The Demon Queen's Royal Consort

"Let's begin," she said, her voice slow and deliberate. "1%."

An overwhelming presence flooded the chamber. My vision blurred, and my consciousness wavered for a moment. My legs gave out, and I collapsed, my head slamming hard against the polished jade floor.

"This feeling… this…"

It was like the pink gas, but far more intense. In the brief moment I lost consciousness, half the slaves in the room began convulsing. Blood gushed from their eyes, noses, and ears, foam bubbling from their mouths as their bodies writhed on the floor. Their pants were soaked in semen, spurting uncontrollably, as if they were pissing it out against their will.

The rest of us, myself included, staggered but clung to a sliver of sanity. Some clutched their chests as if on the verge of a heart attack; others frantically masturbated, their eyes glazed over, completely lost to the world but still alive.

The sensation was familiar but far more intense. The gas had a cumulative effect: first, it accelerated blood flow, spiking heart rate and lung capacity, which in turn sent a rush of blood to the muscles—especially the penis. Then, a hallucinogenic wave of pure desire took over the brain, amplifying sexual urges exponentially. The longer you were exposed, the worse it got, making it nearly impossible to stay sane without giving in to the need for release.

But this aura… this presence… was like a runaway train at full speed. No, worse—it was like a jetliner crashing with no way to stop. The symptoms didn't build up; they hit all at once. From deep within me, I heard a guttural roar, as if a beast long caged was fighting to break free, driven by insatiable lust, a savagery without limits.

'If that beast takes over, I'm fucked.'

About five seconds passed. That's all it took for half the slaves to die. Some of their heads exploded from the pressure, brains and blood splattering across the floor. Others drowned in their own fluids, while three had already torn off chunks of their own bodies in their frenzied desperation. The remaining twelve, myself included, swayed unsteadily but stayed on our feet.

I slowly pushed myself up, but before I could steady myself, that angelic voice rang out again.

"2%."

That was no angel—it was lust incarnate, the embodiment of every dark desire buried deep within us. Her voice, hypnotic and commanding, shook me to my core. The moment I faltered and regained consciousness, I was already naked, my hand gripping my throbbing cock. But before I could start, I squeezed it so hard I nearly ripped it off.

The searing pain brought me back to reality, the spark of clarity I desperately needed.

'This is what it's all been for. To survive. I have to resist!!!' I screamed at myself, though all that came out was an animalistic grunt.

I forced my mind to focus on what was happening.

'Including me, only three are left.'

Two men in their forties were bleeding from every orifice. Both had ejaculated without even touching themselves. Their bodies trembled uncontrollably, their skin cracking open in places, wounds spreading across their arms, torsos, and legs.

The rest lay in pools of blood and semen. Some had died with their heads or limbs blown apart, while others had simply collapsed, their lives snuffed out like candles. One had rubbed himself so violently against the polished jade floor that his body was reduced to mush.

"Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit! I don't want to die here!"

I looked up at the figure seated on the obsidian throne. Her face was expressionless, as if the carnage around her meant nothing. Her eyelids didn't even flicker; it was like she existed in a world entirely separate from this one. Then, I noticed her lips part slightly. She was about to speak again.

"NOOOOO!!!! DAMN IT!!!" I screamed, just as her voice cut through the air: "3%."

In the same instant, I clawed at my chest with everything I had. Grotesque wounds tore open from my shoulder to my abdomen, my nails ripping through skin and muscle. The excruciating pain kept me standing, at least for now.

And then, it was just me. My vision was completely blurred by a red haze—blood pouring from my eyes. I didn't even notice how the other two men had died.

'This is impossible!' I realized. Exactly fifteen seconds had passed. 'Fifteen seconds, damn it! Fifteen seconds!' With all the conviction I had left, I knew I couldn't last another fifteen. 'I'm fucking dying here!' Tears of hatred mixed with the blood streaming down my face.

A lifetime stuck in a hospital bed. Robbed of the joys of adolescence and youth, thrown from one miserable existence into another: a slave working eighteen hours a day, a lab rat for some bitch I didn't even know. 'If I'm going to die, at least…' An idea formed in my mind.

All my hatred, despair, anguish, and thirst for revenge boiled over. 'Yes… Yes… If I'm going to die, I'll make her regret this. FUCK HER!'

I gripped my cock with all the strength I had left and began my desperate sprint. I was just over twelve meters away from her.

"One step per second, twelve seconds. I can endure that—anything under fifteen."

With steady steps, I moved toward the bitch on the obsidian throne, her expression blank.

"Two, three, four… Come on, come on, come on!" Blood roared through my veins, my breathing already out of control.

"Five." At the same time, her voice echoed: "4%."

My vision went completely dark, but I kept a firm grip on my cock, resisting the urge to finish and forcing myself forward. 'Not yet… not yet… not yet…'

My skin began to crack, my blood vessels bursting under the pressure. The wounds on my torso gushed blood like waterfalls. My jaw clenched so hard my teeth threatened to shatter.

"Six… SEVEN!" A bestial roar, like a sound from the depths of hell, tore from my throat.

'Just five more steps. Move, Glenn, move! Use those damn legs!'

A searing pain shot through my brain as my bones began to crack. The bones in my legs gave out, making every step agony.

"Screw it! Keep walking to your death, you unlucky bastard! But do it your way!"

"EIGHT… NINE… TEN!" "5%."

Everything went black. My consciousness faded, the pain disappeared, and in the last instant, a single thought crossed my mind: 'Even as I die, her voice is the most beautiful thing I've ever heard.'

"5%."

Behind the throne, a shadow stirred as the young man with black hair, a slender frame, golden eyes, and black horns kept marching, even after collapsing unconscious.

His body was a geyser of blood. It was hard to understand how he was still standing. Most astonishingly, his body kept moving on pure instinct, driven by sheer willpower. 'How much determination does it take to keep going even after the mind shuts down?' the shadow wondered.

The last two steps were conquered. 'Well done. Your performance ends here.'

Time seemed to slow as the shadow moved to intercept the young man, but before it could take a single step, the imposing figure on the throne raised a hand, commanding it to stop.

"6%," she said, ahead of schedule.

'This is insane. No unawakened can withstand this.' "Selene?" the shadow questioned.

The boy's body trembled violently, but, against all odds, he didn't collapse. His head didn't explode, and he was still alive. Then, the hand gripping his cock loosened its grip. Even unconscious, a crazed expression twisted his face, his nose twitched, and a macabre smile spread across his lips.

"WHOOOOOOSH!" A massive jet of semen shot toward the figure on the throne. The amount was absurd, unnatural.

The shadow focused its energy to intercept the stream. 'What!? I'll kill you, you piece of trash!' But something held it back.

'I can't move.' Its body was locked in place by an overwhelming force, like a fish caught in a shark's jaws.

The viscous semen splattered across the face, torso, and legs of the figure on the throne.

"Se… le… ne," the shadow muttered, its voice trembling with shock.

The young man finally collapsed. His body convulsed, blood loss evident; he was on the brink of death.

Selene, seated on the throne, slowly raised her delicate hand and ran her fingers through the semen on her face. Then, she brought her fingers to her lips.

"Aah…!" A low, satisfied moan escaped her lips, dripping with twisted pleasure. Her expression shifted from indifference to cold, calculating madness. The insanity hidden beneath her beauty surfaced, sending a wave of dread through the shadow behind the throne, as if it were drowning in darkness.

The volcano trembled, dust falling from the walls, cracks forming in the stone. But it didn't last long; soon, everything returned to normal.

Selene rose slowly from the throne and approached the young man with an expression of pure obsession, like a child clutching a new toy.

As she stood, the semen evaporated from her body, leaving no trace. She leaned down and touched his frail, wounded chest with her index finger.

Instantly, the blood spilled by Glenn returned to his body. Life surged back into him like a torrent. His wounds healed, and above his chest, a black tattoo began to form: two black wings stretching from shoulder to shoulder, covering most of his chest.

"So the gods have given me one last hope," Selene whispered into Glenn's ear.

Straightening up, she walked toward the spatial rift, then turned to the shadow behind the throne.

"He is mine."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"Begin the procedures to activate the 'consort candidate' protocol."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"Lesley!" Her voice, heavy with authority, forced the shadow to kneel. Its knees hit the ground with a violent crack, and a pained groan escaped its lips.

"I won't repeat myself: HE IS MINE. Dispose of the vermin surrounding us."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

Selene stepped through the portal, leaving behind an eerie silence in the desolate chamber.

'It's still there,' Lesley thought, memories of distant times flooding back. Its heart pounded as it turned to face the unconscious young man on the floor.