Lust System: Rise of the Primordial Demon

The controlled, agonizing current from Caelen's [Thunderbrand Touch] sought the core of Velantra's power, a violation so profound it left her gasping, her divine form shuddering.

Her wings, once symbols of majestic grace, twitched erratically. The slight fear in her eyes was a victory sweeter than any Caelen had ever known.

"The Goddess's name," he repeated, his voice a hypnotic murmur that promised both pain and a twisted form of release. "The real one."

He leaned in, the stolen Auroral Edge still sputtering in his grasp, its holy light fighting a losing battle against the runic energy that temporarily bound it to his will.

The essence drain was a cold river in his veins, but the power, the dominance—it was a potent drug.

The scream that interrupted them was not one of divine agony, but of mortal terror and rage.

"MONSTER!"

The cry came from the edge of the grove. A group of elven sentinels stood there, their weapons drawn but their hands shaking.

Their eyes were wide, fixed not on the captured angel, but on Caelen. They had seen the tail end of the fight, seen him catch the holy blade, seen him corner the being of light.

They felt the overwhelming, corrupting pressure of his [Primordial Authority] and the terrifying beauty that now seemed to radiate from him like heat from a forge.

More elves poured into the clearing behind them—elders from the earlier audience, city guards, and common citizens driven by panic. The sight that greeted them was beyond their worst nightmares.

The sky was still an unnatural black. And in the center of it all stood a demon out of legend, holding a corrupted divine sword to the throat of an angelic being.

For a moment, pure, unadulterated fear won. "It's him! He's the cause of this!" shouted an elder, his finger trembling as he pointed at Caelen. "His presence defiles our land! Look what he's done to the sky!"

"The queen harbors this... this thing!" another voice, shrill with hysteria, joined in. "She must answer for this!"

But then, the [Abyssal Charm], which had been subtly muted by the Auroral Edge's purifying presence during the fight, finally broke free of that suppression. It wasn't activated; this was merely his base state, the natural aura of the Primordial Demon of Lust, now fully healed and whole.

The effect was instantaneous and devastating.

The women who had been shouting for blood fell silent first. Their anger didn't vanish; it was simply... overwritten.

They stared, their mouths slightly agape, weapons lowering. He was not just beautiful; he was the concept of desire given form.

The silver hair that seemed to capture starlight, the captivating crimson eyes that promised unimaginable pleasures, the elegant horns that spoke of a dangerous, thrilling power—it was a beauty that was terrifying and utterly, completely irresistible.

A young guard dropped her spear, the clatter loud in the sudden hush. She didn't even notice. She took a half-step forward, her expression one of awe and desperate yearning.

The men were not immune. Many found their righteous indignation crumbling under a wave of confusing awe and a strange, unwilling admiration.

They felt a pull, a recognition of perfection that transcended species or morality. They felt small, insignificant, and utterly captivated before his presence.

But a rare few, their wills forged of sterner stuff or their fear simply too great, resisted the pull. They were the most dangerous, because they fought against the current.

"This is a trick!" one such elf, a grizzled captain of the guard, yelled, tearing his gaze away with visible effort. "A demon's glamour! Your Majesty!" he shouted, turning his appeal to the palace, his voice straining against the palpable allure that filled the air. "You see this! How can you allow this abomination to stand in our sacred grove? Your seat is forfeit if you side with this darkness!"

The cry was taken up by a handful of others, a desperate, fearful minority trying to rally the enchanted crowd. "Answer us! Is this your doing? Why have you brought this upon us?"

The vast majority of the elves, however, were transfixed. The women looked at him with naked longing, some even sinking to their knees, not in fear, but in subconscious supplication to his beauty.

The charmed men looked torn, their eyes flicking between the terrifyingly beautiful demon and their shouting kin. They were too captivated, too awestruck to even think of raising a weapon against him.

It was into this maelstrom of fear, awe, and raw, undiluted desire that Elunara descended.

She did not emerge from the palace. She rose from the very earth of the grove, water coalescing from the morning dew and the moisture in the air to form a staircase of liquid light.

She walked down it with a regal grace that fought to command attention away from Caelen. Her presence was a cold, calming wave that washed over the hysteria, though even she could not fully erase the effect of his presence.

She landed softly on the grass between the mesmerized mob and Caelen, her back to him, facing her people. Her brilliant blue ocean eyes swept over them, and where her gaze fell, a tense quiet followed, though the yearning looks towards Caelen continued.

"You will be silent," she said, her voice not loud, but carrying an edge of absolute command that brooked no argument. The few still yelling choked on their words.

She turned her head slightly, her gaze taking in the scene: Caelen with the corrupted blade, the captured and trembling Velantra.

Her expression was unreadable, but there was no shock, only a deep, weary calculation. She could feel his amplified allure like a physical pressure against her back.

She turned fully to face the crowd, her voice ringing out clear and firm, a deliberate anchor in the sea of his charm.

"You look at the sky and you feel fear. You look at him," she gestured behind her without looking at Caelen, "and you feel... many things. But you are misplacing your fear. You are fools."

A shocked murmur ran through the crowd. The grizzled captain stepped forward. "My Queen! With respect, we are not fools! We see a demon—"

"You see a weapon," Elunara interrupted, her voice sharp, cutting through the allure. "A weapon that did not arrive here by chance.

A weapon aimed at our world. The darkness in the sky is not his doing. It is the banner of the force that seeks to use him, to use all of us. The force that sent her."

She took a step toward them, her presence expanding. "You ask if I side with darkness? I side with survival. This... 'abomination,' as you call him, has just disarmed and captured a Primordial Angel, a commander of the Virtues sent by the Goddess of Light herself. An entity that could have scoured this city from the map without a second thought to retrieve what she came for."

She let that sink in. The elves looked at the subdued Velantra with new eyes, their captivated stares briefly shifting to a more primal fear.

"The Goddess did not send her daughter to save us," Elunara continued, her voice dropping into a grave tone that carried to every ear.

"She sent her to reclaim a vessel," her eyes flicked to Caelen for a fraction of a second, "and to erase any obstacles. That includes you. That includes me. That includes this entire kingdom."

The truth landed like a physical blow. The elves' mesmerized state was now mixed with a much larger, more existential terror.

Elunara pressed her advantage. "You speak of my seat being forfeit? My seat is the only thing standing between you and annihilation from forces you cannot comprehend. You dare threaten me when I am the only one holding the shield?"

She looked at the captain, her gaze icy. "Your bravery is commendable, Captain. Direct it at the true enemy. This demon is not our foe. He is the only reason that angel is not currently judging you all unworthy of life."

The crowd was utterly silent now, the earlier rage and even the overwhelming desire now tempered by a cold, sober dread.

The captivating allure of Caelen was still there, a constant, throbbing undercurrent, but it was now filtered through the queen's terrifying context. He wasn't just a beautiful monster; he was a necessary, dangerous weapon they were privileged to behold.

Elunara finally turned to fully face Caelen. His beauty hit her anew, a wave of perfection that would have made a lesser being stumble.

But her will was iron. Her eyes met his, and for a moment, it was just the two of them—a queen of water and light, and the primordial demon of lust and lightning. An understanding passed between them, fragile and temporary.

Her voice was softer now, meant for him and those closest. "Release her. You have what you need from this confrontation.

Holding her will only drain you further." And frighten my people more than they already are, she left unsaid, though her eyes conveyed it.

Caelen held her gaze for a long moment, a faint, knowing smirk playing on his lips. He could feel the truth in her words. The runic energy was fading fast, the Auroral Edge growing hotter, more rebellious in his grip. The essence drain was becoming a sharp ache.

With a final, lingering look at the terrified Velantra, he deactivated [Thunderbrand Touch] and released her wrist.

He didn't throw the sword, but opened his hand, allowing it to clatter to the grass between them. It immediately flared back to its pure, brilliant white, the runic corruption vanishing as if it had never been.

The moment the sword left his hand, the last vestige of its suppression vanished. His [Abyssal Charm], now completely unfettered, swelled outwards in a silent, breathtaking wave.

A collective, soft sigh escaped from the elven women. A few more sank to their knees. Even the resistant captain flushed and took an involuntary step back, his anger now completely confused by a feeling he couldn't name and desperately didn't want.

Velantra stumbled back, clutching her wrist, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She looked from Caelen—whose presence now felt like a physical addiction she had to fight—to Elunara to the crowd of utterly captivated elves, her divine arrogance shattered, replaced by the raw humiliation of defeat and capture.

The message was clear. The demon was under the queen's control. For now.

The tension in the grove shifted again, from the brink of riot to a fragile, awestruck peace. The queen had not just calmed them; she had reframed their entire world.

And in the center of it all, Caelen stood, more powerful and more dangerous than ever, because the most powerful person in the kingdom had just publicly declared him her strategic asset, and his very existence had just become an instrument of control over her entire people.

-

["If you're enjoying the story, don't forget to drop a power stone or add it to your library—it really helps me keep writing!"]