(Bonus Chapter Thanks to Timothy_Kent_5336 & Froish_Frosephi)

He ripped it past her waist, past her hips, shredding the skirt all the way to the floor. The fabric dissolved into motes of light as it left her skin, vanishing into the void.

Silence descended on the whole dimension.

Isylia sat there, stark naked on the black obsidian throne.

Sol took a step back, the breath leaving his lungs in a rush. His hands fell to his sides as he simply stared.

He had expected beauty. He had expected perfection. But he wasn't prepared for the sheer impact of seeing a Primordial Goddess unveiled.

She was glorious. She was magnificent. She was absolutely divine.

Her proportions were truly a masterpiece of divine geometry.

Without the fabric to diffuse her light. Her skin glowed with a soft, internal golden light that illuminated the dark temple, casting long shadows behind the pillars. She was perfection made manifest. There were no tan lines, no blemishes, no scars, no imperfections. She was the template from which all desire was drafted.

Her breasts were proud and heavy, tipped with the crushed rose-colored nipples he had just ravaged. Her stomach was a soft, undulating plane of muscle that dipped into a navel deep enough to drink from.

Her waist was impossibly snatched, flaring out into hips that were wide, soft, and built for bearing universes. Her legs were long, smooth columns of light, bent at the knee, trembling slightly.

And between them... was perfection.

Absolute perfection a man could ever hope for.

A smooth, white mound, utterly devoid of hair. It was a flawless construct, a V-shape of pure skin that hid a slit of pink light which pulsed faintly, promising paradise. A paradise to die for.

And she sat there, frozen, her arms still raised slightly where he had pinned them, her face burning with a mixture of mortification and rage.

She realized she was bare.

With a gasp, she scrambled to cover herself. Her hands flew to her chest and her lap, curling into a ball of shame, her knees pressing together.

"Don't look at me!" she shrieked, tears of humiliation welling in her eyes. "Turn around! You... you vandal! "You are not worthy!"

"No," Sol whispered, ignoring her commands, his voice shaking with genuine, terrifying awe and lust. "You are... magnificent."

He stepped closer, his gaze tracing every line of her body, drinking in the sight of her golden skin against the black stone.

"There is no blemish," he noted, his voice sounding dazed. "No mole. No hair. You look like a statue carved from light, but you're so soft."

"I am efficient!" Isylia sobbed into her hands, her ears burning gold. "It is divine efficiency! Flaws are for mortals! Now stop looking at me. To see me like this... unadorned... it is a violation of the Natural Order."

"Then let's break the order," Sol said, his voice rough.

He reached for the tie of his own loincloth.

Isylia froze. She peeked through her fingers, watching him with wide, horrified eyes. "What?"

Sol reached for the hem of his tunic. "It's only fair. You showed me yours."

"I did not show you!" Isylia argued hysterically. "You ripped it off! That is not showing, that is looting!"

"It's all the same." He smirked and pulled the knot. His upper peplos fell to the floor in a heap.

He stood before her, completely bare, revealing his broad, newly scarred chest and the rippling muscles of his abdomen. His skin was tanned, marked by the sun and the jungle, a map of violence and survival that contrasted sharply with her pristine glow.

Isylia stared. She had seen mortals before, from a distance, from the heavens. But she had never been this close to one. She had never been eye-level with the reality of biological life in such a raw state.

She looked at his chest, scarred and defined by hard labor. She looked at his arms, corded with new muscle. He looked... hard. Like a weapon forged from clay and iron.

Then, Sol untied his lower peplos.

It dropped to the floor with a soft swish.

Isylia's solar eyes widened until they were perfect circles. Her breath hitched in her throat. Her hands fell away from her face completely, though she kept them over her breasts.

She stared at his erect cock. She couldn't help it. She was an ancient being, full of knowledge, but her understanding of biology was theoretical. It was her first time seeing something like this.

It was fully erect. Thick with blood, veined and angry, it jutted out from a thicket of dark hair, bobbing slightly as he moved. The head was a deep purple, glistening with a single drop of clear fluid.

"That..." Isylia whispered, her voice trembling with a mix of academic horror and morbid biological fascination. She pointed a shaking finger at it. "That is... monstrous."

She lowered her hands, forgetting to cover herself in her bewilderment.

Sol stopped, looking down at himself, then at her. "Monstrous?"

"It is... so angry" Isylia stammered, her eyes glued to the throbbing organ, her mind trying to rationalize the threat. "And so... vascular. That is a monstrous biological inefficiency. "Why is it so... swollen? It looks inflamed! It is gorged with blood to a dangerous degree! Is it... is it dying? Is it going to explode?"

"It feels like it might," Sol growled, stepping toward her. "But it's not dying, Isylia. It's hungry. It's eager. And it's for you."

Isylia flinched, trying to scoot back, but the throne held her in place. He stepped between her clamped knees. He reached down, grabbed her waist, and effortlessly hauled her to her feet.

"Stand," he ordered.

Isylia, too shocked by the sight of his nakedness to resist, let him pull her up. She stood on the raised dais of the throne, which put her eyes level with his.

Sol stepped in close.

"No, wait—" Isylia tried to put her hands up, but it was too late.

Sol ignored her protests. He moved in, closing the final distance. He wrapped his massive arms around her naked back. He pulled her flush against him.

He didn't penetrate her yet. He just hugged her. He leaned forward and pressed his hard, muscular frame against her soft, yielding curves.

The sensation was absolutely overwhelming.

The shock of it made them both gasp.

For Sol, it was like hugging a star. She was incredibly hot, her skin vibrating with energy that seeped into his pores. Her soft, cool, glowing breasts were crushed against his hard chest. Her smooth stomach pressed against his rigid abs. And lower... oh, lower was the worst.

His erect cock pressed directly against her lower belly, hot and hard as a rod of burning hot iron.

For Isylia, it was utterly incomprehensible. She knew she should feel disgusted, protest and try to break free, but strangely she didn't. His body was heavy, solid, and undeniably real. The friction of his rough skin against her smooth perfection sent sparks dancing across her nervous system. She felt small, fragile against the breadth of him, yet utterly safe.

His warmth pressed around her like a cloak, sealing her from the cold edges of time. She felt fully enveloped, as though the universe itself had folded in to cradle her. It was a feeling she had not known in eons… an intimacy so ancient it stirred memories buried beneath centuries of solitude.

Her breath caught, trembling with the shock of it. The rhythm of his heartbeat thundered against her ear, steady and unyielding, a reminder that she was not alone.

"You're so hot," Sol murmured into her hair, his arms wrapping around her back, his hands sliding down to cup her bare buttocks, pulling her tighter against him. His presence was overwhelming, solid as the mountains, yet gentle as the tide.

"You are... so solid," Isylia whispered, her hands hovering over his back before slowly, hesitantly, settling on his skin. Her fingers dug in. Isylia, the primordial goddess, had not been held in eons… not because she was unloved, but because none dared. Now, against her will, she was being enveloped. She could not comprehend all of this.

Her voice trembled, caught between awe and vulnerability. For the first time in countless ages, she was reminded of what it meant to be touched, not worshipped.

Sol's breath came fast, almost ragged, as though he had stumbled upon a treasure too immense to comprehend. His arms clung to her with a hunger that was not gentle but consuming, the way a drowning man clings to driftwood. He had never seen, never touched anything like her.

His eyes burned with a feverish light, tracing the impossible lines of her form, the aura that shimmered around her like starlight barely contained. "You're mine, even if just for today, you are mine." he whispered, half‑mad with awe, half‑drunk on desire.

Every heartbeat against her was a victory, every breath she took within his cage a proof that he had seized something forbidden. His obsession wrapped around him tighter than his arms around her…. a mortal daring to bind the infinite, not out of reverence, but out of desperate, reckless need.

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