It takes a special kind of arrogance to stand center stage, thirty feet above the crowd of one thousand roaring capitalists, and announce that you’ve just privatized a country’s worth of forbidden land.
And it takes a special kind of story to explain how billionaire play-boy and ruthless business-mogul, Lucien Vale, came to rule a kingdom as someone he was not born as, in a world he was not even born in.
Because Lucien Vale is not simply an ambitious man. He is the very concept of ruthless, unrelenting ambition given human form.
He stands on the main stage at the biggest business conference on the planet, covered in a gleaming obsidian suit that costs more than most people’s homes and wielding the charm of a man who is unequivocally certain of three, life-defining facts.
Fact #1: He is obscenely rich, powerful and influential.
Fact #2: He is dangerously attractive.
Fact #3: Morals, ethics and most laws simply don’t apply to him (for more information see facts 1 and 2).
He pulls straight his perfectly tailored cuffs, hand stitched by blind Mongolian monks.
Or maybe it’s Tibetan?
He isn’t really listening when his tailor explained.
He never does.
"Friend, family... investors," He says, addressing the roaring crowd, voice dripping with confidence and the smell of profit. "The forbidden land. Untouched by man for millennia. Sacred, some say magical, off-limits until today. And now... It’s mine."
Cameras flash, reporters gasp, a man faints as he watches the stock market react to the announcement in real-time as shares in Lucien’s corporations sky rocket in an instant
Lucien barely acknowledges any of it, far too enamoured with himself, grinning faintly at his reflection in the crystal-clear teleprompter screen.
"While the rest of you tip-toed around legends and law, I saw opportunity. Where others feared ancient prophecies and environmental fallback, I saw potential for profit."
He pauses, ever so slightly for dramatic effect, something he is, by this point, obscenely good at.
Then, he leans in with his world-famous, signature smirk, eyes gleaming, teeth beaming. Millions of breaths around the world hold in unison for what comes out of his mouth next.
"Expect a trillion in profits," he says, and watches the world hang on his every word. "In the first quarter.. I wouldn’t get out of bed for less."
The crowd explodes.
Investors leap to their feet, clapping, howling, cheering. Business cards fly through the air like some kind of twisted Mardi Gras as Lucien once again completely upturns the world’s economy.
Backstage, his team of lawyers and legal advisors are already drafting PR statements to fend off human rights groups, environmentalists and probably a few ancient cults who were no doubt already setting their sights on Lucien.
He struts off the stage like a king returning from conquest, and immediately, microphones swarm him, reporters clawing over each other with a flood of questions.
"Mr. Vale, is it true Vordinia—"
WHAM!~
One of Lucien’s private bodyguards clears out a row of journalists like a linebacker laying in wait.
"Lucien! Lucien! What about the natives? Will they be compensated—"
BAM!~
Another guard clears the way for his employer.
Lucien ignores the press entirely, instead, he wraps his arms around two swaying hips wrapped in skin tight dresses. One French. One Brazilian. He doesn’t remember their names.
He never does.
What he does remember is that one had a tongue ring that made his toes curl, and the other purrs when she climaxes.
"Ladies." he croons as he leads the women to a waiting limousine outside. "I’m on a tight schedule. Got an hour before my next meeting. Think you can satisfy me in less?"
"Oh." says the Brazilian, biting lip seductively, "Is that a challenge, Mr. Vale?"
"It’s an invitation!" he grins, slapping her firmly on her behind as she bends low to climb into the vehicle.
"I’ll have you screaming my name in two minutes." the French woman says as her tongue-ring edges on her lips.
"Now that’s a challenge!" Lucien grins.
He leads the women through the limo, his hands finding their every curve as he helps them settle in, both giggling with anticipation.
"Now then," he says, slumped back, legs spread, digging himself into the plush leather seats. "Indulge me."
The air inside the limo grows thick with perfume, champagne and the kind of noises that would have even the world’s best PR teams sweating bullets.
As the car rolls toward his next meeting, Lucien lounges across the limo seat, one hand tangled in blonde hair, her head bobbing between his thighs, the other stroking a perfect pair of tanned breasts attached to a mouth that was fully locked into his.
It’s a mess of giggles, twisting tongues, mouth maneuvers and barely-possible contortions.
And when Lucien was thoroughly indulged, he swiftly had both women scream-moaning for their respective gods within minutes.
Until the limo suddenly lurched to a stop.
Hard.
Lucien jerks back.
The blonde jerks forward.
He bruises the back of her throat.
She grazes her teeth on places they have no business grazing.
"Owwwww! Fucking hell?!" he snaps. "Driver!! You trying to get my dick decommissioned?"
The girls collapse into sputtering laughter as they help each other up, straightening dresses and wiping down chins.
Lucien tosses a glass, smashing it against the raised partition in anger. "Why the fuck are we stopping? I don’t have time for this! Meetings, remember!?"
"Um, sorry, sir. The car’s dead." The driver’s voice croaks through the slightly lowered partition. "It just lost power. Just cut out. I don’t... I’m not sure, sir. I’ll call—"
"Dammit!" Lucien snaps, checking his watch. "I have a meeting with a president and three drug lords in forty-seven minutes. Do you have any idea how hard it was to get all four of them in the same room?! One of them owes me a fuckin’ country!"
He throws the door open and steps into the street, buttoning his shirt like a pissed off runway model as he catches his breath, and finds his calm.
"Wait for me at the hotel, ladies," He instructs the women who were still straightening their clothes in the limo and shoots them his signature smirk. They instantly swoon.
"And invite some friends." he adds.
"We having a party?" One of the women asks, delighted.
"More like an orgy." The other replies with a knowing smirk.
"You know me too well." Lucien chuckles.
He flicks out his hand, waving a crisp hundred dollar bill into the street ahead and a yellow taxi screeches to a halt across the road a moment later.
"Perfect." he mutters, an ego-fueled grin plastered to his face as he slips on his shades, smooths his hair back and struts across the street like he owns it. Which, he most likely does, through one of his numerous shell corporations.
But then comes a sound out of nowhere.
A string of beeps.
Tires screeching.
Then the blinding flash LED lights and a chrome-plated truck-grille shattering into his skull in a single instant.
He wakes up standing on a cloud.
A literal cloud.
The air tastes like ambrosia and smells even better.
He blinks and looks down, eyes widening with disbelief and confusion as he watches a shimmering mist curl at his feet.
He stands bare chested, bare footed, bare everything, his manhood flopping freely in the heavenly breeze.
He’s happy to find he’s still biologically blessed and perfectly groomed.
He always is.
He takes a moment to appreciate the more intimate parts of himself, nodding at his crotch proudly before looking up and scanning the area.
Before him stands a colossal golden podium, and behind it sit three giant, glowing figures of such immense beauty even Lucien feels a flash of envy fondle his soul.
And to make matters worse, two are women.
One was a goddess with golden hair, eyes like exploding stars and blinding halo spiralling over her head. Her body was wrapped in a gown that seemed to be woven of sunbeams and seduction.
Beside her was another woman staring at him with glittering silver eyes which glowed like a full moon. Shimmering platinum hair flowed like mercury down her shoulders, and her dress looked like it was weaved from starlight and wet dreams.
Lucien is already visualizing what they’d be like in bed. Together.
Beside them lounges a bearded titan in a celestial gown that looked suspiciously like a dinosaur-shaped onesie. Raw, divine energy radiates off him in waves, like a morning mist. He glares at Lucien through half-lidded eyes while sipping on a mug labeled Universe’s #1 Creator.
Lucien groans, adjusting his crotch as he steps forward to face his fate.
"Huh... guess I really died." he shrugs. "Thought I had at least one more sex scandal in me."