Champion Of Lust: Gods Conquer's Harem Paradise!

The Death Dragon—his sister, his blood-bound shadow—stood draped in a gown of endless black. Today, she made no attempt to conceal what she was.

Her white hair, wild and untamed, cascaded down her back like fallen snow over obsidian cliffs, gleaming under the warped light of the hallway.

No enchantment dulled her presence. No illusion masked the truth. Her draconic horns curled back from her temples, bone-black and ridged with ancient runes—she didn't hide them today—symbols that throbbed faintly, not with magic, but with the memory of extinction itself. Her dress was ruthless elegance, split along the left to reveal a pale, perfect thigh strapped in black lace, the kind that whispered seduction with a blade hidden underneath.

She didn't walk—she prowled, looking like death sculpted into a goddess.

When Pyris spoke, it wasn't sound—it was command.

"Come here."

The world broke.

Space collapsed inward like a lung punctured by divine breath, and the three of them were no longer where they stood—they were in his arms before the sentence had time to end. The hallway screamed in silence, light fractured, and the floor rippled as though reality itself had to reorganize to accommodate the shift.

They didn't hesitate. They buried their faces into his chest, into his scent, into the overwhelming pressure of what he had become. Not like they were greeting him after a long absence—no, like they were survivors clinging to the core of a collapsing star. It hadn't been ages since they saw him—but it felt like lifetimes.

He leaned down, murmuring low, his voice like gravity folding in on itself.

"Why did you leave, Alexa?"

Her laugh was soft but threaded with a hint of guilt, wrapped in mischief. "I didn't want to witness the change... only what came after."

He flicked her forehead with a touch that bent the air, and she giggled again, glowing under his gaze.

Of course she'd known. She always knew.

He had changed.

Changed beyond dragon, beyond bloodline, beyond species. He didn't feel like a beast anymore, or even a god—he felt like a concept walking in flesh, wrapped in a soul that trembled with too much memory.

He pressed kisses onto their cheeks, onto their temples—burning and gentle all at once. And then they moved forward. Alexa leading, radiant and smug; Aurelia and Alexa each clutching a hand like they were holding onto thunder.

Alera remained closest to his left, her voice steady as cosmic stillness. "The launch will be over soon."

He nodded, just once. The motion warped the light above his head. The ceiling groaned.

They processed down the corridor, heels clicking over marble that rippled beneath their passage like liquid reacting to celestial footsteps. The last session was to be held in the ballroom. The leaders would finish their testing, trying to understand the new reality they'd awakened.

And after that?

The banquet.

The final act before the next phase of Pyris's design—a place where food, masks, and diplomacy would be the first weapons drawn... and the first dominations quietly executed.

Let them celebrate.

He was already planning what came next.

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They led him through a separate corridor—curved, seamless, echoing faintly with the hum of reinforced space folding to keep him from tearing through the walls just by existing. The moment his foot crossed the threshold, the very air adjusted, thickness recalibrating, gravity dragging just slightly slower.

The world knew who was arriving.

The private suite was no mere changing room.

It was a divine vault masked as a seven-star waiting chamber—sprawling in dimensions that shifted subtly based on thought, ceiling stretching beyond Euclidean restraint, walls veined with embedded sigilsteel that hummed beneath lightless crystal chandeliers.

The air buzzed faintly with contained magic and acoustic silence, both designed not for mortals, but for those whose presence threatened structure itself.

Inside, the women were changing into new sets of ceremonial attire—some already dressed, others in various states of transition. Laughter echoed, conversations layered like harmonized storms. Yet the moment he entered—

Time seed to have halted.

Not literally. But perceptually, undeniably. Heads turned as if commanded. Eyes widened, hearts paused between beats. He hadn't just stepped into a room. He had entered their gravity well.

And then—before anyone else could move—came the blur.

Elsa.

White hair trailing like moonlight ribbons behind her, the little moon elf shot across the room faster than she had any right to. Her voice was a chiming echo in a sacred hall, calling out to the one constant in her sky.

"Big brother!"

Pyris didn't hesitate.

He crouched down low, a motion that sent a visible pulse through the marble floor. Space buckled downward. His arms opened—not gently, not carefully. She leapt in, giggling as she crashed into his chest, and he caught her like time had waited just for this second.

The others smiled. But they didn't look away.

They couldn't.

His presence—unintended, unchained—radiated like a metaphysical sun that drew in every gaze. Even love was overpowered by awe.

Their eyes devoured him. Not in lust. Not in respect. In need. Hunger that touched the soul. A hunger for proximity to something no longer meant to be touched.

He looked up slowly, smirk curling at the edge of his lips, voice soaked in playfulness that split the tension like a blade through fabric.

"…You all look like you want to chew me alive."

And just like that, the spell shattered.

Laughter burst. Eyes rolled. Shoulders relaxed. Conversations reignited like wildfire catching dry grass.

Astrid pulled Nysa into a whispering fit. Zara's eyes tracked his every move with that knowing glint of futureplay. Emberly, fire-winged and agitated as always, flipped her hair and mumbled something to Anastasia, who merely rolled her eyes. Moonveil gave him a solemn nod, Julienne smirked behind her blade-polished nails.

His teacher and Madeline, chuckled low with a comment too sharp to repeat.

Suzie gasped at the joke while still fixing her dress.

Far, Lizzie and Esmeralda were still overseeing the last readings of the launch. Duty over desire. For now.

Emilia leaned into Rose, teasing the maid too openly as always, while the Demoness Ammit lounged with arms crossed, her presence shadowing the edges of the room like a storm rolling in. Arabella?

Hiding behind a dressing screen, peeking out every few seconds with cheeks too red for a deathborn.

He didn't acknowledge her.

But he smirked.

And the room reacted again. A thrum beneath the floor, a flicker in the lights—reality twisting for the briefest of seconds, responding not to a movement… but a thought.

He said nothing more.

He didn't need to.

The world was already bending to accommodate what came next.

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Okay enough with the details, let's start the action.