John sank into the throne-like gaming chair with a groan that was half exhaustion, half pure, decadent relief. The leather molded to his new body like it had been waiting centuries for exactly this shape, six-foot-three of sculpted muscle, broad shoulders filling out the midnight-black designer jacket, gold chain settling heavy against his chest like a trophy he'd already earned. The chair reclined with a soft hydraulic sigh, cradling every inch of him.(PAUSE)
It was softer than anything he'd ever touched in his old life. Softer than the lumpy mattress in Saitama, softer than the straw in the kennel, softer than the plush seats in Elrin's carriage that he'd only ever glimpsed from the outside while walking in front like a medieval pack mule. This thing wasn't furniture; it was a hug from reality itself. He could sleep here. Hell, he could live here. No bed required. This was his new forever-bed.
He reached for the tungsten mouse. Five pounds of solid metal, supposedly, but in his grip it felt like a normal lightweight gaming mouse, perfectly balanced, smooth glide across the obsidian desk mat that had materialized under his palm without him even asking. Overlord strength perks, maybe. Or the system just decided physics was optional when it came to drip. Either way, he wasn't complaining.
The triple 8K curved monitors flared to life the instant his finger brushed the power rune etched into the tower's side. No boot sequence. No loading bar. Just instant Windows.
Windows 67.
John stared.
"Windows… sixty-seven?" His voice cracked halfway through the sentence, caught between disbelief and the hysterical laugh bubbling up in his throat. "Who the fuck greenlit that version number? Some twelve-year-old intern on a sugar high? Microsoft's been milking ten for like fifteen years and now we jump straight to sixty-seven? What happened to eleven through sixty-six? Did they all get nuked in a timeline war or something?"
The desktop loaded anyway, pristine and mocking. Same wallpaper he'd had back in Saitama: a low-res screenshot of Zero Two from Darling in the Franxx mid-explosion, pink hair whipping, eyes glowing, the exact frame he'd saved at 3 a.m. after binge-watching the series for the sixth time. His old account was already signed in. John [email protected]. Even the shitty password he'd used since he was fourteen (NarutoFan2007!) had carried over. Cosmic identity theft or divine convenience—he wasn't sure which was worse.
He moved the cursor. The desktop icons were the same too: Chrome (now labeled "OmniBrowse – Multiversal Edition"), a folder called "Hentai Archives – Do Not Open (Seriously)," Steam with a library count of 4,872 games he'd never finish, and one lonely text file on the desktop labeled "LOGS.txt."
He double-clicked it.
The window that opened wasn't a text file. It was a live, three-dimensional globe the size of a beach ball, hovering above the desk like a holographic planetarium exhibit. Continents sprawled in impossible detail—greens so vivid they looked wet, oceans rippling in real time, cloud systems drifting like living smoke. The scale readout in the corner read:
Planetary Surface Area: 152,000,000,000,000 km²
Current Population (sentient): 944,731,482,019
Active Kills (last 60 seconds): 1,842
Births (last 60 seconds): 2,119
John whistled low. "One hundred and fifty-two trillion square kilometers. Zero wasn't exaggerating. Earth's a marble next to this thing."
He dragged the globe with the mouse. It spun smoothly. Zoomed in with a scroll wheel flick. A single continent filled the screen—mountain ranges like jagged teeth, rivers like silver veins, cities glowing faintly with magical ley-line signatures. He could see individual rooftops if he wanted. Individual people moving like ants.
He opened the search bar at the top.
Search entity / event / name / bloodline / prayer keyword
He typed: Elrin
944,500 results.
"Fuck me," he muttered. "That's a popular name."
He added filters one by one, narrowing the net with cold precision.
Noble → 40,012
Blond → 3,599
Male → 1,842
Prays to Cumulous → 3
Three results.
John clicked the first one.
Elrin Snooven Hound
Age: 20
Height: 5'6"
Weight: 120 lbs
Title: Only son of Duke Snooven Hound of Eliersia
Status: Alive Location: Hound Manor, Eliersia Capital, Third Floor East Wing Private Chambers Current Activity: Intercourse (active)
The globe zoomed violently. The continent shrank, then a kingdom, then a capital city, then a sprawling manor estate ringed by iron spikes and torchlight. Then straight through stone walls into a candle-lit bedroom.
Elrin Snooven Hound, blond, pretty, delicate, built like the femboy noble he'd always secretly resembled, was bent over the edge of a four-poster bed. His fine silk tunic was rucked up around his waist. His breeches were around his ankles. His wrists were bound behind his back with red silk rope. His face was flushed crimson, mouth open in a continuous, whining moan that sounded more like a bitch in heat than the arrogant lord who'd once kicked John in the face and called him worm.
Behind him, much taller, much broader, skin scarred and tanned, was a political prisoner. Some rebel or dissenter who'd been captured weeks ago, now stripped naked, cock thick and veined and glistening with oil. He had one hand fisted in Elrin's golden hair, yanking the noble's head back so hard his spine arched. The other hand gripped Elrin's narrow hip, fingers digging bruises into pale skin.
The prisoner thrust forward, hard, brutal, no warmup, no mercy. Elrin's entire body jolted. A high, broken cry tore out of him.
"F-faster!" Elrin gasped, voice cracking. "Harder, you filthy cur! Do you want to keep your head? Fuck me like you mean it or I'll have you executed at dawn—ahhhn!"
The prisoner laughed, low and rough. "You nobles talk big when you're getting railed, don't you?" He slammed in again, balls slapping wetly against Elrin's ass. The noble's cock, small, flushed, leaking bobbed uselessly beneath him, untouched. "Beg properly, little lordling. Beg like the bitch you are."
Elrin's eyes rolled back. Drool slid from the corner of his mouth. "P-please—fuck—harder—deeper—ruin me—make it hurt—make me feel it tomorrow when I sit on the throne—nghhh!"
Another savage thrust. The prisoner's hips snapped forward with enough force to rock the entire bedframe. Elrin's bound arms strained against the silk rope. His thighs trembled. His voice pitched higher, turning into desperate, slutty whimpers.
"Yes—yes—there—right there—you worthless prisoner—fuck your betters—fill me—fill your lord—ahhhn!"
The prisoner growled, pace turning feral. Skin slapped skin in a wet, obscene rhythm. Elrin's hole stretched wide around the thick shaft, glistening with oil and precum. Every withdrawal dragged a glistening string of slick between them. Every re-entry punched a new cry from the noble's throat.
"Gonna cum," the prisoner grunted. "Gonna flood this tight noble ass. You want it? Beg."
"Cum inside me!" Elrin wailed, voice completely broken now. "Breed your lord—mark me—fill me up—make me leak all night—please—please—!"
The prisoner buried himself to the hilt with a final, brutal slam. His hips jerked. Thick ropes of cum erupted deep inside Elrin, pulse after pulse, so much that it started leaking out around the shaft before he even finished. Elrin's own cock twitched violently, spurting untouched onto the sheets below in weak, pathetic dribbles. His whole body shuddered, eyes crossed, tongue lolling, a drooling, fucked-stupid expression plastered across his once-arrogant face.
The prisoner pulled out with a wet schlick.
Elrin's hole gaped—wide, red, ruined. Thick white cum bubbled out immediately, running in slow, obscene rivers down his trembling thighs, pooling on the silk sheets beneath him. The noble collapsed forward onto the mattress, ass still up, back arched, panting like he'd run a marathon. His bound hands twitched uselessly behind him. His voice came out small, wrecked, barely audible.
"…More… please… don't stop…"
John stared at the live feed, jawdropped.
The blond femboy noble who'd once kicked him in the jaw, pissed on him while monologuing about breeding and hierarchy, who'd sold him like livestock and laughed while he bled in a kennel…
…was currently ass-up on silk sheets, leaking cum, begging for round two from the man he was supposed to execute tomorrow.
John blinked once. Twice.
Then he leaned back in the gaming chair, crossed his arms behind his head, and let out a long, slow exhale.
"Oh…" he said to the empty office, voice flat with disbelief and dark amusement. "The noble who was built like a femboy… actually likes being treated like one."
He stared at the screen a moment longer, watched Elrin weakly hump the mattress, still whining for more, hole clenching around nothing, cum still dripping in thick globs.
"How… uhh… surprising."
John closed the window.
The globe spun lazily in front of him again.
He cracked his knuckles.
"Alright then," he muttered, yellow eyes glinting in the crimson LED glow. "Let's start making a proper list."