4 Self

Itsuka Shidou was many things-a high school student, a so-called hero, and most importantly, a spirit hunter.

In the world of Date A Live, he was written like a wannabe Pokémon trainer, except instead of catching. 'em all with Pokéballs, he sealed spirits with kisses and somehow absorbed their godlike powers like some weird, virgin vampire.

Despite his nonexistent charisma, every spirit he encountered miraculously fell for him-either getting wet at first sight or throwing themselves into battle just to protect him. The man had the rizz of a soggy tissue, yet he somehow built an entire harem of superpowered waifus.

But today? Today, the universe decided to finally humble this motherfucker.

For the first time in his plot-armored life, he found himself completely and utterly fucked.

It all started with an earthquake, the usual apocalyptic bullshit. Shidou, in all his protagonist glory, ran for his life, rushing to meet his sister at a restaurant where they'd agreed to rendezvous.

Just as he was making his way there, his sister called him, telling him, in full-on plot convenience mode, that he needed to kiss the spirits, seal their power, and save the world with the power of friendship, love, and harem logic.

And like the delusional second coming of Jesus, he accepted the job-after whining for a solid minute first, of course.

With the confidence of a man who had never faced true consequences, he marched toward his first target-Princess.

Now, in the anime, she was supposed to be aggressive as fuck-distrustful toward humans because, well, the DEM literally tried to murder her for no fucking reason. But somehow, through the power of bullshit no jutsu, she immediately trusted Shidou after a few words and fell for his discount Casanova act

But this time?

This time, shit didn't go as planned.

Shidou-the legendary harem protagonist-finally learned what it felt like to take an arrow to the knee.

A single gunshot.

One moment, he was standing there, about to launch into another cringe-inducing monologue about love and trust.

The next? Regret.

So much regret.

Why the fuck did he take this shitty job?

Why did he think spirits would be easy targets?

Why did he trust his sister's dumbass plan?

"Zafkiel!"

BANG.

Before he could process what the hell just happened, his entire world shrunk.

His limbs shrivelled.

His mind emptied.

His vision blurred.

Then-

"Waaaaahhhh!!!"

He was a fucking baby.

The last thing he saw before his newborn ass started crying uncontrollably was a spirit in a gothic dress, her golden clockwork eyes gleaming, as she chuckled menacingly over his pathetic fate.

"Enjoy your life, Shidou-kun~."

And as the final insult?

She stole Princess right out from under his nose, the very spirit he was supposed to kiss, date, and recruit into his stupid harem.

As he lay there, helpless, wailing like the overgrown man-child he had always been, the reality set in.

Was this it? Was this the end?

Had his shitty protagonist luck finally run out?

-x-X-x-

He knew he shouldn't laugh at the suffering of others...

But this shit was just too fucking funny.

Especially considering the fact that his most hated protagonist had just turned into a goddamn baby.

Why did he hate him so much?

Honestly, he wasn't even sure anymore. It had been too long since he last watched the anime, and most of the details were blurry in his mind. But one thing remained crystal clear-he despised that bastard with every fiber of his being.

Maybe it was because most of the spirits in that world had suffered indirectly because of this so-called protagonist. And yet, despite all that pain and tragedy, the fucker had the audacity to receive their affection and power like he actually deserved it. That shit didn't sit right with him.

Sure, the protagonist wasn't deliberately responsible for their suffering. It was the Original Spirit who had caused all of it in the first place. But still... something about it rubbed him the wrong way.

Imagine being a victim of some massive tragedy, losing everything because of someone else's actions -only to then be told that you should love and support the very person who benefited from your pain.

The one who gained power, status, and a harem-all because of the suffering you and countless others had to endure. And worst of all, he wasn't even aware of how fucked up it all was.

Everything always worked out in Shidou's favor, not because of anything he actually earned, but because of the manipulation of the Original Spirit.

He was handed everything on a silver platter, acting like the righteous hero while being completely oblivious to the corpses that paved the way for his so-called "destiny." The spirits who suffered and lost so much were forced to love him, to give him their power, and in the end, he faced no consequences. No blame. Nothing.

Instead, this dumbass ended up with a massive harem, loved by everyone, treated as if he had done nothing wrong.

The hypocrisy of it all was what pissed him off the most.

That was Itsuka Shidou in a nutshell.

And that was why he fucking hated him.

That hypocrisy pissed him off more than anything.

If Shidou had been an outright villain, a selfish bastard from the start, it would have been much better. But he wasn't. He had the face of a hero while standing on a throne built on suffering.

Even Issei didn't disgust him as much as this motherfucker did.

Well, calling Shidou a motherfucker is pretty damn accurate-after all, his lover in his past life was basically his own mother. So yeah, he was quite literally a motherfucker.

Watching him get hit by Zafkiel and turned into a helpless baby was beyond satisfying. It was so damn cathartic that he felt like celebrating, throwing a feast in honor of this poetic justice. The sheer joy of seeing that bastard reduced to an infant made his blood sing.

Turning his attention to Kurumi, he grinned.

She was another version of himself-one who had been transmigrated into Kurumi Tokisaki's body in the world of Date A Live.

The full story behind her existence remained uncertain. Had she been transmigrated outright, or had her past life memories suddenly awakened when she witnessed the horrific experiments performed by the Original Spirit on her friends? Had the sheer trauma of that moment unlocked something buried deep Inside her? The specifics were unclear, but one thing was undeniable-her hatred wasn't some shallow grudge born from fiction.

It was real. It was personal. It came from firsthand suffering.

How could they not hate the Original Spirit and Shidou?

Those bastards tricked Kurumi into slaughtering her own neighbors, her friends, her family. And for what?

For this piece of shit named Shidou?

His jaw clenched as the memories played in his mind the absolute bullshit luck Shidou had throughout the anime, contrasted against the relentless suffering Kurumi endured. The more he thought about it, the more his rage boiled over, twisting his face into a mask of barely-contained fury.

That fucker deserved worse than just being turned into a baby.

"Another me, you're too soft," Khan said to Kurumi, his voice laced with disapproval.

"You should've stolen his power and devoured him the moment he was alone. It would've saved us so much time already."

"Ara... Are you mad for me, another me?" Kurumi didn't hurry to answer. Instead, she traced a delicate finger down his chest, her touch slow and teasing.

"I saw it. I saw everything, another me. How you get filthy with all your female selves," she chuckled, her crimson eyes glowing with mischief. "I wouldn't mind, you know. After all... we were one from the very beginning."

Khan deadpanned. "We're here to discuss serious matters, Kurumi."

"Of course, I know that." She smirked, blowing a warm breath against his ear before stepping back, acting as if nothing had happened.

With a playful hum, she picked up a teacup-one conveniently placed on a garden table, a remnant of Nero's brief indulgence in aesthetics when she created this blank space. Kurumi took a slow sip, savoring the moment.

"It seems Kaguya and Nero are busy, and we're the only ones here, another me," she mused, her lips curling into a devilish smile. "Why don't we take this opportunity to... get to know each other better?"

Khan narrowed his eyes. "I knew Kurumi was naughty in canon, but who would've thought another version of me would be just as bad?"

His fingers twitched with temptation, wanting to grab her right then and there, bend her over the table, and fuck that smug attitude right out of her.

But business first. Pleasure could wait.

Kurumi let out a soft giggle, her teasing demeanor shifting into something more sincere. Her voice lowered, turning gentle, almost comforting.

"It's not so bad, is it? You certainly feel better after all of this, don't you, another me?" she murmured. "There's no need to be angry for me. Constantly being angry isn't good for you... or for us."

Khan exhaled slowly, his irritation melting just a bit as he listened.

"Whether it's the Original Spirit or Shidou, they'll pay their dues," Kurumi continued, her tone growing sharper. "And I have a better plan to thwart the Original Spirit's schemes to make all their efforts amount to nothing."

She placed the teacup down and met his gaze, her eyes gleaming with ruthless cunning.

"They need Spirits, don't they? To date them, to empower Shidou... So let's take them first. Before they can even make a move, I'll transport the Spirits to Ancient Rome... or to Kaguya's world. And once we're done, we'll go back in time and make sure the Original Spirit never becomes a threat to begin with."

She smiled darkly. "So, what do you say, another me? Do you want to hop in?"

Khan's grin was just as wicked. "Is that even a question?"

They both chuckled at the same time.

And Shidou had no idea what was coming for him.

-x-X-x-

Meanwhile, in the Date A Live world, Origami found herself staring at an unbelievable sight. Amidst the ruins of the battlefield, where the elimination of Princess had been abruptly canceled due to her sudden disappearance along with the Worst Spirit, a lone figure remained-an infant.

A baby Shidou lay motionless among the debris, his small form covered in dust. The surveillance footage replayed the shocking moment: the Worst Spirit had shot him with a strange bullet, and in an instant, he had regressed into a helpless child.

Ryouko Kusakabe, one of Origami's comrades in the AST, looked at her with concern. "Origami... do you know who he is?" she asked, her voice tinged with worry.

Origami's expression was unreadable, but her grip on the small body in her arms tightened. Her usually icy gaze burned with something deeper-something far more dangerous.

"I know him," she replied simply, her voice quiet but firm.

Then, as if barely restraining a storm inside her, she clenched her fists, her knuckles turning white.

"And they will pay for it," she hissed under her breath.

Her fury simmered beneath the surface, cold and calculating. First, her parents had been stolen from her. Now, they had turned Shidou into a mere joke, stripping him of his very existence as she knew it.

She was tired of being a victim. Tired of having everything she cared about stolen away.

Ironically, Origami had no idea that the true source of all her suffering the one responsible for her parents' deaths-was none other than the baby she now cradled in her arms. The very same Shidou Itsuka.

What would happen if she learned the truth?

Only time would tell.

-x-X-x-

Afterward, Kurumi decided to return to her own world-she had more spirits to hunt down, steal, and transfer into the modern world. More specifically, Kaguya's world.

Of course, that wasn't happening just yet. The first Spirit meant to be dated by Shidou wasn't even there at the moment. No one could properly look after her in Kaguya's world anyway, since Kaguya was busy with school.

Instead, Kurumi had dropped her straight into Ancient Rome, inside the FGO timeline, where Khan was.

Right now, he was still busy playing the role of Emperor, consolidating his power and securing the support of the people.

But that didn't mean he couldn't spare some time to entertain a certain gluttonous princess.

Instead of restricting her movements or forcing her to behave like Shidou did, he let her roam free, doing whatever the fuck she wanted.

If she wanted to break shit, steal food, or cause chaos, he didn't give a damn. Unlike Shidou, who brainwashed Spirits into playing nice with weaklings or sealing their powers, Khan let her decide her own damn future.

Of course, he guided her-teaching her how to adapt to this world, how to communicate without making a complete fool of herself, and most importantly, how to survive without relying on someone else's mercy.

Khan leaned back, watching her with an amused smirk. "So, how's your first day, Princess? I hope this world is more to your liking than your last one."

"This world is awesome! Thank you, Khan. And thanks to Kurumi too!"

The purple-haired girl sitting before him couldn't stop stuffing her face, snatching food from the table with the ferocity of a starving beast.

She tore into a chicken leg, devouring it like a woman who hadn't eaten in years, grease dripping down her fingers as she barely stopped to breathe between bites.

Khan stared at her, deadpan.

Okay...

I don't think you're talking about the world at all. You're talking about the food, aren't you?

Still chewing, she just grinned at him, completely unbothered.

"Well," Khan sighed, shaking his head. "If you like it, then cool. You can stay as long as you want. And once I wrap up my business here, I'll take you somewhere even better. A world far beyond this one."

Her eyes lit up instantly. "Really?! Is the food even better there?!"

Of course, she only cared about the food.

Even when Kurumi had dumped her into this world, explaining that it was safer, she hadn't questioned a damn thing. The logic of world-hopping? Didn't faze her. The fact that she was now in Ancient Rome? Not even a second thought.

She only cared because Kurumi was the same kind as her. And because the food was fucking amazing.

Khan chuckled. "Yeah. It is."

That was all she needed to hear.

And just like that, she grinned ear to ear, already dreaming about the next feast.

Her drooling was obvious, and she wasn't someone known for subtlety when expressing her emotions.

"Speaking of which, do you have a name, or do you prefer being called by your title, 'Princess?" Khan asked, his voice smooth as he swirled his glass of red wine, the deep crimson liquid catching the light.

She frowned, clearly displeased by the question.

"I don't like that name, she huffed, her pout borderline adorable despite the irritation behind it. "Every time humans call me Princess, they attack me right after."

Her tone carried a sharp edge, and Khan didn't miss the frustration in her expression. She had every right to be pissed-AST had been hunting her down the second she showed up, their guns blazing while they yelled "Princess" like it was some battle cry.

Khan chuckled, unfazed by her little outburst. 'Then, what should I call you?"

His tone was smooth, patient, as he took another sip of his red wine, every movement carrying the grace of a man who knew exactly how to handle a lady.

His air of self-assured sophistication seemed to have an effect-Tohka, now a little flustered, averted her gaze, muttering under her breath.

"I don't know... What do you think, Khan?" she asked, her voice softer now. Then, she lifted her eyes to him, filled with unspoken hope and expectation.

That look? Yeah, it was dangerous.

Khan leaned back slightly, playing with the idea in his head.

"Let me think for a moment."

He had originally planned to give her an English name-something different, something that stood out.

But as soon as he considered translating her Japanese name into English, he stopped immediately.

It was too edgy.

Tohka Yatogami, when translated directly, became Tessa Nightblade-and that? That sounded like the name of some over-the-top, second-rate anime OC.

Sure, it made sense: "Tessa" from the tenth of April, the day of her first descent in the Date A Live world, and "Nightblade" as the translation of "Yatogami."

But in Khan's opinion? It was cringe as hell.

So, he made the obvious choice-he stuck with her original name.

"Your name shall be Tohka Yatogami," he declared, his tone playful yet firm.

She blinked, then her face lit up with a bright, satisfied grin.

"Yes! I like it, Khan!" Tohka beamed, her earlier frustration completely forgotten. "It's so much better than 'Princess."

And with that, she officially embraced her true name-one that belonged to her, not something others forced on her with hostility.

"What's your plan after this, Tohka? Do you want to stay here forever, or are you interested in going out to see something new?" Khan asked, his gaze fixed on her.

Tohka frowned, scratching her head as she thought hard about his question.

Her expression was filled with confusion, her lips pursing slightly. "I don't know... but I like how things are right now."

"Then you can stay as long as you want," Khan said without hesitation. 'I'm busy right now, but later, I can send you to a much better world-one that's more peaceful, more suited for you. Of course, that will be after the person responsible for you there isn't too busy and has time to look after you."

Instead of looking happy, Tohka's expression fell. She stared at him like an abandoned puppy, her eyes radiating pure pitifulness.

"Will you leave... just like Kurumi?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Her pitiful look made Khan pause for a moment. He wasn't sure why, but despite the obvious sadness in her eyes, he found her strangely... adorable.

Was he secretly a sadist or something?

Shaking off the thought, he firmly shook his head. "No. I'll visit that world from time to time when I'm done with things here."

"Then I'm not going, Tohka declared, her voice carrying an unexpected firmness. "I don't see any point in going to that world if you and Kurumi won't be there."

Khan blinked in surprise. For someone as gluttonous as her, he had expected food to be an easy way to sway her, yet here she was, resisting the temptation just to stay by his side.

If it were some low-life scumbag in his position, she would've already been tricked into bed a hundred times over.

Fortunately for her, it was him-Khan. The man of focus, commitment, and sheer fucking will.

"Alright," he nodded, respecting her choice. "But you'll have to adapt to the brutality of this world. It's not as forgiving as the one I mentioned."

Tohka's face lit up with a wide grin, as if she had just won something.

"Thank you, Khan!" she said happily.

Her gratitude was genuine, but she clearly didn't understand the full weight of his words.

After all, even he had to adapt to be ruthless, to be cruel, to harden his heart when dealing with the countless backstabbing senators and treacherous people in this world.

But that didn't matter. He had more than enough patience to guide her, step by step, until she fully adjusted.

For now, he simply sipped his wine gracefully, watching Tohka happily devour her plate of food, completely at peace.

-x-X-x-

Afterward, he didn't bother concerning himself with Tohka's affairs and let her stuff her face at the breakfast table while he headed back to his chamber.

With a simple order, he had a maid summon Agrippina for a private meeting.

Was this incest? Maybe. He was about to fuck another version of his mother, after all. But did he care?

Not one bit.

Then the door of chamber cracked open, and closed again as the blonde hair women with emerald eyes present before him.

"Caesa..."

Agrippina began to address him with the title of Caesar, but she stopped mid-way, as if something had just clicked in her mind-a realization, a shift in perspective.

Her lips parted slightly before she spoke again, her voice softer, more reverent.

"My Khan."

Then, with deliberate grace, she dropped to her knees before him, lowering herself in a clear display of submission.

Khan smirked, watching the proud and once-powerful mother of an emperor bowing before him without hesitation. It was a sight to savor, but he had more important matters at hand-for now.

"Arise, Agrippina."

He lifted a hand, signaling her to abandon the formalities. She obeyed immediately, rising to her feet, her piercing emerald eyes locked onto him, waiting for his next words like a loyal servant eager to fulfill his will.

"I need you to prepare the troops," Khan ordered, his voice steady and commanding. "All of them. Ready to march on Rome and swear loyalty to their Khan. Your father was Germanicus-I expect you to have a considerable amount of influence over the legions. I need that power, and I need it now."

His words left no room for debate. He wasn't asking-he was taking.

For a brief moment, the temptation flickered in his mind-how easy it would be to keep her on her knees, to put that sharp tongue of hers to proper use. But business before pleasure. He had a throne to seize, and Rome to conquer.

Agrippina nodded firmly, her eyes filled with understanding. "I will ensure they are ready to serve you, my Khan."

She turned, striding away with the same imperial grace she had always carried. But Khan's attention was immediately drawn downward-watching the deliberate sway of her wide, womanly hips.

That ass.

The way her dress clung to her mature, sculpted curves, the slight bounce in every step-it was a fucking masterpiece. The rear of an empress, the body of a queen, and soon to be property of her Khan.

For now, though, he let her go.

Not because he didn't want to break her here and now-but because victory came first. Rome was on the verge of shattering, and he needed to strike before the dust settled.

The rebellion in Capua needed to be crushed. The armies in Rome had to be turned to his side.

Three days later, exactly as planned, Khan rode at the head of his forces, Agrippina at his side, having summoned the legions alongside Burrus and a sizeable force of Praetorian guards.

The stage was set. Rome would kneel. And soon, so would everyone else.

So, he marched on Capua, and anyone who disobeyed his orders or dared to slow down the march met a fate worse than death.

With a flick of his wrist, he fired the seventh bullet from Zafkiel, and time itself consumed them. Their flesh withered, rotting away in real-time, their bones creaking as they decayed into old, brittle husks before their comrades' horrified eyes.

They screamed, they begged, but it was useless. They all learned, in that very moment, what fear truly was.

The whispers-the treacherous murmurs-that he was not the true Emperor, that he was a mere imposter pretending to be Caesar? Silenced in an instant.

Those who dared defy him were struck down without mercy, their punishment swift and absolute.

But those who obeyed?

They were rewarded beyond imagination.

The old felt their youth return, their sagging flesh tightening, their strength surging back with a vigor they hadn't felt in decades.

Their aching joints were restored, their fading eyesight sharpened, and an unstoppable energy flooded their veins. They felt reborn.

Khan took time from the weak, from the rebellious, and gifted it to the loyal.

Obedience meant power.

Disobedience meant ruin.

The legions of Rome began to defect, one after another, bowing to him as they realized the truth. Those who still hesitated? They were left to rot, their bodies crumbling while they watched in regret as their once-loyal comrades basked in Khan's blessing, growing younger, stronger, and more powerful than ever before.

Khan was no longer just their Emperor.

He was their God.

Every word from his lips was law, and none dared question him again.

No longer did they call him an imposter.

He was the true ruler of Rome.

By the will of God.

By the might of Khan.

By the time they arrived in Capua, the Roman legions wasted no time. Families of the rebels were dragged out, forced to their knees, and nailed to crosses-one by one. Their screams filled the air as crude wooden stakes were driven through their flesh, their agony laid bare for all to see.

The message was clear.

Any slave who had dared to rise against Rome now stood frozen in horror, their blood running cold as they watched their loved ones struggle and writhe on the crosses. Mothers, fathers, children-no one was spared. Their twisted, pain-stricken expressions were a cruel display, a warning written in blood and suffering.

For the rebels, the victories they had fought so hard for the conquest of Capua, the control of the city-meant nothing anymore. The taste of triumph turned to ash in their mouths.

"Oppressors!"

A furious roar erupted from atop the city walls. Spartacus-a towering force of rage and defiance-glared down at the Romans, his eyes blazing with fury. And at the heart of it all, Khan stood below the city gates, his presence commanding, his expression unreadable. The momentum of the rebellion was crumbling right in front of him, and he knew it.

The rebels hesitated, their spirits wavering. The sight of their families broken and suffering had shaken them to their core.

Some realized their loved ones were still together in the same city. Others weren't as lucky. Their families had been separated, scattered, used as leverage to break their will.

The fear in their eyes spoke louder than any words.

"Spartacus, we can't do this anymore! This is impossible-we can't sacrifice our families!"

"What did you just say?!!" One of the rebels turned on him, grabbing his collar in rage.

Another man immediately slapped his hand away, shoving him back.

"Easy for you to say-you've still got your family here in the city! What about us?! What are we fighting for if they're already dead?!"

The argument spread like wildfire, rebels turning on each other, their unity shattering under the weight of Rome's brutal tactics.

But Spartacus would not waver.

"Silence!" His voice boomed, silencing the chaos. His glare swept over his men, filled with nothing but unyielding resolve.

"The rebellion never dies! The oppressors shall meet their end! And I-I will bring him down myself!" His finger pointed directly at Khan.

The walls gave them the advantage. The Romans should have been at a disadvantage, forced to lay siege and fight an uphill battle.

And yet, Spartacus chose to face the leader of the Roman legions head-on. He would fight him alone, in single combat, before his people.

The rebels held their breath, their fate hanging by a thread.

Would their leader win this battle?

Or was this the moment Rome crushed them for good?

-x-X-x-

Without wasting another damn second, Spartacus descended like a falling meteor, his massive frame dwarfing the Roman legions like a titan stepping onto an anthill. The ground beneath him shattered and crumbled, a spiderweb of cracks spreading outward from the sheer force of his landing.

Then, he moved.

For a man of his sheer size, his speed was nothing short of monstrous. He charged forward like an unstoppable force, each step sending tremors through the battlefield.

"CRUSH THE OPPRESSORS! KILL THEM ALL!"

His roar wasn't just a battle cry-it was a declaration of pure, unrelenting carnage. The sound rolled through the battlefield like thunder, shaking the very souls of those who heard it. The Roman legions, despite their discipline, trembled as the mad Berserker rushed toward them with unchained fury.

But Khan? He wasn't afraid.

He wasn't some trembling soldier cowering before a rampaging beast he was a conqueror, a god among men.

As Spartacus bore down on him, Khan let loose his divinity. Power erupted from him like a raging inferno, the air itself distorting around his form. His speed, his reflexes, his strength-all of it skyrocketed in an instant.

This was war.

The wind howled and screamed around them as they clashed head-on, neither of them willing to take a step back. Spartacus swung his colossal greatsword, a brutal arc meant to cleave Khan in half-but Khan's body moved like a phantom, weaving through the clash of steel with effortless precision.

His movements weren't just skill-they were divine. Imperial Privilege surged through his veins, granting him the footwork of the greatest warriors in history.

Then, the battlefield twisted.

"Zafkiel."

A golden clock materialized behind Khan, its gears grinding, its hands ticking.

His Angel of Time.

A power he had inherited from his other self-Kurumi.

Spartacus' blade came for him again, but this time, time itself bent to Khan's will. The flow of battle slowed in his favor. Spartacus was fast, but now he was crawling.

Sixth Bullet-Time Slow.

Khan sidestepped with inhuman ease, moving like a ghost through the sluggish battlefield. His blade blazed with fury, crackling with divine energy, and in one brutal motion, he slashed Spartacus across the torso.

The impact was savage-a deep, flesh-tearing wound that split through the Berserker's massive body. A fountain of blood erupted, splattering across Khan's face, warm and thick, painting him in crimson.

But Spartacus?

The motherfucker laughed.

He didn't scream, he didn't stagger-he roared in twisted ecstasy.

"PAIN MAKES ME STRONGER!"

His torn flesh knitted back together instantly, muscles bulging, expanding, strengthening. The more he suffered, the stronger he became-his reflexes sharper, his power even greater than before.

And then, his eyes locked onto Khan with pure unhinged madness.

"YOUR END IS HERE, OPPRESSOR!"

Spartacus retaliated, his greatsword cleaving through the air, each swing carrying enough force to split mountains in half. The sheer shockwaves from his strikes ripped through the battlefield, sending debris and bodies flying.

Khan barely lifted a hand.

Twelfth Bullet-Time Acceleration.

The world blurred.

His reaction speed multiplied tenfold, his body flickering like an untouchable phantom. Spartacus greatsword smashed into the earth, obliterating the ground beneath them-but Khan was already gone.

Now floating above the battlefield, Khan smirked wickedly.

"You may grow faster, stronger, and tougher, Berserker... His golden eyes glowed with mocking amusement, his voice dripping with raw dominance. "But I am still better than you in every way."

His blade burned hotter, divinity coiling around it like a serpent ready to strike.

"Surrender now, and I'll spare your men."

Then, his smirk widened.

"Refuse-and I will make an example out of you. Let the world see what happens to those who defy the Might of Rome."

For a brief moment, Spartacus hesitated.

But hesitation was not something a Berserker could hold onto. His instincts, his twisted ideals, his very nature-it wouldn't let him back down.

"I WILL CRUSH YOU, OPPRESSOR! I WILL CRUSH YOU!"

And with madness in his eyes, he charged again.

"You're wasting my time, Berserker." Khan yawned, stretching his arms, his tone laced with sheer boredom.

But before Spartacus could say another word, something shot through the air.

"VII-Time Erosion."

A bullet ripped through the battlefield, slamming into Spartacus's chest with brutal precision.

Time itself twisted around him, an unnatural force gnawing at his very existence.

His body, once a beacon of unrelenting regeneration, began to slow, the raw concept of decay sinking into his flesh, eating away at him from the inside.

Spartacus staggered, his muscles tensing against the foreign power, but his defiance burned just as fiercely.

His body should have already healed-but this was different. For the first time, his wounds did not immediately close.

But the Berserker of Rebellion was not one to kneel.

With a primal, guttural scream, he activated his Noble Phantasm.

"Cry! Scream! Wail in agony! Rebellion will NEVER perish!"

His flesh tore open, but instead of breaking him, his suffering fed him. Every wound, every shred of pain inflicted upon him became fuel-his very essence bathing in torment and growing stronger.

The battlefield shook as his body expanded, golden energy erupting from him like an untamed inferno..

His sword, no longer just a weapon, now carried the weight of every injury he had endured, every suffering he had overcome-magnified a thousandfold.

With rage-filled eyes, he charged.

Khan's expression darkened. His gaze narrowed.

This fucking cockroach just refused to die.

"You're a real pain in the ass, Spartacus," he muttered, cracking his knuckles. "But this is where you end."

Raising his hand, he summoned forth the legion of time itself.

A hundred temporal clones materialized, the air warping as Kurumi's power manifested in full force.

Each clone armed to the teeth, divine-infused weapons gleaming under the blood-soaked sky.

But none of them were him.

No, these were Kurumi's clones-her twisted, psychotic manifestations.

He could have chosen to summon Nero, Kaguya, or even Kurumi herself.

He didn't hesitate.

He chose Kurumi.

A chorus of dark, sultry laughter echoed across the battlefield as the clones grinned with wild, deranged delight.

"Ara, how is it, Berserker-kun?" One of them purred, tilting her head, eyes burning with pure insanity. "Doesn't it feel good? The pain... the suffering... isn't it just so delicious?"

Spartacus barely had time to react before hell descended upon him.

The onslaught was merciless.

Each blade carved into his flesh. Each bullet tore through his body. Each blast of energy shredded his limbs, his insides, his very soul.

He howled, his monstrous strength crumbling under the infinite assault of time and divinity.

His body fought. Endlessly.

But there was no escape.

Khan's form blurred, appearing before him in a flash. His blade sank deep, piercing Spartacus's flesh, the steel driving into his heart.

Spartacus choked on blood.

His breath hitched, his entire form shaking, collapsing beneath the weight of his own mortality.

But still... he smiled.

That same defiant grin, that same unbreakable spark in his dying eyes.

"Truly... glorious battle, Oppressor...! Truly...!" He gasped out, voice gurgling with blood. "But rebellion... never dies. I will return... again... and again... AND AGAIN! I WILL CRUSH YOU!"

With that final declaration, his body disintegrated, turning into golden dust that vanished into the void of history.

Silence.

The battlefield was quiet.

Khan let out a slow breath, dismissing Kurumi's clones as his divine aura faded.

His gaze lowered to the spot where Spartacus had fallen.

Then, he turned his eyes toward Capua.

"Surrender, or you will face the wrath of Rome!"

His voice thundered across the battlefield, shaking the very foundations of the city.

"Khan!"

"Khan!"

"Khan!"

"Khan!"

A deafening roar erupted from the Roman legions behind him.

Thousands of voices rose in unison, their battle cry echoing into the night, shaking the resolve of the rebels like a divine decree.

The rebellion had been crushed. Their so-called leader lay broken in the dirt, his defiance amounting to nothing.

Inside, the rebels and slaves trembled. They had witnessed Spartacus's fierce resistance, seen him fight with all his might-yet, in the end, it hadn't mattered.

Because that's all they were.

A bunch of disorganized mobs.

They had no discipline, no structure. Just desperation and fleeting hope.

And now, both were gone.

Slowly, the gates of Capua creaked open. Rome had won.

"We surrender!"

The words rang out like a whimper, like a dying gasp of rebellion. The mighty uprising that had sought to defy the empire-reduced to nothing more than a pathetic plea for mercy.

Khan smirked.

This is the end. The rebellion is crushed. Capua is mine.

But even as he stood victorious, basking in the glory of conquest, he knew this was just the beginning.

Rome's past was crawling back from the grave-long-dead Emperors rising from history, vying for power, for control of his world.

And if that wasn't enough, there were still those pests-Chaldea and Alaya-watching from the shadows, waiting for their chance to interfere.

But all of that could wait.

Right now?

He had earned his victory.

He had conquered, crushed, and taken what was his.

Now, it was time to celebrate.

With wine, women, and a feast worthy of a fucking god.

-x-X-x-

It was a good fucking thing Agrippina was here.

After a long day of killing and fighting, there was nothing better than burying his cock in a warm, willing hole-and Agrippina?

She was more than ready to provide exactly that.

Wet. Willing. Desperate.

This was the true romance of a man-bloodshed and sex. The primal indulgence of violence followed by the ultimate reward. Every man fantasized about this when they played their games, when they dreamed of conquest-kill and fuck, take and claim.

And right now, Agrippina was showing just how much she understood that.

Her lips wrapped around his cock, sucking with hungry, desperate intensity, her cheeks hollowing as she worked her tongue along his shaft with masterful skill.

She wasn't just sucking him off-she was worshipping him, devouring his length with an eagerness that spoke of pure, unrestrained submission.

Khan let out a deep, satisfied groan, sinking back into the plush cushions of the sofa, his hand tangling into her thick golden hair.

He stroked her head in encouragement, feeling her warmth, her obedience, her dedication as she bobbed up and down, taking him in deeper with every movement.

Her throat convulsed, struggling around his size, but she didn't stop-she wouldn't dare stop.

Her only purpose at this moment was to please him.

"Yeah, just like that, Agrippina," he murmured, voice thick with approval.

She kept sucking, faster, sloppier.

"Gurgh...❤ Gurgh...❤ Gurgh...❤"

The wet, obscene sounds of her lips and throat working over his cock filled the chamber, echoing off the walls.

Saliva dripped from her mouth, smearing along her chin and down to her bare, heaving breasts.

Khan's grip on her hair tightened.

Without warning, he stood up, yanking her forward until the back of her throat pressed flush against his cock.

She gagged, her body trembling as he fucked her face mercilessly, ramming into her throat with brutal, unforgiving thrusts.

Tears welled in her emerald eyes, but she didn't resist-she couldn't resist.

She was too far gone in her own submission, too lost in the sheer power he exerted over her.

Her nails dug into his thighs as she struggled to breathe, her entire existence reduced to nothing more than a tight, wet hole for his pleasure.

And that was exactly how he wanted her-ruined, obedient, trained.

He felt the tension coil in his gut, the sheer pleasure of her throat milking him, the tight spasms around his cock pulling him closer to the edge.

"Fuck-" he growled.

And then, with one final brutal thrust, he came deep inside her mouth, filling her throat with thick, hot ropes of his seed.

Agrippina didn't falter.

She swallowed every single drop like the perfect fucking woman she was, then opened her mouth, sticking out her tongue to show him that she hadn't wasted a single drop.

Khan smirked wickedly.

"Good," he said, gripping her chin, tilting her face up to meet his eyes. "You're learning, Agrippina."

"Now, show me what you're made for", Khan growled, his voice laced with dark amusement.

Agrippina obeyed. Too obedient, even-whether it was from sheer submission or some underlying scheme, Khan didn't care. Whatever her motives, the only thing that mattered was that he was about to ruin the Empress Mother.

The highest-ranked woman in Rome-second only to Nero herself.

Just the thought of it sent a thrill of power coursing through him.

What if both mother and daughter stood before him-wet, willing, and eager to be conquered?

The image burned into his mind, the idea of those two almost identical faces, pressed against either side of his cock, their ample breasts sandwiching his length as they worked in perfect unison to please him.

It was exhilarating.

Unconsciously, his throbbing, monstrous cock had already found its way into her wet, tight heat, her slick entrance stretching around his sheer girth.

The moment he pushed inside, Agrippina let out a sharp, broken gasp, her body trembling from the sudden invasion.

Khan wasted no time.

He gripped a fistful of her hair, yanking her head back as he slammed himself deep inside her, his entire length buried in her to the hilt.

Gentleness wasn't in his nature.

He wasn't here to make love-he was here to take her, to wreck her, to claim Rome's most powerful woman like the conqueror he was.

Agrippina's moans grew louder, more desperate, her body unable to resist the sheer force of his thrusts.

Her large, full breasts bounced with each punishing stroke, her nails clawing at the bed, trying-and failing-to anchor herself against the ruthless pounding.

"Ahh!❤ So deep!❤" she cried out, her voice hoarse, half-broken between moans and screams.

Khan only chuckled, his grip tightening on her hips, his fingers digging into her soft flesh as he drove himself deeper, harder, filling her completely with every savage thrust.

His cock pushed against the entrance of her womb, stretching her beyond her limits, forcing her to take all of him-whether she could handle it or not.

He could feel it-her body betraying her.

No matter how proud, no matter how high her status, she was nothing more than a moaning mess beneath him now.

Each thrust sent a shockwave of pleasure through her, her walls gripping him tighter, her body greedy for more.

She was breaking.

And he loved every fucking second of it.

Khan shifted her head down, arching her back to take him even deeper.

She gripped the silk sheets beneath them, her fingers white-knuckled, her entire body trembling as he pounded her relentlessly.

"You love this, don't you, Agrippina?" he growled into her ear, his breath hot against her flushed skin.

Agrippina couldn't even speak-only gasp, moan, and shudder, her eyes rolling back in sheer pleasure as her tight, drenched cunt clenched around him.

"Y-Yes-yes~❤YES!❤" she finally screamed, her voice breaking as wave after wave of orgasm crashed over her.

But Khan wasn't done.

With a deep, guttural groan, he drove himself to the hilt one last time, burying himself deep inside her as he released, thick ropes of hot seed flooding her womb, filling her to the brim.

She twitched beneath him, completely wrecked, her body unable to do anything but accept it all.

And then-finally-they came together.

Agrippina let out a final shattered moan, her entire body convulsing, her thighs shaking violently as she drowned in pure, mind-breaking pleasure.

Her eyes rolled white, her expression frozen in that perfect, ruined look of bliss before collapsed onto the sheets, her breath ragged, her body twitching in mind-shattering pleasure.

Her legs were numb, her body drenched in sweat, her face buried in the sheets as she trembled in the aftermath.

She had been completely ruined.

He wrapped his arms around her from behind, gripping her possessively, his hands roaming her soft, well-used flesh.

His fingers dug into her plump breasts, kneading them roughly as his still-hard cock sank back into her dripping cunt-already wrecked and stretched from the previous intense sex.

A deep, satisfied groan rumbled from his chest as he felt her warmth engulf him again, her body instinctively molding around his massive girth.

Even in sleep, she was his, her walls clenching weakly around him, milking him even as exhaustion left her unconscious.

He exhaled slowly, his grip tightening around her waist as he pressed his face into her messy, sweat-slicked hair.

The scent of sex and submission still lingered between them, thick in the air.

He closed his eyes.

And like that, he drifted into sleep, his cock still buried deep inside her, keeping her filled and claimed through the night.

When he woke up, the world around him was gone.

The void.

Again.

The warm, decadent body in his arms had vanished-replaced by the cold, endless emptiness of nothingness.

But he didn't flinch, didn't even react with surprise. He knew.

She was coming.

And then, there she was.

Sitting upon a towering glacier throne, her long, luminous blue hair cascading down her shoulders, a striking contrast to the pristine white of her military uniform.

Regal. Cold. Absolute.

His lips curled into a smirk.

Finally.

She comes.

Their eyes met-icy blue locking onto his dark, knowing gaze.

And for that moment, in that space outside of reality itself, they both felt it.

A connection.

A bond that no one in the world could ever replace.

-x-X-x-