The white room of Kael's mental construct dissolved like smoke in a hurricane. Morgan gasped, her body jerking violently as she was thrust back into reality. She lay on the cold marble floor of the Lockwood hallway, her chest heaving, her skin slick with cold sweat.
For a moment, she didn't know where she was. The facility? The white room? The memory of being strapped to the table, of Kael standing over her with a scalpel—it had felt so real.
"Welcome back," a voice rumbled from above her.
Morgan flinched. She looked up.
Kael stood over her, his silhouette framed by the afternoon light streaming through the broken doorway. His face was expressionless, but his eyes—those terrifying, heterochromatic eyes—held a predatory glint.
"Did you enjoy the tour?" he asked. "That was five years of your hospitality, compressed into five minutes. A taste of your own medicine."
Morgan tried to speak, but her throat was raw. She realized she had been screaming. Her voice was gone, reduced to a ragged rasp.
"Please," she croaked. "No more..."
Kael crouched down. He gripped her jaw, forcing her to look at him.
"Oh, we're just getting started. But first..."
SYSTEM QUERY
Host Condition: Critical.
Left Arm: Severed (Regeneration Stalled at 15%).
Mana Reserves: Depleted.
Recommendation: High-tier Biological Catalyst required to accelerate tissue reconstruction.
Kael glanced at the system notification. His arm had stopped bleeding, thanks to the shadow properties he'd absorbed, but the stump remained sealed in obsidian. The flesh beneath was slow to regenerate. The damage was too extensive for his current level of [Regeneration].
"System," he thought. "Can Morgan's ability help?"
SYSTEM ANALYSIS
Target: Morgan Whitmore.
Class: [Biotech Sovereign].
Key Ability: Biological Manipulation (Grade A).
Passive Trait: Rapid Cellular Regeneration.
Theoretical Application: Dual Cultivation with target can facilitate a massive transfer of life essence. Target's A-Rank regenerative properties, when combined with [Soul Resonance Dual Cultivation], can accelerate Host's tissue reconstruction by 400%.
Note: Target must be physically engaged for optimal transfer. Restriction of mana flow is recommended to prevent resistance.
A cold smile spread across Kael's face.
"Silas," he called out.
The former matriarch appeared in the hallway doorway. Her face was pale, but her posture was rigid. She had seen the aftermath of the mental assault. She knew what was coming.
"Take her to the master bedroom," Kael ordered. "Restrain her."
Silas hesitated for a fraction of a second. Then, she bowed her head.
"Yes, Master."
She grabbed Morgan by the arm, hauling the broken woman to her feet. Morgan stumbled, her legs weak, her mind still reeling from the phantom torture.
"Kael... please... I'll do anything..."
"I know you will," Kael replied. "You have something I need."
The room was a picture of aristocratic luxury. A four-poster bed dominated the center, draped in crimson silk. Heavy curtains blocked the fading afternoon sun, casting the space in a dim, intimate glow.
Morgan was thrown onto the bed. She bounced once, her limbs splaying weakly. She tried to crawl away, but her body wouldn't obey. The mental assault had shattered something fundamental inside her.
"System Shop," Kael muttered, standing at the foot of the bed.
A translucent interface flickered before his eyes.
SYSTEM SHOP
Search: Restraints.
Results:
Mana-Damping Collar (Tier 2) - 800 XP
Nullweave Ropes - 200 XP
Slave Brand - Tier 2 - 1000 XP (Already Owned)
"Purchase Collar."
TRANSACTION COMPLETE
800 XP Deducted.
A black leather collar materialized in his hand. It was lined with runic inscriptions that pulsed with a faint, violet light. The moment it touched skin, it would sever the connection between the user's mana core and their pathways.
Kael climbed onto the bed. He grabbed a fistful of Morgan's hair, wrenching her head up.
"Open your neck."
Morgan sobbed. "Please, Kael".
He fastened the collar around her throat. The runes flared.
Morgan gasped. The sensation was suffocating—the familiar warmth of mana that permeated her body vanished, replaced by a cold, hollow emptiness. Her A-Rank power, her biological manipulation, her regeneration—it was all locked away.
She was powerless.
"Now then," Kael said, his voice low. "Let's see what the great Morgan Whitmore looks like beneath all that designer fabric."
His hand moved to the collar of her pantsuit.
"Kael, don't—"
RIIIP.
The sound of tearing fabric echoed through the room. The expensive suit split down the middle, exposing the silk blouse beneath. Morgan screamed, trying to cover herself, but Kael pinned her wrists above her head with his one hand.
"Stay still."
He ripped the blouse away. Then the skirt. The undergarments followed, shredded by his enhanced strength until she lay bare before him.
Kael sat back on his heels, his eyes roving over her body.
Morgan Whitmore was forty-one years old, but her A-Rank biology had preserved her figure. Her skin was smooth, toned, with only faint silvery lines marking the passage of time. Her breasts were full, heavy—the breasts of a mother. Her hips curved in a way that spoke of maturity, of fertility.
"A milf," Kael murmured, the crude term hanging in the air. "Two children, and you still look like this. Your regeneration keeps you young, doesn't it?"
Morgan's face burned with humiliation. She turned her head away, squeezing her eyes shut.
"Look at me."
She didn't respond.
Kael reached out and slapped her breast. The sound was sharp, the flesh rippling from the impact.
"I said, look at me."
Morgan's eyes snapped open, filled with tears.
"Good," Kael said. "Now, let's test a theory."
He leaned down, his mouth hovering over her left breast. The nipple was pink, slightly inverted from age, but the areola was wide and dark.
He took it into his mouth.
Morgan jerked. "What are you—mmph!"
She bit her lip, mortified. The sensation was warm, wet, and undeniably stimulating. Kael's tongue swirled around the sensitive bud, teasing it to hardness.
Then, he sucked.
Hard.
"Ahhh!" Morgan gasped.
To her absolute horror, a thin stream of liquid flooded Kael's mouth.
No, she thought, her mind spiraling. No, no, no... this can't be happening.
It had been years since she had weaned her daughter, Lara. Her body shouldn't be producing milk. But the [Biotech Sovereign] class came with passive hormonal regulation—a side effect of enhanced regeneration was that her mammary glands remained perpetually prepared for nourishment.
Kael pulled back, a thin white trail connecting his lips to her nipple. He licked it away, his expression dark with satisfaction.
"Sweet," he murmured. "Mother's milk. The essence of life."
He dove back in, sucking greedily. His hand found her other breast, kneading it roughly, coaxing more fluid from the ducts. Morgan whimpered, her body trembling from the forced stimulation.
"Stop... please... it's too much..."
But even as she protested, her body betrayed her. Her back arched, pushing her chest into his mouth. Her nipples throbbed, aching with a confusing mix of pain and pleasure.
Kael's free hand—the only one he had left—traveled down her stomach. His fingers traced the faint stretch marks, the evidence of the life she had carried.
"You kept these," he observed, pulling away from her breast with a wet pop. "Reminders of your children. How sentimental."
His hand continued downward, over the curve of her hip, to the junction of her thighs.
Morgan clamped her legs shut.
"No! Don't touch me there!"
Kael chuckled. "You're in no position to refuse."
He forced his knee between her legs, prying them apart. His hand slid between them, his fingers brushing against the coarse hair of her mound.
"Let's see how wet you are, Mummy Morgan."
He pushed a finger inside.
Morgan cried out, her hips jerking. She was dry, tense, unprepared.
"Tsk, tsk," Kael scolded. "Even after all that breast play? Your body is disappointing."
He began to move his finger, pumping it in and out with a rough, clinical rhythm. Morgan bit her lip, tears streaming down her temples into her hair.
"This is rape," she whispered. "You're a monster."
Kael leaned down, his face inches from hers.
"I learned from the best," he replied. "You. The facility. The experiments."
He added a second finger, stretching her.
"You made me a monster, Morgan. Now lie back and accept your creation."
His thumb found her clit. He pressed down, rubbing it in tight, deliberate circles.
Morgan's breath hitched. Despite her horror, despite her hatred, a spark of unwanted heat bloomed in her lower belly. Her body was responding to the stimulation, her walls beginning to slicken.
"That's it," Kael murmured. "Let your body do what it was made for."
He curled his fingers, finding the rough patch of her G-spot.
"AAAAH!" Morgan screamed, her back arching off the bed.
"Wet yet?" Kael withdrew his fingers and held them up. They glistened with her arousal. "Looks like it."
He unbuckled his belt.
The sound of the zipper lowering was like a gunshot in the quiet room.
Morgan's eyes widened. She looked down, her breath catching in her throat.
Kael's cock stood erect, thick and hard, the veins pulsing with need. It was larger than average—larger than her late husband's, larger than any of her lovers. A physical manifestation of the power he had stolen and the vitality he had devoured.
"No..." Morgan whispered, shaking her head. "It won't fit. You'll tear me."
"We'll make it fit," Kael said, positioning himself between her legs.
He grabbed her thighs, spreading them wide. The head of his cock pressed against her entrance, slick with her unwanted arousal.
She squeezed her eyes shut.
"LOOK AT ME."
Her eyes snapped open, meeting his gaze. The heterochromatic stare—one blue, one gold—bored into her soul.
"Remember this moment," Kael said, his voice dropping to a whisper. "This is where you become mine."
He thrust forward.
The scream that tore from Morgan's throat was raw, primal, and filled with a despair that echoed through the halls of the Lockwood estate.