It takes a special kind of arrogance to stand center stage, thirty feet above the crowd of six thousand roaring capitalists, and announce that you've just privatized a country's worth of forbidden land.
And it takes a special kind of story to explain how billionaire play-boy and ruthless business-mogal, Lucien Vale, came to rule a kingdom as someone he was not born as, in a world he was not even born in.
Because Lucien Vale was not simply an ambitious man. He was the very concept ruthless, unrentling ambition given human form.
He stood on a main stage at the biggest business conference on the planet, covered in a gleaming obsidian suit that cost more than most people's homes and wielding the charm of a man that was unequivocally certain of three, life-defining facts.
Fact #1: He was obscenely rich, powerful and influential.
Fact #2: He was dangerously attractive.
Fact #3: Morals, ethics and most laws simply didn't apply to him (for more information see facts 1 and 2)
He pulled straight his perfectly tailored cuffs, hand stitched by blind Mongolian monks.
Or maybe it was tibetan?
He wasn't really listening when his tailor explained.
"Vordinia," He says, addressing the roaring crowd, voice dripping with confidence and the smell of champagne. "The forbidden land. Untouched by man for millennia. Sacred, said to be magical, off-limits until today. Now? It's mine."
Cameras flash, reporters gasp, a man faints as he watches the stock market react to the announcement in real-time.
Lucien barely acknowledges any of it, far too enamoured with himself, grinning faintly at his reflection in the crystal-clear teleprompter screen.
"While the rest of you tip-toed around legends and law, I saw opportunity. Where others saw ancient prophecies and environmental fallback, I saw potential for profit."
He paused, ever so slightly for dramatic effect, something he was, by this point, extremely good at.
Then, he leaned in with his world-famous, signature smirk, eyes gleaming, teeth beaming. Millions of breathes around the world held in in unison.
"Expect two hundred billion within the first quarter." he says, and watches the world hang on his every word. "... I would get out of bed for anything less.
The crowd explodes.
Investor leaping to their feet, clapping, howling, cheering. Business cards flew through the air like some kind of twisted Mardi Gras. Backstage, his team of lawyers and legal advisors were already drafting PR statements to fend off human right groups, environmentalists and probably a few ancient cults.
He strutted off the stage like a king returning from conquest where microphones swarmed him, reports clawing over each other with a flood of questions.
"Mr. Vale, is it true Vordinia is cursed—"
WHAM!
One of Lucien's private bodyguards clears out a row of journalists like a linebacker laying in wait.
"Lucien! Lucien! What about the natives? Will they be compensated—"
BAM!
Another guard clears the way.
Lucien ignores the press entirely. He smiles smugly as he wraps his arms around two swaying hips wrapped in skin tight dresses instead.
One French. One Brazilian. He didn't remember their names.
He never does…
What he does remember is that that one had a tongue ring that made his toes curl, and the other purred when she climaxed.
"Ladies." he crooned as he led the women to a waiting limousine outside. "I've got a very important meeting in an hour. Think you can satisfy me in less?"
"Oh." said the Brazilian, licking her lips. "Is that a challenge, Mr. Vale?"
"It's an invitation!" he grins, slapping her firmly on her behind as she bends low to climb into the vehicle.
"I'll have you screaming my name in two minutes?" the French woman says as her tongue-ring edges on her lips.
"Now that's a challange!" Lucien grins.
He leads the women through the limo, his hands finding every curve as he helps them settle in, both giggling with anticipation.
"Now then…" he says, slumped back, legs spread, digging himself into the plush leather seats. "Indulge me."
The air inside the limo grew thick with perfume, champagne and the kind of noises that would have even the world's best PR teams sweating bullets.
Lucien was lounged across the limo seat, one hand tangled in blonde hair, her head bobbing between his thighs, the other stroking a perfect pair of tanned breasts.
It was a mess of giggles, mouth maneuvers and barely-possible contortions. Lucien, thoroughly indulged, quickly had both women screaming for their makers instead.
Until the limo suddenly lurched to a stop. Hard.
Lucien jerked back, the blonde jerked forward. He bruised the back of her throat as her teeth grazed places they had no business grazing.
"Owwwww! Fucking hell?!" he snapped. "Driver!! You trying to get my dick decommissioned?"
The girls collapsed into sputtering laughter as they helped each other up, settling dressing and wiping down chins.
Lucien tosses a glass, smashing it against the raised partition. "Why the fuck we stopping? I don't have time for this! Meetings… remember!?"
"Ummmm… sorry, sir. Car's dead, sir." The driver's voice croaked through the slightly lowered partition. "It just… lost power. Just cut out… I don't… I'm not sure, sir. I'll call—"
"Fuck!" Lucien snapped, checking his watch. "I have a meeting with a president and three drug lords in forty… seven minutes. Do you have any idea the kind of people I'm dealing with?! One of them owes me a fuckin' country!"
He threw the door open and stepped into the street, buttoning his shirt like a pissed off runway model.
"Wait for me at the hotel." he instructs the women who were still straightening their clothes in the limo and shoots them his signature smirk. They instantly swoon.
"And invite some friends." he adds.
"You having a party?" One of the women asks, delighted.
"More like an orgy." The other replies with a giggle.
"Same thing." Lucien chuckles.
He flicks out his hand, waving a crisp hundred dollar bill and a yellow taxi screeches to a halt across the road a moment later.
"Perfect." he says, an ego-fueled smirk plastered to his as slipped on his shades, smoothed his hair and strutted across the street like he owned it.
Which, he most likely did, through one of his numerous shell companies.
But then came a sound.
A string of beeps.
Screeching.
Then the blinding flash of a chrome-plated truck-grille shattering in his skull in a single instant.
------------------
He woke up standing on a cloud.
A literal cloud.
The air tasted like ambrosia and smelled even better.
He blinked and looked down, eyes widening with disbelief and confusion.
White mist curled at his feet as he stood bare chest, barefeet, bare-everything, his manhood flopping freely in the heavenly breeze. He was happy to find he was still biologically blessed and perfectly groomed.
Like always.
He takes a moment to appreciate the more intimate parts of himself, nodding proudly before looking up and scanning the area.
Before him stood a colossal golden podium, and behind it sat three giant, glowing figures of such immense beauty even Lucien felt a flash of envy fondle his soul.
Two were women.
One with golden hair, and eyes like exploding stars. A blinding halo spiralling over her head. Her body was wrapped in a gown that seemed to be woven of sunbeams.
The other women had cool, silver eyes that glowed like a full moon, silver hair that flowed like mercury and a dress weaved from seduction and starlight.
Lucien was already visualizing what they'd be like in bed.
Together.
Between them lounged a bearded titan in a celestial gown shaped suspiciously like a onesie. Raw, divine energy radiated off him in waves, like a morning mist. He glared at Lucien through half-lidded eyes while sipping on a mug labeled Universe's #1 Creator.
"Well then..." Lucien groans, adjusting his groin as he steps forward to face his fate. "Guess I really died!" he shrugs. "Thought I had at least one more sex scandal in me."