My Supernatural Girlfriends Spoils Me Rotten

"I'm starting,"

A pulse of energy shot through Lucian's chest—sharp, searing, violent.

His entire body convulsed, but the bindings held him still, keeping him upright as light tore through his veins.

The invisible circuits inside him—the very foundation of his magic—began to unravel.

"AGGGGGHHHH!" Lucian choked.

The pain was unlike anything hefelt before. It wasn't just physical; it was deep, like something intrinsic to his very being was being erased.

He had steeled himself, bracing for the worst after all the warnings. But when it finally hit—when the real deal crashed into him—it was too much.

His back arched involuntarily, but the spell's grip kept him from moving. His fingers curled, nails digging into his palms, but he couldn't even flinch.

All he could do was hold on.

CRACK!

CRACK!

CRACK!

Lucian's breath hitched as a sharp snap echoed inside his ear.

In that instant, the energy that had always pulsed beneath his skin—the very thing that tethered him to life—vanished.

The world turned blank. And just like that, he shut down.

He wasn't dead, but he wasn't alive either.

If there was a silver lining, it was that his consciousness had blacked out along with everything else.

No pain. No fear. Just silence.

Then—

A tug. Subtle at first. Like an unseen rope pulling him back.

Lucian barely registered the change until a warmth wrapped around his fractured body, threading through the emptiness that nearly consumed him.

Another wave of pain crashed over him.
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A choked groan escaped him, followed by a sharp cry.

Sand. That's what it felt like. Thick, suffocating, pouring into every inch of him, pressing against his ribs, clogging his veins, weighing him down until he thought he might break apart.

When his vision fully returned, he saw his son-in-law, surrounded by dozens of translucent hands moving so fast they blurred together.

This eased Lucian's worry—if only a little.

Asher—like a master craftsman—continued his work.

With a steady hand, he reached out, his movements precise and controlled.

Each pathway had to align perfectly. A single misplaced thread, an incorrect connection, and the body would reject the transplant.

The moment the fifth sector connected, Lucian's body jerked.

A violent gasp tore from his throat as sensation slammed back into him all at once.

Burning. Freezing. Searing light and smothering darkness.

His fingers twitched—he could move again.

But it wasn't over yet.

Asher's hands blurred, working faster now, matching the natural flow of the energy before the body had time to resist. The pathways twisted, merged, linked—one after another.

And then—

The final thread snapped into place.

Lucian's chest heaved as a rush of energy surged through him, filling the void that nearly swallowed him whole.

His heartbeat—erratic at first—stabilized.

The glow beneath his skin also flickered before dimming down.

It worked.

But as Lucian gasped for air, a strange sensation curled deep within him.

This body—it wasn't quite his.

Something was… off.

Asher caught his expression and quickly unbound him.

"Do you feel anything strange?"

Lucian sat up and flexed his fingers, then his arms.

Power thrummed beneath his skin—stronger, more powerful than before.

However—

"I feel weird," he admitted, opening and closing his fist. "Like… I'm not moving my own body."

Asher touched his chin, double-checking his work. No mistakes—the process was flawless.

"Maybe it's just your body adjusting. Even though I extracted Leno's soul first, the pathways still retained some imprint—kind of like muscle memory."

Lucian's brows furrowed. "That's what worries me. What if it's more than just an imprint? What if parts of him are still in me?"

"Well..." Asher paused, choosing his words carefully.

"Technically, you're right. But I don't think it'll matter much. Like I said, it's just muscle memory. Maybe down the line, you'll learn certain skills your brother used, but beyond that, it shouldn't affect you."

Lucian finally sighed in relief.

He wasn't like Asher—who could stay calm even after his personality had been altered by his dragon bloodline.

Asher never doubted himself because, no matter the changes, he knew he was still him.

With his doubts finally eased, Lucian looked up and offered a simple, sincere, "Thank you."

It was all he could give—because the person before him already had everything.

Asher returned the smile before reaching into his space bag, pulling out an array of items—rings, a leather armor set, a pendant, and even a sword.

Each one gleamed with power, all of them Platinum Rank magic items.

Together, they would elevate Lucian's strength to a level where even a powerful Demon King wouldn't stand a chance against him.

Asher held them out. "Take these. Get to the Demon World fast—and do what you gotta do."

Lucian nodded, understanding his duty.

As much as he wanted to search for his son, his priority now was restoring their family's standing.

"There's… another matter," Lucian spoke up. "Your background."

Asher raised a brow. "And that's a problem?"

Lucian exhaled. "You're powerful—there's no doubting that. But people will start questioning where you came from. Establishing a background, even if it's a lie, would give your status more weight."

"That's why… I think I should reveal that you're a dragon."

Asher blinked, then shook his head.

"Anything but that. I didn't even mean to reveal this form to you, and I had my reasons for keeping it a secret."

"I understand," Lucian nodded. "Then we'll just make up another story. Do you have one?"

"Just tell them I'm some kind of ancient mage who isolated myself and decided to come out after tens of thousands of years."

People loved those kinds of stories—mysterious, powerful, and just believable enough that no one would question it too much.

And even if they did question it, they couldn't prove he was lying—because he had the strength to back it up.

Lucian let out a small chuckle, finding his son-in-law's chosen story a bit too cliche

"A reclusive ancient mage... Not a bad idea. It'll keep them speculating, too preoccupied with their own theories to dig any deeper."