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Perk: DECADENCE LINK
Because who said group therapy can't double as a party trick? Share one sensation in multiple locations—just brace yourself for the communal hangover.
When I tried this with Fleur Delacour, things took a rather interesting turn. There she was, fresh from a climax, emotions scattering like fireworks thanks to my allure. Already bound by an orgasmic spell, she was mere inches away, separated only by a pesky boundary and a silencing ward. Essentially, this was basic arithmetic—take from A, give to B.
But this? This was like plugging into a living, breathing network of emotions and sensations, a veritable buffet of feelings each more vivid than the last. Imagine suddenly being handed the keys to the emotional internet, zapping joy and tweaking discomfort with just a thought. It was like being both omnipresent and omniscient—godlike, really, except for the part where it felt like I was riding a rollercoaster with no seatbelt.
That I didn't lose my mind in the first three seconds was a minor miracle. Or maybe it was the Shrine acting like some sort of cosmic babysitter, buffering the shock. It was as if I'd expressed a mild interest in sandcastles and the Shrine decided to dump the Sahara on me. Not just overwhelming but over-everything.
Each pulse of fear, each thrill of excitement, or sigh of relief from my thralls funneled through me, not stirring sympathy but sparking a rush of power. It's intoxicating, this ability to tune into their sensations and dial them up or down as if adjusting the volume on a radio. I'm not just connected—I'm in control, and I revel in that. The thrill of syncing and amplifying was a lure better men than me would fail to handle, but the risk of pushing too far was always lurking in the back of my mind. And then there was the fallout of failing the Quest—losing myself to the incubus instincts and losing everything.
Damned if I did. Damned if I didn't.
Every single woman's eyes flashed a hot, bold scarlet with a glossy sheen. I'd have said they looked like Voldemort's glowing red eyes, but the shade was different. This wasn't the glow of death; this was the glow of desire.
Desire to be with me.
Desire to serve me.
Desire to be ravished by me.
There you have it—a magical soirée where everyone's invited to the mind party, and I'm the reluctant DJ. What could possibly go wrong?
"Fuck me! Fuck me!" Hestia screamed out, easily the filthiest of them all. She was in front of me, on all fours. Not wanting for me to begin, she had already pushed her arse against my cock and was driving herself back against it. I grabbed her back by her hair and she yelled in ecstasy, her body practically brimming with sweat, and the thrumming power I was injecting into her. It was difficult, choosing between drilling her arse at full power, or facefuck Emmeline, who lay right beneath Hestia just so that she could taste my cock the moment it drove deep into Hestia's butt. And all the while, she would keep spasming as if there was an invisible cock ramming her arse.
Uh, never mind. I was fucking both.
Hestia lacked the curves that the others had, but she made up with her sheer athleticism. She could run a fucking marathon in the bedroom, and she, more than any of them, had actually bore the hardcore agony I gave without resorting to using my incubus powers. In fact, without the entire incubus thing, she could easily wear me down. Her peak fitness was always on display, and she wasn't one to disappoint.
"Ahhhh! Shit! Yes! Fuck me! Fuck me! Yes! Ugh! GOD! Do me, SIR! Do me!" she screamed out. She had pulled away, spun, and jumped on me, entwining herself against my waist. Clenching her hands against my neck, she hung freely, my cock piercing her arse from below. Even then her athleticism showed as she rode my cock, never slowing down, driving me crazy.
"Ughh! Damn!" I said, admiring how she rode me like this. And I also admired how tight her arse felt around my eager shaft.
"Yes! Yes! Fuck! God damn Sir! Fuck you're big!" she moaned, with her limbs wrapped around me, riding me while I was standing, bouncing on my dick. One thing she never shook was calling me Sir whenever it was time for her punishment. It was her way to emphasize herself beneath me, a trait that had only amplified ever since she evolved into a lilim.
Evolved? Devolved? Whatever. All that mattered was —
THWACK! THWACK! THWACK!
She was using her hips to push herself up, and then flexing it all the way down at me, her bouncing more firm and insistent, trying to draw this heated sex to a close, trying to draw the cum from my swollen balls.
I groaned in pleasure as she bounced on me, me supporting her luscious frame, watching that smooth, tanned skin glistening with sweat between her boobs. Something about it was just hypnotizing. Even after so many carnal-pleasure-filled nights… and days, I suppose, that bit still managed to grab my gaze.
"Mmmm…" I grunted. "Fuck! I'm gonna cum!"
"UH! UH! UH! Yes! Cum! Cum in my arse! Yes!" She yelped with each bounce, her arse flexing every single time I drove deeper into her. "Ah! Ugh! Shiiiit!"
Cum exploded from my cock, painting her anal hole. I fired stream after stream of cum, until she tightened to the degree that my cock felt like it was stuck in an oven, with no way out.
But that wasn't all.
Hestia was my Lilim, which in the grand hierarchy of closeness meant she practically had VIP access to the Shrine. But only now did I truly see her. And what I saw was not just loyalty, but Loyalty with a capital "L."
Her emotions didn't flicker or falter; they burned with a steady, relentless flame. This wasn't the run-of-the-mill devotion you'd expect towards one's boss or, heaven forbid, a lover. Nor was it the kind of celebrity worship reserved for the Boy-Who-Lived (one of my less embarrassing titles). No, her loyalty was of a more guttural kind, the type that's forged in the gritty trenches of personal and metaphorical battles.
Hestia was a soldier, though not in the sense you might expect. Sure, she wouldn't win any accolades for her spell-slinging abilities. Compared to Emmeline or Amelia—who had turned into something of a magical juggernaut recently—Hestia might seem a bit underpowered. And let's not even talk about the recently berserk-amplified Amelia, who now smashed through battles with the subtlety of a wrecking ball. That stray thought about Bellatrix Lestrange? Yeah, dismissed that quicker than a quip about Voldemort at a Death Eater reunion.
But soldiering on isn't all about brute force. Hestia was battle-scarred in more ways than one, hardened by high-stakes scenarios where a millisecond's hesitation could mean the difference between a win and a wipeout. She wasn't just about following orders—she was the master of reading the room, predicting moves, and if need be, plotting a course through a minefield of political (and literal) backstabbing without so much as a flinch. Her strategy? Never ask, never lie, and if necessary, betray and bleed as per the playbook. Her true prowess shone through in her role as a subversive activist, the same savviness that manifested as a perk that had Amelia Bones eventually hopping into the proverbial and literal bath with me, her arse pushed at me for spanking and begging for more.
And at the core of all this was a pulsing, gnawing guilt. The details? Unknown. But it was this guilt that shaped her, drove her, and if I played my cards right, could be twisted to either ramp up her combat efficacy or dial it back to save her from burnout.
So there she was: not just a pawn or a power player, but a paradox wrapped in a riddle, swathed in black ops and sprinkled with a touch of existential dread. Just my kind of soldier.
Just for a lingering second, a part of me was terrified at what Lecherous Shrine was truly capable of. That single moment cost me, and I reacted, throwing Hestia away. She was hurled across the room to the bed and landed spreadeagled, spurting a fountain of cum.
…You know what? Next time anyone asks, I'll just say I planned that to happen all along.
But before I knew it, Emmeline had jumped at the opportunity, pushing her mouth forward until her nose was pressed tightly to my pubic hair in a single go. No gags. No hesitation over the fact that this cock had just been inside Hestia's rase. Combine that with her plump lips, her talented tongue, and her hot saliva made her mouth a truly remarkable fuck hole. Emmeline sat there, resting on her hips, her tits swaying as she expertly inhaled my cock and kept feverishly sucking it. I looked down as she worked herself c loser to the root, getting closer and closer, digging out space in her throat to push me further down if possible, until finally, somehow…
"Holy shit, I'm…." I grunted, and Emmeline locked her lips in place, my entire cock inside her mouth and buried down her throat. Her heated spit was leaking from the sides of her lips, coating my balls, which she was busy massaging with one of her hands. I savored the feeling for a moment, before the trigger came, and I blasted quantities of cum out, for the sole purpose of filling up her wicked mouth.
But Emmeline was not satisfied.
She pulled me out mid-orgasm, grabbed my cum-cannon and aimed it at herself, spraying all over her eyes, her forehead, crawling down her cheek, spatering across her hair, not to mention the sheer dump of jizz I had filled in her mouth before leaving.
In that one moment, I took a deeper look—really peeled back the layers—to see what made Emmeline tick. Unlike Hestia's straight-shot of undiluted loyalty, Emmeline was more of a Rubik's Cube, a heady mix of ambition, cunning, and a dash of political savvy sharp enough to slice through the thickest bureaucratic red tape.
Her emotions? They were like finely honed steel, every wave carrying the crisp edge of her deep commitment. It wasn't enough for her to just be in the game; she wanted to be calling the plays, reshaping my strategies with the finesse of a chess grandmaster. Emmeline wasn't just hungry for power—oh no, she was famished for influence, for the chance to carve out a legacy that would stand the test of time right beside me.
Emmeline was energy incarnate. Not the calm, steady sort but the restless, pacing-at-3AM kind, starved of satisfaction. Sure, there was fulfillment—both in the boardroom and the bedroom—but alongside it simmered a pot of greed, stewed with a vengeance born from my dark tales of a dystopian future. This woman wasn't here for the participation trophy; she aimed to be the architect of our new World Order, to dominate not just conversations but continents.
Her relentless drive to outperform, to never show a crack in the armor, was a double-edged sword. Sure, it propelled her to heights others could only dream of, but it also meant that her pride in her conquests was always shadowed by the fear that even a minor slip could topple her empire. Managing Emmeline's ambitions was like juggling grenades—both thrilling and perilous, and it required a finesse that was nothing short of balletic to keep her from spiraling into self-destruction.
Navigating her psyche was like walking a tightrope over a shark tank—exciting, yes, but one misstep and you'd be lunch.
"AHH! YEESSS!" Emmeline groaned, satisfied.
Oh, and keep her satiated with sex as well.
Unfortunately, the others weren't.
WHOMP!
A fleshy slap took advantage of my distraction and knocked me for a loop. Anastasia had literally jumped on me, swinging her giant bags straight at my face. I lost my balance and had to bend down, but she wouldn't even let me sit, and instead, swung her tits like weapons against my face, holding my hands above my head with her own, and straddling me, before liberally pushing her tongue into my mouth. Before she could push herself on my dick, someone else pushed her further up, and instead sank down on my meaty shaft.
Unfortunately for them, I had other ideas.
With a snap of my fingers, both women went stiff and were raised into the air, and I casually walked to the bed, while Narcissa was pushed against it, spreadeagled, the parting between her legs and her raised arse ripe for my taking. Anastasia landed on her feet, standing with the former Malfoy literally between her legs, and attempted to smash my face with her boobs. Meanwhile Hestia came down and made a dive for my balls. With a casual yank, I pulled Emmeline and Hestia on Narcissa's either side, as my wings extended near the bottom to form long, phallic projections, piercing both of their pussies with equal vigour, leaving my hands free for Anastasia.
Four women. Four pussies. All of them being fucked at the same time.
All of them were feeling the others being fucked at the same time.
All of them had the compounded feeling of being fucked four-times all at once.
After the number of times I had fun with them, I could write pages about their sensitive zones. Not exactly what you might have in mind for Eidetic memory, but hey, there's nothing in this universe that can't be twisted, used or made into porn.
And the screams began.
"FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!" squealed Anastasia, her voice warbling, as I sped up even more. The others joined her in a twisted symphony, delicious and carnal and oh so delicious. Some part of me wondered exactly why Hermione and Amelia were absent, but something told me I'd not like the answer. Instead I focussed on thrusting my cock into Narcissa's — or rather, all of their cunts — the sensations magnifying four-fold for each of them. There was no mercy, for they didn't want any.
"YES! YES! YES! Don't be gentle! Don't be fucking gentle! FUCK! FUCK! Tear me apart with that huge fucking cock! Yes! YES!" Narcissa screamed.
As did the others.
Then it happened.
You have gained a new Lilim: Anastasia Greengrass
You have gained a new Lilim: Narcissa Malfoy
Current Lilim Count: 4
Maybe it was because of all the emotional turmoil my mind was under from the constant relaying of emotions. Maybe it was the Incubus Allure that kept my reaction in check. Or maybe I was too busy grunting in exhilaration that the gasp of surprise exuded right along with it. But with that, came the chance to dip my fingers into the hormonal cesspools that their minds were currently drowning in.
Anastasia was ambitious, just like Emmeline, but there the comparisons screeched to a halt. Where Emmeline dodged the shadow of failure like it was the plague, Anastasia wrestled with a different demon—obscurity. Each emotional wave from her was charged with the intensity of someone acutely aware of her own value yet condemned to linger in the shadows, watching lessers bask in the spotlight she deserved.
Why, though? Because Broderick was Lucius's go-to guy? Plausible. After all, while Narcissa was displayed like a pristine trophy wife, Lucius busied himself draining the vitality of the young and innocent.
Or was there more to it?
Regardless, it seemed Anastasia had finally spotted a crack of light and was ready to bulldoze her way through it, come hell or high water. She was poised to carve out her place in the limelight, and Merlin help anyone standing in her way.
Her emotional palette was more vibrant than the others': a cocktail of relief at her newfound agency, mixed with the cold, sharp tang of strategy always plotting several moves ahead. Feeling her emotions, I caught the thrill that surged through her—not just from the immediate connection, but from the broad spectrum of opportunities now sprawling before her. She wasn't here just to be another name on my list or to tweak her husband's nose. No, she was playing the long game, envisioning her ascent intertwined with mine.
But then there was Narcissa Black.
The real head-scratcher.
This woman was an enigma wrapped in indifference. No loyalties, no ambitions that stretched beyond her own self-interest—perhaps a nod in my direction as the Black Lord, but even that was a balancing act.
Ambition? Please. She had reached her peaks—mastered Charms, delved deep into the Dark Arts—and now, even with the Malfoy name tarnished, she'd secured a fat slice of fortune before embracing her Black heritage. For Narcissa, there was no fear of being outdone, no craving for the limelight. She'd had her fill, and frankly, she was over it.
Money, power, knowledge, charisma—she had it all. And no, Draco wasn't a complication. Sure, she might not like how things turned out with Lucius's death curse, my ascension, or Draco's stubborn refusal to adopt the Black name and his tragic, fiery future end—courtesy of a botched attempt to impress a Dark Lord who probably couldn't pick him out of a lineup. But was she losing sleep over it? Doubtful.
So why? It became clear when I really took the time to look. What I found was... curiosity. It crackled through her like a live wire, each pulse rich with intrigue and a bold eagerness to unravel the mystery that captivated her: me.
It wasn't just a casual interest. No, this was kinetic, unsettling in its intensity. She was mesmerized by the paradox within me—the dance of deathly manipulations intertwined with life-infused powers. Her fascination wasn't merely academic; it was visceral, compelling her to gamble her future, her safety, even her family ties, all to peel back the layers of my capabilities.
And the realization that this curiosity might spin her life into new, dangerous directions? That didn't deter her. It thrilled her, injecting a mix of exhilaration and apprehension into her veins—a potent understanding that she was treading paths that might reshape far more than her personal story.
We'd all painted Narcissa in various shades—Susan called her a shark; Hestia, a venomous spider; Amelia had less polite terms, and Emmeline shared the sentiment. Anastasia, oddly, was pleasantly surprised, and that was that.
But peering deeper, I saw something else: the wide-eyed wonder of a child, rapt with anticipation for a dark fairy tale. There was an innocence there, a raw, unfiltered awe that I hadn't expected.
This wasn't about pride or achievement. It was pure, unadulterated curiosity—almost serene in its madness, a detail I'd overlooked until now.
And it terrified me.
In a world where titans like Voldemort defied death and Dumbledore played his high sorcery games, the one who truly scared me was Narcissa Black.
I swear, I'd never been closer to ending her than in that moment. She had turned her life upside down out of sheer curiosity, landed on top, and it wasn't just luck or my generosity. It was something else—something twisted.
Like I said, twisted.
But before I could follow further down that rabbit hole, the Screen popped up with two new notifications.
For hitting 100% World Anchorages with Narcissa Black and Anastasia Greengrass, you have 20 units of Meta-Luck.
You have gained 2 perks OR a Coupon!
…Right! I forgot. Being a Lilim required one to hit 100% Anchorage first, which in turn, generated 10 units of Meta-Luck, as well as a Perk. Each.
Still, another Coupon?
From past exploits, I had learned that dealing with Coupons was akin to navigating a minefield with a blindfold. Each encounter with these tantalizing tickets had demanded choices that weren't just life-altering—they were destiny-warping. Elevating me to an Incubus Lord, juggling my perks like a street magician pulling rabbits from hats, or that time I traded all my Meta-Luck to avoid being swallowed whole by my burgeoning necromantic powers.
Each activation of a Coupon was like wrestling with a cursed monkey's paw. Sure, it tossed me a lifeline, but it was always wrapped around a boulder, promising a tumultuous ride downstream. Immediate relief? Check. Long-term complications? Double check.
And yet, here I stood at the crossroads of yet another devilish dilemma. I could turn down the Coupon, roll the dice on the Perks coming my way, and hope the Meta-Luck from my freshly minted Lilims would suffice. But then, the siren call of the Coupon whispered promises of potentially greater boons.
Damned if I did. Damned if I didn't.
"Coupon," I muttered, half in resignation, half in defiance, ready once more to dance with destiny, however twisted the tune might play.
You have chosen to gain a Coupon.
COUPON
Ding! Here's your chance to wield the relic Oneiros Spindle. Handle with caution or become history's next cautionary tale.
"...Okay," I said, "so far, so good."
Quite naturally, that was when things decided to go sideways.