The room was dim, lit just enough to let the shadows dance across their restless bodies. Alesha lay at the center—naked, unapologetic, and entirely in control. The n circled her like acolytes before a fla.
Breath quick. Eyes wide. Not with lust—but awe. She was a ritual. Her black-and-blue hair spilled over her shoulders, sharp against the warmth of her olive skin. Every movent deliberate. Every glance a spell.
Their eyes glued to her, their breaths coming in quick, shallow gasps. Alesha can feel the weight of their gazes, the mix of awe and desire in their eyes, and she knows what she has to do.
As the n begin to take their turns, first one at a ti and then all together, Alesha's mind whirls. She's not just going through the motions; she's ensuring that each man is satisfied, that each one feels like he's the center of her universe in that mont.
She knows that her survival depends on it. She's linking with the strongest group, using her body as a weapon, a tool to secure her place in this brutal world. She's detached from the physical acts, her mind a million miles away, strategizing her next move.
Yet, she's also hyper-focused on the n, reading their bodies, their moans, their every reaction. She's a master of her craft, a survivor in the truest sense of the word.
As the night wears on, Alesha doesn't waver. She's a warrior in this battle, a queen in this harem of eager participants. She's doing what she does best, and in this damn video ga ani world, she's playing to win, and she's not afraid to get her hands dirty. She throws it back, both literally and figuratively, giving as good as she gets, ensuring that every man in the room is thoroughly satisfied.
She opened her screen. As the n all laid around her unconscious.
It was still surreal—her UI wasn't so stat sheet or fantasy grid. No, it looked exactly like her old OnlyFans dashboard, except now it tracked things like "Aura Reach," "Subscriber Bonding," and "Charm Output." Sohow, it had rged with the energy system of this world. Ryun? Resonance? Who knew. All she understood was that when the "Support Level" bar ticked up, her aura did too.
She smirked. "Hopefully this wasn't a total waste." But she had to move before "he" woke up.
Sliding on a sleek black robe over her busty breast and voluptuous figure, she padded barefoot across the room. Cool air brushed her cheeks as she stepped onto the balcony of the floating tower. From here, the entire city buzzed below—strange lights, flying beasts, and those towering alien constructs that had dropped from the sky like god-sized chess pieces.
Her smile faded.
"This sucks," she muttered.
She leaned over the rail, violet eyes glinting in the moonlight. The weird livestream that had pulled her into this place three months ago was still a blur. Sothing about a "Desire-Based Summoning Ritual." It was nonsense. Apparently, that noble dick had used ancient Ryun to yank her from Earth. She didn't even know how it worked—her idea of a spell was refreshing a page.
And now she was here. With a UI she didn't ask for, a world she didn't understand, and a weird, wannabe-boyfriend dork who treated her like an artifact of lust more than a person.
Still… she couldn't deny the system worked for her. Her charm aura had saved her ass more than once. And if there was one thing she'd learned in both worlds—it's that being underestimated was a powerful weapon.
She sighed again.
"No WiFi. No coffee. I wanna go back or at least leave this place… well, like, now I guess I have to leave this place."
She'd figure it out.
"I wish I had a blunt," Alesha sighed, folding her arms across the robe she'd half-tied around herself. The night air brushed against her skin as she leaned on the railing, staring out into the horizon.
The towers still glowed, looming like divine obelisks dropped from orbit. Alien creatures—beings she still couldn't wrap her head around—had rained them down like gifts no one wanted. And then there was the gold creeping along the edges of the region, swallowing villages and wildlife alike. Slow, shimring, and inevitable.
"Learning that gods exist was cool… when they minded their damn business," she muttered. "Now I'm just collateral? The hell ...."
She exhaled, annoyed. This area—her new ho, if you could call being kidnapped across dinsions a "relocation"—was apparently being marked for deletion. Erased. Cleansed. Whatever poetic nonsense divine beings used to justify mass death.
"No way I'm getting yanked into another world, dragged around like a damn pet, and then killed off in so 'golden glitter wave.' Nope. Not happening."
She wasn't about to be so background extra in soone else's epic.
Still… she didn't have many options. Her strength didn't lie in combat. Charm? Sure. Influence? Naturally. Offense? Nonexistent. Learning Ryun? Ugh. That stuff was a headache wrapped in energy script and coated in nonsense. It didn't even make sense the way it bent physics. She'd tried. Once. Accidentally lit a rug on fire and gave herself vertigo.
Alesha pulled up her screen.
It flickered into view with that familiar layout—a strange blend of her old subscriber dashboard and whatever mystical nonsense passed for a system here. The top tabs pulsed gently:
Support Aura: Stable
Charm Resonance: High
Favor Threads: 4 active
Desire Imprint: 82%
She narrowed her eyes and scrolled further. Her subscribers—the real ones from Earth—had sohow rged into her presence here, forming a weird taphysical bond. The more engaged they were, the stronger her charm-based abilities beca. So her baseline was pretty resilient. Even though she couldn't get any more earth followers and only had four subscribers here in Delark.
"Huh," she murmured, tapping a new tab labeled 'Echo Requests' Unlocked.
Echo Activation Available:
• Suggestion Pulse – Implant a fleeting desire in the target's mind. (30 sec duration)
• Body Double – Manifest a mirror image that copies your current actions. (Illusion-class)
• Aura Loop – Store a mont of max aura output and replay it as a trap.
"…Okay, that's actually fire," she said, a grin forming. That gangbang had been worth it. Her growth from two hours of "work" leveled her up quickly, considering only two of the five subscribed so far.
She still wasn't a Ryun warrior. Still couldn't throw a fireball accurately. But she had tricks now. Tricks that worked on attention, want, and montum. And if this world ran on power and pressure? Then maybe her weird UI wasn't a curse—it was leverage.
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
Alesha snapped the screen shut with a flick and turned away from the balcony.
"Plan A: Don't die. Plan B: Don't get caught looking weak. Plan C… make soone else fall for and fix everything."
She shrugged. "Worked before."
She looked up at the two moons, one was covered by clouds. She didn't have ti to learn Ryun. But if she could reroute enough attention… bend enough will… this realm might work for her, not against her.
After all, in this world?
Influence was power.
"Ahh, I see—that's where you wandered off to, my Olive."
Alesha closed her eyes, inhaled through her nose, and let out a long, tired sigh. Of course he was awake.
She turned slowly, already regretting it. Standing just inside the archway of the balcony, half-shadowed by moonlight, was the plump, balding man with yellow reptilian eyes and a ridiculously fat, furry tail swaying lazily behind him. His skin glistened with sweat, and his tunic looked like it had been put on inside out—probably was. He wasn't trying to be attractive. That ship had sailed, sunk, and been looted. Which made sense. Explains why he'd kidnapped her in the first place.
"Please stop calling Olive," she said flatly.
"But you keep sayin' it back to !" he bead, clapping his stubby hands. "ans you like! My Olive. I love that I finally found you good na."
She groaned. "No, it's just the only damn word you say that I can sorta understand."
He blinked slowly. "Yes! You understand good. That's love."
She shot him a side-eye sharp enough to slice concrete. "Boy, don't flatter yourself. You lucky I don't have anywhere else to go or I'd've been gone gone. Like teleportation gone. Like leave-you-on-read-in-hell gone."
The man just smiled proudly, teeth a little too sharp, a little too many.
His English—or whatever version of it this was—was trash. But thanks to that weird lip-sync thing her UI did, she could understand what he ant, even if the words were butchered like cheap at.
Anyone she kissed, apparently, she could understand.
Unfortunately, he had kissed her more than once. Which ant she could now understand him perfectly. Cosmic sarcasm. She wondered if she cut out her tongue if it would grow back.
He waddled forward with a bounce in his steps, totally missing her hostility. "You shouldn't worry outside. It danger. I will handle. I protect."
"Oh, will you?" she snorted, arms crossed. "Like you handled it last ti when that centipede moose thing nearly killed us and you hid? Real strong man vibes. Super hot."
He nodded slowly like he was agreeing with a complint. "Yes. Yes. I strong. But secret strong. I work in silence. Like wind in trees."
Alesha blinked. "What the hell does that even an?"
He lifted one finger in a dramatic hush gesture. "I have… plan. Plan for leave this place. For escape. Real one."
That shut her up.
Her arms slowly uncrossed. "Wait—what plan?"
He just gave a slow, mysterious shrug, tail swishing smugly.
She narrowed her eyes. "You an to tell you got a plan to get outta this raggedy death land and you just now bringing it up?"
He nodded again.
"I swear," she muttered. "I'm gonna find a way to speak your dusty language and cuss you the fuck out."
But even as she glared, sothing in her posture changed. Her shoulders eased, her foot shifted closer. Because for all the nonsense, she heard the part that mattered:
There was a plan.
Roderkeject Yullen Hopperkniche.
Even his na sounded like a sneeze during a panic attack.
For all the misfortune he caused her, she was glad he was royalty—of a sort. One of the countless degenerates sprung from the ancient bloodline that ruled over the coastal Yullen seats. The Hopperkniches were old money in this part of Delark, a lineage of lords and mystics who had, over generations, turned wealth into legend and legend into law. These days, their influence held mostly on na alone, like an expired card that still got you into VIP because no one wanted to argue.
And Roderkeject?
He was the laziest, most useless of the entire infestation. The 137th-born—or was it 140th? She lost count. Either way, he was sowhere on the ass-end of the line of succession, born with enough inherited power to coast and just enough incompetence to never climb.
The worst part? He knew it. And he leaned into it.
God, she hoped whatever rules governed this warped realm didn't allow cross-world pregnancy. Or at the very least, she prayed this dinsion had a magical version of Plan B. Because if she ended up tied to the Hopperkniche gene pool, she was throwing herself into the nearest soul-devouring crevasse.
His whole family looked like cursed statues halfway through lting. And Roder—bless his ego—was apparently considered top three. Top three. That wasn't even the cherry on top. That was the cherry on a pile of steaming shit.
Still… she had to admit…
Even bums ca with perks.
Roderkeject, for all his slobbery flaws and exaggerated tail movents, had two redeeming qualities: he was plugged in, and he could cook like a damn dream. Dude made soul food out of dinsional sli and mutant root stew. She didn't know how. She didn't ask. She just ate.
And despite looking like a Furby that lost a fight, the man sohow always knew what was happening before everyone else. Whether it was divine sightings, regional shifts, or which realm gate was about to collapse, he had intel. That, and the ability to dodge consequences like he'd been born with an invisible diplomatic shield. It made him tolerable. Slightly.
Still, she smiled to herself, watching his tail flop lazily as he humd out of tune.
If they really went through with this "escape plan"… maybe she could escape from him too.
There had to be smarter options. Stronger ones. Anyone who wasn't a bug-eyed freeloader with soup stains on their tunic.
She wasn't picky—she just wanted soone who could speak English.
Or at least soone who didn't call her Olive.
Her system shimred to life in front of her—sparkling, digital, blue and white. Alerting her that she gained three more followers. Her total now being seven.
The UI flickered open giving her a dashboard she never asked for. Except this one didn't just show monthly aura inco or creator gifts—it buzzed with cosmic weight. Her "Creator Channel" had gained traction again. Except in Requiem, that ant more than just clicks.
New Creator Milestone Achieved.
Your Aura Signal has breached Tier I thresholds.
New Pathways Available:
Featured Quest Drop: "Creator Campaign Options"
The Realm recognizes your impact. Choose a campaign to shape your future narrative arc.
1. Path of a Lover – "Romance Rising"
Description: "Sotis, the audience roots for a real connection."
Objective: Fall authentically in love with Roderkeject Yullen Hopperkniche.
Reward: Unlock shared-bound auras, minor noble immunity, and access to House Hopperkniche treasury.
Notes: Warning—this path scales emotionally and permanently. Unsubscribing may carry soul repercussions.
2. Path of Aphrodite – "Power Through Devotion"
Description: "Love is a battlefield. Use it."
Objective: Form strategic bonds with your seven active Requiem subscribers to accomplish a great feat (e.g. defend a village, steal a red gem, overthrow a ranker).
Reward: Reputation boost, creator-exclusive perks, aura amplification.
Notes: Your narrative will be shaped by the relationships ford. Risk-reward dynamic high.
3. Road of the Siren – "Ascend Alone"
Description: "They followed. You rise."
Objective: Sacrifice all 7 current Requiem subscribers. This will sever your link to the 4,300 Earth-based followers.
Reward: Siren-Class Ascension Path unlocked. Stat growth accelerated. Ryun resistance bypassed.
Notes: This path cannot be undone. You will lose your Creator UI but gain Greater Voice privileges.
Alesha squinted at the floating text, her arms folded across the front of the silky robe she'd tied tighter than usual. Behind her, Roderkeject was mid-ramble—spouting sothing about how the gold storms reminded him of soup seasoning or so dumb theory involving upside-down crystal maps.
She tuned him out and stared at the quests.
"Fall in love with the ugliest man alive? Girl, please. Use so desperate followers to run a heist? Cool I guess, but I ain't tryna babysit so simps unless they can fight. Siren path though… no followers, no strings, no rules… just , badder and better than ever?"
She tapped her chin, expression unreadable. Mmm… lem think. Who's really tryna wife up the top 3 of a 140-litter incest pool? Chile, not . But the treasury do sound nice. And if I get my stats up, maybe I don't even gotta deal with these dummies much longer anyway. Options, baby. It's about options.
A slow smile curled on her lips.
"I've decided," she whispered under her breath, before turning on her heel.
Roderkeject blinked, mid-mouthful of sugar at and cosmic bread. "Ah, my olive… you return to !"
Her purple eyes, rimd with a mysterious black hue, locked onto her target. With a slow, deliberate motion, she lets her robe fall to the floor, exposing her naked body to the man before her. She steps closer, her aura seeming to warm the air around them, creating an intimate cocoon that isolates them from the rest of the world.
She reaches out, her touch light and seductive as she runs her fingers down his chest, feeling his heart race beneath her fingertips. He shivers, his body responding to her touch, a warmth spreading through him that leaves him breathless. Her voice is a sultry whisper, "So… this plan of yours. How about you actually tell , hmm? Pretty please?"
The yellow in his eyes flared slightly. He blushed. A full-on blush. The fat tail twitched twice and his fingers fumbled to adjust his tunic, betraying his attempt to maintain composure. Alesha's aura envelops him, her touch leaving him warm and wanting more.
Just a bit longer, she thought, gaze drifting back toward the towers in the horizon. Just a little more. A new path was opening. And whether she rose as a goddess of love or left trails of broken souls in her wake—Alesha would choose her fate.
Her way.
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