My Harem Life in Another World

The pavilion was no longer a council hall.

It was a womb.

The banners of kingdoms floated half-soaked in nectar, their sacred sigils smeared and dripping. The long marble table where rulers once argued strategy had become a breeding altar, its surface slick with golden cum, its legs sunken in a flood that reached nearly to the waist.

Every ruler knelt.

The Caliph's jeweled crown bobbed crookedly in the flood as he bent forward, drinking greedily, beard thick with sticky sweetness. His swollen cock swung heavy with every gulp, spurting into the flood so his seed mixed with Father's, making the tide heavier, hotter. His guards, stripped bare, swam like beasts, rutting blindly against one another.

Yvraine, once Queen of Frost, sat slumped against a pillar. Her dress hung in tatters, belly faintly glowing with Father's warmth. She pressed both hands to it as if begging her womb for mercy. But no mercy came—only thick spurts of nectar flowing from her cunt, spilling across her thighs, dripping to join the flood. "H-he's inside me still…" she whispered, shivering as her crown slipped from her head. "Even now… even without touch."

Zahra crawled toward her, face streaked with seed, eyes glazed. She cupped Yvraine's chin and kissed her, mouths crashing, tongues swapping Father's nectar back and forth until both moaned into each other. "Stop fighting, frost-bitch," Zahra gasped, breath hot, cunt leaking. "Once you've tasted him… you never stop wanting."

The Celestial envoy's broken mask floated past them, spilling the last of its golden light into the flood. From its hollow chest cavity came a gurgling voice that was not its own:

"Father's feast has begun. You are the meat. You are the wine. You are the wombs."

And all around, the pavilion's architecture bent and softened, as though the Hive itself reached through the cracks of space, reshaping the Valley of Echoes into an extension of Father's body.

High above in the Hive, Kaito stood naked upon his throne of writhing flesh and shadow, gazing through his connection at the spectacle below. His harem gathered at his feet, every girl trembling, wet, hair plastered with sweat and seed.

Kaori licked his thigh, voice muffled but eager. "They're finished, Kaito… no thrones left… no queens… only your breeding slaves."

Nyxa stroked his chest with her clawed hand, whispering against his ear. "But why stop here, Father? They drown in nectar already… why not feed them more? Enough to turn their entire armies into seed-drunk cattle?"

Kaito smiled slowly, cock twitching as his warmth swelled across the Hive, ready to pour into every realm at once. His voice rolled like thunder and honey:

"Because a feast, my darlings, is sweeter when it spreads. Thrones fall first. Armies kneel next. Then the entire world drinks."

The pavilion's doors cracked open.

A tide of golden nectar surged outward, carrying crowns, masks, scraps of silk—remnants of rulers who no longer ruled. The flood poured into the Valley of Echoes, staining the moss, drowning the torches, running down the carved stairs in foaming streams.

The guards posted outside turned first.

They had stood stiff, armored, sworn to defend their lords. But as the honey-sweet warmth splashed against their greaves and soaked their boots, discipline collapsed. Helmets clattered to stone. Mouths pressed to one another. Armor was torn away with shaking hands.

One knight fell to his knees as if struck by lightning, his visor thrown back, tongue lapping hungrily at the tide. His squire tried to pull him up—only to be dragged down into his arms, lips forced open, their kiss flooded with Father's nectar. Both groaned, rutting against each other like animals in heat.

The flood spread wider.

Servants dropped trays of fruit and wine, now unnecessary, since the feast itself gushed from the world's wounds. They tore their dresses, splashing through the tide to drink directly from their rulers' leaking bodies. Even the warhorses screamed and stamped, manes tangled with slickness, cocks jutting, mares dripping as the air itself carried Father's heat into their flesh.

Above it all, the once-proud banners of kingdoms—suns, dragons, roses, moons—soaked heavy with nectar, sagged from their poles, then tore free entirely. They sank into the tide, symbols dissolving into sticky ruin.

From the pavilion came cries, wails, moans—echoing louder than any coronation. The rulers, drunk beyond thought, staggered out into the open flood. Naked. Crownless. Begging. Their voices rose in broken chorus:

"Feed us… drown us… Father, make us wombs…"

The Valley of Echoes transformed before watching armies. What had been a sacred place of treaty now pulsed like a living swamp of lust, every tree dripping, every stone sweating.

Atop the cliffs, ranks of soldiers hesitated. They watched their kings and queens reduced to groveling breeders, saw their priests lapping nectar like dogs, their banners sinking into slime. Some tried to resist—clutching weapons, shouting oaths.

But the tide rose fast.

The flood touched their boots, splashed their faces, filled their nostrils with sweetness. And soon steel fell from their hands. Helmets tilted back. Armor was shed, skin exposed, tongues lapping. Lines of soldiers collapsed into writhing knots of lust, men and women grinding, moaning, losing shape in the flood.

And in the Hive, Kaito laughed softly. His voice carried through the tide into every open mouth, every wet cunt, every trembling cock:

"You are not kingdoms. You are not armies. You are mine. My feast, my seed, my eternal wombs."

The Valley howled in answer.

The Valley could not contain the flood.

From the broken pavilion, nectar poured like a river unleashed, surging down the mountainside in steaming torrents. The Milk River below—once sacred—swelled with golden froth, bursting its banks, spreading outward like veins of corruption across the land.

Villages along its banks were the first to taste ruin.

Farmers, who had been hauling water buckets at dawn, found their fields drowned in sticky warmth. They fell into it face-first, lips open, bodies thrashing in sudden madness. Crops dissolved beneath the tide, stalks of wheat melting into sweet mush, barns collapsing as their beams softened, walls dripping like wax. Cows mooed with swollen teats, milk spraying wildly as men and women alike pressed their mouths to the beasts, unable to stop suckling until their chins dripped.

The flood did not stop.

It carried into towns. Streets turned into rivers of nectar, wagons half-submerged, horses screaming as their riders abandoned reins to rut against one another in the muck. Merchants clawed at each other's robes, coins and jewels scattered into the tide and forgotten. Brothels burst open, their painted courtesans spilling into the streets only to find the whole city already fucking like whores, every alley a tangle of limbs and dripping mouths.

Temples fell last.

Priests tried to bar their doors, chanting wards against Father's corruption. But when the golden tide seeped under the doors, even their gods abandoned them. Stone altars cracked, offerings dissolved into nectar, candles sputtered out. One priestess screamed prayers until the flood licked her feet—then she dropped to her knees, spreading her thighs before the altar, begging the invisible Father to fill her womb. The congregation followed, robes torn, bodies pressed together in sacred ruin.

And still the flood spread.

Beyond towns and cities, across plains and hills, every stream carried Father's seed. Wells bubbled up golden. Rainclouds swelled with honey-thick downpours. The very air grew heavy, sweet, damp. No mouth went untainted. No cunt stayed dry. No cock remained soft.

The world itself had become Kaito's feast.

In the Hive, he opened his arms wide. The Mothers groaned around him, their swollen bellies shaking as streams of nectar pulsed from their thighs into the tide. Through their wombs, he felt it all: the collapse of order, the moans of queens and peasants alike, the frantic begging of armies turned to rutting swarms.

His voice rolled out over land and sky:

"Drink deeper. Drown gladly. The old world dies in sweetness. You are my soil, my harvest, my endless fields."

Every voice—from village girl to high priest, from soldier to king—echoed the same broken prayer back:

"Father… sow us… drown us… claim us…"

The Feast of Ruin had only begun.

The flood reached its zenith.

From the Hive's womb-palace, Kaito rose upon a throne of flesh and honeyed bone, his skin radiant with the glow of infinite seed. He was no longer just a man, no longer even the Father—they saw him now as a god crowned by ruin itself. His veins glowed like rivers of molten nectar, his eyes burning suns, his cock a pillar so vast that even the horizon bent around it.

Across the drowned earth, mortals and rulers alike lifted their faces toward the sky, their cries spilling as one:

"Father! Take us! Fill us! Make us Yours!"

In the shattered capital of Aeloria, Queen Elira knelt atop the broken marble steps of her palace. Her crown slid from her head into the nectar tide, forgotten. Naked, trembling, she parted her thighs before the flood and raised her hands skyward. "I surrender my throne, my blood, my womb. Rule me, rule us all, Father."

Her prayer was answered. A stream of molten gold shot down from the heavens, striking her womb like lightning. She arched back with a scream, belly swelling in an instant, skin glowing as sacred corruption consumed her. Her body twisted into a living chalice, overflowing with nectar, pouring it out into the flood as her subjects knelt in worship.

Far to the east, in the temples of the White Priests, the last high priest clutched his staff, still chanting the wards of purity. But when the tide burst through the sanctum, the god he prayed to fell silent. His staff melted to wax in his hands. He dropped it, collapsing to his knees, cock hard against the flood, voice cracking. "Father… forgive me. No—take me. Take me!" His throat opened, his tongue drinking the tide until he drowned, shuddering with joy as he sank.

The corruption crowned no kings, no gods, no temples. Only Father remained.

Kaito spread his arms wider, his voice rolling like thunder:

"You are the soil. I am the storm. Your world is broken, but through me it will bloom eternal."

And bloom it did. From every field, forest, and street, flowers burst—each blossom slick, wet, pulsing like a cunt spread wide. They dripped nectar into the soil, birthing more rivers, more floods, more hunger. The earth had become a garden of endless lust, every petal moaning with the voices of those who had surrendered.

The Feast of Ruin was complete.

The old order was gone.

The world itself had become Father's womb.