Chapter 300: Chapter 299: Succubus queen
Before Aurora, three broken monarchs stood in their shame. Jenny, the succubus-queen, her once-mature curves stripped by magic into a too-young frame, all sharp edges and trembling will.
Galiath, the hive mind, now twitching inside the borrowed flesh of a rabbit-eared butler, his survival itself a humiliation.
And the lion-king, ever-proud, his crimson horned mane dulled with dried blood, his chest scarred, yet his gaze still defiant, the echo of old glory.
Jenny’s lips trembled, but her chin did not bow. She clenched her fists so tightly her nails cut crescents into her palms.
Her voice rang through the ruin, shrill but unyielding, every word straining against the ruin around them:
"Even if Atlas razes my kingdom, even if he grinds my bones to dust—I will not bend the knee. My back may break, my flesh may burn, but my knees will stay straight. Always."
Her words fell like sparks on wet stone, furious, brittle. Her young body quaked, every nerve aflame, yet she stood.
Aurora’s gaze was cool, unblinking. She saw the hollowness beneath the defiance—the way Jenny’s throat quivered after each syllable, the way her body leaned too far forward as if to keep herself from collapsing.
The fire was real, but so was the desperation. Aurora let silence stretch. Let Jenny’s fire burn itself raw.
Jenny’s breath quickened, ragged. "You hear me, don’t you?" she spat, eyes wide, darting between Aurora and the lion. "I would burn this whole palace to the ground before I ever bow to him! Before I ever crawl before Atlas or you—"
Her voice cracked. Aurora moved. Slowly, deliberately, her hand lifted—not in threat, but in signal.
"Shall I call him?" Aurora’s voice slid through the silence, soft, amused, merciless. "Shall I wake Atlas, Jenny, and tell him what you said? That you would rather be ash than bent? That you would spit on his gift of survival? He listens to me. One word, and he will come."
Jenny froze. Her chest rose and fell in shallow bursts, her bravado flickering.
For a moment her mask faltered, and a shiver betrayed her. Then her jaw tightened, and she hissed through her teeth:
"...You wouldn’t dare."
Aurora’s faint smile was colder than steel. "I dare everything."
The air shifted. Behind her, Galiath stirred. His rabbit ears twitched nervously, his stolen body trembling like a cage too small for the creature inside it.
Yet he walked forward, slow steps dragging against the sticky ground, until he stood just behind Aurora. His voice was low, gravelly, the echo of a once-proud king now wearing borrowed flesh:
"She would burn the palace, yes," he murmured. "But she would burn with it. And she knows. She knows."
Jenny’s cheeks flushed crimson, her eyes blazing. "Traitor! Coward! You would hide behind her skirts, Galiath? I would rather die a flame than live as a shadow clinging to her!"
Her voice shook the ruin, yet there was fear beneath the fury—fear of being left alone, of her fire sputtering with no one to reflect it back.
Aurora tilted her head, ignoring Jenny’s outburst. Her gaze locked on the lion-king, who had been silent through the storm. His chest rose and fell like the bellows of a forge, each breath weighted with conflict.
His golden eyes glowed dim in the ruin-light, his mane stiff with dried blood, his paws sunk deep into the blackened ground as though anchoring him against the pull of pride.
Aurora’s words sliced the air, aimed like a blade.
"Isn’t this what you always wanted, Lion? To march at the front, to face the Demon King of the End at the final gates of the Third Layer? You thought yourself the banner-bearer of destiny. But here stands Atlas. Here burns the flame you cannot outshine. He carries what you thought was yours."
The lion’s gaze met hers. Rage flickered there, but also shame—the memory of Atlas’s fist shattering his pride, of the humiliating defeat that no roar could hide. His silence was heavy, thunder held in the throat of a storm.
Finally, he stepped closer, each stride grinding the stone beneath his paws. His voice came low, gravel dragged across steel:
"I will say this once, and never again. I will walk into that castle. I will take my place beside this Atlas. But know this, Aurora—this is the last time I follow another’s banner. The last time."
Jenny gaped. Her voice cracked with disbelief. "You—what? You, of all creatures, would bend? You would follow him, after he—after he broke you?"
The lion didn’t spare her a glance. His stare remained locked on Aurora, unwavering, as though Jenny’s words were nothing but wind.
Jenny’s voice climbed into a ragged scream, desperation bleeding through her fury. "Fools! Both of you! I will not—" She broke off, her throat raw, her body trembling with exhaustion. Her rage filled the ruin, but it was thinner now, strained, her fire faltering against the silence of two kings turning away.
Galiath lowered his head, silent now, and followed the lion’s slow march toward the shattered palace. Their figures—one hulking, one trembling—moved through the black goo, ripples spreading from their steps like scars on water. Neither looked back.
Jenny stood alone with Aurora.
For a heartbeat, her chest still heaved, her face twisted in fury. Then—like a mask falling away—the rage vanished. Her lips curved upward, sly, deliberate. A smile.
"...It worked," she whispered, almost laughing. Her eyes gleamed with wicked delight. "My skills had effect."
Aurora’s third eye narrowed, its dim light catching the glimmer of Jenny’s smile. Then Aurora’s lips curved in answer, slow and sharp, like a blade being unsheathed.
"Of course it did. The trick is simple: turn my succubus aura from lust to madder than the mad. Scream louder than the lion, and he will seek silence.
Rage wilder than the beast, and he will cling to calm. Psychology, Jenny. A simple trick of minds. And they walked where we wanted them to walk."
Jenny let out a soft, breathless laugh, girlish and mocking all at once.
But then it shifted, twisting into something else—something heavier, hungrier. She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a husky whisper.
"Then tell me, Aurora. Now that the pawns have moved, may I have him? May I have Atlas?"
Her smile widened, but her voice cracked with raw need. "Lidia has tasted him. Even a demon like her was allowed his fire.
So why not me? Why not let me quench this curse—" She stopped, biting her lip so hard blood welled. Her young body trembled, torn between fury and longing.
"it burns. My cunt drips curses into the sheets, and no spell can dry it. I want him. I want him inside me."
The words landed heavy, obscene and desperate, honest as blood spilled in war. Even the ruin seemed to listen, its cracked walls echoing her confession like a choir of shadows.
Aurora did not flinch. She let silence stretch, let Jenny’s rawness sour the air. Her third eye pulsed once, faint and knowing.
Then her voice came—measured, patient, but edged with steel.
"Patience, Jenny."
Jenny’s nails dug crescent moons into her thighs. "Patience? I have drowned in patience! Do you know what it is, to wake every night soaked, to feel your own flesh curse you? He could end it. He could—"
Aurora lifted her hand, silencing her. The glow of her third eye pressed like a weight against Jenny’s chest, forcing her words back into her throat.
"I know desire," Aurora whispered. "I know hunger. I was the one who pushed Aiden into Lidia’s arms, remember? I made him hers. And I will do the same for you. In time. But not yet. Patience, Jenny. Timing is sharper than lust."
Jenny trembled. Her lips parted, but no sound came. Aurora’s calm pressed against her like a hand over her mouth, unyielding, inevitable.
Only the hiss of the black goo filled the silence.
Jenny exhaled shakily, her hunger unsatisfied but her eyes glinting with wicked, feverish hope.
Aurora let her lips curve once more, a knife’s smile.
"Patience," she said again. "The seed you crave will come. But the board must be set first. Until then—play your role."
Jenny’s grin widened, too sharp for her young face. "Oh, I will. I will play it well."