Chapter 3: Well Damn

War...

The winds shrieked like banshees across the blood-soaked tundra, banners snapping in defiance above ranks of armored soldiers charging forward. The Wolfesmen's mercenary army roared their war cries, blades and shields glinting beneath the pale sun. Clashing steel echoed like thunder as thousands collided—chaos erupted instantly.

At the frontline, Lianna Edelhardt, fierce and elegant, her platinum hair shimmering, sliced through enemies with the grace of a dancer and lethality of a viper. Beside her, Zhao Lianhua wielded twin curved swords in a whirlwind of precision, silently eliminating warriors who underestimated her diminutive size. The battlefield was a storm of steel, blood, and screams—yet Wolfe soldiers marched forward with unsettling resolve.

Violence...

In Pineheart Woods, the boundary between human civilization and monstrous territories blurred dangerously. Nightfall cloaked the towering pines in darkness, pierced only by flickering torchlight. Villagers huddled close as creatures emerged—hulking direwolves, monstrous trolls, and snarling goblins. Warriors stepped forward, heartbeats heavy with dread but courage fierce.

"Hold the line!" shouted Tonya De Luca, her voice stern. She gripped a glaive carved with protective runes. Goblins hissed and leapt, trolls swung their massive clubs, but Wolfe warriors countered brutally. Gazei himself surged into the fray, cleaving a massive troll's head cleanly off, showering the forest floor with blood. His laughter echoed through the violence—wild, fearless, terrifyingly joyful.

Brutality...

The stench of sweat, fear, and blood filled a small clearing. A thief lay sprawled, begging incoherently as one of Wolfe's lieutenants, Ragnar—a towering berserker with fiery eyes—loomed above him. Without hesitation, Ragnar's iron-shod boot slammed down repeatedly, shattering bone with sickening cracks. Each strike was merciless, each cry weaker than the last until silence finally fell. Ragnar spat dismissively and turned away, his message to the villagers clear: defiance would not be tolerated.

Pillage...

Smoke and flames consumed a distant village, punctuating the night with screams. Warriors bearing Wolfe's crest rampaged through the streets, ransacking homes and seizing valuables, livestock, and supplies. Amid the chaos, Lexi Carter deftly snatched jewelry, gold coins tumbling through her fingers, a satisfied smirk on her lips.

"We should hurry," Katarina Mikhailova urged, eyes wary as embers drifted dangerously close.

"Relax," Lexi said smoothly, pocketing a silver necklace. "Gazei likes shiny things."

Fighting...

The clash intensified elsewhere. Gazei faced a formidable rival—a towering barbarian chieftain whose mace shattered shields with ease. Their weapons collided with earth-shaking force, sparks showering like fiery rain.

"You fight like a wild beast," the barbarian growled appreciatively.

"Nah," Gazei retorted, blade humming coldly. "Beasts can't style this good."

Laughing savagely, the chieftain charged again, but Gazei sidestepped with unnatural swiftness, his sword flashing, severing tendon and muscle with surgical precision. The brute toppled heavily, disbelief on his face.

Booty...

After the battle subsided, a Wolfe mercenary approached a woman captured during a raid. She sat bound yet defiantly glared.

"If looks could kill, I'd be reborn about ten times now," The warrior teased, crouching to her level.

"If my hands weren't tied, you'd already be dead," The woman spat.

"Aw, come on," he grinned charmingly. That temper's cute—dangerous, but cute. Are you hungry? We've got dinner."

The woman stared incredulously before rolling her eyes, a reluctant smirk betraying her.

Eating food with absolutely no seasoning...

Evening settled across the Wolfe encampment, warriors seated around bonfires. Gazei bit into an enormous chunk of roast boar—juicy, plentiful, and utterly flavorless.

Just another day in the books for the Wolfe clan. 

[xXx]

What the actual fuck?

Gazei Wolfe was a menace.

Not just to empires, kingdoms—but morals, boundaries, and any concept of restraint. A walking, talking war crime with biceps. He'd robbed villages, conned merchants, and built a whole damn kingdom by doing jobs no sane man would take and no decent man would survive. He went from hustling side quests across the known world to carving out a kingdom where his bloodline ruled like divine predators at the top of the food chain.

But also?

He was so damn horny.

"This body came with a conquest-on-sight perk and zero post-nut cooldown," he muttered, rubbing his temples as resisted the urge take one of his many sex slaves to calm down his damn boner. 

"Who designed this shit? Fuckin' hell! Why are so many nuns that hot?"

He stared off into the firepit. The glow flickered over polished weapons and the glistening abs of one of his many… associates. He wasn't even sure anymore. Wife? Fuck no. Mistress? Another no. Random hot girl from the raid on Kazareth who tried to stab him mid-makeout?

What the hell is a Kazareth? And why does that name have great tomboys with bottom curves? 

"Past me was way too comfortable with the chaos," Gazei grumbled. "And bisexual? Fifty-fifty, maybe. Look, I don't even know how to unpack that. The only dudes that motherfucker ever chased down had soft faces, long hair, pixie cuts, that one eyed covered hair thingy, and tighter waistlines than should be legal. But that motherfucker ain't never been the bottom, and thank every pantheon for that."

Still, he couldn't deny it—the last few days had been wild. He'd learned fast that this version of himself, the one who ruled the Wolfe Kingdom Empire, was less "honorable warrior" and more "domination kink in fur leather armor." Turns out, when you mix ancient bloodlines with divine blessings and generational horniness, you don't get a hero.

You get him.

He still blames Rin for this. 

"Why the hell did my soul get dropped into a body that has an unlock conquest on sight passive?!" Gazei repeated himself, frustrated by the memories done by this world Gazei.

"Like, yeah, that sounds hot in theory, but in practice? I'm going to hell. On a sled. With flames on it."

It had been a week since Sonja lost to him in single combat. The redheaded general of the Zuma warrior women warband—the same warband that scorched half the frontier—now sat in his camp, technically a prisoner, technically not, because he fucked the shit of her for the past week. 

His men took the rest of Sonja's comrades as fuck pets. Even right now in the morning Gazei and hear his men take those slutty looking woman into submission on the daily. 

Of course, his past self had to recruit men and women with the same mindset as him. 

He was just grateful they had a code of honor-ish. They wouldn't attack the innocent (if surrender), nor the helpless (If surrender). The only thing they'd do was fuck, pillage, and plunder.

They were a bunch of sex addicts.

And that was fine. 

It wasn't and he is not covering all the mess up shit but he needs this.

He sighed and stood, stretching. Gazei found the reason he was even out in the freezing cold of his whatever the fuck this place was the fact the past him, wanted to conquer the southern part of Niflheim. The Vale of Hrafnsfjord has many fertile lands that his people could live on, and a vast amount of ore could be mined from the mountains. Five different races call home in these rich lands of snow, monsters, and mystery.

The Zuma, a race of women who worshiped the god of battle. The Shar, a race of orcs and ogres. The Eskur, a race of elves who are born with elemental powers. The Firbolg, a race of giant-like women who are born with incredible strength. Lastly, the Snow leopard tribe, a race of demi-humans who live deep within the mountains, shares with the mountain dwarves' that have no nation or clans of their own.

Right Gazei needs Sonja to break and reveal the location of the hidden Zuma. Those Irish or Scottish Amazon are one of the smarter tribes. They have many hidden small villages and a hidden main base. The Zuma women were known to be skilled hunters, warriors, trackers, and archers. Besides the being cum dispensers the real reason is beccause Wolfemen are trash hunters and forgers.

Sonja has the key information, and no amount of rape would get it out of her. The only option left is to use the power of hentai.

And that's where Wolfe clan clergy came in. His personal clergy, who are separate from the actual churches. 

The Incubus and Succubus Branch of the Holy Order of the Flame.

Every priest and priestess in the black-and-red tents bore his sigil not just on their robes, but tattooed on their tongues, thighs, and hearts. They were his. His worshippers. His loyal disciples. His playthings, in a few too many cases.

They didn't pray with hymns. They prayed with sweat, silk, and screams that echoed through the camp every night. Their faith was soaked in sin and divine submission.

"Master," came a smooth voice, snapping him from his thoughts.

Remit stepped into the tent like a sinner who didn't bother to hide. The incubus wore what could only be described as priest drag—long, black ceremonial robes with a deep-V cut down the chest and open slits down the sides that left nothing to the imagination. Lace gloves. Boots that clicked with purpose. Silver earrings that caught the torchlight just right.

It was the kind of outfit that said I'll bless your soul and ruin your life before lunch.

"I have news for you, my Master," Remit said, bowing just low enough to make it an event. 

Looks just like those nun/femboys turned from that stupid goat demon I found by accident. The man even has the same hair style. 

This is going to go well. 

"She's not broken yet," Remit said, licking his lips. "But she's close. Stubborn girl's clenching that information like it's the last secret in the realm."

"She still resisting?" Gazei asked, voice low, fingers wrapped around the hilt of his greatsword like he was restraining himself more than the blade.

How? The redhead loves to scream until the cows come home, but won't say anything about her people?

Remit grinned. "Mmm. She's trying to. But I promise you this—every hour in that tent, she forgets another reason why she ever wanted to win. She's trembling when we touch her. Not from pain. From need."

Gazei closed his eyes.

This wasn't him. Not the old him. The guy from New York who slept with sorority girls and fumbled through taxes. That man had morals. Lines. 

Ok, maybe not so good morals, he is a black version of Charlie Sheen and Hugh Hefner. But still have lines. 

This body? This kingdom?

It was rewiring him.

And the worst part?

It felt good.

The moans outside were louder now. Some weren't Sonja's. Some were his priests, worshipping in their own twisted ways. The camp buzzed with heat and lust, even in the cold Niflheim air.

He exhaled slow, trying to center himself.

"Don't break her completely," he said finally. "I want her lucid when she gives up that stronghold."

Remit's grin widened. "As you wish, Master. She's already started calling your name. Even if it's through clenched teeth."

The flap opened again. A succubus—priestess of the Black Flame—walked in, hips swaying like she was dancing to music only she could hear. Her lips were glossed in something that shimmered unnaturally.

Same features. Goat horns, eyes, and tail. 

"She whispered something," the priestess said softly, bowing low. "Said she'd only tell you."

Gazei raised an eyebrow. "She finally ready to talk?"

"She's ready," the succubus said, eyes glowing faintly. "But I don't know if she wants to surrender or offer tribute."

Gazei sighed, grabbing his cloak, throwing it around his shoulders like a warlord dressing for another kind of battle.

"Either way," he muttered, "I'll take it."

He stepped out of his tent, past the groaning sanctuaries of lust and worship, through his twisted holy city of flame and flesh.

[xXx]

The tent was warm.

Too warm.

Candles flickered in wrought-iron sconces shaped like clawed hands. Incense curled in the air—sweet, musky, and heavy with enchantment. Silks hung like veils from the ceiling, swaying gently, barely concealing the figures lounging in the corners. Succubi, lounging like statues carved from temptation, watched silently. Remit stood at the entrance, arms crossed, eyes gleaming.

At the center, Sonja knelt.

Not bound.

Not gagged.

But still leashed by something far heavier than rope.

She was flushed. Breathing hard. Her skin glistened with sweat, and not from heat. Her robe was half-fallen from her shoulders, her body marked with runes that pulsed softly beneath the skin—sigils of submission and divine intoxication.

Her eyes flicked up as Gazei entered.

No fear. Not anymore.

Just fury, confusion... and a hint of something darker.

"High-King," she said, voice hoarse, lips redder than blood. "Come to finish what your pets started?"

Gazei walked forward slowly, eyes never leaving hers. His presence filled the room. The priests and priestesses lowered their heads as he passed, like gods had arrived.

"I'm here," he said, voice quiet but razor-edged, "because you said you were ready to talk."

Sonja smirked. "You think this is surrender? I'll give you what you want. But don't think you've won, Wolfe. You didn't break me. You... bent me."

Gazei knelt in front of her. Close. Too close.

"I don't need you broken," he said. "I need you reborn."

Her breath caught. Just a little.

Behind him, the priestesses began to chant, low and sultry. Magic filled the air—thick and slow. Not coercive. Not cruel. Alluring. Like being drunk on power you hadn't earned but now owned.

Gazei's hand rose—slow, deliberate—and brushed a lock of hair from Sonja's cheek. She flinched. Not in fear. In conflict.

"You're fire," he whispered. "And fire isn't meant to kneel. But it can be forged."

She stared at him, breathing shaky.

"And if I refuse?"

"Then I let Remit have another hour," he said without blinking.

She swallowed.

Gazei stood and extended his hand.

"Swear to me. Pledge your sword, your fire, your rage... and I'll give you more than survival. I'll give you purpose."

Silence. The chanting stopped.

Sonja's eyes dropped to the floor.

Then, slowly, she placed her hand in his.

"I swear."

A ripple of magic burst outward. The tent glowed. The ink on her body shimmered gold. The succubi exhaled in unison, like they'd just witnessed something sacred.

"Then rise," Gazei said. "General Sonja Wolfe. You're mine now."

She rose—shaky, regal, dangerous. Something had shifted. Not submission.

Acceptance.

Transformation.

She would still kill for him. She might still try to kill him. But for now? Her sword had a new purpose.

He turned to his clergy. "Prepare the army. She's going to lead us to the Zuma stronghold."

The camp erupted into movement.

Outside, soldiers readied blades. Siege beasts howled. War drums began to beat.

Inside, Gazei locked eyes with his newest general.

"You're not my prisoner anymore," he said. "You're my weapon." 

Well damn that was easy...