Of course, despite Tiamat's joke, it wasn't a complete lie. In fact, as the most lucid person in the situation, she was actually telling the truth. So much so that the first woman Strax recognized...
Beatrice.
Or at least... what had beco of Beatrice.
She walked slowly towards him, her footsteps echoing with an almost feline, almost devouring cadence. Her long hair, once a shade of grayish-purple, was now a vibrant pink, flowing in lively waves that seed to defy gravity. The contrast of the new color was reflected in her eyes, with the darker pink following her pupils, which made her supernaturally beautiful, almost offensive to reason.
But it was her body that cried out the most.
Voluptuous. Perverse. An archetype of sin sculpted with cruel precision. Full breasts lifted with divine arrogance, a slender waist that led to hips as wide as thrones, and legs that seed sculpted to wrap around. Her skin was like warm velvet bathed in moonlight, and every movent made her curves ripple in a hypnotic, predatory way. And of course, they couldn't be missing... A pair of pink horns on her head.
Strax swallowed, literally feeling heat rise up the back of his neck, sweating pure magic. His own power reacted like a nervous dog in front of the most beautiful wolf.
She stopped a few paces from him, her gaze charged with a confidence that hadn't existed before, or perhaps had always existed and only now exploded like lava contained too much.
"Hello, my darling..." she purred. The voice was different. The sa tone, but now wrapped in silk and arrogant. "Did you like the... final update?" She said, turning around so that he could see all of her sinful body.
Strax opened his mouth, but nothing ca out. A mont passed. Two.
"...You look absolutely... incredible..." he said at last, in a hoarse whisper, half horrified, half fascinated.
Beatrice smiled. Not the shy smile of before, but a devilish, charming smile that said, "I hope you don't run... I'll hunt you down."
She leaned forward slightly, making her breasts almost touch his chest, and whispered, "I hope you enjoy the update, and..." She moved closer to his ear and spoke. "I hope we have so quality ti with you punching deep..."
His heart gave a strange leap between pride and excitent.
And then... more steps back.
The other wives were coming.
And they had all changed.
Strax felt his spine freeze and his heat rise at the sa ti.
Beatrice stepped back a little, because, of course, all the others had sothing to say. Right?
The next to approach was Samira.
Strax barely had ti to breathe after the impact called Beatrice when he heard the next footsteps. They ca with a rhythmic firmness. Millitrically controlled. Like a warrior marching not onto the battlefield but straight into the heart—and the instincts—of anyone who dared look.
Samira.
The change was clear and brutal. Not just physical—although, honestly, physical was now in a category beyond mortal—but also presential and attitudinal. The air around her seed to vibrate with a hot, infernal aura, like the breath of a furnace that burned desire and discipline at the sa ti.
She was different. Very different.
Samira's body, once athletic and firm, now boasted a physique sculpted between the perfect balance of strength and seduction. Her abdon was defined, with chunks marked out as if it were a living sculpture. Broad shoulders and toned arms. Long, powerful legs. But none of this detracted from her sensuality—on the contrary, it enhanced it.
Her slender waist contrasted with her generous hips; her breasts were fuller, higher, and defiantly perfect. Her skin, once tanned, now had the soft hue of flesh heated by living magma, as if she had been touched by divine—or infernal—fire.
Her hair, once flaming orange, was now as white as snow, long and loose, dancing in the air as if it had a life of its own. At the top of his forehead, there were two curved, reddish horns, elegant and dangerous. And the eyes, oh, the eyes... green before, now they were flaming amber, charged with ferocity and primitive desire.
She stopped in front of him, slowly crossing her arms, making the thin fabric of the remodeled suit stretch dangerously over her chest and hips. A teasing smile spread across her face.
"Beatrice has always been good at making an entrance... but you know I'm the one who sets the pace, darling," she said, her voice husky and low, like velvet thunder.
Strax's eyes widened slightly. "...Samira... you've beco... a general from hell... with the chest of a goddess and the abdon of a warrior."
She stepped forward, grabbing his chin with two fingers.
"And I'm still your wife. That hasn't changed," she whispered, before gently patting his face. "But now, I can break your bed... with a lot more style."
Beatrice let out a mischievous laugh behind her, and soone said sothing like, "This is the part where he realizes he's not going to walk away tomorrow."
When Strax turned his face, he saw Monica.
When Strax turned his face, he saw Monica.
And the world seed to slow down for an instant.
The forr maid—who had beco his wife and who, of course, was Beatrice's mother—now walked with the grace of a queen who had decided to give up all modesty to reign over sothing more primal: desire.
The change in her wasn't as radical as that of her daughter. But sohow... it was even more dangerous.
Perverse elegance. Voluptuous authority. A sweet, refined poison.
Her hair, which had once been a disciplined shade of blonde, now fell loose in silvery cascades, like strands of liquid moonlight. Contrasting with them, his eyes beca a deep, piercing blue, like enchanted gems under cold snow. On the top of her head, two thin, elegant white horns curved back like distorted crowns—symbols of the transgression she now proudly flaunted.
But it was her body that challenged sanity the most.
Generous, lethal curves. The kind of shape that inspired forbidden paintings, sighed over in the alleys of kingdoms and in the fevered dreams of the weak. Her body exuded maturity and provocation, a refined beauty full of knowledge, as if every inch of her skin bore the experience and mastery of an ancient lover.
Her dress was almost transparent, a thin fabric like breath that covered and revealed at the sa ti. The neckline was a heavenly abyss. The opening in the legs? A shaless invitation.
She didn't walk. She glided, like the aromatic smoke of profane incense.
She stopped in front of him, putting a hand on her hip. Beatrice and Samira had already stepped back a little to give her this mont. She looked him up and down with a smile that mixed maternal tenderness and imperial lust.
"Oh, my husband..." she murmured, her voice warm, enveloping, with that refined accent that had never disappeared. "You seem to be... overwheld. And that only three of us showed up..."
Strax opened his mouth, but again... nothing.
She moved closer, slowly, until her breasts brushed lightly against his chest—a subtle touch, but absolutely planned—and her lips ca close to his ear.
"Don't worry," she whispered, warm breath touching his skin. "I'll take care of you... like a good wife... and an even better maid."
Beatrice snorted as yet another woman joined the waiting list for her husband... Samira crossed her arms, smiling with the desire to attack Monica. And once again, footsteps approached.
Strax was sweating. Literally.
"Fuck..." Strax muttered as he looked up and saw...
Scarlet.
The na was appropriate. But now, it seed too small.
The warrior who once burned with fury and strength now walked like a flaming storm about to consu the world. Her body, once forged by discipline and combat, had now been perfected by so infernal alchemy of lust and power.
The heat around her was real—the air shimred like a midday sun, but it was more... sensual. Almost as if every inch of Scarlet's skin radiated a burning desire. And she knew it. Goddesses, she knew.
Her red hair, once just alive and vibrant, was now literally on fire at the ends—not like destructive flas, but like sensual flas, dancing in controlled spirals, like a slow, erotic dance made of fire.
At the top of his head, two long, red-hot horns curved imposingly. They were symbols of his new state: half hellish, half divine, completely irresistible.
And then there were the eyes. Bright orange, like two burning lanterns, they played with sparks in their pupils. There was a wild, almost debauched, almost... predatory desire in them.
But the body. Oh, the body.
Strax almost froze.
If before she had been the image of a flawless warrior, now she was the definition of sin in motion.
Full breasts, thrust out with an arrogant firmness, as if they defied gravity and morality at the sa ti. A slender, violent waist, shaping a defined abdon, but with sharp feminine curves. Wide, inviting hips, like gates to a hell that no one wanted to escape. Thick, shapely thighs, like columns in an unholy temple of pleasure. Her every move made the world seem slower. Hotter. More dangerous.
Her clothes—or what was left of them—were made of strips of enchanted leather and flaming fabric, interwoven in such a way as to cover almost nothing and yet look like she was always ready for a war—or a sheet massacre.
Scarlet stopped in front of him.
She looked him in the eye with a lascivious smile, the kind of smile that ca before soone was dragged into a locked chamber for days.
"I think you forgot to breathe, husband," she teased, her deep, husky voice rasping with pleasure and nace. "Mind fuck's going strong there, huh?"
Strax blinked. He took a breath. He tried to say sothing.
"You... you've beco a volcano of horniness with legs... and horns... and fire... and... goddess..."
Scarlet let out a warm laugh, then moved closer, running a slightly shiny fingernail across his chest.
"Do you think you can take it?" she whispered and then licked her lips with pure malice. "Because, honestly, if it breaks, it's all your fault. You wanted this, Strax. You wanted us all."
"I... didn't know you'd co... sex appeal update included," he replied, his voice laced with tension... and absolute fascination.
The others laughed.
Beatrice let out, "I think his brain shorted out."
Monica shook her head theatrically, smiling like soone watching a feast served with fire and wine.
Samira snapped her fingers, stretching out her arms.
And then...
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