Tianlong turned.
His gold-crimson eyes fixed on her, and he felt the familiar, dark heat stir in his groin. He had already destroyed one mother today—had emptied her womb and filled it with his own seed, had broken her and remade her into his bitch. Now he looked at this one, this thick, composed, sword-bearing matron, and he felt the same predatory interest. How far would maternal love go? How much would this woman sacrifice? How tight was her cunt beneath that silk?
"Your son," Tianlong said, his voice carrying across the arena with divine amplification, "cultivates demonic qi. He entered this competition under false pretenses. He is disqualified. He will be held for interrogation and execution."
The woman's jaw tightened.
