Reincarnated as an Evil Harem God

While their voices—intertwined in a symphony of pleasure—echoed like an ancient call, in the distant shadows of power, another presence stirred, restless, heavy with primal hunger.

"Grrrrrrrrhhhhhrrnn..." A low, guttural growl rippled through the humid jungle air. Every creature within hearing distance shrank into the shadows of towering trees and thick brush, as if the mere irritation of this presence could ignite catastrophe.

The owner of that voice lounged upon a black obsidian throne, crowned by mist, kissed by beams of sacred light. Her silver-white hair cascaded down her back like an untamed river, wild and restless. Striped tiger ears twitched atop her head, keenly aware, dangerously alert. Her molten cyan eyes gleamed with carnal hunger, a deadly, intoxicating imperial pride. She was a weapon of destruction—her broad hips, thick thighs, and devastating curves draped in ceremonial silk, clinging to every sinful dip. Her muscular tail coiled lazily around the throne, its stripes slithering across her skin like living shadows.

"Great Queen, we beg you, please, calm down... The elf king approaches soon. If he sees you like this..." A servant girl, wolf ears twitching nervously, fell to her knees before her. But the Queen did not acknowledge her, her attention far too consumed by her own dark thoughts.

Her cyan eyes were glowing with a light that felt eternal, as if she could pierce through time itself, traversing the vast expanse of countless lives, to see beyond the veil of the present. Her voice, when it broke the silence, was low and laced with an undeniable, erotic allure. "Faylira... What exactly do you think you're doing...?" Her pupils narrowed to slits as a low growl vibrated from her throat. Her claws flexed, digging into the obsidian armrest. "Another fluctuation in her soul... She's lost herself completely to desire." Her tone was so intoxicating, so mature and enchanting, it could draw even gods to their knees. But her focus was unwavering, her senses sharpening as she tapped into the fox's mind. Whatever she was about to witness would only add fuel to the inferno burning inside her.

A storm of lust, confusion, and something darker—jealousy—surged within her core. She exhaled sharply, her massive, muscular chest rising and falling in heavy breaths. The pressure in the air thickened, her cyan eyes shimmering with a light so intense it made her head spin.

"Show me him, through her eyes..." she commanded, her voice like a blade cutting through the tension. The air seemed to compress around her, as if her very soul was rising, ascendant. And with a thought, her vision aligned with Faylira's. The dense jungle unfurled before her, a vivid, visceral scene playing out.

And then she saw him.

Sylvaris—the man who haunted her every thought, the one she had sent her most loyal servant to bring to her side. Her breeder. But now... His head was buried between another woman's thighs. The ancient elf. His tongue devoured her with savage hunger, working his prey with an unrelenting, maddening devotion. Her juices coated his face, his entire being consumed by the act.

The Queen's heart slammed once in her chest, then again, harder, the heat flooding her core. Desire swelled in her veins, but her gaze remained fixed on his muscles, the raw power of his presence. His aura gripped the air around him, and she couldn't suppress a smile.

"So this is the man stirring my heart..." she murmured, her sharp fangs grazing her lip as her claws dug into the obsidian throne. "This... male. This beast..."

His power was not merely in his body; it was in the way he made women lose themselves, writhing, abandoning their pride. This was the dominance she craved—the one that left her aching, that made her want to be claimed, to be taken. Not a mate who would bow to her strength, but one who could make her submit willingly, to burn with desire that could never be quenched.

She growled low in her throat, the sound vibrating through her chest.

"You'll be mine, Sylvaris..." she whispered, her voice thick with lust. "Very soon..."

Her eyes glinted with satisfaction as she watched him dominate the ancient elf, feeling an overwhelming rush of approval. She didn't need a man who was weak, incapable of rising to meet her desires. A true male, in her eyes, was one who had many women warming his bed—after all, what king would he be if he couldn't spread his seed? Her instincts roared, uncontainable, primal.

Her own muscular thighs began to wetten, a deep, animal heat surging within her. Every beast in the jungle could sense it, but none dared approach her. None dared show their dominance. Not even the strongest among them had the courage to make a move on her. But Sylvaris—he was different.

The memory of their first meeting came rushing back to her. She remembered the moment vividly. He was just a boy then—fifteen, maybe sixteen—when she first crossed his path in a human town. Her beasts surrounded her, the humans scattering like terrified mice. But he didn't flinch. He sat on the edge of the fountain, lost in thought, his long black hair glinting in the sunlight. His features were a perfect mix of rugged masculinity and beauty, even at that age. And when she passed him, he didn't shy away. His golden eyes scanned her body, lingering on every curve with a hunger that sent shivers down her spine. The way he licked his lips told her everything. He wasn't afraid of her.

And then it happened—Pow!

The loud slap of his hand landing on her muscular ass rang out across the town square. The audacity of it! She could have killed him with a flick of her wrist. But instead, she stood frozen. He didn't even bother to defend himself when her beasts pounced on him. He simply stared her down, unafraid. His gaze, steady and unrelenting, locked onto hers. In that moment, something ignited inside her—a deep, primal connection. Love. Desire. Lust.

She had growled loudly, calling off her beasts before walking away, her hips swaying seductively for his eyes to feast upon.

"Yes... I will have you soon, my dear Sylvaris..." she whispered to herself, a promise of things to come.