He exhaled, running a hand through his dark hair.

The hallway stretched before him, but something was different.

Very different.

His bare feet touched cold stone—no, not stone. Marble. White marble so pristine it reflected the light like a mirror. Viktor's eyes widened as he looked down the corridor.

The walls weren't crumbling anymore. They were smooth, carved from what looked like high-grade cement mixed with fine grits that sparkled faintly under the chandelier light. The kind of material even the royal family would struggle to afford.

"What the..."

Viktor walked forward, his footsteps echoing. The mansion—no, it wasn't a mansion anymore. It looked like a palace. A heavenly palace.

He reached the main hall and stopped dead.

Above him, suspended from the impossibly high ceiling, hung a chandelier. Not the broken, dust-covered relic from before.

This was massive—crystal and gold, each piece catching and refracting light into rainbow patterns across the floor. It looked like something stolen from a god's dining room.

"Rusty," Viktor muttered, a smile tugging at his lips. "You've been busy."

His gaze dropped.

There, in the center of the hall, sat a plush red sofa—velvet, deep crimson, the kind that swallowed you whole when you sat down. And floating around it, channeling swirling ribbons of purple-pink light, was Rusty.

'Kyuu... kyuu...'

The purple slime bobbed gently, its translucent body pulsing as tendrils of demonic essence spread through the air like living vines. Where the light touched, details formed—intricate flower patterns carved into the walls, decorative pillars rising from the floor, golden trim appearing along the edges of doorways.

It was like watching reality get painted in real-time.

But Viktor's attention shifted.

Seated on the sofa, hunched forward with her elbows on her knees, was Elara.

She sat stiffly, head down, staring at the floor. Her dyed black hair fell forward, hiding her face. Her hands gripped something—her sword. She held it horizontally across her lap, the sheath resting against her waist.

Covering something.

Viktor's eyes narrowed. His lips curved into a slow, knowing smile.

He crossed the hall silently, footsteps barely making a sound on the marble. Rusty didn't notice him—too focused on construction. Elara didn't look up.

Viktor stopped directly behind the sofa.

Then he reached out and placed his hand on her shoulder.

"What happened?"

Elara jolted like she'd been electrocuted.

"'Ah!'"

Her entire body flinched violently. Her head snapped up, amber eyes wide and unfocused, pupils trembling. She blinked rapidly—once, twice, three times—like she'd just woken from a trance.

Her face was flushed. Deep crimson spread from her neck to her hairline.

Viktor tilted his head, concerned now. "Hey, are you alright?"

"Y-yeah!" Elara's voice cracked. She straightened too quickly, almost dropping the sword. "Of course I am! I'm—I'm fine! Totally fine!"

Her breathing was shallow. Her hands trembled where they gripped the sword sheath.

Viktor's eyes tracked downward.

The way she held the sword—pressed tight against her waist, angled just so—it wasn't a natural resting position. It was deliberate. Defensive.

Hiding something.

His gaze dropped lower.

There.

Between her thighs.

A dark spot. A wet patch spreading through the fabric of her pants, right over her crotch. The material clung to the outline of her pussy, darkened with moisture that hadn't been there before.

Viktor's smile widened into a full grin.

"At least," he said casually, his voice dripping with amusement, "acting like a man, you did not lose your touch as a woman."

Elara's face went from red to white to red again in the span of a heartbeat.

"'Wh-what are you saying?!'"

She scrambled backward on the sofa, pressing herself into the cushions, sword clutched to her chest like a shield. Her amber eyes were wild, hedgy, darting between Viktor's face and literally anywhere else.

Viktor chuckled—a low, rumbling sound that made her flinch again.

He didn't answer her question.

Instead, he turned, walking past the sofa toward where Rusty floated. The slime was still channeling light, oblivious to the world, creating delicate rose patterns along the wall.

Viktor reached up and plucked Rusty out of the air mid-channel.

'Kyuu?!'

The purple slime bounced in his palm, confused, tendrils of light dissipating.

"Let's go, little slime," Viktor said, placing Rusty on top of his head. The slime settled there like a bizarre hat, goggles glinting.

Then Viktor moved back toward Elara.

She was still frozen on the sofa, face buried in her hands now, trying to will herself out of existence.

Viktor's hand shot out.

He grabbed her wrist.

"Come on," he said simply, pulling her to her feet.

"'Wh-wait—!'"

Elara stumbled forward, dragged off the sofa by his grip. Her sword clattered to the floor, forgotten, as she scrambled to keep up with his pace.

"Let's go," Viktor repeated, his tone shifting—less teasing, more focused. "We need to prepare the first floor for the arrival of the hunters."

"H-hunters?!" Elara's voice pitched higher. "What hunters?! What are you—where are we—'slow down!'"

----

The red velvet room was silent now.

Empty.

Save for the soft, ragged breathing of one woman.

Helena lay sprawled on the crimson sheets of the massive bed, her body utterly wrecked. Her thick thighs splayed open, still trembling from aftershocks. Her massive breasts rose and fell with each shallow breath, nipples dark and swollen, beading with milk that trickled down the sides of her soft flesh.

Her brown hair stuck to her forehead in sweaty clumps. Her eyes were half-lidded, glazed, staring blankly at the velvet canopy above.

She couldn't move.

Didn't want to move.

Every muscle in her body screamed exhaustion. Her pussy still twitched occasionally—empty now, but stretched, tender, leaking thick globs of Viktor's cum that pooled beneath her ass and soaked into the sheets.

'Young Master...'

The thought drifted through her mind, weak and hazy.

She wanted to call out to him. Wanted to reach for him. But her hand wouldn't lift. Her fingers barely twitched against the silk.

'So tired...'

Her eyelids grew heavy.

Heavier.

And then—

''Something changed.''

The air in the room shifted.

Helena's breath caught.

A faint glow appeared at the edges of her vision—purple and pink, swirling together like watercolors bleeding into each other.

At first, she thought it was her imagination. Exhaustion playing tricks.

But the light grew brighter.

It coalesced around her body—tendrils of purple-pink energy that seemed to seep out from the walls, the floor, the very air itself. They moved with purpose, drawn to her like moths to flame.

Helena's eyes widened slightly. Her breath quickened.

"Wh-what...?"

The light touched her skin.

And everything 'exploded'.

'''

''SURGE.''

Helena's back arched violently off the bed, spine curving into an impossible bow. Her mouth flew open in a silent scream, no sound escaping.

The purple-pink light poured into her—through her pores, her mouth, her nose, flooding every cell of her body with raw, unfiltered energy.

It was overwhelming.

Too much.

'Too much!'

Her massive tits heaved, nipples suddenly swelling even larger, twitching uncontrollably as milk began to flow—not drip, 'flow'—streaming down her breasts in twin rivers that soaked the sheets beneath her.

Her pussy clenched hard, a fresh wave of Viktor's cum gushing out as her walls spasmed.

Her hands clawed at the sheets, fisting the fabric so hard her knuckles turned white.

And then—

''Images.''

Not her images.

Not her memories.

'His.'

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