The metallic taste of dread coated Rhys’s tongue as his jeans hit the hardwood floor.
Dione stood frozen for a beat, her lips parted in quiet awe, her cobalt-blue eyes tracing every line of his muscular, scarred frame. The shyness that usually defined the soft-spoken neighbor vanished behind a glazed, heavy veil of raw fascination.
“I know,” Vespera purred from the sofa, letting out a sharp, delighted laugh that echoed off the high ceilings. “It’s quite a view, isn’t it?”
Rhys opened his mouth to scream, to bargain, to appeal to whatever fraction of sanity remained in his living room, but Dione bridged the gap before he could draw breath. She grabbed his face, pulling him down into a kiss. It started hesitant, almost gentle, but within seconds a switch flipped inside her. She pushed her tongue past his lips with an aggressive, hungry rhythm, tasting him deeply while her hands scraped frantically over his shoulders.
When Rhys managed to pull his head back, gasping, Dione had already shed her own clothes with terrifying, unnatural speed. The baggy cardigan and modest suburban skirts had deceptively hidden an incredible, hourglass physique. Her skin was porcelain, her hips flared wide, and her full breasts heaved with rapid, shallow breaths.
“Good girl,” Vespera commanded softly from the couch, adopting the role of a twisted director. “Now drop down and show our hero what you’ve been missing all these years.”
Dione didn’t hesitate. She dropped to her knees, taking Rhys into her mouth with frantic, desperate energy.
The sensation hit Rhys like a physical shock—it felt completely different from Vespera’s sharp, dominant, precise technique. But worse, far worse, was the immediate, suffocating memory of his wife. The memory of making love to Lira just twenty-four hours ago was still agonizingly fresh in his mind. The contrast burned through his conscious like acid, a crushing wave of profound guilt threatening to snap his mind in two.
Desperate to break the spell, Rhys looked down at the blue-haired woman, leveraging the only weapon he had left: her worship of his wife.
“Dione... stop,” Rhys rasped, his voice trembling as she worked over him. “Think about what you’re doing... You love Astraea. She’s your hero... You look up to her. Doing this... participating in this sick game... it’s the ultimate betrayal to her. You’re betraying Astraea right now...”
Dione’s movements slowed for a fraction of a second. Her blue eyes looked up at him through thick, dark lashes, listening to every single word. Rhys felt a flicker of hope flare in his chest. He thought he had broken through the fog. He thought her conscience had finally kicked in.
Then, the slick, audible sound of a hand sliding between her own thighs echoed through the room.
Dione didn’t stop; she accelerated. Her eyes widened, a dark, shameless thrill igniting in her pupils. Hearing that she was actively desecrating the sanctuary of her idol, that she was stealing from the universe’s greatest heroine, didn’t make her stop—it turned her on to a sickening, unimaginable degree. She began frantic touching herself right there on the floor, the breathless, wet sounds filling the air.
Vespera burst into dark, uninhibited laughter from the sofa. “Oh, look at that! You made her even more excited, Omen!”
Dione locked eyes with Rhys, refusing to look away as she took him all the way to the back of her throat with shameless, feral passion. In that single, horrifying moment, the gentle, modest image of his sweet suburban neighbor was completely shattered into dust.
On the couch, Vespera began casually undressing herself, her sharp cat-elf ears twitching as she stroked her own body, calling out filthy encouragement to the former mage.
Overwhelmed by the sensory assault, the forbidden taboo, and the sheer, terrifying absurdity of the scene, Rhys lost the battle against his own body. A sharp, violent shudder ripped through his core. He finished so hard, with such intense pressure, that he gasped aloud as Dione took the full force of it. It was so overwhelming that some of it literally came out of her nose.
Yet, Dione didn’t pull back. She swallowed greedily, holding absolute, unblinking eye contact with Rhys the entire time, taking every last drop.
Finally, she pulled away, wiping her nose and mouth with the back of her hand, a dazed, euphoric smile spreading across her flushed face.
“I can’t believe it...” Dione whispered softly, her blue hair wild around her shoulders as she looked up at him with sheer adoration. “I’m getting the exact same seed as Astraea... I’m sharing with my hero...”
Rhys stood there in his own living room, completely bare, shivering as the cold air hit his damp skin. A profound, dark realization washed over him, freezing the blood in his veins.
There were no innocent victims here. There were no allies. The entire world outside his front door was corruptible, hungry, and entirely willing to tear him apart piece by piece just to taste a fraction of the legend he used to be. He was completely, utterly alone.