The air shimmered near the grand entrance.
Reality tore—not violently, but casually, like silk being pulled apart by invisible hands. Golden light spilled through the gap, washing across the cold marble floor. The black butterflies nearest to the portal scattered, their dark wings fluttering frantically away from the brilliant, domineering energy.
Then he stepped through.
Tianlong.
His crimson robes flowed around him, but they were in disarray. The chest was open, revealing muscular pectorals glistening with a sheen of sweat. Traces of dried white cum stained the fine fabric near his groin—evidence of the seventy-two women he had just finished breaking. His hair was messy, smelling of sex and female musk.
His eyes—those striking crimson-gold irises—were sharp, alert, taking in the scene immediately.
Helvora on her knees in the center, grey hair falling around her defeated shoulders.
