13: Lust Clone

The day had slipped away faster than Anos anticipated. His time with both Selaria and Vaelith had drained hours from the evening, and yet he had only trained with two of his twenty council members. The lingering gazes of the remaining demonesses were enough to tell him what they expected next.

This was a problem.

Not because he disliked their attention—quite the opposite. He thrived under their desire, their admiration, their silent pleas for their own moments with him. No, the issue was time.

Even with his heaven-defying resilience, indulging each of them one by one would take longer than the night itself. He needed a solution—one that allowed him to satisfy them all without compromise.

That's when the thought struck him.

Lust System.

Anos spoke internally, summoning the ever-present entity bound to his very being.

[Yes, my Lord?]

He leaned back, stretching his arms across the grand throne that had been prepared for him, his ruby-red eyes scanning the council room.

"Do you have any skill that can help me handle all of them? Time is of the essence."

The Lust System purred in amusement.

[Oh, struggling already? It seems even a Monarch has his limits.]

"Spare me the teasing. Do you have a skill or not?"

A soft chime echoed in his mind, the telltale sound of a skill being presented.

[You're in luck, Master. I do have something—an ability that will temporarily create multiple bodies, each carrying a fragment of your consciousness. All of them will be you—every sensation, every pleasure, every ounce of desire shared between them. But...]

Anos's gaze sharpened.

"But?"

[If you wish to keep this ability permanently, there is one condition. You must satisfy all twenty-one of your women before the night is over. Fail, and this skill vanishes forever.]

A slow, wicked grin spread across his face.

"Is that all?"

[Confident, are we? Then let us begin.]

A pulse of deep, violet energy surged through Anos's body, radiating from his core. The air grew heavy, thick with an intoxicating aura that sent shivers through the room. Before the council could react, shadows pooled at his feet, stretching and twisting unnaturally.

Then, from the darkness, three more figures emerged.

Each identical to him.

Four Anos stood in the room now, each exuding the same overwhelming presence, each sharing the same consciousness. And though they were separate in body, the connection between them remained absolute.

A collective exhale passed through the gathered women.

Iris, who had been reclining on a cushioned chaise, smirked knowingly. "You really do think of everything, don't you?"

The rest of the council could barely contain their intrigue. Some wore amused smirks, others openly admired the display of power. Yet, beneath all their expressions was a single, undeniable truth—they wanted him.

Anos took his time, allowing his gaze to sweep over the council, taking in the different reactions. His confidence was unwavering, his smirk laced with amusement as he finally spoke.

"Well then, ladies..." His voice was deep, dripping with dominance. "Shall we begin?"

There was no hesitation.

Vaelith, still flushed from their earlier encounter, was the first to move. Her emerald locks cascaded over her shoulders as she approached one of his clones, fingers trailing over his chest in a deliberate tease.

Selaria, though usually composed, clicked her tongue at Vaelith's initiative. "Tch. Still greedy, I see." But despite her words, she stepped forward as well, her silver hair catching the dim lighting of the chamber as she claimed another of his clones for herself.

The others soon followed, each demoness drawn in by the promise of what was to come.

The chamber was filled with the soft rustling of silk and velvet as cloaks and robes were loosened, revealing tantalizing glimpses of smooth, flawless skin. The air grew warmer, thick with anticipation, with need.

One of Anos's clones found himself drawn to Iris, whose midnight-purple eyes gleamed with mischief. She leaned in close, her breath tickling his ear as she whispered, "Let's see if you can still handle me, my King."

Another clone was taken by Shaiya Vexis, the cat-eyed demoness, who wasted no time pressing herself into him, her voice a sultry purr. "I wonder, can a single Anos keep up with me... or will two be necessary?"

A deep chuckle rumbled from the original Anos's chest. "You'll find that I'm more than enough."

The atmosphere continued to shift, the last restraints of formality dissolving entirely. Every touch, every teasing whisper, every lingering gaze spoke of what was to come.

And as Anos leaned in to claim the first of many passionate exchanges, the night truly began.

Of all the women present, only four saw through the illusion.

Nyxara Vailwing, Syrentha Bloodflare, and Zyphera Drakonis had sharp enough instincts to recognize which of the Anos clones was the real one.

Perhaps it was their predatory nature, their years of experience, or the simple fact that they refused to settle for anything less than the true Monarch himself.

Iris had also seen through it, of course. But she merely smirked, already busy with one of his clones, as she silently allowed the three to taste her master.

And taste him they did.

Nyxara was the first to strike.

Her movements were swift, fluid as shadow, her warm, silken hands sliding around his neck with a thief's expertise. A teasing smile played on her lips, midnight-black wings folding neatly behind her back as she leaned in, her breath hot against his lips.

"You can split your body as much as you like," she purred, "but you only have one true self. And I always take what's real."

Her lips met his, a slow, deliberate dance of dominance.

Anos allowed it for a moment, tasting the sweetness of her kiss, feeling the way she pressed against him, her every motion speaking of silent desire.

But then—he took control.

A low, pleased hum escaped Nyxara as he overpowered her, reversing their positions in an instant. Her arms fell from his neck as she let herself be drawn to his rod, her instincts shifting from seduction to submission.

Her gaze darkened, her body heating in anticipation as she found herself exactly where she wanted to be—between his legs, her tongue flicking out to tease the most sensitive part of him.

A sharp, pleasure-laced breath escaped Anos, his control briefly flickering as the amplified sensations from his clones surged through him at once. His hands instinctively found the back of Nyxara's head, ready to claim her mouth—

But his intentions were swiftly interrupted.

A pair of hands slid around his back, pressing against his bare skin as a sultry, soothing voice murmured into his ear.

"Don't be greedy, Nyxara."

Syrentha Bloodflare.

Unlike Nyxara's teasing warmth, Syrentha's touch was fire—passionate, raw, possessive. Without warning, her sharp fangs grazed his neck, sinking in just enough to leave a mark, a show of claiming.

The sharp pleasure-pain sent a jolt through Anos's body, a guttural sound escaping his throat.

Then—darkness flickered, the world around them shifting in an instant.

By the time Anos opened his eyes, the grand throne room was gone.

In its place stood an opulent bedchamber, draped in silks of crimson and black, the air thick with the scent of jasmine and something darker—something uniquely alluring.

Teleportation.

The girls knew who was responsible before they even turned.

Zyphera Drakonis stood near the edge of the room, golden scales glinting under the dim lighting, her piercing eyes watching him with unhidden amusement.

"Unlike the rest of these chaotic creatures," she mused, her voice laced with smooth authority, "I prefer to have things organized before indulging."

She approached with slow, deliberate steps, every movement exuding controlled power.

"Now," she purred, reaching for the tie of her silken robe, letting it slip from her shoulders, "shall we begin?

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