed, "but the title's still Reborn Overlord. Same skills. Same palace. I just wanted it to feel more like… me."
She didn't answer. Instead her hand shot out, fingers closing around his shoulder like a vice. Fabric bunched under her grip. Before he could finish the next sentence she lifted him clean off the floor—two full feet into the air, legs dangling, designer loafers swinging uselessly. His back pressed against the cold stone wall a heartbeat later, pinned there by effortless strength.
Status windows exploded across his vision in rapid fire, ten identical panels stacking and flashing at once.
Counteracting Miasma Poisoning – Level 1
Counteracting Miasma Poisoning – Level 2
Counteracting Miasma Poisoning – Level 3 …and on, repeating in perfect sequence, each line pulsing crimson before vanishing and reappearing. The system was working overtime, burning through whatever toxin she was leaking.
A visible purple gas rolled off her skin now, thick and sweet, curling like smoke from a dying fire. It filled the room in seconds, heavy enough to taste on the tongue. John's old body would have dropped dead in three heartbeats, lungs seizing, blood boiling, heart exploding in his chest. But the new one held. Regeneration kicked in silently, veins flushing the poison out as fast as it entered, immunity layers stacking like armor he couldn't see.
Marrianetta leaned in until her face filled his entire world. Her breath was warm against the blood-scar X on his cheek. "You smell different," she whispered, voice velvet and razors. "But you feel the same underneath."
She released his shoulder only to spin around in one fluid motion, back now to him. The crimson dress rode up as she bent at the waist, silk sliding over skin with a whisper. What spilled out was monumental—shelf-like, heavy, impossibly round, the kind of ass that looked engineered for sin and gravity both. It filled his sight completely, pale skin glowing under the ambient light, each cheek a perfect curve that promised to swallow his hands whole if he ever dared touch.
John's mouth went dry. He had never touched a woman. Not once. Not in Japan, not in the kennels, not in any of the miserable chapters that had come before this moment. His fingers twitched at his sides, gold rings catching the light. He was going to do it. He was about to do it. He was…
He was… was… wass…