Chapter 74: Romeon Duvel (1)...
Hushed and eerie whispers filled the grand and opulent chambers of the great Northern Grand Duke Castle—a structure fused directly with the very land of the Northern Cardinal. Its might was forged into every brick and stone that made up the structure of the castle, its strength coursing through every sinew of the immense structure, standing like a sentinel to the broken and clouded heavens above, to a pillar of flames extending far beyond. Behind it loomed the Central Gates that separated the Great City of Astrea from the great darkness beyond the wall.
The rattling of chains drifted in the very wind, and those born on the soils of the North Cardinal would call them a part of life itself—like the light that shone during the day, the cold that blanketed the night, and the silence that arrived with death. The rattling had become so deeply ingrained into their existence that it was akin to nature's own display of power and terror. It was never unusual. It only grew louder with the coming of the Surge—or during its reign and short end.
The whispers themselves belonged to the type of sounds that existed on a plane apart from the veil of reality. They seemed to echo from both the present and past, their power stirring as if it had never been, as if it was never meant to be—yet somehow spoke of things that would be. And it was this very paradox that made the eeriness all the more hair-raising.
Within the chamber, set apart from the whispers beyond, the atmosphere pulsed with an intense passion—an obsession so deep it had blurred the lines between love and madness, a sick and twisted affection that would see empires burn. And none were the wiser.
Yet the voices, intoned as if they were spectators to a forbidden sight, had no form. Formless and sightless, they manifested no image, no presence—only sound. What lay within the chamber was simply the scene of two lovers, bound in flesh and lust, lost in their own pleasure.
They sang hymns that were not, in voices heavenly and yet tainted—one quarter divine, four parts dark and corrosive. Sweet to the ear, yet reeking of rot. Had they been allowed to manifest, the very world would have burned from its foundation. Their power was both present and absent, strange and yet enlightening.
"Honor the maiden who carries the sire of the Forgotten Sun.
Praise her, who knows not the fate that awaits her.
Praise be to her who has forsaken all sanity for fleeting moments of bliss—giving up her identity for the love of one that can never be filled.
Praise the maiden who soils the seed of the first of light and mercy.
Give her courage to bear the burden of past and future alike. Through her corrupted blood, she births a supreme chance. A fruit born of the labor of her ancestors.
Sing her name—for in the field of providence, only her flower blooms most splendidly.
Dripping with nectar that he cherishes as the light wanes over the body of gods.
Lament, oh mortal bounds—for your daughter has given herself to the woes of the 'sun' that never was.
Her glory she shares; your blood sustains her flesh.
Your name she bears to anchor her dying breath, bequeathing her the status of royalty.
Onto her rides the chariot of Heaven's progeny—for she is the woman of providence...
Hail, Rena Northflame, wife of the exalted 'king' who remembers not his authority or majesty."
And yet, their song would remain unheard—lost forever to the rivers of history, waiting for the day when 'sin' itself would grant them an audience.
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Ahhhh!
Moans of intense ecstasy filled the grand chambers, echoing off the thickened walls of the castle—walls more akin to a fortress than a palace of nobility. They were forged from a black, frost-kissed stone—or perhaps metal—the distinction long lost to time. Secrets lost with those that gave up their own flesh to craft every single inch of the fortress castle that had seen more blood than the earth that buried the corpses of the fallen.
Light feared to enter the abyssal sanctuary of the black fortress. Yet nature demanded its presence. A soft, reluctant glow filtered through the chamber, enough to provide sight—but not splendor. Its brilliance was muted, suppressed by the unnatural nature of the castle-fortress. A nature that seemed to violate the sanctity of light more than it offered worship instead.
But none of that mattered to the couple consumed by pleasure. Lain on a bed as large as a platform, draped in silken sheets of cold black and blue lined with a light gold that made up the embroidery of the sheets, the curtains hung thick, obscuring and yet offering sight into the sight within, hidden from the world outside.
Deep, penetrative thrusts and the slapping of flesh rang out like the clash of steel and gauntlets. Romeon plunged his cock deep within Rena's folds, his body rippling with intense, eldritch-born muscle—working in perfect, unnatural sync, as if trying to etch his very essence into the body beneath him.
He had only grown larger since his awakening. His frame had doubled, his beauty now more of an oppressive force than it was before, made even more devastating by his unnatural strength, that he exude even as his took her in.
His grip on her flesh was so intense that even her ashen skin showed hints of red—revealing just how tightly he held her, how desperately he wished to imprint himself onto her in every way possible. His golden gaze roamed the entirety of her body with an intense focus that felt more like he was measuring every inch of her skin, imprinting it into his memory never to be forgotten. His body trembled with a slight shiver as the mental overload was so intense that he could not even control his own subconscious reactions.
With every thrust, not a single inch of his pulsing length was left outside the scorching warmth of her core, her wetness soaking him so entirely. It felt as though he intended to merge their bodies fully, to bind them together as one through sheer force and desire.
His breathing remained steady and powerful—unlike the trembling body pinned beneath him. Every movement, every angle, and every ounce of his strength screamed dominance. And Rena—once so proud, so arrogant—could no longer summon even a whisper of that pride. Not in this state.
She was exhaustion incarnate, yet still she sank deeper into the mire of lust and madness. Her mind had broken, and she liked it. The more Romeon's length twitched and expanded inside her, the more her body gave in—consumed by a fire that only he could quench. Her juices flowed like a sacrificial offering along his shaft—burning and sacred, sordid and holy.
She was far beyond the ability to distinguish pain from pleasure. She simply screamed—because that was all her mind could do.
THUMP!
Romeon was displeased. Her mind had wandered. Even a moment's distraction was unacceptable. And so he punished her—burying himself deeper, claiming her once more, seeking that elusive place that her new body seemed to shift every now and then in a futile show of what had remained of her arrogance.
Her folds—once delicate grey-pinks—were now swollen and slick, drenched in so much seed it had pooled beneath them. Golden and sticky like molten treasure, its scent was maddening, laced with divine intoxication. If Reina had the mind to notice the details, she would have realized that it smelled like light... if light had a scent. Romeon did not care for the ache of her sensitive bud. He ignored it—whether on purpose or not, it was unclear. His gaze was wild, almost crazed. The need to conquer her had been seared into his soul.
They were bound in madness—and neither of them knew how deeply that bond ran.
It had been days since the events of his Awakening. He had succeeded. He had stepped onto a path so few mortals could dream of treading, and even fewer could survive. He had been chosen. Favored. And now he was no longer mortal. Perhaps this was not even his first life...
He had seen hints from the Legacy world; he had seen signs ...
But those thoughts were distant. Fading.
Right now, all he cared for was the taste of the woman beneath him.
Rena—his wife, his obsession—was his only concern. Her soft, willing body was his sanctuary and his battlefield. He fucked her hard. He did not know how many times he had spilled inside her, nor did he care.
He only wanted more.
He wanted to fuse their bodies in ways no gods had dared. To make her think of him and his cock alone—forever. There would be no room in her mind for anything or anyone else.
Not now.
Not ever.
He would be all she thought of, every waking moment, every breath; her whole body would sing his name, every pore his love; her soul would belong to him and him alone.