The air in the cursed chamber was thick, heavy with that musky, maddening scent that clawed at Rahil's senses, urging him to surrender. The massive bed loomed before him, its blood-red velvet sheets shimmering in the dim light like a living thing, beckoning. Dante's words echoed in his mind, her voice a sultry whisper despite her new form: "Only the strong will survive."Rahil's jaw tightened, his ghostly pulse racing. "So he told you only the strong survive?" he asked, eyes locked on Dante's curvaceous silhouette, her torn Victorian gown barely clinging to her milf-like body."Yes," she purred, stepping closer, her breath warm against his translucent skin. Her loyalty to him, forged by the Gender Bender skill, radiated through her gaze—devotion mixed with a hunger that mirrored the house's own."Fine," Rahil said, his voice low, resolute. "Let's become stronger."Dante's lips curled into a knowing smile. "How?"He smirked, the system humming faintly, as if amused. "You know the answer. Take me to Vikra."The room shuddered, the walls groaning as reality twisted. The cursed chamber dissolved, and Rahil found himself back in Demonte House's decaying foyer, the graveyard's chill seeping through the floorboards. Vikra stood nearby, her tight, tattered kurta accentuating every curve of her newly transformed body. Her dark eyes gleamed with unquestioning loyalty, but there was something else—a spark of desire that made Rahil's ghostly form burn.He didn't hesitate. Grabbing Vikra's wrist and Dante's hand, he dragged them through the mansion's shadowed halls, their footsteps echoing against warped wood.
The bedroom in Demonte House was a cocoon of shadows, its black silk sheets glinting under flickering candlelight. The air was thick, saturated with that cursed, jasmine-laced scent that curled into Rahil's ghostly form, igniting a fire in his veins. The walls pulsed faintly, as if the mansion itself was breathing, feeding on the heat of the moment. Outside, the graveyard's whispers faded, swallowed by the night, but within, a storm was brewing—a rhythm of desire and power that threatened to consume them all.Rahil stood by the bed, his temple robes half-undone, his translucent skin glowing faintly in the dim light. Vikra was closest, her transformed body a vision of curves barely contained by her tattered kurta, the fabric clinging to her like a second skin. Her dark eyes locked onto his, wide with devotion but burning with something rawer, hungrier. She stepped forward, her breath shallow, and pressed herself against him, her warmth cutting through his ghostly chill."Destroyer," she whispered, her voice a soft plea, her lips brushing his jaw. Her hands moved first, tentative but bold, sliding under his robes to trace the hard lines of his chest. The contact sent a jolt through him, his body responding despite the guilt flickering in his mind—Saya, her glowing belly, her letter's warning. But the house's curse drowned it out, urging him to surrender.Vikra's fingers tugged at his robes, pulling them away until they dissolved into mist, leaving him bare. She gasped, her hands roaming lower, exploring with a mix of reverence and need. Rahil's breath hitched as she pressed her hips against his, her kurta slipping to reveal smooth, glowing skin. He gripped her waist, pulling her closer, and their lips met in a fierce, desperate kiss. Her mouth was soft but demanding, her tongue teasing his, drawing a low groan from deep in his throat.She pushed him onto the bed, the silk sheets cool against his back. Vikra climbed over him, her hair spilling like ink across his chest, her body arching as she straddled him. The fabric of her kurta tore further, falling away to expose her full breasts, her skin shimmering in the candlelight. Rahil's hands found her curves, his fingers digging into her hips as she moved against him, her moans soft and rhythmic, like a prayer to the house itself. Each thrust was a pulse of energy, their bodies merging in a dance that felt both sacred and profane. Her gasps grew sharper, her nails raking his shoulders, and Rahil felt his own control slipping, lost in the heat of her, the rhythm building to a fevered crescendo.As Vikra shuddered against him, her breath ragged, Dante stirred from the shadows. Her Victorian gown was already half-gone, the lace clinging to her milf-like body like a lover's touch. Her eyes glinted with a mix of jealousy and desire as she approached, her movements slow, predatory. "My turn," she purred, her British accent thick with lust, her voice wrapping around Rahil like velvet.Vikra slid to the side, still trembling, her hand lingering on Rahil's chest as Dante took her place. The older woman's presence was commanding, her curves fuller, her touch more deliberate. She leaned down, her lips brushing Rahil's ear, then his neck, her teeth grazing just enough to draw a hiss from him. "You're stronger than he was," she murmured, her hands sliding down his torso, nails tracing paths that made his ghostly form burn. "But you're still mine."Dante's gown dissolved completely, revealing a body that radiated power and temptation. She climbed onto him, her thighs straddling his hips, her movements slower, more deliberate than Vikra's. Her lips claimed his in a deep, possessive kiss, her tongue exploring with a confidence that left him dizzy. Rahil's hands gripped her waist, then slid lower, pulling her closer as she moved against him, her curves pressing into him with a rhythm that was both commanding and yielding. Her moans were deeper, throatier, mingling with his own as the bed creaked beneath them, the silk sheets tangling around their bodies.The room pulsed harder now, the walls groaning as if Demonte House was alive, feeding on their passion. Shadows danced, faces flickering in the candlelight—Demonte's victims, perhaps, or the house's own hunger. Dante's movements grew more urgent, her nails digging into Rahil's shoulders, her breath hot against his lips. Rahil matched her pace, his body responding to her intensity, each thrust a spark of raw energy that seemed to light the room. The air was thick with their gasps, their sighs, the slick heat of their connection, until Dante arched back, a cry escaping her as she reached her peak, pulling Rahil with her into a blinding, shuddering release.They collapsed together, breathless, tangled in the sheets. Vikra curled against Rahil's side, her warmth grounding him, while Dante lay across his chest, her breath slowing, her eyes still gleaming with that dangerous mix of loyalty and defiance. The room was quiet now, the walls still, but the air hummed with a new energy—Rahil felt stronger, sharper, as if the act had woven their spiritual essences tighter.But guilt crept back, sharper now. Saya's face flashed in his mind, her letter's words: "They're watching us." He sat up, pulling his robes back on, the silk clinging to his sweat-slicked form. Dante watched, her lips curling. "The House liked that," she said, her voice low. "But it's not done with you."Vikra's hand found his, her touch soft but firm. "We're with you," she whispered. "Wherever you go next."Rahil stood, his gaze shifting to the door. The Chronicles of Demonte House lay on the floor, its pages open, glowing faintly. The graveyard's whispers grew louder, and a laugh—British, cruel—echoed from below. Demonte's absence didn't matter; the House was alive, and it wanted more.Rahil's jaw tightened. "We find the rift," he said, his voice steady despite the weight in his chest. "And we stop whatever Demonte's planning."Dante rose, her gown reforming, her smile sharp. "The rift's below, in the graves. But be warned, Destroyer—it sees you now."The walls groaned again, and Rahil felt Kashi's chants—Har Har Mahadev—fading further, drowned by the House's hunger. He gripped the book, ready to descend, with Vikra and Dante at his side.