A roar of arcane thunder split the sky above the eastern cliffs of the Demonlands.

From a shimmering, swirling maw of gold-edged violet light, a battalion of royal demon soldiers marched through, adorned in obsidian-plated armor, their banners flapping with the sigil of Vexena as theirs boots pounded the dust of Syraleth's borderlands.

Behind them, sleek obsidian carriages rolled forward, each gilded with silver trim and glowing demonic sigils. Floating at their center, in a throne-like cabin upholstered with blood-red velvet and cushioned like a goddess's chariot, sat the Demon Queen Vexena, a finger lazily swirling through a goblet of spiced wine.

She let out a long, annoyed sigh.

"I hate road trips," she muttered.

Maribelle, sitting across from her in a crisp corset of arcane steel and lace, arched a brow. "You insisted on coming in person."

"Only because sending Eris ahead with a warning note would've been considered 'poor diplomacy.'"

Outside, Eris rode atop a winged chariot, her hair fluttering like a war banner. Her scythe was folded against her back, but its edge shimmered with tension.

As the convoy moved deeper into Syraleth's territory, Vexena frowned.

"Last time I came here, she at least had flowers," Vexena muttered.

Indeed, the land that rushed past the carriage windows looked stripped bare. Trees were mere husks. Rivers were choked with soot. The skies hung heavy with reddish smog. Where once wild creatures had roamed, now only bones remained, picked clean beneath giant effigies of golden constructs… statues of Pip, looming ominously, hands outstretched in invitation or command.

"Subtle as always," Vexena muttered, watching one of them pass. "She always had taste, but this is… deranged."

They eventually reached the foot of a towering mountain fortress carved straight into the volcanic rock. Like a dagger driven into the heart of the world, Syraleth's home loomed. Her palace reeked of intimidation. Its spires jutted like broken spears, each adorned with golden chains and hanging statues of fallen enemies… or lovers, it was hard to tell.

But inside, polished white marble gleamed beneath enchanted chandeliers. Gold trim ran up the walls. Cushions of silk filled the halls. Even the guards wore perfectly pressed sashes and stood on imported carpets from the Lust Isles.

Maribelle blinked as they passed yet another set of glass doors revealing a moonlight-bathed fountain room.

"Her interior decorator is better than yours," she whispered to Vexena.

Vexena snorted. "Looks like a fancy brothel for insecure nobles."

Maribelle blinked. "Is that gold veining?"

"She would have a palace like a sugared gemstone," Vexena grumbled.

Maribelle ran a finger along a crystal column. "Honestly, it's cleaner than your palace."

"It's tacky," Vexena replied, venomous.

They were led through gleaming halls toward a throne room, footsteps echoing sharply. As the grand doors opened, a radiant spotlight fell upon the gleaming golden throne, and upon it reclined Syraleth, in a flowing gown of black and violet silk, gold chains draped across her bare arms and a lazy smile on her lips.

She didn't rise.

"Well, well," Syraleth purred. "The Queen herself. I'd bow, but I'm rather comfortable."

The air crackled.

Eris, heels echoing like death sentences, stepped forward, her wicked scythe blooming from demon-light beside her. "You will rise," she barked. "And kneel before your Queen."

Syraleth merely chuckled. "Still with the theatrics, Eris?"

"Still with the delusions, Syraleth?"

Vexena waved her off. "Let it go. She'll be kneeling for mercy soon enough."

Syraleth's grin widened. "So you did come all this way to threaten me."

Vexena's eyes glowed. "I came to warn you. It's one thing to chase after the golem… but putting my daughter's life in danger? That, Lady Syraleth, is cause for execution."

Maribelle chimed in, sharp and cold. "You're not just chasing a toy. You're dragging my daughter into your obsession."

Syraleth stood then, slowly, deliberately. She was painfully beautiful, her skin glowing like obsidian under moonlight. Even Maribelle hesitated for a heartbeat, blinking at the hypnotic sway of her hips.

Syraleth grinned. "You still don't understand. If this were a game, my dear Vexena… I already won. You're just delaying the inevitable."

Vexena's glare turned icy.

Syraleth snapped her fingers. A coin flipped through the air, gleaming. "The nobles of the Demonlands adore me. They've already picked sides. And spoiler alert, darling…" She caught the coin midair. "You're not the favorite."

"Then they're fools," Vexena growled.

Syraleth stepped forward, hips swaying, the room thick with tension. "It's simple. Tell your daughters to step aside. Let me have the construct. Surely, as mothers, you can do that much."

Demonic magic flared behind Vexena's eyes. Her voice was low, guttural. "You know nothing of my daughter."

Syraleth's grin didn't falter. "Oh, I know she's in the way."

Vexena studied her for a long moment. Then her tone softened. Almost pleading. "Syraleth… you're willing to risk war… for a construct?"

Syraleth stopped a breath away from her, lowering her voice to a sensual purr. "I would fight the Great Mother herself for my Prince."

------------------

Meanwhile, at Blackthorn Pleasure House, Pip was currently… busy.

A wolf-kin girl let out a piercing howl as she rode him with unrestrained intensity, claws scraping against the plates of Pip's reinforced chest. Steam swirled through the room, verdant and water magic intermingling in lush pulses as Pip held the wolf-kin gently but firmly, indulging her every howl, whimper, and pleasure-filled plea with deep, soul-satisfy thrusts.

Down in the foyer, two more wolf-kin girls pause mid-conversation and perked up their ears.

"She's already howling!?"

"I can't wait any longer! Should we just go in together?"

They both turned toward Vuvi, who leaned lazily against the foyer desk, sipping from a crystal wine glass. She smirked and gave them a thumbs-up.

"Go on, ladies. It's a buffet, not a queue."

The wolf-kin squealed again, tails wagging.

Upstairs, the first girl slinked out of the room, legs wobbling, fur glistening, face glowing. She stumbled down the steps, eyes glazed with joy.

"He's... divine," she muttered, collapsing onto a couch with a dreamy sigh.

The two other wolf-kin girls darted up the stairs, only to be intercepted by Penelo, who stood firm with a clipboard and a serious expression.

"Maintenance time," she said curtly.

Lula yanked Pip, now glowing and dripping steam, into a side room. "He needs care, attention, love! You can't just jump him the second he's done!"

"But—!"

"No buts!" Lula snapped. "He's divine. Unique. Sacred. And…" she rubbed a glowing oil between her palms, "...he needs his pelvic massage now."

Pip let out a low beep of gratitude and leaned into her hands as she guided him into the room.

The wolf-girls deflated, tails low… until Pip sent them a warm, pulsing thoughtwave filled with affection and promise.

They melt on the spot.

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