The Obsidian Citadel was no longer black.
Its once-dark walls gleamed gold, each vein of volcanic stone dripping nectar like molten wax. Every chain that hung from the throne glistened with sticky warmth. The Dominion itself moaned, its rivers of magma slowly transmuted into glowing amber honey, crawling through the streets like a living flood.
But at the heart of it—still standing, still blazing—was Serikha, Infernal Flame Queen.
Her body steamed, sweat pouring down her dark red skin as fire clashed against warmth inside her womb. She gripped her blade's molten hilt with trembling hands, yet her legs betrayed her—slick, unsteady, shaking under the weight of honey dripping down her thighs.
Her generals were gone.
Collapsed in pools of nectar, twitching as their cocks spurted golden milk, as their cunts overflowed with sweetness, as their tongues lapped and moaned for a god they no longer fought.
Only Serikha remained.
