The linen halls were silent.
Empty.
Except for the soft slap of Ragga's bare feet against the cold marble floors — and the slow, lazy dragging of his still half-hard cock inside his silk trousers.
The scent of sex and sweat still clung to him from the earlier duels.
His throat tasted of cream and female musk.
His muscles ached deliciously from endless fucking.
And yet — his cock refused to rest.
"This damn mansion..." he thought, lazily palming himself through the silk, "is a nonstop fucking aphrodisiac."
Every breath he took, the air itself tasted faintly like women's arousal — sweet, musky, wet.
It throbbed inside him.
Haaah... haaah...
He paused by the linen chamber.
Stacks of soft, perfumed sheets towered around him.
And there, tucked behind a rack of fine silk, he noticed something strange:
A small, hidden door.
Wooden. Iron-bound.
Barely noticeable.
Locked... but old and fragile.
He could smell something from behind it.
Dust.
Rot.
And something... darker.
Something that made his cock throb even harder in his trousers.
"Dangerous secrets are always the hottest," Ragga thought, smirking.
He pushed hard.
The door creaked open — groaning like a lover's last breath.
Inside: darkness.
One room.
One mirror.
Massive. Tall as a man.
The frame was cracked gold, spiderwebbed with age.
The surface of the mirror rippled like water, reflecting nothing — no light, no walls — just... himself.
But not the Ragga van Elson.
No.
What stared back at him was Joon.
The pathetic, balding, lonely, crusty-fingered, sagging-bellied Joon.
Eyes wide.
Mouth slack.
Cock shriveled.
Ragga stumbled back, a sharp gasp tearing from his throat.
"Ahhn... f-fuck..." he panted, chest heaving.
He grabbed his hard cock through his pants, almost reflexively, grounding himself.
"Shluk... shluk... shluk..."
"No... no no no no... I'm Ragga now... I'm fucking Ragga...!"
The mirror Joon grinned.
A broken, mocking, sad grin.
"You're still him," the mirror whispered, voice low, crawling up Ragga's spine.
"Don't forget."
Ragga gritted his teeth, rage and panic swirling inside him.
"I'm not him anymore... I'm fucking perfect now..." he thought viciously, stroking his cock harder, daring the mirror to deny him.
He yanked his pants down, cock slapping free — thick, veiny, shining with precum.
He stood tall.
Magnificent.
Powerful.
Hard.
The mirror still showed Joon — pale, weak, trembling, drooling.
Mocking.
Laughing.
"Fucking WATCH me, then," Ragga snarled aloud.
He grabbed a handful of his cock, pumping brutally.
"Shluk... shluk... slapp..."
Precum splattered onto the dusty stone floor.
He imagined Mirelle's tits wrapping around him.
He imagined Sera's wet, needy mouth slurping him down to the balls.
He imagined the blonde maids fighting over who would drink his cum first.
He saw himself — not Joon — fucking them all into sobbing, addicted messes.
"Haaah... haaah... nghhh... fuck... I'm Ragga... I'M RAGGA...!!"
The pleasure built fast, dangerously sharp.
His balls tightened painfully.
His cock jerked violently in his fist.
"FUCK YOU, JOON!" he roared at the mirror.
And came.
Hard.
"Splurt... splurt... splurt!"
Thick, steaming ropes of cum blasted out, painting the cold mirror in heavy, obscene spurts.
It ran down the glass in slow, sticky rivers — smearing the reflected Joon's face, dripping from his mocking smile.
The mirror shimmered.
For a moment — just a heartbeat — Ragga saw himself again.
Tall.
Dark-haired.
Beautiful.
A King.
Then the glass cracked — just a hairline.
And the whisper came again:
"You can wear his face...
You can fuck his women...
But you are still Joon."
Ragga stumbled backward, panting hard, cock softening, dripping final lazy spurts onto the dusty stone.
He wiped his mouth, tasting sweat and cum and rage.
Stared at the mirror.
And grinned.
Dark.
Hungry.
Predatory.
"Then I'll just fuck my way into becoming someone new," he thought viciously.
"I'll fuck this world into forgetting I was ever anyone else."
He tucked his cock away, bare feet slapping wetly against the stone as he strode out of the dead mirror room.
Leaving behind a cracked reflection, and the heavy, musky stink of his defiance.