Chapter 1: Seraphine's Debut
Chapter Text
LeBlanc's rise to power was a testament to her cunning and the dark magic that courses through her veins. She emerged from the ashes of the sixth rune war, a phoenix reborn in a world of despair, and claimed her place as the wealthiest and most influential woman in all of Noxus. Her wealth and influence are rivaled only by the whispers that follow her like a sinister shadow, tales of dark rituals and unspeakable sacrifices that propelled her to the top of the post-war hierarchy.
Now, in her grand château, LeBlanc offers a twisted sanctuary to her fellow female champions, those who once fought alongside her in the arenas of the Institute of War. But this refuge comes at a steep price, for LeBlanc's generosity is never truly free. To be granted entry into her domain, these women must submit to her whims, becoming little more than whores, concubines, and prostitutes at the mercy of their mistress's dark desires.
In the grand halls of LeBlanc's château, the once-proud champions now find themselves trapped in a gilded cage, their freedom exchanged for the fleeting comfort of safety in a world that has long since forgotten mercy. They dance to the tune of LeBlanc's bidding, their bodies and souls sold for the privilege of surviving in a world that has long since lost its humanity.
Yet even in this twisted paradise, the specter of the sixth rune war looms large, a constant reminder of the horrors that await those who dare to defy the will of their mistress. For in Noxus, as in all of Runeterra, the price of survival is always paid in blood, sweat, and tears, and the champions of LeBlanc's household are no exception.
Ahri entered LeBlanc's study, her movements fluid and graceful despite the heavy weight of her mistress's expectations. In her wake, she pulled along a figure that seemed almost ethereal amidst the shadows that clung to LeBlanc's domain - Seraphine, the once-famous pink-haired singer, now reduced to a mere petitioner at the feet of Noxus's dark queen.
"LeBlanc," Ahri said, her voice a silky whisper that belied the strength of her will. "I've brought a new applicant. Shall I send her in?"
LeBlanc glanced up from her desk, her eyes glinting with a predatory interest. With a curt nod, she dismissed Ahri, her attention already fixated on the trembling form of Seraphine.
The singer stepped forward, her pink hair shimmering under the flickering candlelight of the study. She kept her eyes downcast, unwilling to meet the piercing gaze of her potential mistress.
"Please," LeBlanc said, her tone deceptively sweet, "sit." She gestured to the plush chair across from her desk, a throne fit for a queen in this ravaged world.
Seraphine obeyed, sinking into the velvet cushions with a soft sigh. Her hands twisted in her lap, betraying the anxiety that she so desperately tried to conceal.
"Now," LeBlanc purred, leaning forward with a wicked smile, "tell me why you wish to work for me, little bird."
Seraphine's voice trembled as she spoke, her words a desperate plea in the face of her dire circumstances. "I have nowhere to go, LeBlanc," she whispered, her pink hair falling like a curtain around her face. "No family, no home, barely anything left of the life I once knew. I ask of you, grant me a place to rest, i need some peace from all of this"
LeBlanc leaned back in her chair, a cruel smile playing at the corners of her lips. "I only give shelter to those who can work for me, little bird," she purred, her voice dripping with dark promise. "Tell me, do you know what kind of establishment I run?"
Seraphine hesitated, her eyes flickering with uncertainty. "I... I believe you run an entertainment place," she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.
LeBlanc nodded, a wicked gleam in her eye. "Indeed I do," she confirmed, her voice taking on a silky smoothness that sent shivers down Seraphine's spine. "I sell fun and entertainment to those who can afford it. But I'm curious, little bird... what skills do you possess that might be of use to me?"
Seraphine swallowed hard, her mind racing with the implications of LeBlanc's question. She knew all too well the price of survival in this new world, the sacrifices that had to be made to ensure one's place in the hierarchy of Noxus. And yet, despite the fear that gripped her heart, she found herself drawn to the promise of safety, of a place to call home once more.
"I... I can sing," she said at last, her voice barely above a whisper. "I can perform, play variousinstruments..."
LeBlanc's laughter echoed through the room, a sound that sent shivers down Seraphine's spine. "Oh, my dear little songbird," she purred, her voice dripping with dark amusement. "Of course I know of your talents. But the men who come to me... they don't pay for music." Her lips curved into a wicked smile, her eyes glinting with a predatory hunger. "So I'll ask you again - what other skills do you possess that might be of use to me?"
Seraphine's heart raced in her chest, the weight of LeBlanc's gaze bearing down upon her like a physical force. She swallowed hard, her mind racing with the implications of the question. In this world, there was only one skill that mattered above all others - the ability to please a man.
She lowered her face, unable to meet LeBlanc's eyes. The memories of the times she had been forced to sell her body for survival after the war came flooding back, each one a bitter reminder of the sacrifices she had made. "Yes," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I... I have pleased men before... with my mouth" The words felt like shards of glass on her tongue, each syllable a painful admission of her own degradation.
LeBlanc's smile widened, a look of dark satisfaction settling over her features. She rose from her chair and moved towards Seraphine with a languid grace, her movements fluid and predatory. "I thought as much," she murmured, reaching out to tilt Seraphine's chin up with one long, elegant finger. "You have the look of a woman who knows how to please a man. The question is... are you willing to do whatever it takes to secure your place here?"
Seraphine's breath hitched in her throat as LeBlanc's finger traced the curve of her jaw, her skin prickling with a mixture of fear and forbidden desire. In this world, the only way to survive was to submit, to surrender to the whims of those who held the power. And yet, some part of her rebelled at the thought of once again becoming a mere object of pleasure for the depraved desires of others.
But then she remembered the alternative - a life on the streets, alone and unprotected, at the mercy of the ruthless and the cruel. And in that moment, Seraphine knew she would do whatever it took to ensure her survival. She met LeBlanc's gaze with a determined set to her jaw, her eyes blazing with a fierce light. "Yes," she whispered, her voice steady despite the turmoil raging within her. "I am willing. I will do whatever you ask."
LeBlanc's voice cut through the charged silence, sharp and commanding. "Ahri," she called out, her tone brooking no argument. "Take our new guest and see that she is properly attended to." She turned her gaze back to Seraphine, her eyes glinting with dark promise. "Feed her, bathe her, and then take her to the wardrobe room. Tonight, she will present herself to the public."
Ahri nodded, her movements swift and efficient as she moved to Seraphine's side. With a gentle but firm hand, she guided the young woman from the room, leading her through the labyrinthine corridors of LeBlanc's château.
Seraphine's heart raced as they made their way through the grand halls, her eyes wide with wonder at the opulence that surrounded her. It was a far cry from the squalor and deprivation she had endured since the war, and for a moment, she allowed herself to imagine what it might be like to truly belong in a place like this.
Ahri led her to the cafetería, where a steaming bowl of stew and a crust of bread awaited her. Seraphine's stomach growled at the sight, her mouth watering with anticipation. It was nothing special, but to her, it was a feast beyond compare.
She fell upon the meal with gusto, savoring every morsel as if it were her last. Ahri watched her with a mix of amusement and sympathy, remembering all too well the hunger that had once gnawed at her own belly in the early days of her service to LeBlanc.
When at last the meal was finished, Ahri led Seraphine to the baths, a place of steaming water and fragrant oils. Seraphine gasped as she stepped into the warm, welcoming embrace of the bath, a sound of pure joy escaping her lips. In this world, the simple luxury of a hot bath was a privilege reserved for the elite, a reminder of all that had been lost in the aftermath of the war.
Ahri left her to soak and cleanse herself, a small smile playing at the corners of her lips. She knew all too well the power of LeBlanc's generosity. And as she watched Seraphine sink into the water with a sigh of contentment, she couldn't help but smirk at how innocent the girl was.
Ahri led Seraphine into the dressing room, a place filled with a dazzling array of skimpy costumes and lingerie sets. The air was thick with the scent of perfume and the rustle of silk as Ahri began to sift through the racks, her eyes searching for the perfect outfit for their newest recruit.
"Disrobe," Ahri commanded, her voice sharp and no-nonsense. "I need to see what I'm working with before I can find the right look."
Seraphine hesitated for a moment, a flicker of uncertainty crossing her face. She had been stripped bare more times than she could count in the aftermath of the war, but something about this felt different. There was a charge in the air, a sense that this was the beginning of something new and terrifying.
But she steeled herself and began to undress, peeling off the towel with shaking hands. She stood before Ahri, naked and vulnerable, her skin flushed with a mixture of embarrassment and anticipation.
Ahri returned a few moments later, her arms laden with a simple white cowgirl hat and a sleek, white guitar. She held them out to Seraphine with a wicked grin, her eyes glinting with a dark promise. "Here," she purred, "this is what I've selected for you. Your outfit for tonight."
Seraphine took the items with a puzzled look, turning them over in her hands. "But... where is the rest of it?" she asked innocently, her brow furrowed with confusion.
Ahri laughed, a sound that echoed through the dressing room with a note of cruel amusement. "Oh, you sweet child," she chuckled, shaking her head in mock disbelief. "That is all of it. The hat and the guitar - that's your outfit."
Seraphine's eyes widened in shock, her mouth falling open in a perfect "o" of surprise. "But... I'll be naked," she stammered, a blush staining her cheeks a deep crimson.
Ahri nodded, her grin widening into a predatory smile. "Exactly," she purred, her eyes roving over Seraphine's body with a hungry gaze. "And that's just the way our clients like it."
Seraphine's stomach twisted with a mixture of fear and shame. She knew all too well the price of survival in this world, the sacrifices that had to be made to ensure one's place in the hierarchy of Noxus. And yet, some part of her rebelled at the thought of once again becoming a mere object of pleasure for the depraved desires of others.
But then she remembered the alternative - a life on the streets, alone and unprotected, at the mercy of the ruthless and the cruel. And in that moment, Seraphine knew she would do whatever it took to ensure her survival.
She met Ahri's gaze with a determined set to her jaw, her eyes blazing with a fierce light. "I understand," she whispered, her voice steady despite the turmoil raging within her. "I'll do it. I'll wear whatever you tell me to wear."
Ahri's gaze drifted downwards, her eyes landing on the unruly patch of pubic hair that crowned Seraphine's most intimate area. She arched an eyebrow, her lips curling into a slight frown of disapproval. "My, my," she murmured, her voice tinged with a hint of censure. "A little bit of hair is elegant, but darling, you really need to trim that bush."
Seraphine's cheeks flushed with embarrassment, her hands instinctively moving to cover herself. She had never been particularly concerned with the state of her pubic hair before, but in this world of glamour and excess, even the smallest details mattered.
Ahri tutted softly, shaking her head in mock disappointment. "Don't worry, love," she soothed, her voice taking on a gentler tone. "I'll take care of it for you."
She motioned for Seraphine to sit on the plush velvet chaise lounge, her hands already reaching for the razor and shaving cream. With deft, practiced motions, she lathered up Seraphine's mound, her fingers gliding over the soft, downy hair with a feather-light touch.
Seraphine tensed at first, unused to such intimate contact from anyone other than herself. But as Ahri's skilled hands worked their magic, she found herself relaxing into the sensation, a soft sigh escaping her lips.
Ahri worked quickly and efficiently, her strokes sure and precise. In no time at all, she had reduced Seraphine's once wild and untamed bush to a neat, tidy strip of hair that ran along the center of her mound like a landing strip on a runway.
Ahri stepped back to admire her handiwork, a satisfied smile playing at the corners of her lips. "There," she purred, her eyes roving over Seraphine's newly groomed nether region with a critical eye. "Much better. Now you're ready for your big debut."
Seraphine looked down at herself, a mix of shock and disbelief washing over her. She hardly recognized the woman staring back at her from the mirror - this was a creature of desire, a siren calling out to the darkest depths of the male psyche.
And as she stood there, naked and exposed, Seraphine felt a flicker of something dangerous and forbidden stir within her. For in this world, to be desired was to be powerful, and she was suddenly, terrifyingly, eager to wield that power like a weapon.
Ahri watched her closely, a knowing smile playing at the corners of her lips. She could see the change coming over Seraphine, the way her eyes darkened with a newfound hunger, her body language shifting from one of shy uncertainty to a predatory stillness. "Your first act will be singing on the stage," she announced, her eyes glinting with a wicked promise. "And you'll be wearing nothing but your new outfit - the hat and the guitar."
Seraphine's eyes widened in shock, her heart racing at the thought of performing naked before a crowd of strangers. "But... I can try to cover myself with the guitar?" she asked, her voice trembling with a mixture of fear and excitement.
Ahri let out a low, throaty laugh, shaking her head in mock disbelief. she chuckled, her voice dripping with dark amusement. "It will be pointless. They'll see everything."
Seraphine's stomach twisted even more, but then Ahri dropped the bombshell, her next words sending Seraphine's heart racing with a mix of shock and dread. "After your performance," she purred, her voice a silky whisper, "LeBlanc will take the stage and auction off your first fucks. She usually does it separately - the blowjob, the pussy, and the ass. It tends to make more money that way."
Seraphine's mouth fell open in a perfect "o" of surprise, her mind reeling at the revelation. She hadn't signed up for this - she had thought she would be singing, entertaining the crowd with her voice and her music. But now, the reality of her new life was sinking in, and it was far more terrifying than she had ever imagined.
"I didn't think I would have to fuck someone on my first night," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the pounding of her own heart. "Let alone three people."
Ahri giggled, a sound that echoed through the dressing room with a note of cruel amusement. "Oh, you'll get used to it, three are few when you get some experience" she assured her, her eyes glinting with a dark promise. "And don't worry, the first fucks are always done on stage, for everyone to see. It's all part of the show."
Seraphine's mind raced with the implications of Ahri's words, her stomach twisting into knots at the thought of being taken, right there on the stage, in front of a crowd of hungry, lustful men. But then Ahri asked the question that made her blood run cold.
"And how much experience do you have with anal sex?" she asked, her voice casual and conversational, as if she were asking about the weather.
Seraphine's face drained of color, her eyes widening in shock. "I... I've never..." she stammered, her voice trailing off into a horrified silence.
Ahri's smile widened, a look of dark satisfaction settling over her features. "Don't worry, love," she purred, her voice dripping with false comfort. "We'll get you ready. By the time we're done with you, you'll be begging for more."Ahri rummaged through a pile of boxes in the corner of the dressing room, her hands searching for just the right tool for the job. Finally, she emerged victorious, holding up a buttplug crowned with a pink jewel in the shape of a heart.
She licked her lips and spat on the toy, her eyes gleaming with a wicked anticipation. "Turn around, love," she purred, her voice a silky whisper. "This will prepare you for your ass's debut today."
Seraphine's eyes widened in horror as she stared at the toy, her stomach twisting with a mixture of fear and dread. "I've never had anything inserted in my ass before," she confessed, her voice trembling with uncertainty.
Ahri chuckled, a sound that sent shivers down Seraphine's spine. "Well, there's a first time for everything," she said, her tone casual and unconcerned. "Now, are you capable of inserting it yourself, or would you like me to do the honors?"
Seraphine hesitated for a moment, her heart pounding in her chest. She had never been one to shy away from a challenge, but this was different. This was an invasion of her most private, sacred space, a violation that she had never before experienced.
But then she remembered the alternative - a life on the streets, alone and unprotected, at the mercy of the ruthless and the cruel. And in that moment, Seraphine knew that she would do whatever it took to survive, to ensure her place in this new world.
"I'll try," she said, her voice steadier than she felt. She reached out and took the toy from Ahri's outstretched hand, her fingers trembling slightly as she brought it to her rear.
She hesitated for a moment, steeling herself for the invasion to come. And then, with a deep breath, she began to press the plug against her virgin hole, her body tensing with anticipation.
The first inch slid in with a shocking ease, Seraphine's eyes widening in surprise at the sensation. But then, as she pushed further, her body resisted, the plug meeting an unyielding wall of muscle that refused to budge.
She gritted her teeth and pushed harder, a low moan of pain escaping her lips as the plug began to stretch her untouched rim. But despite her efforts, she could feel her body rejecting the intrusion, her muscles clenching tight around the toy, refusing to let it pass.
Finally, with a frustrated cry, she relinquished the toy, her body shaking with a combination of pain and humiliation. "I can't," she gasped, her voice barely above a whisper. "I just can't do it."
Ahri's smile widened, a look of dark satisfaction settling over her features. "Don't worry, love," she purred, her voice dripping with false comfort. "I'll take care of it for you."
Before Seraphine could react, Ahri was behind her, her hands grasping the toy with a firm, confident grip. She pressed it against Seraphine's resisting hole, her other hand reaching around to pinch and tease her clit, distracting her from the impending invasion.
And then, with one swift, decisive thrust, Ahri pushed the plug in to the hilt, Seraphine's scream of pain echoing through the dressing room as her virgin ass was breached for the first time.
Ahri held her in place, her hands gripping Seraphine's hips as the younger woman squirmed and writhed against the toy. "Man it up," she growled, her voice sharp and commanding. "You're ready now for the stage."
Seraphine's breath caught in her throat as she peeked through the crack in the door, her eyes widening in disbelief at the scene that unfolded before her. The room was packed with decadent patrons, their eyes glittering with a hunger that made her blood run cold. And there, amongst them, were the others - her fellow champions, now reduced to little more than glorified whores.
Sivir, the proud desert queen, barely covered by a scrap of sheer fabric that left nothing to the imagination. Katarina, the deadly Sinister Blade, her lush curves on display in a barely-there ensemble that would have made any man weep with desire. Ashe, the icy Frost Archer, now a mere plaything, her once proud bearing now bent to the will of her masters.
And at the center of it all, LeBlanc stood tall and imperious, her eyes glinting with a cruel amusement as she surveyed her domain.
But it was the show on the stage that drew Seraphine's horrified gaze. Irelia and Karma, the once proud warriors now reduced to little more than circus freaks, their bodies writhing together in a lewd parody of a traditional Ionian tea party.
Karma's face was twisted in ecstasy, her body arching as Irelia's skilled hands brought her to the edge of climax. And then, with a final thrust, Irelia's fingers plunged deep inside her, Karma's back arching as she surrendered to the waves of pleasure that crashed over her.
Her release was spectacular - a gush of fluids that sprayed out across the stage, soaking the once pristine tablecloth in a matter of moments. The crowd roared their approval, their hands reaching out to catch the precious nectar as it rained down from the stage.
Irelia, with a feline grace, collected the liquid in a silver pitcher, her eyes gleaming with a dark satisfaction as she poured it into a delicate teapot. And then, with a dramatic flourish, she served a cup to Karma, and another to herself.
They raised their teacups in a silent toast, their eyes locking in a moment of perfect understanding. And then, as one, they tilted their heads back and drained the cups, the audience erupting into a storm of applause and lustful cheers.
Karma and Irelia bowed deeply, their eyes downcast in a perfect imitation of traditional Ionian respect. But there was no mistaking the glazed look of lust and submission in their eyes - they were little more than puppets, their once proud spirits broken and molded to the will of their masters.
Seraphine had never seen such depravity, such complete and utter surrender to base desires. And yet, some part of her responded to it, her own body heating with a primitive hunger that she had never before experienced.
She had always known that the world was a dark and terrible place, but this was something else entirely. This was a glimpse into a world where pleasure and pain were one and the same, where the line between consent and coercion had been erased entirely.
And as she stood there, hidden behind the door, Seraphine knew that she was about to take her first steps into this new, terrifying world. She had signed up to be a singer, to entertain the crowd with her voice and her music.
But now, she could see the true nature of her role - she was to be a plaything, a toy for the rich and powerful to use and discard as they pleased. And as she listened to the hungry roar of the crowd, Seraphine knew that there would be no turning back from this path.When the show was over. LeBlanc got up into the stage, her presence commanding attention as the patrons fell silent, eager for her next words. "Ladies and gentlemen," she began, her voice smooth and silky, "I am delighted to introduce to you our newest acquisition. A voice that will haunt your dreams and a body that will ignite your deepest desires. Please give a warm welcome to Seraphine!"
The crowd erupted into a storm of applause and whistles, their eyes locked onto the stage, hungry for a glimpse of the newest addition to LeBlanc's stable of whores.
Ahri gave Seraphine a gentle nudge, her eyes glinting with a dark promise. "It's time, love," she purred. "Your moment in the spotlight awaits."
Seraphine took a deep breath, her heart pounding in her chest as she stepped out onto the stage. The bright lights seemed to burn into her skin, making her feel naked and exposed in a way that she never had before. She instinctively tried to cover herself with the guitar, her fingers clutching at the smooth wood as if it were a lifeline.
But there was no hiding her body, not with the sheer white fabric of the hat and guitar leaving little to the imagination. She could feel the eyes of the crowd roving over her, taking in every inch of her exposed skin, every curve and valley of her body.
She felt a wave of dizziness wash over her, the reality of her situation finally sinking in. She was on display, a piece of meat to be ogled and objectified by the depraved desires of the wealthy elite. And yet, despite her fear and shame, there was a part of her that thrilled at the attention, that basked in the heat of their hungry gazes.
With shaking hands, Seraphine climbed onto the high chair at the center of the stage, the guitar clutched to her chest like a shield. She took another deep breath, trying to calm her racing heart and steady her nerves. And then, with a final, silent prayer, she began to play.
Her fingers danced across the strings, the sweet notes of her song filling the air and silencing the raucous crowd. Her voice followed, a pure, crystalline sound that seemed to shimmer and glow in the dim light of the stage. She was an artist, a storyteller, weaving her magic through the power of her music. And as the last note faded away into the night, she knew that she had won them over, that she had claimed a piece of their hearts for her own.
The crowd erupted into a frenzy of applause, their cheers and whistles ringing out through the room like a battle cry. Seraphine's heart swelled with pride and satisfaction, her body humming with a strange, heady energy.
But her moment of triumph was short-lived, as LeBlanc's voice cut through the noise like a knife. "And now, for the main event!" she called out, her eyes gleaming with a wicked promise. "The chance to claim our new prize for your own pleasure!"
The crowd roared in approval, their faces twisting with a hunger that made Seraphine's blood run cold. She had won them over with her music, but now they wanted more - they wanted to possess her, to claim her as their own. LeBlanc's eyes narrowed as she looked out over the crowd, her gaze sharp and assessing. "Now, let's start with the main event," she purred, her voice dripping with dark promise. "Who will be the first to enjoy those skilled lips and tongue on their cock?"
The crowd erupted into a frenzy of bidding, the numbers climbing higher and higher as the patrons vied for the chance to claim Seraphine for their own. "Five thousand!" "Ten thousand!" "Fifteen thousand!"
LeBlanc's smile widened, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction as the bids continued to pour in. This was what she lived for - the thrill of the auction, the chance to pit man against man in a battle for supremacy.
But then, a new voice cut through the noise, a voice that made LeBlanc's brow furrow in confusion. "Twenty thousand," it called out, clear and confident.
The crowd fell silent, their eyes turning to the source of the bid. And there, standing at the back of the room, was a young man with dark skin and wild white hair and a mischievous grin. He looked barely old enough to shave, let alone be in a place like this.
LeBlanc's eyes narrowed, her gaze sharp and assessing as she took in the boy's appearance. "And who might you be?" she asked, her voice cold and calculating. "You look a little young to be in a place like this."
The boy's grin only widened, his eyes sparkling with a strange, otherworldly light. "The name's Ekko," he replied, his voice smooth and confident. "And I've got the money to back up my bid."
LeBlanc arched an eyebrow, her eyes flicking to the pile of gold coins that sat at Ekko's feet. It was a substantial sum, more than enough to cover the cost of Seraphine's first fuck. But still, she hesitated, her instincts screaming at her that something was off about this boy.
"Twenty thousand, you say?" she asked, her voice laced with skepticism. "And you're sure you can afford it?"
Ekko's grin never wavered, his eyes locked onto Seraphine with a hunger that made her blood run cold. "Oh, I can afford it," he assured her, his voice a silky purr. "And I can afford a lot more than that. But for now, I'll settle for the girl."
LeBlanc's eyes narrowed, her mind racing as she tried to place the boy. He was clearly no ordinary patron, no mere rich boy slumming it in the underbelly of Noxus. There was something else about him, something that set him apart from the rest.
But in the end, the allure of the gold was too great to resist. With a nod of her head, LeBlanc sealed the deal, her eyes gleaming with a dark satisfaction as she turned to Seraphine.
"Congratulations, my dear," she purred, her voice a silky whisper. "You belong to Ekko now. I do hope you can keep up with him."
Seraphine's heart raced as she looked out over the crowd, her eyes locking onto Ekko's face. There was something about him, something that both terrified and thrilled her in equal measure. And as she watched him approach the stage, his eyes never leaving hers, Seraphine knew that her life was about to change forever.
Ekko's eyes gleamed with a dark hunger as he stepped onto the stage, his gaze locked onto Seraphine's face. He could feel the weight of the crowd's eyes on him, their anticipation thick in the air, but he paid them no mind. His focus was solely on the girl before him, on the way her body trembled with a mix of fear and excitement.
He reached down and unzipped his pants, his hard black cock springing free with a sense of relief. He gave it a few soft slaps against Seraphine's cheek, the sound echoing through the room like a gunshot. The crowd roared their approval, their eyes gleaming with a depraved hunger as they watched the scene unfold.
Seraphine's eyes widened in shock as the cock slapped against her face, the heat of it searing her skin. But she didn't hesitate, didn't pull away. Instead, she opened her mouth and took him in, her tongue swirling around the head as she tried to please him.
Ekko groaned in pleasure, his fingers tangling in her hair as he guided her head up and down his shaft. He could feel her throat constricting around him, her body struggling to accommodate his size. But he didn't care. He wanted to fuck her mouth, to use her like the whore she was.
He tightened his grip on her hair, his hips snapping forward as he began to face-fuck her with a brutal intensity. Seraphine gagged and choked, her eyes watering as he pounded into her throat, but she didn't fight him. She took it, took every inch of him, her body submitting to his will.
The crowd went wild, their cheers and whistles filling the air as they watched the debauchery unfold. Ekko could feel his orgasm building, his balls tightening as he neared the edge. And then, with a final thrust, he pulled out of Seraphine's mouth, his cock throbbing and ready to explode.
He looked out over the crowd, his eyes gleaming with a dark amusement. "What do you say, ladies and gentlemen?" he called out, his voice a silky purr. "Do you want to see her get a facial, or should I make her swallow my load?"
The crowd roared in response, their voices a cacophony of lust and depravity. Some called out for a facial, others for her to swallow. But Ekko didn't care what they wanted. He had already made up his mind.
With a wicked grin, he grabbed Seraphine by the hair and pulled her close, his cock throbbing against her cheek. "Open wide, whore," he growled, his voice a low, menacing rumble. "It's time for you to taste my cum."
And with that, he exploded, his hot, sticky seed splattering across Seraphine's face and into her open mouth. She gagged and choked, her eyes watering as she struggled to swallow it all, but Ekko didn't let up. He held her in place, his cock pulsing against her lips as he drained himself into her throat.
The crowd went wild, their cheers and applause ringing out through the room like a battle cry. Ekko released Seraphine, his eyes gleaming with a dark satisfaction as he looked down at her. She was a mess, her face covered in his cum, her eyes wide and terrified.
But he didn't care. He had gotten what he wanted, and that was all that mattered. With a final, mocking salute to the crowd, he turned and walked off the stage, leaving Seraphine to clean up the mess he had made.
As he disappeared into the shadows, the crowd turned their attention back to Seraphine, their eyes gleaming with a dark hunger. They had seen her debased, seen her used like a common whore. And now, they wanted more.
Ahri approached Seraphine, her fingers deftly collecting the cum that coated the younger woman's face. She brought her hand to Seraphine's mouth, her eyes gleaming with a dark amusement. "Here you go, love," she purred, her voice a silky whisper. "You wouldn't want to waste a single drop, now would you?"
Seraphine hesitated for a moment, her stomach churning at the thought of swallowing Ekko's seed. But then she remembered where she was, remembered the fate that awaited her if she refused. With a shuddering breath, she opened her mouth and let Ahri feed her the cum, her tongue swirling around the fingers to catch every last drop.
Ahri chuckled, her eyes sparkling with a wicked delight. "There's a good girl," she cooed, her voice laced with false praise. "At least the customers won't want to kiss you tonight, not with that mess on your face. But you never know, maybe someone will actually want to..."
She left the thought hanging in the air, her eyes gleaming with a dark promise. And then, with a final pat on Seraphine's cheek, she turned and walked away, leaving the younger woman to her thoughts.
LeBlanc stepped onto the stage, her presence commanding attention as the crowd fell silent, eager for her next words. "And now, ladies and gentlemen," she began, her voice smooth and silky, "we come to the main event. The chance to claim Seraphine's virgin pussy for your own pleasure."
The crowd erupted into a frenzy of bidding, the numbers climbing higher and higher as the patrons vied for the chance to deflower the innocent girl. "Fifty thousand!" "Sixty thousand!" "Seventy thousand!"
LeBlanc's smile widened, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction as the bids continued to pour in. But then, a new voice cut through the noise, a voice that made Ekko's brow furrow in confusion.
"One hundred thousand," it called out, clear and confident.
The crowd fell silent, their eyes turning to the source of the bid. And there, standing at the back of the room, was a small, gnarled figure in a black tunic. He looked like a yordle, but there was something about him that set him apart from the rest.
LeBlanc's eyes narrowed, her gaze sharp and assessing as she took in the yordle's appearance. "Heimerdinger," she purred, her voice laced with a dark amusement. "I should have known you'd show up here eventually. But one hundred thousand? That's a steep price to pay for a little fun."
Heimerdinger's eyes gleamed with a strange, otherworldly light, his fingers twitching with a restless energy. "I have the money," he assured her, his voice a low, rasping growl. "And I always get what I want."
Ekko's eyes narrowed, his gaze locked onto Heimerdinger with a dark intensity. He had been so close to winning, so close to claiming Seraphine for his own. And now, this little yordle had come out of nowhere and snatched her away from him.
But he wasn't about to give up that easily. With a growl of determination, he raised his pallet, his eyes gleaming with a dark promise. "One hundred and fifty thousand," he called out, his voice a low, menacing rumble.
The crowd gasped, their eyes wide with shock and awe. This was unheard of, a sum that would bankrupt most men. But Ekko didn't care. He wanted Seraphine, and he would do whatever it took to get her.
Heimerdinger's eyes narrowed, his fingers twitching with a restless energy. "Two hundred thousand," he countered, his voice a low, rasping grow. The crowd erupted into a frenzy of cheers and applause as Heimerdinger's bid was announced, their eyes gleaming with a depraved hunger. Seraphine's heart raced, her mind reeling at the thought of being claimed by the strange, gnarled yordle. She had never even considered the possibility of being fucked by someone so small, so different from herself.
But there was no turning back now. With a nod of her head, LeBlanc sealed the deal, her eyes gleaming with a dark satisfaction as she turned to Seraphine.
Seraphine's stomach churned with a mixture of fear and revulsion as Heimerdinger approached her, his eyes gleaming with a dark hunger. He reached out with his gnarled hands, his fingers trailing over her skin with a soft, almost reverent touch.
She shuddered at the contact, her body instinctively recoiling from his touch. But she forced herself to remain still, to submit to his will. This was her life now, her fate sealed by the whims of the wealthy and depraved.
Heimerdinger seemed to sense her discomfort, his eyes narrowing as he took in her expression. "Don't worry, young one," he murmured, his voice a low, rasping growl. "I'll be gentle with you. At least, at first."
Seraphine's heart raced at the threat, her body tensing in anticipation of what was to come. And then, with a wicked grin, Heimerdinger reached up and tore her hat from her head, his eyes gleaming with a dark amusement as her pink hair tumbled down around her shoulders.
"Ah, much better," he purred, his fingers tangling in the silky strands. "Now you look like the whore you are."
Seraphine's eyes widened in shock and humiliation, her cheeks flushing with a deep, crimson blush. But before she could respond, Ahri appeared at her side, a small, ornate bench in her hands.
"Here you go, Heimerdinger," she purred, her voice laced with a dark amusement. "A little help for our newest patron."
Heimerdinger's eyes gleamed with gratitude as he took the bench, his gnarled fingers running over the smooth wood with a soft, almost reverent touch. And then, with a wicked grin, he turned to Seraphine, his eyes locked onto her face with a dark intensity.
"Get on your hands and knees, whore," he growled, his voice a low, menacing rumble. "It's time for you to be claimed by your new master."
Seraphine's heart raced as she complied, her body trembling with a mixture of fear and revulsion as she assumed the position. She could feel the weight of the crowd's eyes on her, their hungry gazes devouring every inch of her exposed flesh.
And then Heimerdinger stepped onto the bench, his gnarled hands reaching out to grasp her hips with a bruising force. Seraphine gasped in pain, her body tensing as she braced herself for what was to come.
But she was not prepared for the sensation of his cock, small and hard, pressing against her entrance. She had never been with a man before, let alone a yordle, and the feeling was both strange and terrifying.
Heimerdinger seemed to sense her hesitation, his fingers tightening on her hips as he leaned in close, his breath hot against her ear. "Relax, little one," he murmured, his voice a low, seductive purr. "I promise, you'll enjoy". With a deep, shuddering breath, she forced herself to relax, to submit to his will. And then, with a low, guttural growl, Heimerdinger thrust into her, his cock sliding into her tight, virgin pussy with a single, brutal stroke.
Seraphine cried out in pain, her body arching as she felt her violation. But Heimerdinger didn't care. He gripped her hips with a bruising force, his fingers digging into her flesh as he began to fuck her with a wild, animalistic abandon.
The crowd roared in approval, their eyes gleaming with a depraved hunger as they watched the debauchery unfold. Seraphine could feel their gazes on her, could hear their cheers and jeers as Heimerdinger pounded into her from behind.
But she blocked it out, her mind focused solely on the sensation of his cock sliding in and out of her, stretching her, Barely filling her in a way she had never experienced before. Heimerdinger grunted and groaned above her, his hips slamming against her ass with a brutal force. "That's it, little whore," he growled, his voice a low, menacing rumble. "Take my cock. Take it all."
Seraphine bit her lip, her eyes watering as she struggled to hold back her tears. But she didn't fight him, didn't resist. She took it, took every inch of him, her body submitting to his will.
And then, with a final, brutal thrust, Heimerdinger exploded inside her, his hot, sticky seed filling her pussy and dripping down her thighs. Seraphine gasped in shock, her body shuddering as she felt the warm, wet sensation of his cum inside her.
Heimerdinger pulled out of her with a low, satisfied groan, his eyes gleaming with a dark amusement as he looked down at her. "There," he purred, his voice a silky whisper. "That wasn't so bad, was it?"
Seraphine didn't respond, her body shaking as she struggled to process what had just happened. She had been deflowered, claimed by a yordle in front of a crowd of depraved onlookers. And now, she was left with nothing but the warm, sticky reminder of his possession.
"Alright, ladies and gentlemen, gather 'round! We've got one last virgin hole to claim!" LeBlanc's voice rang out through the crowded room, drawing the eyes of every depraved patron. She stood tall on the stage, a wicked grin playing across her lips as she surveyed the eager crowd.
Ahri sauntered onto the stage, her hips swaying with a sensual grace. She grabbed Seraphine by the arm and roughly turned her around, bending her over to expose her glistening pussy and plugged ass to the leering audience. "Look at this little whore, all ripe and ready for the taking," Ahri purred, running a finger along the edge of the plug stretching Seraphine's tight back hole.
Seraphine whimpered, her face flushed with humiliation and shame. She had already been defiled in front of these sick people, her innocence stolen by Heimerdinger's cock. And now, they wanted more. They wanted her ass.
LeBlanc stepped forward, her heels clicking against the stage floor. "The starting bid for this virgin ass is two hundred thousand," she announced, her voice thick with anticipation. "Let's see who wants to claim this little slut's final hole."
The crowd erupted into a frenzy of bidding, the numbers climbing higher and higher as the patrons vied for the chance to defile Seraphine. "Two hundred and fifty thousand!" "Three hundred thousand!" "Four hundred thousand!"
Seraphine's heart raced, her breath coming in short, terrified gasps. She knew that whoever won this auction would be the one to take her ass, to claim her completely. And there was nothing she could do to stop it.
Ekko's eyes narrowed as he watched the scene unfold, his gaze locked onto Seraphine's exposed body. He had lost her pussy to Heimerdinger, but he wasn't about to let anyone else claim her ass. With a dark growl, he raised his pallet, his voice cutting through the noise like a knife.
"One million," he declared, his voice a low, menacing rumble.
The crowd fell silent, their eyes wide with shock and awe. The sum was staggering, enough to bankrupt most of the patrons in the room. But Ekko didn't care. He wanted Seraphine, wanted to claim every inch of her. And he would do whatever it took to make it happen.
Heimerdinger's eyes gleamed with a strange, otherworldly light, his fingers twitching with a restless energy. "One and a half million," he countered, his voice a low, rasping growl.
Ekko's eyes narrowed, his gaze locked onto Heimerdinger with a dark intensity. He hadn't expected the yordle to bid against him again, hadn't anticipated the competition. But he wasn't about to give up that easily.
With a growl of determination, he raised his pallet once more, his eyes gleaming with a dark promise. "Two million," he called out, his voice a low, menacing rumble.
The crowd gasped, their eyes wide with shock and awe. This was unheard of, a sum that would leave most men destitute. But Ekko didn't care. He would do whatever it took to claim Seraphine's ass, to make her his completely.
Heimerdinger's eyes narrowed, his fingers twitching with a restless energy. He seemed to be weighing his options, considering whether or not to push the bid even higher. And then, with a sudden, decisive movement, he shook his head.
"I concede," he murmured, his voice a low, rasping growl. "You win, Ekko. The slut is yours."
LeBlanc's eyes gleamed with a dark satisfaction as she proclaimed Ekko the winner, her voice ringing out through the crowded room. "And the winner of Seraphine's virgin ass is... Ekko!" The crowd erupted into a frenzy of cheers and applause, their eyes gleaming with a depraved hunger as they watched the young mandingo make his way back onto the stage.
Ahri sauntered over to Seraphine, her hips swaying with a sensual grace as she reached for the plug stretching the younger woman's tight back hole. "Let's get this slut ready for you, Ekko," she purred, her fingers grasping the base of the plug and slowly pulling it out.
Seraphine whimpered as the plug slid free, her body trembling with a mixture of fear and anticipation. She knew what was coming next, knew that Ekko was going to claim her final virgin hole. And she was terrified.
But Ahri seemed to sense her distress, her eyes softening as she looked down at Seraphine's exposed ass. "Don't worry, love," she murmured, her voice a low, soothing whisper. "I'll make sure you're nice and ready for him."
She reached for the bottle of lube on the side of the stage, her fingers slicking the clear, viscous liquid over her fingers. But before she could touch Seraphine, Ekko's voice cut through the air, sharp and commanding.
"No lube," he growled, his eyes locked onto Ahri's face with a dark intensity. "I want to feel every inch of her virgin ass."
Seraphine's eyes widened in shock and fear, her breath catching in her throat as she processed his words. No lube? But that would be... it would be agonizing. She had never been with a man before, let alone taken something as large as Ekko's cock in her ass without any preparation.
But there was no turning back now. With a deep, shuddering breath, she braced herself, her fingers digging into the stage floor as she waited for what was to come.
Ahri hesitated for a moment, her eyes flicking between Ekko and Seraphine's trembling form. But then, with a shrug, she set the lube aside, her hands moving to Seraphine's hips with a gentle, almost reverent touch.
"Alright, love," she murmured, her voice a low, soothing whisper. "Let's get you ready."
And with that, she leaned in close, her breath hot against Seraphine's ear as she began to whisper words of encouragement and reassurance. "You can do this, Seraphine. Just relax and let it happen. Ekko's going to make you feel so good, you won't even remember the pain."
Seraphine closed her eyes, her mind racing as she tried to process Ahri's words. She knew that she had no choice, knew that she had to submit to Ekko's will. And so, with a deep, shuddering breath, she forced herself to relax, to let her body go limp in Ahri's grasp.
Ekko stepped forward, his hard, black cock already slick with precum as he positioned himself behind Seraphine's exposed ass. He ran a hand over her soft, round cheeks, his fingers digging into her flesh with a possessive, almost reverent touch.
"Such a pretty little ass," he growled, his voice a low, menacing rumble. "I can't wait to fuck it."
Seraphine's body tensed as Ekko's thick, black cock pressed against her virgin asshole. She took a deep breath, trying to steel herself for the pain that was about to come.
Ahri looked up at Ekko, a wicked smile playing on her lips. "Don't be gentle with her, Ekko," she purred, her voice a low, seductive whisper. "She can take it."
Ekko grinned, his eyes gleaming with a dark, primal hunger. And then, with a low, guttural growl, he thrust forward, his cock sliding into Seraphine's tight, virgin ass with a single, brutal stroke.
Seraphine screamed, her body arching as a searing pain ripped through her. It felt like she was being split in two, like Ekko's massive cock was tearing her apart from the inside out. Tears streamed down her face as she struggled to breathe, to process the agony that was consuming her.
But Ekko didn't care. He gripped her hips with a bruising force, his fingers digging into her flesh as he began to pound into her with a wild, animalistic abandon. The crowd roared in approval, their eyes gleaming with a depraved hunger as they watched the debauchery unfold.
"Take it, you little slut," Ekko growled, his voice a low, menacing rumble. "Take my cock in your tight little ass."
Seraphine could only whimper in response, her body shaking with a mixture of pain and pleasure. She had never felt anything like this before, had never been stretched and filled in such a way. It was agonizing and exhilarating all at once, a dark cocktail of sensations that left her reeling.
And then, as if sensing her distress, Ekko reached around and found her clit, his fingers rubbing the sensitive nub with a practiced, almost expert touch. Seraphine gasped, her body tensing as a wave of pleasure crashed over her, momentarily overriding the pain.
"Oh, fuck," she whimpered, her eyes watering as she struggled to process the conflicting sensations. "Oh, god, it hurts so good."
Ekko chuckled, his fingers continuing their relentless assault on her clit as he fucked her ass with a brutal force. "That's right, you little whore," he growled, his voice a low, seductive purr. "Take my cock. Take it all."
And Seraphine did. She took every inch of him, her body submitting to his will as he claimed her final virgin hole. The pain began to fade, replaced by a dark, overwhelming pleasure that consumed her from the inside out.
The crowd cheered and jeered, their voices blending into a cacophony of depraved sound as they watched the scene unfold. But Seraphine tuned them out, her mind focused solely on the sensation of Ekko's cock sliding in and out of her ass, filling her, stretching her, bringing her to heights of ecstasy she had never before experienced.
And then, with a final, brutal thrust, Ekko exploded inside her, his hot, sticky seed filling her ass and dripping down her thighs. Seraphine cried out in shock and pleasure, her body shaking as she felt the warm, wet sensation of his cum inside her.
Ekko pulled out of her with a low, satisfied groan, his eyes gleaming with a dark amusement as he looked down at her. "There," he purred, his voice a silky whisper. "That wasn't so bad, was it?"
Seraphine didn't respond, her body shaking as she struggled to process what had just happened. She had been claimed by Ekko, her ass deflowered by his massive, black cock. And now, she was left with nothing but the warm, sticky reminder of her new role
Seraphine limped into the cafeteria, her body still trembling from the intense, painful encounter with Ekko. The other champions were already there, their eyes widening in shock and amusement as they took in her disheveled appearance.
Sivir was the first to speak, her voice laced with mockery and cruel laughter. "Well, well, well, look who it is," she sneered, her eyes raking over Seraphine's battered form. "The new girl, fresh from her 'debut.' I heard you were a hit with the yordles, Seraphine. Is that why you're waddling like you've got a litter of them in your belly?"
The other girls burst into laughter, their cruel words echoing through the room as they mocked Seraphine's defilement. She felt her face flush with humiliation, her eyes filling with tears as she tried to ignore their taunts.
But Irelia stepped forward, her face a mask of concern and compassion. She helped Seraphine to a chair, her touch gentle and soothing as she guided the younger girl to sit down.
Seraphine winced in pain as her sore ass made contact with the hard chair, her body tensing as she struggled to find a comfortable position. Irelia noticed her discomfort and quickly fetched a pillow, placing it gently on the seat to cushion Seraphine's tender flesh.
"Here, this should help," she murmured, her voice soft and soothing. "How are you feeling, Seraphine?"
Seraphine looked up at Irelia, her eyes filled with a mixture of gratitude and despair. "I'm okay," she whispered, her voice trembling slightly. "It just... it hurt."
Irelia's eyes softened with understanding. "I know," she said gently. "What happened to you was wrong, Seraphine. You didn't deserve to be treated like that."
She turned to glare at Sivir, her eyes flashing with anger. "You should be ashamed of yourself, Sivir," she snapped. "Seraphine is a new girl here, and she deserves our support, not your cruel mockery."
Sivir rolled her eyes, clearly unimpressed by Irelia's lecture. "Oh, come on, Irelia," she scoffed. "You can't tell me you didn't find it funny. The new girl, knocked up by a yordle. It's hilarious!"
Irelia opened her mouth to retort, but Seraphine beat her to it. "I'm not pregnant," she said firmly, her voice gaining strength with each word. "And even if I was, it's none of your business."
Sivir looked taken aback by Seraphine's sudden assertiveness, her mouth dropping open in shock. But before she could respond, Irelia stepped in again, her voice stern and commanding.
"That's enough, Sivir," she said firmly. "Seraphine is our sister in arms now, and we will treat her with respect. Is that understood?"
Sivir rolled her eyes again, but she wisely kept her mouth shut. Irelia turned back to Seraphine, her expression softening once more. "Let me get you something to drink," she said gently. "Something warm and soothing to help you feel better."
She hurried off to the counter, returning a few moments later with a steaming cup of hot chocolate. She handed it to Seraphine with a kind smile, her eyes filled with concern.
"Here you go," she said softly. "I hope this helps."
Seraphine took the cup gratefully, wrapping her hands around it as she breathed in the comforting aroma of chocolate. But then, Sivir's mocking voice cut through the air once more. "Ooh, hot chocolate," she sneered, her eyes gleaming with malicious glee. "Do you need me to call your boyfriend Ekko to give you some milk for it? you apparently loved to drink it". Sivir's cruel words hung in the air, a challenge thrown down to Seraphine. The younger girl's eyes flashed with anger, her hands tightening around the cup of hot chocolate as she glared at Sivir.
"You're disgusting," Seraphine spat, her voice shaking with rage. "I don't know what your problem is, but I won't let you talk to me like that."
Sivir smirked, clearly enjoying the rise she had gotten out of Seraphine. "Oh, I'm sorry," she purred, her voice dripping with mockery. "Did I hit a nerve? Or maybe you just miss your little yordle friend already."
Seraphine's face flushed with anger, her body tensing as she prepared to launch herself at Sivir. But before she could move, the door to the cafeteria swung open, and LeBlanc strode in, her eyes flashing with anger.
"Enough!" she snapped, her voice cutting through the room like a knife. "I will not tolerate this kind of behavior in my establishment."
She turned to Sivir, her eyes narrowing as she took in the older girl's smug expression. "You, Sivir," she growled. "Your dividends have been falling for months now. Instead of letting jokes come out of your mouth, you should be using it to please more clients. Is that understood?"
Sivir's face paled, her eyes widening in shock and fear. She knew better than to argue with LeBlanc, especially when the madam was in such a foul mood. "Yes, ma'am," she mumbled, her head bowed in submission.
LeBlanc turned her attention to Seraphine, her expression softening slightly as she took in the younger girl's tear-stained face. "And you, Seraphine," she said firmly. "I know you're new here, but I won't tolerate any troublemakers in my business. You will learn to control your temper and respect your fellow champions, or you will face the consequences."
Seraphine nodded, her eyes downcast as she struggled to contain her emotions. She knew that LeBlanc was right, that she needed to learn to control herself if she wanted to survive in this place.
LeBlanc surveyed the room, her eyes hard and unyielding as she made sure that her message had been received. "Now, I expect both of you to apologize to each other," she said firmly. "And then I want to see you both working hard to make up for this little incident."
Sivir and Seraphine exchanged a glance, their eyes filled with a mixture of resentment and hate. They knew that they had no choice but to obey LeBlanc's orders, no matter how much it galled them.
"Sorry," they muttered in unison, their voices barely audible.
LeBlanc nodded, satisfied that her point had been made. "Good," she said firmly. "Now, let's get back to work. We have clients to please, and I won't have any more disruptions."
With that, she turned on her heel and strode out of the room, leaving Sivir and Seraphine to glare at each other in silence. The other girls in the room exchanged nervous glances, knowing better than to say anything that might draw LeBlanc's wrath.
Seraphine took a deep breath, trying to calm her racing heart as she turned her attention back to her cup of hot chocolate. She knew that she had a long road ahead of her, that she would have to learn to navigate the treacherous waters of this place if she wanted to survive.
But for now, she would take comfort in the warmth of the drink, and the knowledge that she had stood up for herself, even if it had only been for a moment. And maybe, just maybe, she would find a way to make this place a little less terrible
Chapter 2: Ahri's replacement
Chapter Text
Ahri arrived at LeBlanc's chambers, the silver cart tray clinking softly as she pushed it through the ornate doors. She knew that the other girls wondered why she held such a prominent position, why she was the second in command despite her lack of involvement with clients.
But Ahri knew the truth, and it wasn't for the luxury or comfort that came with the job. No, she had sold her soul to LeBlanc for one reason and one reason alone: love.
Ahri had fallen deeply in love with LeBlanc from the moment she rescued her, captivated by her power, her intelligence, her raw sexuality. She would do anything for LeBlanc, anything to earn her affection and approval.
As she entered the room, LeBlanc looked up from the papers on her desk, her eyes narrowing slightly as she took in the sight of Ahri and the cart tray of food.
"Ahri," she said, her voice low and commanding. "What's all this?"
Ahri bowed her head, her voice trembling slightly as she replied. "I brought your dinner, Madam LeBlanc," she said softly. "I hope it is to your liking."
LeBlanc's eyes flicked to the tray, taking in the lavish spread that Morgana had prepared. "I see," she said, her voice tight. "But why is there so much food? I certainly can't eat all of this on my own."
Ahri's heart raced at LeBlanc's question, a flicker of hope and fear flashing through her eyes. This was her chance, her opportunity to finally spend some time with the woman she loved.
"Forgive me, Madam," she said, her voice low and pleading. "I haven't had dinner yet, and I thought... I thought perhaps my company wouldn't disturb you."
LeBlanc was silent for a moment, her eyes studying Ahri intently. For a moment, Ahri feared the worst, feared that LeBlanc would dismiss her, send her away from her presence.
But then, LeBlanc's lips curled into a small smile, a glimmer of affection in her eyes. "Very well," she said, her voice softening slightly. "You may join me, Ahri. After all, that new girl you brought in has made us quite a bit of money. I suppose you've earned a small reward."
Ahri's heart soared at LeBlanc's words, a rush of joy and gratitude welling up inside her. She had done it, she had earned a precious moment with the woman she loved.
"Thank you, Madam," she breathed, her voice filled with a mix of love and devotion. "It would be my greatest honor."
As she took her seat across from LeBlanc, Ahri couldn't help but marvel at the way the candlelight danced across her features, casting a soft glow on her beautiful face. She would do anything, anything at all, to keep LeBlanc by her side.
After the food, Ahri poured a steaming cup of coffee for LeBlanc, the rich aroma filling the air as she set it down on the table beside her. She then began to massage LeBlanc's shoulders, her strong hands kneading the knots and tension from her powerful frame.
LeBlanc tensed slightly at Ahri's touch, a flicker of annoyance in her eyes as she looked back at her second in command. "Ahri," she said, her voice low and warning. "Don't overstep your place."
Ahri froze, her heart racing as she realized her mistake. "Forgive me, Madam LeBlanc," she whispered, her voice trembling slightly. "I only meant to serve you, to help you relax after such a long day."
She pulled her hands away, her eyes downcast and filled with regret. "Do you need something more from me?" she asked, her voice barely audible. "Or would you like me to leave you to your rest?"
LeBlanc was silent for a moment, her eyes narrowed as she studied Ahri's face. For a moment, Ahri feared the worst, feared that LeBlanc would punish her for her overfamiliarity.
But then, LeBlanc's lips curled into a wry smile, a wicked glint in her eye. "Since you're so eager to serve me, Ahri," she purred, her voice low and seductive, "why don't you please me?"
Ahri's eyes widened in surprise, a rush of desire and fear coursing through her veins."Yes, Madam," she breathed, her voice filled with a mix of love and devotion. "It would be my greatest pleasure."
With trembling hands, Ahri began to undress LeBlanc, her fingers trailing over the smooth, silky skin of her body. She kissed every inch of exposed flesh, worshipping LeBlanc's beauty with a fervor that bordered on reverence.
LeBlanc watched her with a critical eye, her expression a mix of pleasure and detachment. She knew that Ahri would do anything for her, that she had complete control over her second in command.
As Ahri undressed herself, Leblanc Asked her "Are you not mad that everyone thinks that you get to be the top dog of this brothel because I fuck you as I please? I know what they say when they think you are not listening"
Ahri's heart raced as she heard LeBlanc's words, a mix of fear and shame washing over her. She knew that the other women gossiped about her, whispering behind her back about being LeBlanc's personal fucktoy. But hearing it from LeBlanc's own lips, it made it all too real. Was she angry? Angry at being kept here, at being nothing more than a warm body for LeBlanc to use as she pleased? No, Ahri couldn't bring herself to feel that way. She loved LeBlanc with every fiber of her being, and if this was the price she had to pay for her affections, then so be it.
"No, Madam," Ahri whispered, her voice trembling slightly as she looked up at LeBlanc with adoring eyes. "I'm not angry. I'm honored to be yours, in any way you wish."
LeBlanc's lips curled into a smirk, a wicked glint in her eye as she traced a finger along Ahri's jawline. "Good," she purred, her voice low and seductive. "Because I have so much more in store for you, my dear Ahri."
Ahri's heart raced at LeBlanc's words, a mix of excitement and trepidation coursing through her veins. She knew that LeBlanc's "gifts" came at a steep price, but she was willing to pay it. For LeBlanc, she would do anything, no matter how degrading or humiliating.
"Yes, Madam," Ahri breathed, her voice filled with a mix of love and submission. "I'm yours, always and forever. Use me as you see fit."
With a flick of her wrist, LeBlanc conjured a massive, magically-enhanced cock from thin air. It hovered before Ahri, throbbing and pulsing with an otherworldly energy.
"Start pleasing me," LeBlanc commanded, her voice low and demanding. "Put that pretty mouth of yours to work."
Ahri's eyes widened at the sight of the enormous, enchanted phallus. It was unlike anything she had ever seen before, its surface shimmering with arcane runes and symbols. She knew that this was no ordinary cock, but a tool of LeBlanc's dark magic.
But Ahri was not afraid. No, she was eager to please her mistress, to show her just how devoted she was. With a low moan, she leaned forward and took the tip of the cock into her mouth, her lips stretching obscenely around its girth.
LeBlanc watched with a critical eye, her expression a mix of pleasure and detachment. She knew that Ahri would do anything for her, that she had complete control over her second in command.
And as Ahri pleasured her, her mouth and throat stretched to their limits around the massive, pulsing shaft, LeBlanc couldn't help but feel a sense of power, a sense of dominance over the woman who loved her so deeply.
Ahri was lost in a haze of pleasure and pain, her every action driven by her desperate need to please the woman she loved. She would do anything, anything at all, to make LeBlanc happy, to earn her affection and approval.
As LeBlanc fucked Ahri in every way imaginable, the room was filled with the sounds of their moans and the slick, wet slapping of flesh against flesh. LeBlanc reveled in the feeling of Ahri's warm, wet pussy against her own magical cock, the friction and heat driving her wild with pleasure.
Ahri focused on the sensation, on the intense, overwhelming pleasure that coursed through her body with every thrust of LeBlanc's hips. It was the only way to forget the harsh reality of their relationship, to pretend that this was something more than just a cruel game for LeBlanc to play.
But even as Ahri lost herself in the moment, she couldn't shake the feeling of deep sadness that lurked just beneath the surface. She knew that LeBlanc didn't love her, not really. She was just a toy, a plaything to be used and discarded at LeBlanc's whim.
And yet, Ahri couldn't bring herself to care. Not when LeBlanc was inside her, not when she was experiencing such intense, all-consuming pleasure. In that moment, she was happy, happier than she had ever been before.
Ahri straddled LeBlanc, her hands gripping the older woman's shoulders as she lowered herself onto the throbbing, magical cock. She moaned loudly as it stretched her open, filling her completely.
"Fuck, Ahri," LeBlanc hissed, her nails digging into Ahri's hips as she guided her up and down. "Your pussy feels so fucking good."
Ahri could only whimper in response, her head lolling back as she rode LeBlanc hard and fast. The room was filled with the wet, obscene sounds of their fucking, the smell of sex heavy in the air.
LeBlanc reached up and grasped Ahri's breasts, squeezing them roughly as Ahri bounced on her lap. "You love this, don't you, you little slut?" LeBlanc growled. "You love being used by me, being fucked like the whore you are."
Ahri could only moan in response, her hips moving instinctively as she chased her own pleasure. She didn't care what LeBlanc called her, what she said to her. In that moment, she was in heaven, lost in a world of intense, all-consuming bliss.
LeBlanc thrust her hips up to meet Ahri's, fucking her even harder. "Cum for me, Ahri," she commanded, her voice dark and commanding. "I want to feel you squeeze my cock as you come undone."
Ahri's body responded instantly, her orgasm crashing over her like a tidal wave. She screamed LeBlanc's name, her nails digging into the older woman's shoulders as she shuddered and shook with the force of her release.
LeBlanc grinned savagely, her own orgasm following closely behind as Ahri's pussy clenched and spasmed around her. "Good girl," she purred, her voice low and satisfied.
Ahri lay in bed, her body aching and exhausted after being used by LeBlanc. But even as she felt the pain of her abuse, she couldn't help but feel a sense of pride and accomplishment.
She had pleased LeBlanc, had given her exactly what she wanted. And now, as she looked up at the other woman, she couldn't help but ask the question that had been burning in her mind.
"Are you satisfied?" she asked, her voice soft and breathless. "Or do you want to keep going?"
LeBlanc smiled, her eyes glinting with amusement. "I am satisfied," she purred, her voice low and dangerous. "For now."
Ahri's heart raced as she heard LeBlanc's words, a flicker of hope igniting in her chest. "For now?" she repeated, her voice barely above a whisper. "Does that mean...does that mean you have something else in mind for me?"
LeBlanc's smile widened, her eyes narrowing as she looked down at Ahri. "Indeed," she said, her voice soft and seductive. "I have a special task for you, my dear. A test, if you will, to see just how good you really are."
Ahri's breath caught in her throat as she listened to LeBlanc, her mind racing with questions. "What do you have in mind?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly.
LeBlanc's eyes glinted with cruel amusement. "It's quite simple," she said, her voice low and dangerous. "I want you to travel to Piltover. I want you to talk with Sheriff Caitlyn, and bring me something back. In secret, of course. And as quickly as possible."
Ahri's eyes widened in shock, her heart pounding in her chest. "Piltover?" she repeated, her voice barely above a whisper. "But...but I don't want to leave you. I don't want to be away from you."
LeBlanc's smile widened, her eyes glinting with cruel amusement. "Oh, Ahri," she purred, her voice soft and seductive. "You're not leaving me. You're just...expanding your horizons. Proving your worth to me."
Ahri's mind raced as she tried to process LeBlanc's words, her heart heavy with fear and uncertainty. "But who will run the business while I'm gone?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly. "Who will take my place?"
LeBlanc's eyes narrowed, her gaze hardening. "That is for you to decide," she said, her voice low and dangerous. "Choose wisely, Ahri. Choose someone who can fulfill my expectations. And if they cannot...well, let's just say that I will be very disappointed."
Ahri's heart raced as she listened to LeBlanc, her mind already racing with possibilities. She knew that she had to choose carefully, had to select someone who could handle the pressure and the demands of the château.
But as she looked up at LeBlanc, she couldn't help but feel a sense of dread. What if she chose wrong? What if her replacement couldn't measure up to LeBlanc's expectations?
The thought sent a shiver down her spine, and she knew that she had to make the right choice. For her own sake, and for the sake of the château.
Ahri's eyes narrowed as she observed the girls at work, her mind racing as she tried to decide who would be the best replacement for her. Quiyana was too lazy, always slacking off and barely putting in any effort. Katarina was too hot-headed, her temper flaring at the slightest provocation. Sona was meek and timid, but Ahri had to admit, her massive breasts would probably be a big hit with LeBlanc. Seraphine was new and inexperienced, still learning the ropes of the business.
But then, Ahri's gaze fell on Irelia. The young woman was sitting with some Ionian warchiefs, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she tempted them into paying to fuck her. Irelia had become one of the most successful whores at the château, her competence and skill in the bedroom drawing in clients from all over.
And as Ahri watched her, she couldn't help but notice the way the other girls seemed to respect her, to look up to her. Irelia had a natural leadership quality about her, a strength and confidence that drew people to her.
Maybe, Ahri thought, Irelia was the perfect replacement. She was competent, well-liked by the other girls, and had a body that surely LeBlanc would like.
But as she considered the idea, Ahri felt a pang of jealousy. She didn't want to be replaced, didn't want to give up her position as LeBlanc's favorite. And Irelia, with her natural charisma and beauty, would be a formidable competitor.
Ahri's mind raced as she tried to decide what to do, her heart torn between her loyalty to LeBlanc and her own desire to keep her position. She knew that she had to make a choice, had to decide who would be her replacement.
And as she looked at Irelia, she knew that she had found her answer. Irelia was the one. She was strong, competent, and well-liked by the other girls. She would be a perfect replacement for her.
Irelia looked up at Ahri, her eyes wide with surprise. "Ahri?" she said, her voice tinged with confusion. "What do you need from me?"
Ahri took a deep breath, steeling herself for the conversation that was to come. "Irelia," she said, her voice soft but firm. "I have some news for you. While I'm away on a task for LeBlanc, you will be replacing me. You will have to attend to LeBlanc's every demand and whim, and yes...that includes being fucked by her."
Irelia's eyes widened even further, her mouth falling open in shock. "What?" she whispered, her voice trembling slightly. "But...but why me? Why would LeBlanc want me to replace you?"
Ahri's heart raced as she tried to explain, her mind racing with the implications of her decision. "You're competent," she said, her voice steady despite the fear that coursed through her veins. "You're well-liked by the other girls. And you have a body that drive the clients wild."
Irelia's cheeks flushed red at Ahri's words, a mix of flattery and embarrassment. "I...I don't know what to say," she murmured, her eyes downcast. "I'm honored that you would choose me, Ahri. But...I'm not sure if I'm ready for something like this."
Ahri's heart ached as she looked at Irelia, seeing the fear and uncertainty in her eyes. "I know it's a lot to ask," she said, her voice soft with sympathy. "But LeBlanc is counting on you, Irelia. She wants you to be the one to replace me."
Irelia's eyes snapped up to meet Ahri's, a flicker of determination sparking in their depths. "If LeBlanc wants me to do this," she said, her voice firm and steady despite the fear that still lingered, "then I will do it. I won't let you down, Ahri. I promise."
Ahri's heart swelled with pride as she looked at Irelia, seeing the strength and resilience that lay beneath the fear. "I know you won't," she said, her voice soft with admiration. "You're going to be amazing, Irelia. LeBlanc will see that you're the best choice to replace me."
Irelia's cheeks flushed even redder at Ahri's words, a mix of flattery and embarrassment. "I...thank you," she whispered, her voice choked with emotion. "Thank you for believing in me, Ahri."
Ahri reached out, taking Irelia's hand in her own. "Always," she said, her voice firm with conviction. "Now go. Prepare yourself. LeBlanc will be expecting you. I warn you, it's not an easy job"
As Irelia entered LeBlanc's chamber, a tray of food balanced carefully in her hands, she could hear the dark mage's voice coming through the phone. She tried to be quiet, to not disturb LeBlanc, but the sound of her footsteps on the polished wooden floor was impossible to completely silence.
"Well, Caitlyn," LeBlanc was saying, her voice cold and calculated. "I hear you have a little... problem on your hands. Something that needs to be dealt with, discreetly and efficiently."
Irelia's heart raced as she listened, her curiosity piqued despite her best efforts to stay focused on her task.
"That's where I come in," LeBlanc continued, her tone almost predatory. "I'm more than happy to take this... situation off your hands. But you know how I operate, Sheriff. I always expect something in return for my services."
There was a pause, and Irelia could almost picture the two women on opposite sides of the phone, sizing each other up.
"And what is it you want this time, LeBlanc?" Caitlyn asked, her voice tense and wary.
LeBlanc laughed, a sound that sent shivers down Irelia's spine. "Oh, come now, Caitlyn. You know me better than that. I don't make my demands known until I've delivered the goods." With that, she hung up the phone, her eyes snapping up to meet Irelia's as the girl stood frozen in the doorway, the tray of food trembling in her hands.
LeBlanc's face twisted into a scowl, her eyes narrowing dangerously. "I told you not to disturb me while I was on the phone, Irelia," she snapped, her voice like a whip.
"I-I'm sorry, Madam LeBlanc," Irelia stammered, her heart pounding in her chest. "I didn't mean to interrupt. I was just bringing your dinner, as you requested."
LeBlanc's gaze flickered to the tray of food, and her expression soured even further. "My steak," she said, her voice laced with disgust. "It's well done, isn't it?"
Irelia swallowed hard, her mouth suddenly dry. "Y-yes, Madam LeBlanc," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I asked the cook to make it that way, as you prefer."
LeBlanc let out a bark of laughter, a sound that held no real amusement. "Oh, Irelia," she said, her voice dripping with condescension. "How little you know. I prefer my steaks medium-well, not the burnt, flavorless abomination you've brought me."
Irelia's cheeks flushed with embarrassment, her grip on the tray tightening until her knuckles turned white. "I'm sorry, Madam LeBlanc," she said, her voice tight with tension. "I didn't know."
LeBlanc waved a dismissive hand, as if Irelia's apology meant nothing to her. "Of course you didn't," she said, her tone almost patronizing. "You're just a stupid, naive girl, after all."
She fixed Irelia with a withering glare, her eyes cold and unyielding. "Take it back to the kitchen," she commanded. "And tell them to do it again, properly
Irelia returns a moment later, setting the tray down on the table, her hands trembling slightly as she did so. She watched as LeBlanc cut into the steak, her movements precise and practiced. The dark mage took a bite, chewing slowly and deliberately before swallowing.
"It's acceptable," she said, her voice flat and unemotional. "But barely."
Irelia felt a wave of relief wash over her, followed quickly by a fresh surge of anxiety. "Is there anything else you need, Madam LeBlanc?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
LeBlanc looked up at her, her eyes cold and calculating. "Yes," she said, her voice low and dangerous. "Take off your clothes."
Irelia's breath caught in her throat, her heart pounding in her chest. "What?" she asked, her voice barely audible.
LeBlanc's eyes narrowed, her expression hardening. "You heard me," she said, her voice laced with menace. "I want you to undress. Now."
Irelia's hands trembled as she reached for the hem of her dress, her mind racing as she tried to process LeBlanc's command. She had known that this was a possibility, that LeBlanc might want to use her for her own pleasure, but she had never expected it to happen so soon.
As she stripped off her dress, revealing the simple cotton undergarments beneath, Irelia felt a fresh wave of humiliation wash over her. She was used to being naked in front of strangers, used to being touched and used by men she didn't know. But this was different. This was LeBlanc, the woman who held her life in her hands, the woman who could destroy her with a single word.
LeBlanc watched her with a predatory gaze, her eyes raking over Irelia's body as if assessing her worth. "Turn around," she commanded, her voice cold and authoritative.
Irelia complied, her cheeks burning with embarrassment as she presented herself to LeBlanc's gaze. She could feel the dark mage's eyes on her, could feel the weight of her gaze like a physical touch.
"Good," LeBlanc said, her voice laced with satisfaction. "Now, come here."
Irelia stepped forward, her heart pounding in her chest as she approached the table where LeBlanc sat. The dark mage reached out, her fingers trailing along Irelia's hip, her touch cold and clinical.
"On your knees," LeBlanc commanded, her voice leaving no room for argument.
Irelia sank to her knees, her heart racing as she waited for LeBlanc's next command. The dark mage continued to eat her steak, her eyes never leaving Irelia's body.
"Touch yourself," she said, her voice low and dangerous. "Show me what you like."
Irelia's breath hitched in her throat, her mind reeling with shock and disbelief. But she knew better than to disobey LeBlanc's orders. Slowly, hesitantly, she reached down, her fingers trailing over her own skin as she began to touch herself.
LeBlanc watched her, her eyes cold and unreadable, as Irelia's fingers moved over her body, exploring her own desires and fears. The dark mage ate her steak, her gaze never wavering, as Irelia lost herself in the moment, her body responding to her own touch despite the humiliation and fear that coursed through her veins.
And as LeBlanc finished her meal, wiping her mouth with a delicate napkin, she fixed Irelia with a cold, calculating gaze. "Now," she said, her voice laced with anticipation. "Let's see what you can do for me."
Irelia trembled on her knees before LeBlanc, her heart pounding in her chest as she awaited the dark mage's next command. LeBlanc's gaze was cold and calculating, her eyes raking over Irelia's naked body with a predatory intensity.
"Come here," LeBlanc said, her voice low and dangerous. "I want to feel you."
Irelia swallowed hard, her mouth suddenly dry as she rose to her feet and approached the table. LeBlanc reached out, her fingers trailing over Irelia's hip, her touch cold and clinical.
"On the table," she commanded, her voice leaving no room for argument.
Irelia complied, her heart racing as she laid herself out on the cold, hard surface. LeBlanc's eyes never left her body, her gaze intense and unyielding.
"Spread your legs," she said, her voice low and menacing.
Irelia did as she was told, her cheeks burning with humiliation as she exposed herself to LeBlanc's gaze. The dark mage leaned in, her breath hot against Irelia's skin as she ran her fingers over her most intimate places.
"You're wet," LeBlanc observed, her voice laced with amusement. "Does this excite you, Irelia? Being at my mercy, knowing that I could do anything I want to you?"
Irelia's breath caught in her throat, her body betraying her even as her mind screamed in protest. "N-no," she stammered, her voice barely audible. "I don't want this."
LeBlanc laughed, a cold, bitter sound that sent shivers down Irelia's spine. "Oh, Irelia," she said, her voice dripping with condescension. "You may not want it, but your body certainly does."
She ran her fingers over Irelia's sensitive flesh, her touch deliberate and unhurried. Irelia gasped, her body arching instinctively as LeBlanc's touch sent waves of pleasure coursing through her.
"You see?" LeBlanc said, her voice laced with triumph. "Your body is responding to me, despite your protests. You want this, Irelia. You want me to touch you, to claim you, to make you mine."
Irelia shook her head, tears stinging her eyes as she struggled against the tide of pleasure that threatened to overwhelm her. "No," she whispered, her voice breaking. "Please, don't do this."
But LeBlanc was relentless, her touch unyielding as she continued to explore Irelia's body, drawing out gasps and moans of pleasure that Irelia could not contain. The dark mage's eyes never left Irelia's face, her expression one of cold, calculated pleasure as she watched the girl squirm and writhe beneath her touch.
"You're mine now, Irelia," she said, her voice low and dangerous. "Mine to use as I see fit. And I will use you, again and again, until you learn to accept your place in this world."
Irelia's eyes fluttered closed, her body surrendering to the pleasure that LeBlanc's touch brought, even as her mind screamed in protest. She knew that she was lost, that she would never be free of LeBlanc's control.
LeBlanc's eyes glinted with a cruel, predatory light as she conjured her magic cock, the dark energy pulsing and throbbing with an eerie life of its own. Irelia's breath caught in her throat as she watched the phallus materialize, her heart pounding in her chest as she realized what was about to happen.
"Please," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "Don't do this."
LeBlanc laughed, a cold, bitter sound that sent shivers down Irelia's spine. "Oh, Irelia," she said, her voice laced with amusement. "You know better than to beg. It only makes me want to hurt you more."
She positioned herself between Irelia's legs, the magic cock hovering tantalizingly close to her most intimate places. Irelia squirmed, trying to close her legs, but LeBlanc's grip was iron-tight, holding her in place with ease.
"Now, let's see how well you can take this," LeBlanc said, her voice low and dangerous. "I want to hear you scream."
With that, she thrust forward, the magic cock sliding into Irelia's body with a sudden, brutal force. Irelia cried out, her back arching off the table as the dark energy filled her, stretching her, invading every inch of her being.
LeBlanc began to move, her hips thrusting in a steady, relentless rhythm as she fucked Irelia with the magic cock. The dark mage's eyes never left Irelia's face, her expression one of cold, calculated pleasure as she watched the girl squirm and writhe beneath her.
"Oh, yes," LeBlanc purred, her voice low and dangerous. "You're so tight, Irelia. So perfect for me."
Irelia could only whimper in response, her body overwhelmed by the sensations that coursed through her. The magic cock was unlike anything she had ever experienced, its dark energy pulsing and throbbing inside her, drawing out gasps and moans of pleasure that she could not contain.
LeBlanc's thrusts grew harder, more brutal, as she fucked Irelia with increasing intensity. The table creaked and groaned beneath them, the sound of flesh slapping against flesh filling the room as LeBlanc took her pleasure from Irelia's body.
"Scream for me, Irelia," LeBlanc commanded, her voice laced with sadistic glee. "Let me hear how much you love this."
Irelia's mouth opened in a silent scream, her body convulsing as the pleasure became too much to bear. LeBlanc's magic cock was everywhere, filling her, consuming her, until there was nothing left but the dark mage and the pleasure she brought.
LeBlanc's eyes narrowed as she pulled her magic cock out of Irelia's dripping pussy, a cruel smile playing at the corners of her lips. "Why are you crying, Irelia?" she asked, her voice low and dangerous.
Irelia's breath hitched in her throat, her body still trembling from the aftershocks of her intense orgasm. "I-I'm not crying," she whispered, her voice hoarse and ragged. But even as she spoke, fresh tears spilled down her cheeks, betraying her words.
LeBlanc let out a harsh laugh, a sound that sent shivers down Irelia's spine. "Oh, Irelia," she said, her voice dripping with condescension. "You're a terrible liar. And for a whore, you're being far too dramatic."
She reached out, her fingers trailing over Irelia's tear-stained cheek, wiping away the moisture with a rough, calloused thumb. "But don't worry," LeBlanc purred, her voice low and menacing. "I'll give you a proper reason to cry."
Before Irelia could react, LeBlanc's magic cock was at her tight asshole, the dark energy pulsing and throbbing with an eerie life of its own. Irelia's eyes widened in horror as she realized what was about to happen, her body tensing in anticipation of the pain to come.
"No," she whimpered, her voice barely audible. "Please, not there. i havent c-cleaned it and i don't have a-any lube..."
But LeBlanc was relentless, her grip on Irelia's hips unyielding as she positioned the magic cock at Irelia's tight entrance. "Oh, but you can still take it" she said, her voice low and dangerous. "And you will."
With a brutal thrust, LeBlanc forced the magic cock into Irelia's asshole, the dark energy stretching and tearing at her delicate flesh as it pushed deeper and deeper inside. Irelia screamed, her body arching off the table as the pain ripped through her, hot and searing and all-consuming.
LeBlanc's eyes glinted with cruel pleasure as she watched Irelia writhe and struggle beneath her, the girl's agonized cries music to her ears. "That's it," she purred.
She began to move, her hips thrusting in a steady, relentless rhythm as she fucked Irelia's tight asshole with brutal force. The table creaked and groaned beneath them, the sound of flesh slapping against flesh filling the room as LeBlanc took her pleasure from Irelia's body.
Irelia could only sob and whimper, her body shaking with the force of LeBlanc's thrusts. The pain was unlike anything she had ever experienced, a searing, burning agony that seemed to split her in two. But even through the haze of pain, she could feel the dark energy of LeBlanc's magic cock pulsing and throbbing inside her, drawing out twisted, unwanted pleasure that only added to her torment.
"Oh, yes," LeBlanc gasped, her voice thick with sadistic glee.
She leaned in, her teeth grazing the sensitive skin of Irelia's neck as she pounded into her with increasing force. "This is what you were made for," she whispered, her breath hot against Irelia's ear. "To be used and abused, to be a plaything for my pleasure." Irelia could only whimper in response, her body surrendering to the pain and pleasure that consumed her.
LeBlanc's brutal assault on Irelia's asshole showed no signs of letting up, her hips slamming into the girl's body with a relentless, punishing force. Irelia could only sob and moan, her body shaking with the force of LeBlanc's thrusts, the pain ripping through her like a white-hot knife.
"Squeeze me, Irelia," LeBlanc commanded, her voice low and dangerous. "Squeeze my cock with your tight little asshole."
Irelia tried to comply, tried to clench her muscles around the dark energy that pulsed and throbbed inside her, but the pain was too great. "I-I can't," she whimpered, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks. "It hurts too much."
LeBlanc let out a harsh laugh, a sound that sent shivers down Irelia's spine. "Oh, Irelia," she said, her voice dripping with condescension. "You're a terrible whore. You need to learn to take your punishment like a good girl."
She increased the force of her thrusts, her hips slamming into Irelia's body with a brutal, punishing rhythm. The table creaked and groaned beneath them, the wood straining under the force of LeBlanc's relentless assault.
"Please," Irelia sobbed, her body shaking with the effort of trying to endure the pain. "Please, stop. I can't take anymore."
But LeBlanc was relentless, her eyes glinting with cruel, sadistic pleasure as she watched Irelia suffer. "You can, and you will," she growled, her voice low and menacing. "You belong to me now, Irelia. Your body, your mind, your very soul. And I will use you as I see fit."
With a final, brutal thrust, LeBlanc reached her peak, her magic cock erupting inside Irelia's tight asshole. The dark energy surged through Irelia's body, filling her, consuming her, as LeBlanc groaned in ecstasy above her.
The force of LeBlanc's climax was too much for the table to bear. With a resounding crack, the wood splintered beneath them, sending Irelia crashing to the floor in a tangle of broken furniture and agonized flesh.
LeBlanc, however, remained standing, her body perfectly poised above Irelia's form. She looked down at the girl, her expression one of cold, calculating satisfaction.
"Clean up this mess, Irelia," she commanded, her voice sharp and unforgiving. "And do it quickly. I have no patience for sloppiness."
Irelia could only whimper in response, her body aching and throbbing with pain as she struggled to push herself up off the floor. She knew that disobeying LeBlanc would only bring more suffering, more torment, and so she forced herself to move, to clean up the debris of LeBlanc's cruel assault.
Irelia limped out of the room, her naked body covered in bruises and marks from LeBlanc's brutal assault. She could feel the eyes of the other girls on her as she made her way through the hall, their whispers and giggles filling the air.
"Look at her, she looks like she's been through a war."
"LeBlanc really did a number on her this time."
"I heard she cried the whole time, like a little bitch."
Irelia's cheeks burned with humiliation as she listened to their taunts, her arms trembling with the effort of carrying the remnants of the broken table. She knew they were right, knew that LeBlanc had broken her in ways she never thought possible, but she couldn't let them see her break down.
She kept her head held high, her eyes fixed straight ahead as she made her way to the servant's quarters. She could feel their eyes boring into her, could hear their whispers growing louder and more cruel with every step.
"Look at her, limping like a cripple."
"She won't be able to walk straight for a week."
"LeBlanc really knows how to teach a girl a lesson."
Irelia gritted her teeth, fighting back the tears that threatened to fall. She wouldn't give them the satisfaction of seeing her cry, wouldn't let them know how much LeBlanc's cruelty had affected her.
But as she reached the door to the servant's quarters, she couldn't hold back the sob that tore from her throat. She stumbled inside, her knees giving way as she collapsed on the hard floor, the remnants of the broken table clattering around her.
The other girls' laughter followed her inside, their cruel taunts echoing in her ears as she curled into a ball on the cold, unforgiving ground.
"Look at her, crying like a baby."
"LeBlanc really knows how to break a girl."
"She'll never be the same again, poor thing."
Irelia squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out their voices, trying to pretend that she was somewhere else, anywhere else but here. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't escape the harsh reality of her situation.
She was LeBlanc's plaything now, her toy to use and abuse as she saw fit.
The next day, Irelia carried Breakfast to LeBlanc's Chambers
LeBlanc's eyes narrowed as she looked up from her breakfast tray, her gaze cold and calculating as it landed on Irelia. "Ahri," she said, her voice low and dangerous. "I thought I told you to replace that table yesterday. What's taking so long?"
Irelia's heart raced as she met LeBlanc's icy stare, her hands trembling slightly as she held the tray steady. "Ahri is not here, mistress," she said, her voice steady despite the fear that gripped her. "She's in Piltover, remember? I'm Irelia."
LeBlanc's lips curled into a sneer, her eyes never leaving Irelia's face. "Oh, that's right. I forgot. The new whore. The one who can't seem to do anything right."
Irelia's cheeks flushed with humiliation, her body tensing as LeBlanc's words cut through her like a knife. "I-I'm sorry, mistress," she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper. "I ordered a new table yesterday. It should be arriving today."
LeBlanc let out a harsh, bitter laugh, her eyes glinting with cruel amusement. "Today? And what am I supposed to do in the meantime, Irelia? Eat off the floor like a dog?"
Irelia's mind raced as she tried to think of a response, her heart pounding in her chest as she realized the danger she was in. "I-I brought you breakfast on a tray, mistress," she said, her voice trembling slightly. "So that you don't have to get out of bed."
LeBlanc's eyes narrowed, her gaze never leaving Irelia's face. "A tray," she repeated, her voice low and dangerous. "How...thoughtful of you, Irelia."
Irelia's heart raced as she watched LeBlanc, her body tense and ready for whatever punishment the dark mage might inflict. But to her surprise, LeBlanc simply took a sip of her tea, her eyes never leaving Irelia's face.
"Well, I suppose it will have to do," she said, her voice cold and calculating. "But don't think for a moment that this means I'm satisfied with your performance, Irelia. You're still on thin ice, and one wrong move...well, let's just say that you won't like the consequences."
Irelia's breath caught in her throat, her mind racing as she tried to process LeBlanc's words. She knew that she had to be careful, that one wrong move could mean the end of her as LeBlanc's slave.
But as she watched LeBlanc eat her breakfast, her eyes never leaving the dark mage's face, she couldn't help but feel a small spark of hope. Maybe, just maybe, she could do this. Maybe she could keep serving LeBlanc, keep enduring her cruelty, until Ahri returned. And then, maybe, just maybe, she could find a way out of this nightmare.
LeBlanc's eyes narrowed as she looked up from her breakfast tray, her gaze cold and calculating as it landed on Irelia. "So, Irelia," she said, her voice low and dangerous. "What are my options today? What can you do to make this miserable experience more bearable for me?"
Irelia's heart raced as she met LeBlanc's icy stare, her mind racing as she tried to think of a response that would please the dark mage. "I-I can stay here with you, mistress," she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper. "I can keep you company, massage your feet, whatever you need."
LeBlanc let out a harsh, bitter laugh, her eyes glinting with cruel amusement. "Stay with me? And what, bore me to death with your pathetic attempts at conversation? No, I think not."
Irelia's cheeks flushed with humiliation, her body tensing as LeBlanc's words cut through her like a knife. "I-I could draw you a hot bath, mistress," she offered, her voice trembling slightly. "Something to relax you, to help you forget about your troubles."
LeBlanc's lips curled into a sneer, her eyes never leaving Irelia's face. "A bath? How...original. And what makes you think I want to relax, Irelia? What makes you think I want to forget about my troubles?"
Irelia's mind raced as she tried to think of another option, her heart pounding in her chest as she realized the danger she was in. "I-I could call Sheriff Caitlyn from Piltover, mistress," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "You two could continue your negotiations, your...discussions."
LeBlanc's eyes widened slightly, her gaze sharpening as she looked at Irelia. "Caitlyn," she repeated, her voice low and dangerous. "You think I want to speak to that bitch?"
Irelia's breath caught in her throat, her mind racing as she tried to remember what LeBlanc had told her about Sheriff Caitlyn. "I-I'm sorry, mistress," she stammered, her voice trembling slightly. "I didn't mean to offend you. I just thought...I just thought you might want to talk to her, to...to work things out."
LeBlanc let out a harsh, bitter laugh, her eyes glinting with cruel amusement. "Work things out? With Caitlyn? Oh, Irelia. You really are a fool, aren't you?"
Irelia's cheeks flushed with humiliation, her body tensing as LeBlanc's words cut through her like a knife. "I-I'm sorry, mistress," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I didn't mean to upset you."
LeBlanc's eyes narrowed, her gaze never leaving Irelia's face. "You're not sorry, Irelia," she said, her voice low and dangerous. "You're just trying to please me, to make me happy. Well, let me tell you something. There's only one way to make me happy now, since you apparently suck at everything else"
Irelia's heart raced as she watched LeBlanc, her body tense and ready for whatever punishment the dark mage might inflict. But to her surprise, LeBlanc simply set her breakfast tray aside, her eyes never leaving Irelia's face.
"Come here," she said, her voice low and dangerous. "Come here and show me how sorry you really are." Irelia started to undress, knowing well what LeBlanc wanted
Irelia's cheeks burned with humiliation as she watched LeBlanc laugh, her eyes never leaving the dark mage's cruel face. "I didn't tell you to get naked, Irelia," LeBlanc said, her voice low and dangerous. "What made you think I wanted to see your pathetic, scrawny body?"
Irelia's breath caught in her throat, her mind racing as she tried to think of a response that would please the dark mage. "I-I thought...I thought you wanted me to please you, mistress," she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper. "I thought...I thought that's what you wanted."
LeBlanc let out a harsh, bitter laugh, her eyes glinting with cruel amusement. "Well, at least you had a good idea at last, Almost completly yours"
Irelia's cheeks flushed with humiliation, her body tensing as LeBlanc's words cut through her like a knife. "I-I'm sorry, mistress," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I didn't mean to offend you. I just thought...I just thought you might want me to...to service you."
LeBlanc's eyes narrowed, her gaze never leaving Irelia's face. "Service me? In what way, Irelia? By breaking more furniture?" Irelia could barely hold her anger, she didn't had any blame on that, it was all LeBlanc's fault.
Irelia's heart raced as she watched LeBlanc, her mind racing as she tried to think of a response that would please the dark mage. "I-I could try to be more careful, mistress," she offered, her voice trembling slightly. "I could...I could use the bed instead of the table. The bed is more sturdy, it won't break as easily."
LeBlanc let out a harsh, bitter laugh, her eyes glinting with cruel amusement. "The bed? Oh, Irelia. You really are desperate, aren't you? Desperate to please me, to make me happy."
Irelia's cheeks flushed with humiliation, her body tensing as LeBlanc's words cut through her like a knife. "I-I'm sorry, mistress," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I just want to do a good job. I just want to please you."
LeBlanc's eyes narrowed, her gaze never leaving Irelia's face. "Well, let me tell you something, Irelia," she said, her voice low and dangerous. "You're going to please me by doing one thing and one thing only."
Irelia's heart raced as she watched LeBlanc, her mind racing as she tried to think of what the dark mage could possibly want from her. "W-what do you want me to do, mistress?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
LeBlanc's lips curled into a sneer, her eyes never leaving Irelia's face. "I want you to be my cock caretaker, Irelia," she said, her voice low and dangerous. "I want you to keep my cock wet, warm, and comfy all day. And I want you to make sure I cum multiple times. Understood?"
Irelia's cheeks burned with humiliation, her body tensing as she realized the implications of LeBlanc's words. "Y-yes, mistress," she whispered, her voice trembling slightly. "I understand."
LeBlanc's eyes narrowed, her gaze never leaving Irelia's face. "Good," she said, her voice low and dangerous. "Now get to work, Irelia. And don't you dare disappoint me."
LeBlanc conjured a magic cock, roughly shoved Irelia on to the bed. Irelia gasped as she felt LeBlanc's shaft, hard and ready, rubbing against her exposed wet folds. LeBlanc gave a cruel smile at the sight of her's submission.
"Just follow orders and you might have a chance to get used to this," she cooed, not easing the pressure of the stiff magic cock against her labia. "Curl your fingers around it...but don't tug," she commanded, handing it over to Irelia's trembling hands. She wanted to feel that burn inside her, needed her own release.
With reluctance, Irelia enclosed her fingers around LeBlanc's shaft and the tip of it sprang with an oozing blackness. LeBlanc pressed the tip firmly onto her clit and left it there, with pressure.
"Now squeeze that hard cock," she urged. "Squeeze harder and faster. This one can't get hurt like you can."
As her own arousal grew with her friction, Irelia continued to stroke it even though her fingers grew sweaty and sore from exertion. LeBlanc closed her eyes in satisfaction, enjoying her fingernails digging into the sides of her waist with every thrust.
With an irritated sigh, Irelia stopped jerking her off and flipped them over so that LeBlanc was on the bed underneath her. Irelia straddled the magic cock, ignoring how wet she was now feeling and how much her stomach twisted with need for pleasure.
She lowered herself slowly, feeling the smooth phallus slide between her swollen lips and past the barrier of her opening with little resistance. Once her tight walls were filled up completely, she felt no movement from LeBlanc but could sense she had fallen into a rhythm underneath her.
Irelia took a deep breath to brace herself before leaning over LeBlanc to turn up the heat even higher, grinding her hips while rising up and slamming down onto the throbbing length. LeBlanc threw her head back on the pillow, pleasure sweeping over her as her black nails dug into the girl's hips.
A shocked cry escaped Irelia as LeBlanc pinched her nipples viciously, twisting the tight buds between her thumb and index finger. With no time to recover from that stinging pain, a shock of pleasure ignited when LeBlanc lowered her mouth to lick around the sensitive pebble.
Irelia writhed and panted in LeBlanc's embrace, her neediness reaching a fevered peak as she rode out waves of ecstasy over LeBlanc's dildo-like cock. Their entwined bodies moved faster in rhythm, LeBlanc pushing up into Irelia's tight warmth until both of them lost track of time.
It had only been a couple minutes since they started their shared torment, but each hard thrust sent Irelia hurtling towards orgasm more rapidly than she wanted or was prepared for.
Tensing up, LeBlanc's hips ground with frantic need. At that moment, all concern about her own feelings for Irelia went up in smoke. In truth, she was struggling as well, her thighs tense from holding back release with sheer willpower. Each penetration was like striking against stone, the hot shaft pumping in and out rapidly with no mercy or concession.
Irelia went still, her moans silenced as a warning knot formed in the pit of her stomach, knowing her climax was rapidly approaching.
"Don't come until I tell you!" LeBlanc shouted sternly, her hand forming into a fist.
Even in her haze, she realized that LeBlanc wasn't going to relent anytime soon. Every pass over her clit wound the coil tighter. Tightening her abdominals to hold back, LeBlanc felt sweat soak her hair and coat her skin.
Irelia's body trembled as she felt the intense pleasure building inside her, her hips moving faster and faster as she rode LeBlanc's magic cock. She could feel her orgasm approaching, her walls clenching around the hard shaft as it thrust in and out of her.
"Don't come until I tell you!" LeBlanc shouted sternly, her hand forming into a fist.
But it was too late. With a loud cry, Irelia's body convulsed as her orgasm crashed over her, her walls clamping down around LeBlanc's cock as she rode out the waves of pleasure.
LeBlanc groaned as she felt Irelia's tight pussy milking her cock, her own orgasm building inside her. With a final thrust, she came hard, her cock pulsing as it shot its load deep inside Irelia's pussy.
Irelia collapsed on top of LeBlanc, her body still trembling from the intensity of her orgasm. She could feel LeBlanc's cum leaking out of her, coating her thighs.
But as she started to move off of LeBlanc, the dark mage grabbed her wrist, her eyes narrowing. "Where do you think you're going?" she demanded.
Irelia's heart raced as she looked down at LeBlanc, her mind racing. "I-I thought I was done, mistress," she stammered, her voice trembling slightly. "I thought...I thought you were done with me."
LeBlanc let out a harsh, bitter laugh, her eyes glinting with cruel amusement. "Done with you? Oh, Irelia. You really are a fool, aren't you? You're my cock caretaker, remember? You have to keep my cock warm and wet all day."
Irelia's cheeks flushed with humiliation, her body tensing as she realized the implications of LeBlanc's words. "B-but...but I just came, mistress," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I can't...I can't keep going."
LeBlanc's eyes narrowed, her gaze never leaving Irelia's face. "You can and you will, Irelia," she said, her voice low and dangerous. "Or else there will be consequences. Understood?"
Irelia's heart raced as she watched LeBlanc, her mind racing as she tried to think of a response that would please the dark mage. "Y-yes, mistress," she whispered, her voice trembling slightly. "I understand."
LeBlanc's lips curled into a sneer, her eyes never leaving Irelia's face. "Good," she said, her voice low and dangerous. "Now get back to work, Irelia. And don't you dare disappoint me."
Irelia's heart raced as she felt LeBlanc's magic cock still hard and throbbing inside her, her body already aching from the intense pleasure and the knowledge that she had to keep going all day. But she knew that she had no choice. She had to please LeBlanc, no matter what it took.
With a deep breath, she started to move her hips again, her walls clenching around LeBlanc's cock as she began to ride her once more.
Irelia's body ached from the constant friction of LeBlanc's magic cock, her pussy and ass sore and raw. She had been riding LeBlanc for hours now, her body trembling with exhaustion as she tried to keep going.
But her body was reaching its limits. Her mouth was dry, her throat parched from the constant moaning and screaming. She had not had any food all day, LeBlanc not giving her any permission to stop.
As Irelia's hips moved slower and slower, her body growing weaker by the minute, LeBlanc's eyes narrowed. "What's the matter, Irelia?" she demanded, her voice low and dangerous. "Getting tired already?"
Irelia's heart raced as she looked down at LeBlanc, her mind racing as she tried to think of a response that would please the dark mage. "I-I'm sorry, mistress," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I'm just...I'm just so tired. I haven't had any food or water all day."
LeBlanc's lips curled into a sneer, her eyes glinting with cruel amusement. "Poor thing," she cooed, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Are you asking for a break, Irelia? Are you asking me to let you stop?"
Irelia's cheeks flushed with humiliation, her body tensing as she realized the implications of LeBlanc's words. "I-I...I don't know, mistress," she stammered, her voice trembling slightly. "I just...I just need a little break. Just a few minutes to rest and get something to eat and drink."
LeBlanc let out a harsh, bitter laugh, her eyes never leaving Irelia's face. "A break?" she repeated, her voice low and dangerous. "You want a break after just a few hours? Oh, Irelia. You really are a pathetic little whore, aren't you?"
Irelia's heart raced as she watched LeBlanc, her mind racing as she tried to think of a response that would please the dark mage. "I-I'm sorry, mistress," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I just...I just need a little rest."
LeBlanc's eyes narrowed, her gaze never leaving Irelia's face. "No," she said, her voice low and dangerous. "No breaks. No food. No water. You will keep going until I tell you to stop. Understood?"
Irelia's heart sank as she realized the gravity of the situation, her body aching and exhausted. But she knew that she had no choice. She had to please LeBlanc, no matter what it took.
With a deep breath, she started to move her hips again, her walls clenching around LeBlanc's cock as she began to ride her once more. But her body was reaching its limits, her exhaustion and hunger taking their toll.
As she rode LeBlanc, her mind began to wander, her thoughts growing hazy and confused. She could feel herself slipping away, her consciousness fading as her body continued to move on autopilot.
LeBlanc's fingers dug into Irelia's breasts, pinching her nipples hard as she thrust her hips up, burying her magic cock deeper into Irelia's sore pussy. "Don't you dare phase out on me, whore," she hissed, her voice low and dangerous. "Keep moving those hips. Keep taking my cock like the pathetic little slut you are."
Irelia's mind was hazy, her body moving on autopilot as she continued to ride LeBlanc, her pussy aching and raw from the constant friction. She could feel LeBlanc's fingers digging into her skin, her nails leaving angry red marks on her breasts.
But despite her exhaustion and pain, Irelia kept going, her hips moving in a slow, steady rhythm as she rode LeBlanc's cock. She could feel LeBlanc's stamina was seemingly unending, her thrusts as strong and powerful as they had been hours ago.
As Irelia's mind began to drift again, LeBlanc pinched her nipples harder, sending a jolt of pain through her body. "Stay with me, whore," she commanded, her voice cold and cruel. "Don't you dare pass out on me. I'm not done with you yet."
Irelia's body trembled as she fought to stay conscious, her hips moving slower and slower as her exhaustion grew. But she knew that she had to keep going, had to please LeBlanc no matter what. She could feel herself slipping away, her consciousness fading as her body continued to move on autopilot.
But every time she began to drift too far, LeBlanc would pinch her nipples or slap her ass, bringing her back to the present moment. And so Irelia kept going, her body aching and exhausted, her mind hazy and confused.
And all the while, LeBlanc watched her with cold, calculating eyes, her cruel smile never leaving her face. She was enjoying every moment of Irelia's suffering, reveling in her power over the young woman.
Irelia's body was weak and trembling as LeBlanc pulled her magic cock out of her sore, aching pussy. She was barely conscious, her mind hazy and confused as she tried to process what was happening.
But suddenly, LeBlanc grabbed her by the hips and flipped her over onto her stomach. Before Irelia could react, LeBlanc was pushing her magic cock into her asshole.
Irelia screamed in pain as LeBlanc's cock stretched her asshole, her body tensing up as she tried to push the intruder out. But LeBlanc was relentless, thrusting her hips forward and burying her cock deep inside Irelia's ass.
"Oh, you're so tight," LeBlanc groaned, her voice dripping with pleasure. "I'm going to enjoy fucking this ass."
Irelia's mind was hazy, her body overwhelmed with pain and exhaustion as LeBlanc continued to pound into her ass. She could feel her asshole stretching wider and wider, the pain almost unbearable.
But despite her pain, Irelia knew that she had no choice. She had to please LeBlanc, no matter what. So she gritted her teeth and tried to endure the pain, her body shaking with every thrust.
LeBlanc's hips moved faster and faster, her cock sliding in and out of Irelia's ass with ease. Irelia could feel her asshole stretching wider and wider, the pain growing more intense with each thrust.
But as LeBlanc's thrusts grew more forceful, Irelia began to feel a strange sensation building inside her. Despite the pain, she could feel her body beginning to respond to LeBlanc's touch.
Her nipples hardened, her clit throbbing with need. She could feel herself getting wet, her pussy aching for attention.
And as LeBlanc's cock continued to pound into her ass, Irelia could feel her orgasm building. Her body tensed, her muscles clenching around LeBlanc's cock as she rode the wave of pleasure.
With a final thrust, LeBlanc came hard, her cock pulsing as it shot its load deep into Irelia's ass. Irelia screamed in pleasure, her own orgasm crashing over her as she rode out the waves of ecstasy.
When Irelia regained consciousness, she found herself in a dimly lit room, her body aching and sore. She blinked several times, trying to get her bearings, and then realized that she was still in LeBlanc's bed.
And she was still being fucked by LeBlanc.
LeBlanc's magic cock was buried deep inside Irelia's ass, thrusting in and out with a steady rhythm. Irelia could feel her asshole stretching and contracting around the hard shaft, the pain almost unbearable.
She tried to move, to push LeBlanc away, but her body was weak and exhausted. She could barely even lift her head off the pillow.
"Ah, you're finally awake," LeBlanc purred, her voice low and seductive. "I was beginning to think you were going to sleep through the entire thing."
Irelia tried to speak, to ask LeBlanc what she was doing, but all that came out was a weak moan. Her throat was dry and parched, her mouth feeling like cotton.
LeBlanc leaned down, her breath hot against Irelia's ear. "Don't worry, pet," she whispered. "We're almost done. Just a little bit longer."
Irelia's eyes widened in horror as she realized what LeBlanc meant. She had been unconscious for hours, and LeBlanc had continued to fuck her without pause.
As LeBlanc's thrusts grew faster and more forceful, Irelia could feel her body beginning to respond again. Despite her exhaustion and pain, she could feel her clit throbbing with need, her pussy aching to be filled.
She tried to fight it, to resist the pleasure that LeBlanc was forcing on her, but it was no use. Her body betrayed her, her hips moving in time with LeBlanc's thrusts as she rode out another orgasm.
With a final thrust, LeBlanc came hard, her cock pulsing as it shot its load deep into Irelia's ass. Irelia screamed in pleasure, her own orgasm crashing over her as she rode out the waves of ecstasy.
As LeBlanc pulled out of her ass, Irelia collapsed onto the bed, her body shaking with exhaustion and pleasure. She could feel LeBlanc's cum leaking out of her ass, coating her thighs.
LeBlanc smiled down at Irelia, her eyes glinting with satisfaction. "There now, that wasn't so bad, was it?" she purred. "In fact, I think you quite enjoyed it."
Irelia didn't respond, her body too weak and exhausted to do anything but lie there. She closed her eyes, trying to block out the pain and humiliation, trying to forget what had happened.
LeBlanc's eyes narrowed as she looked down at Irelia, her voice cold and mocking. "You couldn't even handle a simple pounding?" she sneered. "Your only duty of the day was to be my cocksleeve, and you spent the afternoon unconscious? Pathetic."
Irelia's cheeks flushed with humiliation, her body aching and sore as she tried to push herself up off the bed. But her limbs felt like lead, her muscles weak and trembling.
"Tomorrow, you will do better," LeBlanc commanded, her voice leaving no room for argument. "And for that, I hope you are ready."
Irelia's heart sank as she realized what LeBlanc meant. She would have to endure this again, would have to be LeBlanc's plaything for another day.
But as she tried to respond, LeBlanc held up a hand, silencing her. "Enough," she said, her voice cold and dismissive. "You may leave my chambers now. I have no further use for you tonight."
Irelia's heart raced as she stumbled out of LeBlanc's bed, her body aching and exhausted. She could feel LeBlanc's cum still leaking out of her ass, coating her thighs.
As she made her way out of LeBlanc's chambers, Irelia couldn't help but feel a sense of dread. Tomorrow would be another day of torment, another day of being used and abused by LeBlanc.
Ahri returned to the château, her heart heavy with the knowledge of what awaited her. She had been gone for a week, sent on a mission by LeBlanc to test her loyalty and obedience.
And now, she was back, with a new captive in tow. Jinx, the loose cannon, the terror of Piltover, was handcuffed and in chains, her eyes blazing with defiance as Ahri led her into the château.
As they entered the grand hall, LeBlanc was waiting for them, her eyes glinting with satisfaction as she took in the sight of Jinx. "Ah, Ahri," she purred, her voice dripping with mock affection. "I see you've returned. And with a little present for me, I might add."
Ahri bowed her head, her eyes darting to Irelia, who was standing in the corner, looking like she had been through hell. Her clothes were tattered, her body bruised and battered, her eyes haunted.
"Ahri, you've done well," LeBlanc continued, her gaze never leaving Jinx. "Caitlyn and I have come to an arrangement. She owes me now, and I have no doubt that she will honor her debt."
Jinx scoffed, her eyes narrowing as she looked at LeBlanc. "Who the fuck are you?" she demanded, her voice laced with venom. "And what the hell do you think you're going to do with me?"
LeBlanc's lips curled into a cruel smile, her eyes glinting with malice. "I am LeBlanc," she said, her voice low and dangerous. "And as for what I'm going to do with you...well, let's just say that you're going to be my new plaything."
Jinx's eyes widened in horror as she realized what LeBlanc meant. "You're going to fuck me?" she spat, her voice laced with disgust. "You're going to fucking rape me?"
LeBlanc laughed, a cold, harsh sound that sent shivers down Ahri's spine. "Oh, Jinx," she purred, her voice dripping with mock sympathy. "You really are a naive little thing, aren't you? This isn't about rape. This is about power. About control. About owning you, body and soul."
Jinx's eyes blazed with fury, her body tensing as she struggled against her chains. "I'll never submit to you," she snarled, her voice low and dangerous. "I'll never be your fucking plaything."
LeBlanc's smile widened, her eyes glinting with cruel amusement. "We'll see about that," she said, her voice soft and seductive. "But for now, let's just say that you have a lot to learn. And I'm going to enjoy teaching you."
Ahri approached Irelia, her heart heavy with sympathy for the young woman. She could see the toll that the past week had taken on her, the bruises and cuts that marred her skin, the haunted look in her eyes.
"I did a good job, didn't I?" Irelia whispered, her voice barely audible. "I did what LeBlanc asked of me."
Ahri nodded, her eyes soft with understanding. "You did," she said, her voice gentle. "And for that, you deserve a rest. LeBlanc has agreed to let you have the full week off. You can recover, regain your strength."
Irelia's eyes widened in surprise, a flicker of hope shining through the despair. "A week off?" she repeated, her voice trembling slightly. "Really?"
Ahri nodded again, a small smile playing at the corners of her lips. "Really," she confirmed. "And after that, you can return to your normal duties. Attending to the clients, keeping the château running smoothly."
Irelia's shoulders slumped in relief, her body sagging as the tension drained out of her. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice choked with emotion. "Thank you, Ahri."
Ahri reached out, placing a gentle hand on Irelia's shoulder. "You don't have to thank me," she said, her voice soft. "I'm just glad that you can have a little break. You deserve it, after everything you've been through."
Irelia nodded, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "I do," she agreed, her voice barely above a whisper. "I really do."
As Ahri turned to leave, she couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt. She knew that Irelia's rest would be short-lived, that she would have to return to her duties all too soon.
But for now, at least, she could have a little peace. A little respite from the horrors of the château.
Ahri entered LeBlanc's chambers, her heart heavy with trepidation. She could see Jinx lying on the bed, completely wrapped up in chains, her body trembling as multiple vibrators buzzed inside her holes.
LeBlanc was standing over her, a cruel smile playing at the corners of her lips. "Just a warmup," she purred, her eyes glinting with malice. "Jinx has a lot to learn, and I'm going to enjoy teaching her."
Ahri's stomach churned as she watched LeBlanc, her mind racing with thoughts of Irelia. She had been so relieved to hear that the young woman would have a week off, but now, she couldn't help but wonder if it was just a cruel trick.
As if reading her thoughts, LeBlanc turned to Ahri, her eyes narrowing. "I must say, I'm impressed with Irelia," she said, her voice low and dangerous. "I didn't think she would last more than a couple of days under my service. But she proved me wrong. She's stronger than I gave her credit for."
Ahri's heart trembled as she listened to LeBlanc, her mind racing with questions. Was LeBlanc going to replace her with Irelia? Was she going to be cast aside, discarded like a used toy?
She took a deep breath, steeling herself for the worst. "Are you going to be replacing me then?" she asked, her voice steady despite the fear that coursed through her veins.
LeBlanc laughed, a cold, harsh sound that sent shivers down Ahri's spine. "Replace you?" she repeated, her eyes glinting with cruel amusement. "Oh, Ahri. You really do amuse me sometimes. No, I'm not going to be replacing you. In fact, you passed the test."
Ahri's eyes widened in surprise, her heart pounding in her chest. "The test?" she repeated, her voice barely above a whisper. "what does bringing this bitch to you tested?."
LeBlanc shook her head, her lips curling into a sneer. "No, Ahri," she said, her voice low and dangerous. "The test was never about bringing Jinx to me. The test was about loyalty. About obedience. About proving that you were willing to do whatever it takes to keep your place."
Ahri is dumbfounded "I don't Understand what you mean, Madam" But LeBlanc only smirks and laughs. "You betrayed Irelia, my dear, you choose her to teach her a lesson, and the best part, is that she still considers you a friend" Leblanc replies.
Ahri's eyes widened as she listened to LeBlanc, her heart racing as the truth of her words sank in. "No," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "No, that's not true. I didn't...I didn't choose Irelia for that reason."
LeBlanc turned to face Ahri, her eyes glinting with cruel amusement. "Oh, but you did," she purred, her voice low and dangerous. "You chose Irelia because she was the biggest threat to you. The one with the most clients, the most friends among the other girls. The most competent, the most well-liked."
Ahri's breath caught in her throat as LeBlanc spoke, her mind racing as she tried to deny the truth of her words. But deep down, she knew that LeBlanc was right.
"Irelia was a threat to you," LeBlanc continued, her voice soft and seductive. "And you took the opportunity to teach her a lesson. To show her what happens when she dares to challenge you. To make sure that she never wants to take your place again."
Ahri's heart pounded in her chest as she listened to LeBlanc, her mind reeling with the implications of her words. She had chosen Irelia as her replacement not because she was the best choice for the job, but because she was a threat to Ahri's position.
And now, LeBlanc knew the truth. She knew that Ahri had been using Irelia, manipulating her for her own gain.
But as she looked into LeBlanc's eyes, Ahri saw something else there. Something that looked almost like...admiration?
Ahri's breath caught in her throat as LeBlanc reached out, running a finger along her jawline. "You're a clever one, Ahri," she purred, her voice soft and seductive. "You've managed to keep your position, to secure your power. And you did it all while pretending to be Irelia's friend."
Ahri's heart raced as LeBlanc's words sank in, a slow smile spreading across her face. "It's true," she whispered, her voice barely above a breath. "I did it all for me. For my own gain."
LeBlanc's smile widened, her eyes glinting with approval. "And nobody will want take your place now," she said, her voice low and dangerous. "Not Irelia. Not anyone."
Ahri's heart swelled with pride as she embraced LeBlanc from behind, her body pressing against the other woman's as she whispered in her ear. "Nobody will ever take my place," she agreed, her voice filled with confidence and power. "I am the true queen of this château. And I always will be."
Chapter 3: Sivir's Descent
Notes:
This chapter contains watersports/golden shower fetish. if that's not your thing, i recommend you to skip it. Ye be warned
Chapter Text
As the night wore on at the Château, Sivir found herself growing increasingly restless and bored. The usual excitement and energy that filled the air was noticeably absent, replaced by a sense of listlessness and apathy that hung over the room like a thick fog.
Sivir sighed and took a long sip of her martini, the alcohol doing little to dull the edge of her irritation. She glanced around the room, taking in the various scenes playing out before her.
Qiyana was sprawled out on a nearby sofa, her legs spread wide as two men took turns fingering her and spanking her ass. She let out a series of loud, exaggerated moans, her eyes rolling back in her head as she feigned pleasure. Sivir rolled her eyes, amused by Qiyana's over-the-top performance. It was clear that she was putting on a show for the men, hoping to entice them to spend more money on drinks and private dances.
Across the room, Seraphine and Sona were on stage, grinding and gyrating against each other as they "sang" a duet. Their voices were barely audible over the thumping bass of the music, and their movements were more focused on teasing and titillating the audience than on actual singing. As they stripped off each other's clothes, the men in the crowd hooted and hollered, throwing money onto the stage.
Katarina and Ashe were working the room, their eyes scanning for potential clients who might be interested in a private room. They moved from group to group, their voices low and seductive as they offered drinks and promised "special services" if the men were willing to pay extra.
Sivir watched them work, her lips curling into a smirk. She knew the game all too well. Offer just enough to get the men interested, but hold back until they were ready to pay top dollar. It was a delicate balance, one that required skill and finesse.
As her gaze swept over the room, Sivir caught sight of Samira entering the main area. The other Shuriman woman waved and made her way over to Sivir's table, a satisfied grin on her face.
"Hey, Sivir," Samira said, sliding into the seat beside her. "Just finished up with a client. Let me guess, it's been a slow night for you?"
Sivir raised her glass in a mock toast. "You know it," she said, her voice dripping with disdain. "Nothing but a bunch of cheapskates and wannabe players. I haven't had a decent client this week"
Sivir sighed heavily, running a hand through her hair as she leaned back in her chair. "I don't know what's wrong with me, Samira," she said, her voice laced with frustration. "I'm losing my touch. I used to have men falling at my feet, begging for a chance to spend time with me. Now, I'm lucky if I get a second glance."
Samira nodded sympathetically, reaching out to give Sivir's hand a reassuring squeeze. "I know what you mean," she said. "It's been a while since I've had a really good night too. But don't worry, Sivir, you're still beautiful. It's just a dry spell, that's all."
Sivir snorted, taking another sip of her martini. "A dry spell? Is that what you call it? Because from where I'm sitting, it feels more like a fucking drought. And you know LeBlanc doesn't like freeloaders. If I don't start bringing in more money soon, she's going to have my head."
Samira's expression turned serious, her eyes narrowing as she looked around the room. "I heard Ahri talking to some of the other girls earlier," she said, her voice low. "She said LeBlanc is getting impatient. She's been making threats, talking about 'cleaning house' and getting rid of anyone who isn't pulling their weight."
Sivir felt a chill run down her spine at Samira's words. She knew all too well what LeBlanc was capable of, the lengths she would go to in order to maintain her power and control over the Château. If she decided that Sivir was no longer useful, there was no telling what she might do.
"I can't let that happen," Sivir said, her voice firm with determination. "I'll be damned if I let some two-bit whore like LeBlanc throw me away." Sivir watched as a man in dark robes approached her, his face obscured by the shadows of his hood. She knew that she had to take this chance, had to prove to Ahri and LeBlanc that she was still valuable.
"Hello there," she purred, her voice low and seductive as she rose from her seat. "Looking for a little...company tonight?"
The man nodded, his eyes fixed on Sivir's body as he took in her curves. "Indeed," he said, his voice muffled by the fabric of his hood. "You are quite the beauty, aren't you?"
Sivir felt a flush of pride at his words, a small smile playing at the corners of her lips. "Why thank you," she said, her voice dripping with honey. "And what can I do for you tonight? I'm sure we can find something to...suit your tastes."
The man hesitated for a moment, his gaze flicking away from Sivir's body to the floor. "The things that I want...they're not very popular with the girls here," he said, his voice soft and hesitant. "I don't want to make you uncomfortable."
Sivir's heart raced as she listened to his words, a flicker of fear and excitement coursing through her veins. She knew that she had to take this chance, had to prove that she was willing to do whatever it took to please a client.
"As long as there is a...compensation," she said, her voice low and sultry, "I'm willing to consider any...whims."
The man seemed to consider her words for a moment, his eyes narrowing as he studied her face. "Very well," he said, his voice firm with conviction. "But there is something you should know first."
He reached up, pulling back his hood to reveal a face that was...less than handsome. His skin was mottled and disfigured, his features twisted and misshapen by some unseen force.
"I am Trundle," he said, his voice soft but steady despite the ugliness of his face. "The magic from the war has left me...deformed. I hope that's not a problem for you."
Sivir's stomach churned as she looked at his face, her mind racing with revulsion and disgust. But she knew that she couldn't show it, couldn't let him see how much he repulsed her.
So instead, she reached out, her hand cupping his cheek as she forced a smile to her lips. "Oh, Trundle," she cooed, her voice soft and sweet. "I can see how beautiful you are on the inside. Your heart is what matters, isn't it?" Trundle laughs at sivir compliment, but he asks her to go somewhere more... private. Sivir led Trundle through the Château, her heart pounding in her chest as she tried to maintain her composure. She knew that she had to be careful, had to play her cards right if she wanted to please him and prove herself to Ahri and LeBlanc.
As they entered the Roman baths, one of the best spaces of the Château, Sivir felt a wave of relief wash over her. The warm vapor filled the room, making it feel cozy and inviting. In the center of the room, a small pool of hot water awaited them, the perfect setting for a sensual encounter.
"Isn't this lovely?" Sivir purred, her voice low and seductive as she turned to face Trundle. "LeBlanc's Château has the best Roman baths for our patrons."
Trundle nodded, his eyes scanning the room with a critical gaze. "Indeed," he said, his voice soft but firm. "I've heard tales of these baths, but I must admit, they are even more impressive in person."
Sivir felt a flush of pride at his words, a small smile playing at the corners of her lips. "I'm glad you like them," she said, her voice dripping with honey. "Now, why don't we get comfortable?"
With that, Sivir began to undress, her movements slow and sensual as she peeled off her clothes. She could feel Trundle's eyes on her, watching her every move with a hungry gaze.
As she stepped into the pool, the warm water enveloping her body, Sivir felt a sense of relief wash over her. This was her element, her domain. She knew how to please a man, how to make him feel like a king.
"Come join me," she purred, her voice low and inviting as she beckoned to Trundle. "The water is perfect."
Trundle hesitated for a moment, his gaze flicking to the pool and then back to Sivir. But then, with a determined nod, he began to undress as well. But as she looked at his ugly face, his twisted features, she felt a sense of revulsion wash over her. How could she possibly find pleasure in this? How could she make him feel like a king when he looked like a monster? Sivir took a deep breath, steeling herself for what was to come. Sivir reached out, her hand cupping Trundle's cheek as she forced herself to look into his eyes. "Now," she purred, her voice low and seductive. "Let's make this a night to remember."
Sivir began to move against Trundle, her body pressing against his as she felt his cock hardening beneath the water. As she moved, she felt a spark of excitement ignite within her. This was her job, her purpose. She was a courtesan, a mistress of pleasure. And she knew how to make a man feel good, no matter what he looked like. With a determined smile, Sivir reached down, her hand wrapping around Trundle's cock as she began to stroke him beneath the water. She could feel him growing harder, his body tensing with pleasure as she worked her magic.
"Mmm, you like that, don't you?" she purred, her voice low and seductive as she looked into his eyes. "You like the way I touch you, the way I make you feel?"
Trundle nodded, his breath coming in ragged gasps as Sivir continued to stroke him. "Yes," he groaned, his voice thick with desire. "Don't stop, Sivir. Please, don't stop."
Sivir felt a surge of power course through her veins as she heard his words, a sense of satisfaction washing over her. She knew that she had him now, that she could make him do anything she wanted.
So with a wicked smile, Sivir released his cock, her hand moving to cup his balls as she leaned in close. "I have a secret," she whispered, her voice low and sultry. "I like it rough. I like it hard. Can you give that to me, Trundle? Can you fuck me like you mean it?"
Trundle's eyes widened at her words, a flicker of surprise and excitement passing through them. "Yes," he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "I can give you anything you want, Sivir. Anything at all."
With that, he grabbed her hips, pulling her against him as he thrust into her, his cock sliding deep into her pussy. Sivir gasped, her body tensing with pleasure as she felt him fill her, his cock stretching her walls as he began to fuck her hard and fast.
"Oh fuck," she moaned, her voice thick with desire as she wrapped her legs around his waist. "Yes, Trundle. Just like that. Fuck me hard. Make me scream."
Trundle grunted, his hands gripping her ass as he pounded into her, his cock slamming into her pussy with a force that made her head spin. Sivir could feel the pleasure building inside her, her body tensing as she neared the edge.
"Oh god," she gasped, her nails digging into his back as she clung to him. "I'm going to come. I'm going to come so hard."
Trundle growled, his thrusts becoming even more powerful as he felt her body tense around him. "Come for me, Sivir," he commanded, his voice low and dangerous. "Come all over my cock. Show me how much you love it."
And with that, Sivir shattered, her body convulsing with pleasure as she came hard, her pussy clenching around Trundle's cock as she screamed his name. Trundle groaned, his own release following close behind as he filled her with his hot cum, his body shaking with the force of his orgasm. "So," she purred, her voice low and sultry as she traced a finger along his chest. "Did I service you right, Trundle? Did I make you feel good?"
Trundle nodded, a slow smile spreading across his face. "Indeed, you did," he said, his voice thick with satisfaction. "You really know how to please a man, Sivir. But I must admit, I'm looking for something more...taboo."
Sivir's heart raced as she heard his words, a mix of excitement and fear coursing through her veins. "Taboo?" she echoed, her voice barely above a whisper. "What do you mean?"
Trundle's smile widened, a wicked glint in his eyes. "I would be willing to give you a very generous tip," he said, his voice low and dangerous, "if you would allow me to...pee over you."
Sivir's eyes widened at his words, her mind spinning with shock and disgust. "What?" she gasped, her voice trembling slightly. "You want to...pee on me?"
Trundle nodded, his gaze never leaving hers. "It's a fetish of mine," he admitted, his voice soft but firm. "I find great pleasure in marking my territory, so to speak. And I would be more than happy to compensate you for the...privilege."
Sivir felt a wave of revulsion wash over her at his words, her stomach churning with disgust. She had never heard of such a thing before, never imagined that someone would want to do something so degrading and humiliating. She took a deep breath, steeling herself for what was to come. She had to please Trundle if she wanted to make more money and prove herself. So with a determined nod, she began to suck his cock again, her mouth working over his shaft as she coaxed him back to hardness.
As he grew stiff in her mouth, Sivir felt a flicker of unease, a sense of dread washing over her. But she pushed it aside, focusing instead on the task at hand. She had to do this, had to see it through.
With a final suck, Sivir released Trundle's cock, her mouth wet with saliva as she looked up at him. "I'm ready," she said, her voice firm despite the fear that still lingered in her heart.
Trundle smiled, a wicked glint in his eyes as he positioned himself above her. "Good girl," he purred, his voice low and dangerous. "Now, let's see how well you take my mark."
And with that, he began to piss, a long stream of hot liquid pouring over Sivir's naked body. She gasped, her eyes widening in shock as she felt the warm fluid hit her skin, the sensation both humiliating and degrading.
Trundle moved the stream, aiming it at her breasts and navel, marking her as his own. Sivir bit her lip, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to spill from her eyes as she lay there, helpless and exposed.
It felt like forever, the hot liquid pouring over her skin, soaking into her hair and coating her body in a thin layer of urine. But finally, Trundle finished, his cock twitching as he released the last few drops.
"Mmm, you look good like that," he purred, his gaze roving over her piss-soaked body. "Marked and claimed, just for me."
Sivir didn't respond, her mind still reeling from the humiliation of what had just happened. As she lay there, the stench of urine filling her nostrils, Sivir couldn't help but feel a sense of emptiness, a void where her pride and dignity used to be. She had sold herself, had debased herself for the sake of money and power. And she wasn't sure if she would ever be able to look at herself the same way again.
Sivir looked up at Trundle, her body still reeling from the humiliation and degradation of what had just happened. But she pushed the thought aside, focusing instead on the bag of coins he had just handed her.
"500.000 coins," she murmured, her eyes widening in surprise. "You certainly know how to show a girl a good time, don't you?"
Trundle chuckled, a wicked glint in his eyes. "Indeed, I do," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "And I must say, Sivir, you have pleased me greatly. You took my mark like a good girl, let me claim you and degrade you for my own pleasure."
Sivir felt a flush of pride at his words, despite the humiliation that still lingered in her heart. She had done it, she had pleased him and proven herself to Ahri and LeBlanc.
"Thank you, Trundle," she said, her voice faltering. "It was...an experience, to say the least. One I won't soon forget."
Trundle smiled, his gaze softening slightly as he looked at her. "The pleasure was all mine, Sivir," he said, his voice soft and sincere. "And if you don't mind, I would be more than happy to recommend you to some of my...friends. They share my interests, and I have no doubt that you would be a perfect fit for their particular tastes."
Sivir hesitated for a moment, a flicker of unease passing through her. The thought of being passed around to other men, being used and degraded for their own twisted pleasure, made her stomach churn with dread.
But then she looked at the bag of coins in her hand, at the promise of more money and power. And she knew that she had no choice, that she had to take whatever opportunities came her way if she wanted to survive in this cruel world.
"Thank you, Trundle," she said, her voice firm with determination. "I'm sure I can...adapt to their particular tastes, just as I adapted to yours."
Trundle nodded, a slow smile spreading across his face. "I thought you might say that," he said, his voice thick with satisfaction. "I have no doubt that you will be a great addition to our little...family."
With that, he turned to leave, his robes billowing behind him as he disappeared into the shadows. Sivir watched him go, her heart heavy with a mix of disgust and fear.
Sivir spent what felt like hours scrubbing the urine from her skin, the acrid smell lingering in her nostrils even as she tried to wash it away. She felt dirty, degraded, like she would never be clean again.
But finally, after what felt like an eternity, she emerged from the bath, her skin pink and raw from the scrubbing. She wrapped a towel around herself, her mind still reeling from the events of the night.
As she made her way to the dining room, she could hear the chatter of the other girls, their voices filled with laughter and excitement. But as she entered the room, the laughter died down, replaced by a heavy silence.
Sivir looked up, her gaze meeting Seraphine's. The young singer was smirking at her, her eyes filled with a cruel amusement.
"Well, well, well," Seraphine purred, her voice dripping with mockery. "Look who decided to join us. The queen of the Château herself."
Sivir felt a flush of anger at her words, but she pushed it aside, determined to maintain her composure. "Good evening, Seraphine," she said, her voice cool and collected. "I trust you've had a pleasant night?"
Seraphine scoffed, her gaze flicking over Sivir's body with a critical eye. "Pleasant? I suppose it's pleasant enough, if you enjoy being the only one who can't seem to keep a client's attention."
Sivir felt a flicker of unease at her words, a sense of dread washing over her. But she refused to let it show, instead forcing a smile to her lips. "Oh, I don't know about that," she said, her voice light and airy. "I had a very...satisfying night, in fact."
She reached into her towel, pulling out the bag of coins that Trundle had given her. She held it up, letting the other girls see the generous tip inside.
"500.000 coins," she said, her voice filled with pride. "I'd say that's a pretty good night's work, wouldn't you?"
The other girls gasped, their eyes widening in shock as they took in the sight of the coins. Even Seraphine looked impressed, her smirk fading slightly as she studied the bag in Sivir's hand.
"500k?" she echoed, her voice filled with disbelief. "What did you do to that man, Sivir? Rob a bank?"
Sivir laughed, a light and airy sound that belied the turmoil in her heart. "Oh, Seraphine," she said, her voice filled with mock sympathy. "You really should learn to appreciate the true beauty of men. It's not their faces that matter, but their wallets."
The other girls nodded in agreement, their eyes still fixed on the bag of coins in Sivir's hand. But none of them had ever seen her with such a generous tip before. It was clear that whatever she had done to Trundle, it had been worth every coin.
"Seriously though, Sivir," one of the girls said, her voice filled with curiosity. "What did you do to that man? He must have been really desperate to pay you that much."
Sivir felt a flicker of unease at the question, a sense of dread washing over her as she remembered the humiliation and degradation of her night with Trundle. But she pushed it aside, determined to maintain her composure. She shrugged, a nonchalant smile playing at the corners of her lips. "Oh, you know," she said, her voice light and airy. "The usual. A little bit of this, a little bit of that."
Ahri's touch was firm and reassuring as she placed her hand on Sivir's shoulder, her eyes filled with a mix of pride and approval. "You've still got it, Sivir," she said, her voice low and smooth. "I knew you had it in you to please even the most difficult of clients."
Sivir felt a flush of gratitude at her words, a sense of relief washing over her. She had been so worried that her nights at the Château were coming to an end, that she was losing her touch and her appeal. But Ahri's words, and the generous tip in her hand, proved that she was still a valuable commodity.
"Thank you, Ahri," she said, her voice soft with emotion. "That means a lot to me. I was starting to worry that I was losing my edge."
Ahri shook her head, a small smile playing at the corners of her lips. "Never," she said, her voice firm with conviction. "You're one of the best, Sivir. And LeBlanc knows it. If you keep making money like this, she's going to be very pleased indeed."
Sivir and Samira made their way through the opulent halls of the Château, their footsteps echoing off the marble floors. Sivir was wrapped in nothing but a thin towel, her skin still a bit flushed from her recent encounter with the strange Frejlord man. She walked with her head down, trying to avoid eye contact with the other women and clients milling about.
Samira stayed close by her side, her expression one of concern. "Hey, are you sure you're okay?" she asked softly, her hand brushing against Sivir's arm. "That guy looked kind of...unusual. Did everything go alright in there?"
Sivir forced a weak smile, not meeting Samira's gaze. "I'm fine," she said, her voice strained. "He was just a bit...eccentric. Nothing I couldn't handle."
But as she unlocked the door to her private room and stepped inside, Sivir could no longer contain the tears that had been welling up inside her. They streamed down her cheeks as she collapsed onto the plush bed, her body shaking with silent sobs.
Samira quickly followed, closing the door behind her and rushing to Sivir's side. "Oh, Sivir," she said, wrapping her arms around her friend and pulling her close. "Talk to me, honey. What happened?"
Sivir buried her face in Samira's shoulder, her tears soaking into the fabric of her dress. "I can't...I can't talk about it," she choked out between sobs. "It was too much. Too degrading. I feel so filthy."
Samira's heart broke for her friend, her own eyes stinging with unshed tears. She knew all too well the toll that some of these encounters could take, the way they could leave a person feeling used and dirty, no matter how much money they made.
"Shh, it's okay," Samira murmured, stroking Sivir's hair as she held her close. "You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to. But I'm here for you, always. I'll never let anyone hurt you, I promise."
Sivir clutched at Samira, her fingers digging into the fabric of her dress as she tried to anchor herself. "I don't know what I would do without you," she whispered, her voice breaking. "You're the only one who understands what it's like. The only one who knows the real me."
Samira smiled sadly, her hand moving from Sivir's hair to cup her cheek. "I do know you," she said softly. "And I love you, no matter what. You're my best friend, Sivir. I'd do anything for you."
As if on instinct, Samira leaned in and pressed her lips to Sivir's in a gentle, comforting kiss. At first, Sivir was too lost in her own misery to respond, but slowly, she felt herself melting into Samira's embrace, returning the kiss with a soft sigh.
Samira pulled back, her eyes searching Sivir's face. "Let me take care of you," she whispered, her hands moving to the ties of Sivir's towel. "I want to make you feel better, Sivir. I want to make all the bad memories go away."
Sivir nodded, her breath hitching in her throat as Samira untied the towel and let it fall to the floor. She shivered as the cool air hit her skin, goosebumps rising on her flesh. But then Samira's hands were on her, warm and soft, cupping the swell of her breasts as she bent to take one rosy nipple into her mouth.
Samira's hands roamed over Sivir's body as she lay back on the plush bed, her touch gentle and soothing as she tried to erase the lingering pain and shame from her friend's encounter. She could feel Sivir starting to relax under her ministrations, the tension slowly draining from her muscles as she lost herself in the sensation.
Sivir's breath hitched as Samira's fingers dipped between her thighs, stroking and teasing her most sensitive spots. She spread her legs wider, granting her friend access to her aching, needy core. Samira took her time, building the pleasure slowly, until Sivir was writhing beneath her, her hips bucking up to meet her touch.
"Please, Samira," Sivir gasped, her voice thick with need. "I need more."
Samira smiled, her eyes dark with desire as she looked down at her friend. "I've got you, babe," she purred, her fingers slipping inside Sivir's slick heat. "Just relax and let me make you feel good."
They moved together in a sensual dance, their bodies fitting together like two puzzle pieces that had finally found their match. Samira's touch was magic, sending shockwaves of pleasure ricocheting through Sivir's body with every stroke and caress.
As the pleasure built to a fever pitch, Samira shifted positions, moving to straddle Sivir's face. "I want your mouth on me," she breathed, her voice heavy with need. "I want to feel your tongue inside me, Sivir. Please."
Sivir didn't hesitate, her desire overriding any lingering doubts or reservations. She parted Samira's thighs, inhaling the intoxicating scent of her arousal before diving in, her tongue delving deep into Samira's dripping core.
At first, everything was as it should be - the heady taste of Samira's desire, the way her hips bucked and twitched as Sivir's tongue worked its magic. But then, just as Sivir was lost in the throes of passion, she tasted something else. Something faint, but unmistakable.
Urine.
For a moment, Sivir froze, her tongue still buried deep in Samira's folds. She couldn't be sure if it was real, or if her mind was playing tricks on her, conjuring up the taste of something so vile and disgusting in the midst of such intimate pleasure.
But Samira was lost in her own world, her head thrown back in ecstasy as she ground her hips against Sivir's face. She couldn't see the hesitation in Sivir's eyes, the way her brow furrowed as she tried to process what she was tasting.
So Sivir pushed on, telling herself it was just a trick of her mind, a figment of her overactive imagination. She focused on Samira's pleasure, on the way her friend's thighs quivered and clenched around her head as she brought her closer and closer to the edge.
And as Samira came undone, crying out Sivir's name as her orgasm crashed over her, Sivir felt something shift inside her. The disgust she had felt at first was slowly being replaced by something else entirely - a hunger, a craving that she had never known before.
She lapped at Samira's essence as it gushed from her, savoring the taste on her tongue. It was sweet and tangy, with an underlying flavor that made Sivir's mouth water and her pussy clench with need.
Samira's body trembled with the aftershocks of her intense orgasm, her skin glistening with a sheen of sweat as she tried to catch her breath. She looked down at Sivir, her eyes hazy with satisfaction and a deep, primal hunger.
"Fuck, Sivir," she panted, her voice low and rough. "That was...incredible. I've never felt anything like that before."
Sivir smiled up at her, a wicked glint in her eye as she licked her lips, savoring the last traces of Samira's essence. "I'm glad you enjoyed it," she purred, her fingers tracing idle patterns on Samira's thigh. "But I'm not done with you yet, my dear. Not by a long shot."
Samira's eyes widened as Sivir started to move back between her legs, her tongue darting out to tease at her still-sensitive folds. "Sivir, wait," she gasped, trying to push at her friend's shoulders. "I'm too sensitive. I can't take anymore."
But Sivir was relentless, her desire overriding any protests from Samira. She gripped her friend's thighs, holding her in place as she lapped and suckled at her pussy, coaxing out every last drop of her pleasure.
Samira threw her head back, a low moan tearing from her throat as the sensations became too intense to bear. "Fuck, Sivir," she whimpered, her fingers tangling in Sivir's hair. "It's too much. I can't...I can't..."
But Sivir didn't let up, her tongue delving deeper, probing and stroking until Samira was writhing beneath her, her body shaking with the force of her release.
As Samira came down from her high, Sivir finally pulled back, a satisfied smirk on her face. "You taste so fucking good," she murmured, her voice thick with desire. "I could eat your pussy for hours and never get enough."
Samira could only nod, her brain too scrambled to form a coherent response. She had never experienced anything like this before - the intensity, the all-consuming pleasure that seemed to radiate from her core and spread out to every nerve ending in her body.
As they lay tangled together, Samira turned to face Sivir, her hand cupping her cheek as she gazed into her eyes. "That was the best pussy eating I've ever had in my life," she said softly, her voice filled with awe. "You're fucking incredible, Sivir. I don't know how you do it."
Samira stretched languidly, her muscles loose and relaxed after the intense session with Sivir. "I should probably use your bathroom before I head back to my room," she said, sitting up and reaching for her discarded clothes.
Sivir nodded, a lazy smile playing on her lips. "Go ahead, babe," she said, waving towards the en suite bathroom off to the side of the room. "I think there's still some toilet paper in there."
Samira thanked her and padded naked across the plush carpet, disappearing into the bathroom. Sivir lay back on the bed, her mind still reeling from the taste of Samira's essence, the way it had lingered on her tongue long after she had finished.
She couldn't quite explain the strange hunger that had risen up inside her, the way her body had reacted to the taste of Samira's arousal mixed with something...else. As she lay there, lost in thought, she heard the sound of liquid splashing against ceramic from the bathroom. Curiosity got the better of her, and she quietly slipped out of bed, moving silently across the room to press her ear against the door.
At first, she couldn't quite make out what the sound was. But as she listened closer, realization dawned on her. Samira was peeing, the stream of liquid hitting the toilet bowl in a steady, rhythmic flow.
Sivir's heart began to race, a strange thrill running through her as she listened. She knew it was wrong, that she shouldn't be eavesdropping on her friend in such an intimate moment. But the taboo nature of it only seemed to fuel her desire, making her pussy clench and throb with need. she heard the toilet flush and the sound of water running as Samira washed her hands. A moment later, the bathroom door swung open and Samira emerged, a look of satisfaction on her face.
"There, that's better," she said, smiling at Sivir as she walked back over to the bed. Sivir laughed, trying to ignore the way her heart was pounding in her chest, the way her pussy was still throbbing with need. "Glad I could help," she said, her voice sounding strained to her own ears.
Samira started to gather up her clothes, pulling on her panties and bra before reaching for her dress. "I should probably get going," she said, glancing over at the clock on the nightstand. "It's getting late, and I have an early start tomorrow."
Sivir nodded, sitting up and stretching her arms above her head. "Yeah, me too," she said, yawning. "But I had a really good time tonight, Samira. I'm glad we could...catch up."
Samira grinned, leaning down to press a quick kiss to Sivir's lips. "Me too, babe," she said softly. "We should do this more often"
The night was young, but the Château was already filled with the sounds of pleasure and debauchery. Sivir moved through the halls, her heels clicking against the marble floor as she made her way to the main parlor.
As she entered the room, she saw that it was already filled with men, their eyes roving over the girls who lounged on the velvet couches and plush chairs. But as she scanned the room, she felt a flicker of unease as her eyes landed on a familiar figure. Trundle stood in the corner, a glass of wine in his hand as he surveyed the room with a critical eye. He was flanked by two other men, one a large, burly figure with a thick beard and a wild look in his eye, the other a tall, lean man with a scar running down his cheek.
Sivir felt her heart race as she approached them, a sense of dread washing over her. She knew that Trundle was not a man to be trifled with, and she had no doubt that his companions were just as weird.
"Trundle," she said, her voice cool and collected as she reached them. "I'm surprised to see you here again so soon. I trust you're enjoying the Château's...hospitality?"
Trundle smiled, a wicked glint in his eyes as he looked her up and down. "Indeed, I am," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "And I thought it was time to share the experience with some friends."
He gestured to the men beside him. "This is Gragas," he said, indicating the burly man. "And Tryndamere. They are...men of similar tastes to myself."
Sivir felt a flicker of unease at his words, a sense of dread washing over her. She knew that Trundle's "tastes" were far from vanilla, and she had no doubt that his friends shared his depravity. But she pushed the thought aside, determined to maintain her composure. "Well, I'm sure they'll find the Château...stimulating," she said, her voice light and airy. "What can I do for you gentlemen tonight?"
Trundle's smile widened, a look of approval in his eyes as he studied her face. "I think we'd all like a private...meeting with you, Sivir," he said, his voice low and filled with promise. "We have some...special requests that we think you're more than capable of fulfilling."
Sivir felt her heart race at his words, a sense of anticipation washing over her. She knew that whatever Trundle and his friends had in mind, it would be degrading. With a reluctant nod, Sivir turned to lead them to one of the private rooms, her heart pounding in her chest as she anticipated the night ahead. She knew that it would push her to the very limits of her endurance.
Sivir led the three men down the hallway, her heels clicking against the marble floor as she walked. She could feel their eyes on her, roving over her body with a hungry intensity that made her skin prickle with anticipation. As they entered the bathroom, Sivir felt a flicker of unease. But she pushed the thought aside, determined to maintain her composure. "I thought you gentlemen might appreciate a bit more...privacy," she said, her voice low and sultry as she turned to face them. "And what better place than the Château's private baths?"
Trundle smiled, a wicked glint in his eyes as he stepped forward, his gaze fixed on Sivir's face. "Indeed," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "I think we're going to have a lot of fun tonight, Sivir."
Gragas and Tryndamere exchanged a look, a look of anticipation and hunger in their eyes as they too stepped forward. Sivir felt a surge of adrenaline as she took in the sight of the three men, their eyes roving over her body with a predatory intensity that made her heart race.
"Well then," she said, her voice low and breathy as she began to undress. "Let's get started, shall we?" Sivir stepped into the steaming water, her body sinking into the warmth as she turned to face the three men. She could see the hunger in their eyes, the anticipation of what was to come.
With a sultry smile, Sivir sank to her knees in the water, the heat enveloping her as she knelt before the three men. She reached out, her hands trailing over their legs as she moved closer to their groins.
"Let me take care of you gentlemen," she purred, her voice low and seductive as she looked up at them through her lashes. "I want to make this a night you'll never forget."
With that, Sivir leaned forward, her mouth hovering just above their cocks as she began to lick and suck at the soft flesh. She could feel them growing hard in her mouth, their cocks swelling and lengthening as she worked them with her tongue.
Sivir moaned around their shafts, the vibrations traveling through their bodies as she took them deeper into her mouth. She could taste the saltiness of their skin, the musky scent of their arousal filling her nostrils as she worked.
"Fuck," Gragas groaned, his voice thick with pleasure as Sivir's tongue swirled around the head of his cock. "That feels so fucking good."
Tryndamere and Trundle grunted in agreement, their hands coming down to tangle in Sivir's hair as she continued to suck and lick at their cocks. She could feel them throbbing in her mouth, their hips rocking slightly as they fucked her face.
She sucked harder, her cheeks hollowing as she took them deeper into her throat. Drool dripped down her chin, coating their shafts in a glistening sheen as she worked. The wet, sloppy sounds of her sucking filled the room, mingling with the men's grunts and moans of pleasure.
"Fuck, Sivir," Trundle growled, his voice rough with lust. "You're such a dirty girl, aren't you? Sucking three cocks at once like a filthy slut." She could feel their cocks pulsing in her mouth, growing harder and thicker with each passing second. She knew they were getting close, their bodies tensing as they neared their release.
"Fuck, I'm going to cum," Gragas grunted, his voice strained with pleasure. "Fuck, Sivir, I'm going to fucking cum down your throat." Sivir moaned in encouragement, her tongue flicking over the sensitive underside of his shaft as she felt him throb and twitch in her mouth. She could taste the first salty drops of his pre-cum on her tongue, a sign that he was almost there. With a final, hard suck, Sivir felt Gragas stiffen, his cock pulsing as he shot his load down her throat. She swallowed it down greedily, relishing the taste of his hot, thick seed as it coated her tongue and slid down her throat.
Tryndamere and Trundle were close behind, their cocks throbbing and twitching as they neared their own releases. Sivir worked them harder, her head bobbing up and down their shafts as she coaxed out their pleasure. Sivir felt the warm, thick streams of cum splatter across her face as Trundle and Tryndamere both reached their peaks. Their seed painted her cheeks and lips, dripping down onto her chest as they groaned and grunted with pleasure. With a soft moan, Sivir pulled back, her lips slick with their combined releases. She reached down into the warm water of the pool, cupping some in her hands and splashing it across her face to clean off the sticky mess.
But before she could even catch her breath, she felt Trundle's hands on her hips, gripping them tightly as he positioned himself behind her. Sivir gasped as she felt the head of his cock press against her entrance, the heat of his flesh searing against her own.
"Oh, Trundle," she gasped, her voice breathy with anticipation. "You're so...eager tonight."
Trundle chuckled darkly, his hands sliding up her sides to cup her breasts as he pressed his cock harder against her. "You know I can never get enough of you, Sivir," he purred, his voice low and dangerous. "I want to feel your tight little cunt wrapped around my cock."
Sivir moaned as he pushed forward, his cock sliding into her with a smooth, steady motion. She could feel every inch of him filling her up, stretching her walls around his thick shaft.
As Trundle began to thrust into her, Sivir felt the other two men move in closer, their cocks already hardening again as they watched their friend fuck her. Gragas stepped forward, his cock bobbing in front of Sivir's face as he gripped her hair and pulled her towards him.
"Open up, Sivir," he growled, his voice rough with lust. "I'm not done with you yet."
Sivir parted her lips, letting Gragas slide his cock into her mouth as she sucked him hard and fast. She could taste the lingering traces of Trundle and Tryndamere's cum on her tongue, a reminder of the depravity of the night.
As she sucked Gragas, Sivir felt Tryndamere move behind her, his cock pressing against her ass. She moaned around Gragas's shaft as Tryndamere pushed into her, his cock sliding into her tight hole with a smooth, steady motion.
"Fuck, Sivir," Tryndamere groaned, his hands gripping her hips tightly as he began to thrust into her. "Your ass is so fucking tight. I'm going to fucking ruin you." Sivir could only moan in response, her mouth full of Gragas's cock as Tryndamere pounded into her from behind.
"Mmm, fuck," Gragas grunted, his voice strained with pleasure as Sivir worked his cock with her mouth. "You're such a dirty slut, taking three cocks at once like this. I bet you love being used like a fuck toy, don't you?" Sivir could only moan in response, the vibrations traveling through Gragas's cock as she sucked him harder and faster. but then, she felt something she had never felt before on her pussy. Sivir's eyes widened in shock as she felt the warm, pungent liquid gush into her most intimate places. The acrid scent of urine filled her nostrils as Trundle's stream of piss poured into her pussy, the heat of it searing against her sensitive walls.
"Oh god, no!" Sivir gasped, trying to pull away from Trundle's grip. "I didn't agree to that Trundle!"But before she could even finish her plea, Gragas's hand tightened in her hair, yanking her head back and forcing her mouth open. Sivir's eyes bulged as she saw the thick stream of piss arcing towards her face, the pungent liquid splattering across her cheeks and into her open mouth.
Sivir gagged and choked as the bitter, salty taste of Gragas's urine flooded her senses. She tried to turn her head away, to spit out the vile liquid, but Gragas held her firmly in place, forcing her to swallow every drop.
As Sivir struggled and choked, she felt Tryndamere's cock pull out of her ass, only to be replaced by a new, more intense sensation. Sivir's eyes widened in horror as she felt the hot, pungent stream of piss gush into her tight hole, the liquid burning her sensitive walls as it filled her up.
Sivir screamed, the sound muffled by Gragas's cock in her mouth and the stream of piss pouring down her throat. She thrashed and bucked, trying to escape the depraved assault on her body, but the three men held her firmly in place.
"Fuck, look at her face," Trundle laughed, his voice rough with cruel amusement. "She looks so fucking disgusting, covered in piss like a dirty toilet."
"She fucking loves it," Gragas growled, his cock still pumping piss into Sivir's mouth. "Don't you, you filthy slut? You love being used like a fucking urinal, don't you?"
Sivir could only whimper in response, her throat raw from the constant stream of piss pouring down it. She felt like she was drowning, like she was being suffocated by the vile liquid.
As the men finally finished their sick ritual, Sivir collapsed to the floor, her body shaking with sobs. She could feel the piss leaking out of her, running down her thighs and pooling beneath her on the tiles.
"Fuck, that was hot," Trundle said, his voice rough with satisfaction. "I knew you'd be into that, Sivir. You're such a filthy whore." She could only whimper in response, her body too weak and drained to even form words. She had never felt so used, so utterly degraded in all her life.
Sivir lay curled on the cold tile floor of the bath, her body shaking with sobs as the acrid scent of urine filled her nostrils. The warm, sticky liquid pooled around her, soaking into her hair and matting it to her face. She could feel it leaking from her most intimate places, dripping down her thighs and pooling beneath her.
The taste of piss and cum filled her mouth, making her gag and retch violently. Sivir heaved, her stomach convulsing as she emptied the vile contents down her throat. She gasped for air, her lungs burning with the acrid fumes.
As she lay there, shivering and retching, Sivir's mind reeled. She couldn't believe what had just happened, couldn't fathom how she had allowed herself to be degraded in such a disgusting, depraved way.
Sivir's eyes fell on the three bags of coins sitting on the floor beside her, each one filled with 500,000 gold pieces. The sight of the money made her stomach churn with a sickening mix of disgust and shame. She had sold herself for gold, had allowed these men to use her like a cheap whore, all for the promise of wealth and power.
With a sob, Sivir reached out and grabbed one of the bags, clutching it to her chest like a lifeline. She knew that this was what she had become, a pathetic creature who would do anything for money. She had sold her dignity, her self-respect, and her very humanity, all for the sake of keeping her place at the top of the Château.
Sivir closed her eyes, tears streaming down her face as she curled into a ball on the cold, hard floor. She knew that no matter how low she sank, no matter how much she degraded herself, she would never be able to escape the darkness that had consumed her. She was trapped, forever bound to a life of depravity and shame, all for the sake of her own selfish desires.
Sivir emerged from the bathroom, her body still shaking from the horrific experience she had just endured. She had scrubbed herself raw, trying desperately to wash away the stench of urine that clung to her skin like a second layer. But no matter how hard she scrubbed, she couldn't seem to fully rid herself of the acrid scent.
As she entered the common room, Sivir was greeted by the expectant faces of her fellow courtesans. They gathered around her, their eyes wide with curiosity as they waited for her to share the details of her encounter with the three men.
Sivir held up the three bags of gold, a forced smile on her face as she tried to mask the shame and disgust that churned in her gut. "Look at this," she said, her voice strained. "Those three men were more than happy with my...services."
The other girls gasped, their eyes widening at the sight of so much wealth. "Sivir, you must have done something truly incredible," one of them said, her voice filled with a mix of envy and admiration. "How did you manage to please them so much?"
Sivir forced a laugh, trying to deflect their questions. "Oh, you know, I just did what I always do," she said, waving her hand dismissively. "I made them feel good, made them forget all their troubles for a while."
But before she could say more, a small cough interrupted her. Sivir turned to see LeBlanc standing there, her eyes narrowed as she looked at Sivir with a mixture of disdain and suspicion.
"Ladies," LeBlanc said, her voice cold and cutting. "I just spoke with our esteemed guests, and they had nothing but praise for our dear Sivir here. They even went so far as to call her their 'Golden Mistress'."
Sivir felt a chill run down her spine at LeBlanc's words, the way she emphasized the title with such obvious malice. She could see the other girls exchange glances, their eyes filled with a mix of confusion and suspicion.
As LeBlanc stepped closer to Sivir, she reached out as if to shake her hand. But as she drew near, Sivir could see the look of disgust on her face, the way her nose wrinkled as she caught a whiff of the lingering scent of urine that still clung to Sivir's skin.
"My, my," LeBlanc said, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "Is that a new perfume you're wearing, Sivir? It's...unique. I don't think I've smelled anything quite like it before."
Sivir felt her face flush with shame and panic, her heart pounding in her chest as she realized just how much LeBlanc might know about what had transpired in the bathroom. She had to be careful, if she wanted to keep her secret safe.
"Oh, this old thing?" Sivir laughed, trying to play off LeBlanc's comment. "It's just something I picked up on my last trip to the market. I guess it's an acquired taste."
LeBlanc's eyes narrowed, a knowing smirk playing at the corners of her mouth. "I'm sure it is," she said, her voice low and dangerous. "Just be careful, Sivir. Some tastes can be...addictive. And some addictions can be dangerous."
LeBlanc's words hung heavy in the air, a dark promise that sent a shiver down Sivir's spine. She could see the confusion and unease on the faces of the other girls, their eyes darting between her and LeBlanc as they tried to make sense of the exchange.
"Ladies," LeBlanc said, her voice ringing out clear and strong. "I want you all to take a good, long look at Sivir here. She is a prime example of what it means to be a true courtesan of the Château. No matter what it takes, no matter how...dirty the work may be, Sivir always puts the needs of her clients first. And because of that, she is handsomely rewarded."
LeBlanc gestured to the three bags of gold sitting on the table, the coins glinting in the soft light of the common room. "As long as you all continue to bring in wealth for the Château, I will always take care of you. I will always provide for you, no matter how...unpleasant your duties may become. That is my promise to you all."
Sivir felt a mix of pride and shame at LeBlanc's words, her heart swelling with a twisted sense of accomplishment even as her stomach churned with disgust. She knew that she had sold her soul for the promise of wealth and power, had degraded herself in ways she never thought possible. But if that was what it took to keep her place at the top of the Château, then so be it.
As LeBlanc turned to leave, she paused and looked back at Sivir one last time. "Keep up the good work, my dear," she said, her voice low and full of dark promise. "And remember, there are always new heights to climb, new depths to plumb. Never stop pushing yourself, no matter how far you have to go."
With that, LeBlanc was gone, leaving Sivir alone with the weight of her own choices bearing down on her. She looked around at the other girls, their faces a mix of envy, admiration, and a hint of fear.
Sivir stepped into her private bathroom, her body aching from the depravity of the night. As she sat down on the toilet, she could still feel the sticky remnants of piss and cum clinging to her skin, the acrid scent filling her nostrils.
As she relieved herself, Sivir could feel the warm, wet stream of urine flowing down her thighs, the sound of it splattering in the toilet bowl filling her ears. She watched as the last drops trickled out, and without even thinking, she reached out and caught them in her fingers.
Sivir held the warm, golden drops in her palm, their heat searing against her skin. As she lifted her hand to her lips, she could feel the memory of what had transpired in the bathroom crashing over her like a wave.
The taste of the urine was acrid and bitter, coating her tongue and throat with its sickening flavor. But even as she gagged, Sivir could feel something else stirring within her. A dark, twisted sense of arousal, a thrill at the depraved act she had just committed.
As she remembered the way those three men had used her, degraded her, Sivir could feel her pussy aching with need. Her fingers moved instinctively, sliding down to her clit as she began to rub herself furiously, desperate for release.
She could feel the warm pee dripping down her legs, pooling on the tiles beneath her feet. Sivir didn't care. She was lost in her own depraved thoughts, her mind filled with images of being used, abused, and degraded by those three men.
She could hear their voices in her head, the cruel and mocking laughter as they filled her holes with piss and cum. The thought of it only served to fuel her arousal, and Sivir's fingers worked faster, her clit throbbing beneath her touch.
As her orgasm began to build, Sivir could feel her pussy clenching, aching for something, anything to fill her up. She imagined the three men fucking her again, their cocks pounding into her as they filled her with their filthy essence.
With a final cry, Sivir came hard, her pussy squirting a hot, thick stream of pee that splattered across the tiles and up the walls. She could feel it coating her thighs and pussy, the scent of urine filling the air.
Samira stepped into Sivir's room, her arms laden with the lingerie she had borrowed from her friend. She had come to return it, hoping to catch Sivir before she retired for the night. But as she entered the bathroom, she was met with a sight that made her eyes widen in shock.
There, on the floor of the bathroom, was Sivir. She was sprawled out on the tiles, her body glistening with sweat and urine, her fingers still buried deep in her pussy. The scent of piss filled the air, the acrid smell making Samira's nose wrinkle in disgust.
"Sivir?" Samira asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "What the fuck are you doing?"
Sivir's eyes fluttered open, her gaze hazy and unfocused as she looked up at Samira. A slow, lazy smile spread across her face, her lips glistening with the remnants of her own piss.
"Samira," she purred, her voice low and seductive. "I was just...relieving some stress. You know how it is."
Samira stared at her friend in disbelief, her mind reeling at the depravity of the scene before her. She had always known that Sivir was wild, that she had a taste for the darker side of pleasure. But this...this was something else entirely.
"Sivir, this is...this is fucked up," Samira said, her voice shaking with a mix of disgust and concern. "You can't just...you can't just piss yourself and then...and then masturbate in it. That's not normal. You need help."
Sivir only laughed, a harsh, bitter sound that echoed off the tiles of the bathroom. "Help?" she scoffed. "I don't need help, Samira. I need more."
Samira's eyes widened in shock as Sivir lunged at her, her hands grabbing at her friend's clothes with a desperate, almost feral intensity. "Sivir, what the fuck are you doing?" she gasped, trying to push the other woman away.
But Sivir was relentless, her fingers tearing at Samira's panties with a strength that belied her lithe frame. "I need this, Samira," she panted, her voice thick with lust and desperation. "I need you to pee on me. Please, I'm begging you."
Samira shook her head, her heart pounding in her chest as she tried to resist Sivir's advances. "No, Sivir, that's disgusting," she said, her voice shaking with revulsion. "I won't do it. I can't."
But before she could say more, Sivir had already torn her panties away, leaving her bare and exposed. Samira gasped as she felt Sivir's mouth on her pussy, the other woman's tongue lapping at her folds with a desperate, almost hungry intensity.
"Oh fuck," Samira moaned, her resolve crumbling as Sivir's skilled mouth worked its magic on her. She could feel her orgasm building, her pussy clenching and throbbing with need.
Sivir pulled back for a moment, her eyes gleaming with a dark, twisted amusement. "I can taste it, Samira," she purred, her voice low and seductive. "I can taste the salty flavor of your piss on your pussy. It's so fucking hot."
Samira's eyes widened in shock and disgust, but even as she recoiled from Sivir's words, she could feel her body responding to the depraved act. Her pussy ached with need, her clit throbbing with a desperate, almost painful intensity.
"Give it to me, Samira," Sivir begged, her voice thick with lust. "Pee on me, let me taste it. I'll make you cum so hard, I promise."
Samira hesitated for a moment, her mind reeling with the depravity of what Sivir was asking of her. But as she looked down at her friend, at the desperate, almost pleading look in her eyes, she knew that she couldn't resist.
With a shuddering breath, Samira let go, feeling the warm, wet stream of urine flow from her body and onto Sivir's waiting mouth. The other woman moaned in pleasure, her tongue lapping at the golden liquid as if it were the most delicious thing she had ever tasted.
As Samira's orgasm crashed over her, she could feel Sivir's fingers working their magic on her clit, the other woman's touch sending her spiraling into a world of pure, unadulterated pleasure. She screamed Sivir's name, her body convulsing with the force of her release.
When it was over, Samira collapsed onto the floor, her body spent and shaking with the aftermath of her depraved act. She looked up at Sivir, her eyes filled with a mix of shame and disgust.
"What have I done?" she whispered, her voice barely audible.
Chapter 4: LeBlanc Challenged
Notes:
I feel that this chapter has a lot of introduction, but it's something i have been thinking for a while, since where is the fun if nobody stands against LeBlanc? Also, those new Choosen of the wolf skins are very cool, check them out
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
LeBlanc sat in her office, her eyes narrowed as she looked over the latest financial reports. The numbers were not good. Business had been slow for the past few weeks, and she needed to get to the bottom of it. She looked up as Ahri entered the room, her expression cold and unyielding as she spoke.
"What's going on, Ahri?" she demanded, her voice low and dangerous. "I need a report. Now."
Ahri shifted uncomfortably, her eyes darting to the floor as she spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. "I...I caught a client talking about something, mistress," she said, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "I'm not sure how to say it."
LeBlanc's eyes narrowed, her patience wearing thin as she looked at Ahri, her voice sharp and demanding as she spoke. "About what, Ahri? Spit it out, girl."
Ahri took a deep breath, her voice shaking as she spoke, her eyes still fixed on the floor. "About a new brothel, mistress," she said, her voice barely audible. "Cheaper than ours, they say, with better girls."
LeBlanc's face darkened, her eyes flashing with anger as she listened to Ahri's words. "A new what?" she demanded, her voice rising in pitch as her fury grew. "A new brothel? Who the fuck do they think they are, trying to steal my clients? My girls?"
She stood up from her desk, her chair crashing to the floor behind her as she advanced on Ahri, her hands clenched into fists at her sides as she spoke, her voice shaking with rage. "Who is it, Ahri? Who the fuck is behind this?"
Ahri shrank back from LeBlanc's fury, her voice barely above a whisper as she spoke, her eyes wide with fear. "I...I don't know, mistress," she said, her voice shaking. "But I heard a name. Jericho. I think that's who they said was behind it."
LeBlanc's eyes narrowed, her mind racing as she tried to place the name. Jericho. Where had she heard that before? And then, suddenly, it came to her. The Black Bird. That was the name of the new brothel. And Jericho was the owner.
She turned away from Ahri, her hands shaking with rage as she looked around her office, her eyes landing on the delicate vase that sat on her desk. With a roar of fury, she swept it off the desk, sending it crashing to the floor in a shower of shattered porcelain.
Ahri flinched at the sound, her body shaking with fear as she watched LeBlanc unleash her wrath, smashing and trashing everything in sight. Furniture was overturned, books were thrown across the room, pictures were ripped from the walls and torn to shreds.
And through it all, LeBlanc screamed and raged, her voice echoing off the walls as she unleashed her fury on the room, on the world, on the very idea that someone would dare to challenge her, to steal her clients, her girls, her power.
Ahri watched in horror, her body pressed against the wall as she tried to make herself as small as possible, praying that LeBlanc's wrath would not turn on her. And as the old woman's rage finally began to subside, as she stood amidst the wreckage of her office, her chest heaving with exertion.
"Ahri dear, please send someone to clean the mess you made here" LeBlanc asks her "And gather all the girls, i have to talk with them"
LeBlanc's eyes narrowed as she looked at the line of girls before her, her expression cold and unreadable as she spoke, her voice low and dangerous. "How have you all been?" she asked, her tone almost kind, almost gentle, a stark contrast to the rage that had consumed her only moments before.
The girls remained silent, their eyes wide with fear and uncertainty as they looked at LeBlanc, unsure of what to make of her sudden change in demeanor. And as the silence stretched on, LeBlanc's smile only grew wider, more unsettling as she continued to speak, her voice soft and soothing as she addressed the girls.
"You all have Sunday's rest to go to the town and relax from the chateau," she said, her eyes scanning the line of girls, her gaze lingering on each one for a moment before moving on to the next. "I was wondering, during those days, have any of you heard of something new? Something...different?"
The girls shifted uncomfortably, their eyes darting to the floor as they tried to avoid LeBlanc's gaze, their minds racing with thoughts of the new brothel, of the man who had approached Karma, of the rumors that had been circulating among the townspeople.
And then, slowly, Karma stepped forward, her voice shaking as she spoke, her eyes fixed on the floor as she addressed LeBlanc. "I...I found a man on the market, LeBlanc," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "He was hooded, and he asked me if I wanted a nice job, with an excellent pay. I told him I didn't need it, but he gave me a card and told me I could visit them anytime if I changed my mind."
LeBlanc's eyes flashed with anger as she listened to Karma's words, her hands clenching into fists at her sides as she tried to maintain her composure, to keep her rage from boiling over once again. "And what did the card say, Karma?" she asked, her voice low and dangerous as she spoke.
Karma swallowed hard, her voice shaking as she replied, her eyes still fixed on the floor. "It said something like the black crow, mistress," she said, her voice barely audible. "I didn't keep the card, but I remembered the name."
LeBlanc's face darkened, her eyes narrowing as she looked at Karma, her mind racing with thoughts of revenge, of destruction, of the man who dared to challenge her, to steal her girls, her power. And as she stood there, surrounded by the girls who had once been her greatest asset, her most prized possessions, she knew that she had to act, had to do something to stop this new brothel, to crush it under her heel before it could grow any stronger.
LeBlanc's eyes flashed with anger as she looked at Karma, her voice low and dangerous as she spoke, her words cutting through the air like a knife. "If any of you hear anything about that place, anything at all, you report it to Ahri immediately," she said, her gaze sweeping over the line of girls, her expression cold and unyielding. "And let me remind you all, I hate disloyalty. I will not tolerate it."
She turned her attention back to Karma, her eyes narrowing as she looked at the younger woman, her voice softening slightly as she spoke, but no less menacing. "Karma, I want to speak with you privately," she said, her tone almost conversational. "Come with me."
Karma's heart raced as she looked at LeBlanc, her stomach churning with fear and uncertainty as she nodded, her voice barely above a whisper as she replied. "Yes, mistress," she said, her eyes darting to the floor as she fell into step behind the older woman, her mind racing with thoughts of what was to come.
The other girls watched in silence as Karma followed LeBlanc from the room, their eyes wide with fear and pity as they looked at each other, knowing all too well the fate that awaited the poor girl who had dared to speak out of turn.
And as the door closed behind them, the room fell silent, the air heavy with tension and dread as the girls waited, their hearts pounding in their chests as they wondered what horrors LeBlanc would unleash upon Karma, what punishment she would met out for her perceived disloyalty.
LeBlanc's eyes narrowed as she looked at Karma, her expression cold and unreadable as she spoke, her voice low and dangerous. "So, Karma," she said, her tone almost conversational, but with an undercurrent of threat. "I have to ask...were you considering the option that the other man gave you? Were you thinking of leaving me, of going to work for this...Black Crow?"
Karma swallowed hard, her heart pounding in her chest as she looked at LeBlanc, her eyes wide with fear and uncertainty. "No, mistress," she said, her voice shaking as she spoke, her words tumbling out in a rush. "I...I was not considering it. there is no point to ir. Changing a cage for another does not mean anything to me. Besides, whoever runs this Black Crow could be even worse than you. I...I would never leave you, mistress. Never."
LeBlanc's smile was cold and mocking as she looked at Karma, her eyes gleaming with a cruel amusement as she spoke, her voice low and dangerous. "Oh, Karma," she said, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "Your loyalty is so touching. But I'm afraid I can't let it go to waste. At least, not yet."
She stepped closer to Karma, her hand reaching out to caress the younger woman's cheek with a sickeningly gentle touch as she spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. "You see, I think that going to work at the Black Crow could be...useful. For both of us."
Karma's eyes widened in shock and horror as she listened to LeBlanc's words, her mind racing with thoughts of what the old woman could possibly have in mind. "But...but mistress," she stammered, her voice shaking with fear. "I...I don't understand. How could that be useful?"
LeBlanc's smile only grew wider as she looked at Karma, her eyes gleaming with a cruel amusement as she spoke, her voice low and dangerous. "Oh, Karma," she purred, her hand still caressing the younger woman's cheek. "You misunderstand. I'm not sending you away of here. In fact, We're going together. Both of us are going to seek a new...job opportunity."
With a wave of her hand, LeBlanc's appearance began to change, her pale skin turning a soft pink, her short hair growing out to the base of her back, her eyes taking on a bright, innocent blue. And as she stood there, transformed into the image of a young, blonde woman, she turned to Karma, her expression cold and unyielding as she spoke.
"Now, Karma," she said, her voice taking on a sweet, almost childlike quality. "Let's go and see what this Black Crow has to offer, shall we? I have a feeling that they're going to be very...interested in meeting us."
And with that, she turned and strode from the room, leaving Karma to follow in her wake, her heart pounding in her chest as she wondered what horrors awaited them at the Black Crow, what new torments LeBlanc had in store for her, for them all.
The sun beat down on the market square as Karma and LeBlanc, in disguise, made their way through the crowded stalls, their eyes scanning the faces of the people around them, searching for the man who had approached Karma before.
After what felt like an eternity, they finally spotted him, his hood drawn low over his face as he leaned against a nearby wall, his eyes flicking over the crowd as if searching for someone, something.
Karma took a deep breath, steeling herself for what was to come as she and LeBlanc approached the man, their footsteps soft on the cobblestones.
The man's eyes narrowed as he saw Karma, his expression unreadable as he spoke, his voice low and dangerous. "Well, well, well, I remember you" he said, his gaze flicking over to LeBlanc for a moment before returning to Karma. "What brings you here, girl?"
Karma swallowed hard, her heart pounding in her chest as she spoke, her voice shaking slightly as she addressed the man. "I...I'm here about the job, sir," she said, her eyes darting to the floor as she spoke. "My friend and I are considering a new opportunity. We were wondering if you could tell us more about it."
The man's eyes flicked back to LeBlanc, his gaze lingering on the younger woman for a moment before he spoke, his voice low and guarded as he addressed her. "And who might you be, girl?" he asked, his tone almost dismissive.
LeBlanc stepped forward, her head bowed slightly as she spoke, her voice meek and submissive as she addressed the man, feigning a look of desperation and need. "My name is Evaine, sir," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I...I need the money. I'm willing to do whatever it takes to provide for myself and my family."
The man's expression softened slightly as he looked at LeBlanc, his eyes narrowing as he considered her words, as he weighed the potential value of bringing her into the fold of the Black Crow. And as he stood there, considering his options, Karma held her breath, her heart pounding in her chest as she waited for his response, as she prayed that he would take the bait, that he would lead them to the Black Crow.
And then, finally, the man spoke, his voice low and dangerous as he addressed LeBlanc, his eyes gleaming with a predatory hunger as he spoke. "Very well, Evaine," he said, his tone almost mocking her. "I think we can find a place for you at the Black Crow. Both of you, in fact."
The man tells them that they can call him Talon. pretty soon they will understand why. He tells them to follow him.
After walking for a while between the ruins and the ragged tents of the survivors in the city, they arrive to what, on the outside, appeared to be a military building of some sorts. simple, dull, but imposing in some way.
Talon signals them to go inside, and he follows after them.
Karma's eyes widened in shock as she took in the scene before her, her heart pounding in her chest as she looked around at the twisted, depraved world that the Black Crow had created. The Chemtech illumination cast a sickly green glow over everything, making the place look even more like a twisted version of Zaun than Noxus.
The naked girls danced on the platforms, their bodies covered in scars and bruises as they gyrated and writhed for the amusement of the men who threw coins at them, who leered and laughed and jeered as they watched the pathetic spectacle.
And at the bottom of the room, the man in the white suit sat at the bar, his eyes cold and calculating as he watched the new arrivals, his hand still clenched in a fist from his recent victory in the arm-wrestling match.
Talon approached the man, his voice low and respectful as he addressed him, his eyes flicking to Karma and LeBlanc for a moment before returning to the man's face. "Sir," he said, his tone almost deferential. "I've brought two new girls for you to consider. They're eager to join our little...family."
The man's eyes narrowed as he looked at Karma and LeBlanc, his gaze lingering on each of them for a moment before he spoke, his voice low and dangerous as he addressed them. "Is that so?" he asked, his tone almost casual, "And what makes you think that you're worthy of joining our little...family?"
Karma's heart raced as she looked at the man, her mind reeling with fear and uncertainty as she tried to think of what to say, of how to convince him.
And as she stood there, trembling with fear and desperation, LeBlanc stepped forward, her head bowed slightly as she spoke, her voice meek and submissive as she addressed the man, feigning a look of desperation and need. "We...we'll do anything, sir," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Anything at all. We just want to have a job, a way to sustain our families"
Jericho Swain's eyes roamed over Karma and LeBlanc, a cruel smile playing at the corners of his lips as he took in their contrasting appearances. Karma, with her dark skin and ample curves, stood in stark contrast to LeBlanc's pale, almost ethereal beauty.
The man's eyes narrowed as he looked at LeBlanc, his gaze lingering on her for a moment before he spoke, his voice low and dangerous as he addressed her. "Anything, you say?" he asked, his tone almost casual, but with an undercurrent of steel. "You're willing to do anything at all, to be a part of our little...family?"
LeBlanc nodded, her head still bowed as she spoke, her voice shaking with fear and desperation as she addressed the man. "Yes, sir," she said, her words tumbling out in a rush. "Anything. We'll do whatever you ask of us."
"Talon," Swain said, his voice low and commanding as he addressed the man who had brought them here. "Take the blonde to the platforms. I want to see what she's made of. I'll be interviewing our new friend here myself."
Talon nodded, his expression unreadable as he gestured for LeBlanc to follow him, leaving Karma alone with Swain, her heart pounding in her chest as she tried to hide her fear, her desperation.
Swain rose from his seat at the bar, his eyes never leaving Karma's face as he approached her, his steps slow and measured, like a predator stalking its prey. And as he drew closer, Karma could feel the weight of his gaze on her, the intensity of his scrutiny as he took in every inch of her body, every curve and line.
Swain's eyes narrowed as he looked at Karma, his expression cold and unreadable as he spoke, his voice low and dangerous. "Ionian, aren't you?" he asked. "I have a particular...disdain for your kind, girl. But that doesn't mean I don't have uses for you."
Karma's heart raced as she listened to Swain's words, her mind reeling with the implications of his hatred for her people, for her. And as she stood there, trembling with fear and uncertainty, her gaze flicked to Swain's arm, to the blue crystal that had replaced his flesh and bone.
And then, in an instant, it all clicked into place. Jericoh Swain, the man who had once been a powerful general in the Noxian army, the man who had lost his arm in battle against Irelia, the Bladesinger. There was no wonder he despised Ionian women, no wonder he sought to subjugate them, to break them, to make them suffer.
Karma's fear grew as she realized the true nature of the man before her, the depths of his cruelty, his sadism. And as she stood there, trembling with terror, Swain called out to his bodyguard, the hulking figure of Darius who stood nearby, his eyes cold and calculating as he watched the scene unfold.
"Darius," Swain said, his voice low and commanding as he addressed the larger man. "This girl will be joining our little...family. I want you to show her the ropes, to teach her the ways of the Black Crow. And make sure she understands the importance of...hospitality."
Darius nodded, his expression unreadable as he approached Karma, his steps slow and measured, like a predator stalking its prey. And as he drew closer, Karma could feel the weight of his gaze on her, the intensity of his scrutiny as he took in every inch of her body, every curve and line.
"Come with me, girl," Darius said, his voice low and dangerous as he grabbed Karma by the arm, his grip tight and unyielding as he led her away from Swain, towards whatever horrors awaited her in the depths of the Black Crow.
Karma's eyes widened in fear as Darius dragged her into the dimly lit room, the air thick with the smell of sweat and desperation. The men who had gathered there were a gruesome sight, their faces and bodies marred with the scars of battle, many of them missing limbs, their once proud and strong forms now twisted and deformed.
Darius spoke to Karma, his voice low and dangerous, his words cutting through the air like a knife as he addressed her, his gaze cold and unfeeling as he looked at the terrified girl before him. "These men here fought with Swain and I in Ionia, girl," he said, his tone harsh and threatening. "And as you can see, they lost a lot because of your people. Now it's time for you to repay them, in kind."
With a growl, Darius reached out, his massive hands grasping the fabric of Karma's clothes and tearing them apart with ease, leaving the young woman naked and vulnerable before the group of men. And as Karma knelt there on the cold, hard ground, her body trembling with fear and shame, Darius loomed over her, his eyes gleaming with a cruel amusement as he addressed the men who stood nearby.
"Gentlemen," he said, his voice low and dangerous as he addressed the group. "We have a new recruit to welcome into our little family. And as is customary, she will show us just how...grateful she is for our hospitality."
The men exchanged grins, their eyes roaming over Karma's naked body, drinking in every inch of her exposed flesh as they awaited their turn to violate and degrade the young Ionian woman. And as they stood there, awaiting their chance to take what they wanted, to hurt and humiliate Karma as they saw fit, Karma could only shudder in fear and despair, her mind racing with the knowledge of the horrors that awaited her at the hands of these brutal men.
And so, as the first man stepped forward, his eyes gleaming with a predatory hunger as he looked down at Karma, the young woman could only steel herself for the pain and suffering that was to come, for the degradation and humiliation that would be inflicted upon her in the days and weeks ahead.
body trembling with fear and revulsion as the Noxian soldiers gathered around her, their eyes gleaming with a predatory hunger as they looked down at her naked form. And as they stood there, leering and grinning, the first man stepped forward, his hand reaching out to grasp Karma's hair, his fingers tangling in the dark strands as he pulled her head back, exposing her throat to his cruel gaze.
"Open up, bitch," he growled, his voice low and dangerous as he addressed Karma, his other hand reaching down to unbuckle his belt, to free his throbbing cock from the confines of his pants. "It's time for you to show us just how famous Ionian hospitality."
Karma's heart raced as she looked up at the man, her mind reeling with fear and disgust as she realized what was about to happen, what she was about to be forced to endure. And as she knelt there, trembling and helpless, the man's cock pressed against her lips, the scent of his musk filling her nostrils as he forced his way into her mouth, his thick shaft pushing past her teeth and onto her tongue.
The men around her laughed and jeered as Karma struggled to accommodate the man's girth, her eyes watering as he began to thrust into her mouth, his hips moving in a steady rhythm as he used her like a toy, like a piece of meat to be used and discarded as he saw fit.
And as he fucked her mouth, the other men gathered around, their hands reaching out to grope and squeeze Karma's breasts, to pinch and twist her nipples as they watched their comrade violate the young woman, their eyes gleaming with a cruel amusement as they waited their turn to take what they wanted from her.
One of the men grabbed Karma's hair, his fingers tangling in the dark strands as he began to masturbate with it, his cock growing harder and thicker as he used her like a cheap sex toy, his hips moving in time with the man who was fucking her mouth.
The men took turns raping Karma's mouth, their cocks slapping against her face as they laughed and jeered, their hands roaming over her body, groping and squeezing her flesh as they degraded and humiliated her.
"Look at the Ionian slut," one of them sneered, his voice low and cruel as he addressed the others. "She's nothing more than a whore, a piece of meat to be used and discarded."
The men around him laughed and agreed, their voices filled with contempt and cruelty as they looked down at Karma, their eyes gleaming with a sadistic pleasure as they watched her suffer.
And as they stood there, violating and degrading Karma in the most brutal and humiliating ways imaginable, Darius watched from the sidelines, his expression cold and unreadable as he observed the scene unfolding before him.
"Don't cum in her mouth, boys," he said, his voice low and dangerous as he addressed the men. "We have other plans for this little bitch."
With that, he produced a glass from somewhere, holding it out to the men as he spoke, his words slicing through the air like a knife. "Fill this up," he said, "she wil have a taste of the true flavor of Noxian Men"
Each of them unloaded their cum on the glass, filling it to the brim with hot white seed. "Drink it, bitch," Darius growled, his voice low and dangerous as he held the glass out to Karma, his eyes locked with hers as he forced her to look at him, to acknowledge the true depths of her own degradation and humiliation. "Drink every last drop, or I'll make you regret it."
Karma's heart raced as she looked at the glass, the thick, viscous liquid inside it glistening in the dim light, the scent of the men's musk filling her nostrils as she realized what she was about to be forced to do.
And with a shudder of revulsion, Karma reached out, her hand trembling as she took the glass from Darius, her fingers wrapping around the warm, smooth surface as she brought it to her lips, her eyes squeezing shut as she prepared herself for the worst.
The men around her laughed and jeered as Karma began to drink, their voices filled with contempt and cruelty as they watched her suffer, as they reveled in her degradation and humiliation.They laughed and mocked her "She's nothing more than a cum-guzzling whore, like all the Ionian bitches" their voices filled with contempt and cruelty as they looked down at Karma, their eyes gleaming with a sadistic pleasure as they watched her drink, as they watched her choke and gag on the thick, viscous liquid that filled her mouth.
And as Karma struggled to swallow, stopping to take some air, her throat convulsing as she tried to force the cum down, Darius growled "Come on, bitch," his voice low and dangerous as he addressed Karma, his eyes locked with hers as he forced her to look at him, to acknowledge the true depths of her own degradation and humiliation. "Drink it all, or I'll shove it down your throat."
Karma's heart raced as she looked at Darius, her mind reeling with fear and disgust as she realized the true depths of the depravity and cruelty that these noxians had to offer. And as she knelt there, trembling and helpless, she knew that she had no choice, that she had to do as she was told, that she had to endure whatever horrors awaited her at the hands of these brutal men.
And so, with a shudder of revulsion, Karma brought the glass to her lips once more, her eyes squeezing shut as she prepared herself for the worst, as she forced herself to drink, to swallow, to choke down every last drop of the thick, viscous liquid that filled her mouth.
The men around her laughed and jeered as Karma finished, their voices filled with contempt and cruelty as they watched her suffer, as they reveled in her degradation and humiliation.
"Good girl," Darius said, his voice low and dangerous as he addressed Karma, his eyes gleaming with a cruel amusement as he looked down at her, as he acknowledged the true depths of her own degradation and humiliation. "Now you understand the true meaning of hospitality, don't you?"
LeBlanc's eyes narrowed as she spotted Swain in the lobby, her blood boiling with rage and hatred as she looked at the man who had dared to come to her city, to her territory, to claim it as his own. And as she stood there, her body moving in time with the music, her eyes locked with Swain's, she knew that she had to play her part, that she had to pretend to be the innocent, timid girl that he expected her to be.
But inside, LeBlanc was seething with anger and resentment, her mind racing with thoughts of revenge, of the ways in which she would make Swain pay for his boldness.
And as she danced, her body moving in a slow, sensual rhythm, LeBlanc scanned the room, her eyes taking in the other girls who worked here. There was the raven-haired beauty with the acrobatic skills, her body moving with a grace and fluidity that was almost hypnotic as she spun and twirled around the pole, her tattooed skin glistening with sweat in the dim light. And there was the punkish girl with the lime green hair, her olive green eyes gleaming with a defiant fire as she bounced and gyrated for the crowd, her tanned skin glistening with a sheen of sweat as she moved.
LeBlanc's heart ached for these girls, they should have been working for her, they should be hers and hers alone.
And then, as LeBlanc's mind raced with thoughts of revenge and salvation, a coin suddenly flew through the air, hitting her in the ass with a sharp, stinging pain. She turned to see a man leering at her, his eyes gleaming with a predatory hunger as he called out to her, his voice low and dangerous.
"Private time, sweetheart," he said, his tone mocking. "I want to see what you're made of."
LeBlanc's eyes flashed with a dangerous gleam as she looked at the man who had called out to her, her mind racing with thoughts of the ways in which she would make him pay for his arrogance, for his presumption. And as she stood there, her body still moving in time with the music, she knew that she had to play her part, that she had to pretend to be the innocent, timid girl that he expected her to be. And so, with a timid smile, LeBlanc allowed the man to lead her away from the dance floor, her heart pounding with anticipation as she followed him towards the disheveled room, her mind already racing with thoughts of the ways in which she would make him suffer.
As they entered the room, the man pushed LeBlanc onto the bed, his eyes gleaming with a predatory hunger as he looked down at her, his voice low and dangerous as he spoke.
"I'm going to enjoy this," he said. "You're going to be a good little slut for me, aren't you?"
LeBlanc's smile widened, her eyes gleaming with a dangerous light as she looked up at the man, her voice soft and meek as she spoke. "I will enjoy it too," she said, her words dripping with a false sweetness, a false innocence that belied the true depths of her evil and her power.
And as the man closed the door behind him, LeBlanc's smile turned into a wicked grin, her eyes flashing with a dark, malevolent light as she prepared herself for the game that was about to begin, for the dance of death and destruction that she was about to unleash upon this poor, unsuspecting fool.
Karma's body screamed in agony as the men violated her in the most brutal and depraved ways imaginable, their cocks plunging into her ass and pussy with a merciless intensity that left her gasping for breath, her mind reeling with the sheer force of the pain and humiliation that she was being subjected to.
Tears streamed down her face as she lay there, helpless and alone, her body stretched to the limit as the men used her like a cheap sex toy, their cocks slamming into her with a relentless force that left her shaking and trembling, her flesh bruised and battered from the relentless assault.
And as they filled her with their cum, their seed spilling out of her holes and down her thighs, Karma could only wonder where LeBlanc was, if the other woman had abandoned her to this fate, if she had left her to suffer and die at the hands of these brutal men.
But before Karma could dwell on her despair for too long, a sudden scream echoed through the air, the sound of it piercing through the fog of pain and humiliation that clouded her mind, the sound of it signaling that something was amiss, that something was happening outside of this room, something that might just save her from the horrors that awaited her.
Darius barked out orders to his men, telling them to dress and get out quickly to see what was happening, his voice low and dangerous as he addressed them, his eyes gleaming with a cruel amusement as he watched them scramble to obey his commands.
And as the men hurried to leave, Darius turned his attention back to Karma, his eyes gleaming with a dark, malevolent light as he spoke, his voice low and dangerous as he addressed her, his words slicing through the air like a knife. "I still have something for you, bitch," he said. "Something special, just for you."
LeBlanc's eyes gleamed with a wicked amusement as she lay there on the bed, her legs spread wide in a wanton invitation, her pristine pussy crowned by a small patch of yellow hair that begged to be touched, to be violated by the man who stood before her. And as she looked up at him, her smile was soft and innocent, her voice barely above a whisper as she spoke.
"Please," she said, her words dripping with a false sweetness, a false innocence that belied the true depths of her evil and her power. "Be gentle with me. I've never done this before."
The man laughed, his voice low and cruel as he addressed LeBlanc, his eyes gleaming with a predatory hunger as he looked down at her, as he drank in the sight of her naked flesh, of her perfect, untouched body.
"You better get accustomed to the clients here, bitch," he replied, "They don't take kindly to inexperience." And with that, he lunged forward, his cock plunging into LeBlanc's pussy with a sudden, brutal force that would have made most women cry out in pain, would have made most women recoil in horror at the sheer force of the violation.
But LeBlanc was no ordinary woman, no timid, innocent victim to be used by the likes of this man. She was a force to be reckoned with, a dark and powerful sorceress that would stop at nothing to achieve her goals, to make her enemies pay for their crimes.
And as the man began to thrust into her, his cock slamming into her pussy with a merciless intensity that left most women gasping for breath, LeBlanc's smile widened, her eyes gleaming with a cruel amusement as she felt her magic begin to take effect, as she felt the warmth of her pussy begin to grow, to intensify with every thrust, every brutal slam of the man's cock into her flesh.
At first, it was a delight, a warm, tingling sensation that spread through the man's body, that made his cock grow harder, his thrusts more intense as he felt the heat of LeBlanc's pussy enveloping him, as he felt the soft, wet walls of her cunt clenching around him, drawing him deeper and deeper into her flesh.
But as the seconds ticked by, as the man continued to thrust into LeBlanc's pussy, the warmth began to grow, to intensify, to become something more than a mere tingling sensation, something more than a delightful heat that made his cock throb with pleasure.
It became a searing, burning pain, a sensation that made the man cry out in agony, that made his body convulse and twist as he felt the fire of LeBlanc's magic consuming him, as he felt his flesh burning, his cock blistering and blackening as it was cooked from the inside out.
And as the man screamed, as his body twisted and convulsed in agony, LeBlanc's legs tightened around his hips, her ankles locking behind his back as she held him in place, as she refused to let him pull out, to escape the hellish torment that her pussy had become.
"Isn't this nice?" she purred, her voice soft and innocent, a stark contrast to the evil that was consuming the man, to the pain and suffering that she was inflicting upon him. "You're enjoying it, aren't you?"
The man could only scream in response, his voice hoarse and ragged as he begged for mercy, as he pleaded with LeBlanc to let him go, to release him from the hellish torment that her pussy had become.
LeBlanc's eyes gleamed with a wicked amusement as she watched the man stumble out of the room, his body burning and blistering, his screams of agony echoing through the halls of the brothel as he ran, naked and desperate, creating chaos and spreading fear in his search of something, anything, that would cool the hellish fire that consumed him.
And as he ran, LeBlanc's laughter followed him, her voice soft and mocking as she called out to him, her words dripping with a false sweetness that belied the true depths of her evil and her power.
"You weren't able to stand my warm embrace," she said, her tone playful "You should have been more careful, more gentle with me."
And with that, LeBlanc turned and walked away, her hips swaying with a seductive grace as she made her way through the brothel, her eyes scanning the crowd, searching for her next victim, for the next man who would fall prey to her dark and twisted desires.
But as LeBlanc made her way through the brothel, the man's screams began to grow louder, more desperate, more filled with a primal, animalistic terror that made the very air tremble with fear and uncertainty.
And then, suddenly, a burst of flames erupted from the man's body, his flesh igniting like a torch as he screamed and thrashed, his body convulsing and twisting in agony as the fire consumed him, as it reduced him to nothing more than a charred, blackened husk.
Swain watched the scene unfold with a cold, calculating gaze, his eyes narrowing as he turned to Talon, his voice low and dangerous as he spoke.
"Who was that man with?" he asked, his voice calmed, but his expression urgent. "Who was the girl he was with?"
Talon hesitated for a moment, his eyes flickering with a hint of uncertainty as he looked at Swain, as he realized the true depths of the danger that they were in, the true depths of the evil that had infiltrated their ranks.
"It was one of the new girls," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "The blonde one. Her name was Evaine."
Swain's eyes widened in recognition, his mind racing with the knowledge of who this girl truly was, of the true depths of the evil and the power that she possessed.
"Find her," he growled, his voice low and dangerous as he addressed his lackeys, his eyes gleaming with a cold, malevolent light. "Find her and bring her to me. I want to know what she's doing here, what she's planning."
And as the lackeys scrambled to obey, to search the brothel for the girl who had caused such chaos and destruction, LeBlanc watched from the shadows, her eyes gleaming with a wicked amusement as she realized that her true identity had been discovered, that the game was now afoot, that the hunt was on.
Karma's body trembled in agony as Darius's massive cock forced its way into her sore ass, the brutal assault leaving her gasping and screaming, her mind reeling with the sheer force of the pain and the humiliation that she was being subjected to.
The enormous cock stretched her ass to the limit, the man's brutal thrusts driving the air from her lungs as he used her body like a cheap sex toy, his hands gripping her hips with a bruising force that left her flesh battered and bruised, her skin red and inflamed from the relentless assault.
And as the minutes ticked by, as Darius continued to brutally sodomize her, Karma could only wonder how much longer she could take this, how much longer her body would be able to withstand the brutal onslaught of this man's depraved desires.
But then, just as Karma felt herself on the brink of unconsciousness, of succumbing to the pain and the humiliation of it all, Darius finally reached his climax, his cock erupting with a torrent of cum that he spilled onto the floor beneath them, his body trembling with the force of his release.
And as the last drops of his semen dripped from his spent cock, Darius reached down, his massive hand grabbing Karma by the hair as he forced her head down, her nose pressing against the pool of his cum that had collected on the floor.
"Sniff it up, you fucking slut," he growled, his voice growling as he addressed her. "I want to see you snort up my cum like the worthless whore that you are."
Karma's stomach churned with revulsion as she felt the acrid, pungent scent of Darius's semen filling her nostrils, her mind reeling with disgust and humiliation as she tried to resist, to push herself away from the depraved act that the man was forcing upon her.
But Darius was stronger, his grip on her hair unyielding as he held her in place, his voice low and dangerous as he spoke. "Do it, bitch, Or I'll make you lick it up instead."
And with a sob of despair and humiliation, Karma opened her mouth, her nose pressing against the pool of cum as she inhaled deeply, the acrid scent of it filling her senses, the taste of it coating her tongue as it slid down her throat and nose, leaving her gagging and retching at the sheer depravity of it all.
Karma felt herself on the verge of passing out, of succumbing to the nausea and the revulsion of it all, when the sound of the door opening snapped her back to reality, her eyes widening in surprise and fear as she tried to look up, to see who had entered the room.
But it was too late, her body already sliding into unconsciousness, her mind reeling with the pain and the humiliation of it all, as the darkness claimed her, as she knew no more.
As LeBlanc stood there, surrounded by Swain, Talon, and their men, her smile widened, her eyes gleaming with a dark, malevolent light as she looked at Swain, as she realized the true depths of the fear and the uncertainty that lurked behind his eyes.
"Who are you?" the Old man asked, a menacing gesture on his face.
And then, with a slow, deliberate motion, LeBlanc spread her legs, her fingers trailing down her body, tracing the curves of her breasts, her stomach, before finally coming to rest on the soft, warm folds of her pussy, her fingers spreading her lips apart, revealing the pristine, alluring flesh that lay beneath.
"Don't you recognize me, Jericoh?" she purred, her voice soft and seductive, a stark contrast to the evil that lurked beneath the surface. "I thought you would have known me anywhere."
Swain's eyes widened in recognition, his mind racing with the knowledge of who this girl truly was, of the true depths of the evil and the power that she possessed.
"LeBlanc," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper, his eyes flickering with a hint of fear and uncertainty as he looked at the woman who stood before him, the woman who had caused such chaos and destruction in her wake.
And as the magic that had concealed LeBlanc's true form faded away, revealing her short purple hair, her pale skin, her dark lips, the temptress and the sorcerer that lurked beneath the surface, Swain could only stare in awe and terror, his mind reeling with the knowledge of the true nature of that woman
"You've been a bad boy, Jericoh," LeBlanc said, her voice soft and seductive. "You should have stayed out of Noxus, in Ionia. This is my territory, my domain. And you have violated it."
Swain's eyes narrowed, his voice low and calm as he addressed LeBlanc.
"I don't care about your territory, LeBlanc," he said, his words dripping with a false bravado that belied the true depths of his fear and uncertainty. "I am the biggest Mcdady in Runterra. And not even you can stop me."
LeBlanc's laughter echoed through the room, her voice soft and mocking as she addressed Swain, her words dripping with a false sweetness that belied the true depths of her evil and her power.
"You always were a fool, Jericoh," she said, "You think that you can challenge me, that you can defy the very old gods themselves? You think that you can take what is mine and make it your own?"
Talon and the others lunged forward, their knives glinting in the dim light of the room, LeBlanc's smile widened, her eyes gleaming with a dark, malevolent light as she watched them approach, as she watched them fall into her trap, her decoy.
And as the knives plunged into the clone, the decoy that LeBlanc had created to lure them in, to make them think that they had struck a blow against her, the figure crumpled to the ground, its form dissolving into nothingness, leaving nothing but a pile of dust and ashes in its wake.
Swain's eyes widened in surprise and fear as he realized the true depths of the trap that they had fallen into, as he realized that LeBlanc had outsmarted them, had outmaneuvered them in a way that he had never thought possible.
"Search the place," he growled, his voice low and dangerous as he addressed his men, his eyes scanning the room, searching for any sign of LeBlanc, for any hint of where she might be hiding. "She's here somewhere. Find her."
Karma awoke with a start, her body aching and sore from the brutal treatment she had endured at the hands of Darius and his men. As she blinked the sleep from her eyes, she found herself in a familiar room, the walls adorned with rich tapestries and ornate furniture. She was in her bed, the sheets soft and silky against her skin.
As she sat up, she felt a sharp pain in her ass, a reminder of the brutal sodomy she had been subjected to. Her mouth tasted of cum, the acrid taste still lingering on her tongue, and as she looked down at her body, she saw that it was marked with mocking insults about her Ionian heritage, crude words and symbols written with ink on her skin
But despite the pain and the humiliation, Karma felt a sense of relief wash over her. She was safe now, or as safe as someone who worked for LeBlanc could be.
As she swung her legs over the side of the bed, she heard a soft voice behind her.
"Ah, you're awake. I was beginning to wonder if you would ever stir."
Karma turned to see Ahri standing in the doorway, a cup of tea in her hands. The fox-woman's eyes were filled with a warm, compassionate light as she looked at Karma, her expression one of concern and understanding.
"Here, drink this," Ahri said, offering the cup to Karma. "It will help with the pain and the soreness."
Karma took the cup with a grateful nod, her hands shaking slightly as she brought it to her lips. The tea was warm and soothing, the herbs and spices calming her nerves and easing the ache in her body.
As she sipped the tea, Karma looked up at Ahri, her eyes filled with confusion and disbelief.
"What happened?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "How did I get here? The last thing I remember is being in that room with Darius and his men, and then...nothing."
Ahri's expression softened, her eyes filled with a gentle understanding as she looked at Karma.
"I don't know all the details," she said, her voice soft and soothing. "But I know that LeBlanc arrived just a few hours ago, with you on her back. She carried you here herself, and insisted that you be taken care of immediately."
Karma's eyes widened in shock, her mind reeling with the implications of Ahri's words. LeBlanc had rescued her? It was impossible. The sorceress was known for her cruelty and her indifference to the suffering of others. She had no reason to help Karma, no reason to risk her own safety to save the Ionian girl.
But as Karma looked up at Ahri, she saw the truth in the fox-woman's eyes. LeBlanc had indeed rescued her, had brought her back to her chateau and ensured that she was taken care of.
"Why?" Karma asked, her voice trembling with emotion. "Why would LeBlanc do this? She has no reason to help me."
Ahri smiled, her eyes gleaming with a mischievous light as she looked at Karma.
"Because you are her property, my dear," she said, her voice filled with a teasing warmth. "And LeBlanc doesn't like to lose her things to other people. You belong to her now, and remeber: You are here forever."
Karma felt a shiver run down her spine at Ahri's words, fear coursing through her veins. She was LeBlanc's property now, a possession to be used and controlled by the sorceress's whims. And yet, despite the fear and the uncertainty, Karma felt a strange sense of comfort in knowing that she had not been discarded
LeBlanc sat at her desk, her fingers tracing the edge of the polished wood as she thought about the events of the past few days. Swain's betrayal still burned in her mind, the knowledge that he had dared to challenge her authority in her own territory stoking the fires of her rage and her desire for revenge.
As she lost herself in thought, a soft knock sounded at the door, and Ahri entered, her eyes downcast as she approached the desk.
"Karma has recovered consciousness, Mistress," she said, her voice soft and hesitant. "She is still in bed, but the healer says she should be fine by tomorrow."
LeBlanc nodded, a small smile playing at the corners of her lips. At least one of her problems was resolved. With Karma back on her feet, she would be able to return to work, to resume her duties as a courtesan in the brothel.
"Good," LeBlanc said, her voice cold and distant. "At least she will be able to return to work soon. I have little time for such interruptions."
Ahri nodded, her eyes flickering with a hint of uncertainty as she looked at LeBlanc. The sorceress could see the questions burning in Ahri's mind, could see the desire to know more about the man who had dared to challenge LeBlanc's authority, to take what was hers.
But LeBlanc had no intention of revealing the truth, of sharing the secrets of her past with Ahri or anyone else. The fox-woman was a useful ally, a loyal servant who had proven herself time and time again. But she was not worthy of LeBlanc's trust, not worthy of the truth about Swain and their shared history.
"It doesn't matter who he is," LeBlanc said, her voice cold and dismissive as she addressed Ahri. "What matters is that he will not be a problem for much longer. I will make sure of that."
Ahri nodded, her eyes downcast as she absorbed LeBlanc's words. The sorceress could see the disappointment in the fox-woman's expression, could see the jealousy that burned in her heart at the knowledge that LeBlanc held secrets that she was unwilling to share.
But LeBlanc had no time for such trivial emotions, no patience for the insecurities and the uncertainties that plagued those around her. She had a goal, a purpose, and she would not allow anything to stand in her way.
As she looked out the window, at the moon that hung in the night sky, LeBlanc felt a strange sense of anticipation building within her. She had spent so long in the shadows, so long hiding her true power from the world. But now, with Swain's betrayal fresh in her mind, she knew that it was time to step into the light, to embrace the darkness that lay within her and to unleash the full extent of her abilities upon the world.
And as she turned to Ahri, her eyes gleaming with a dark, malevolent light, LeBlanc knew that it was time to begin the next phase of her plan, to take the first step on the path to ultimate power.
"I need more power, Ahri," she said, her voice low and dangerous as she addressed the fox-woman. "And I think it's time that I initiate you in the true secrets of sorcery."
Ahri's eyes widened in surprise, her mouth opening and closing as she tried to form a response. But LeBlanc silenced her with a wave of her hand, her mind already racing with the possibilities, with the dark and terrible knowledge that she would soon impart to her most loyal servant.
Notes:
Let me see if you can guess who the two champions working for Swain were. I think they are pretty easy to guess right. Also, evaine is based on Coven Leblanc Skin
Chapter 5: Qiyana's Nightmare
Notes:
Happy Halloween! Another chapter filled with references. but as always, obvious ones. this one is shorter, but i hope you enjoy it nonetheless, should be more smooth to read since there are few changes in POV/Places
Chapter Text
Ahri's eyes narrowed as she looked at Qiyana, sprawled out on the sofa in the lobby of LeBlanc's chateau, her legs spread wide and her barely-there g-string doing little to cover her lower labia. The fox-woman's lips curled into a sneer of disapproval as she looked at that Ixtali brat evading to work again. She approached the younger woman, her voice angry as she spoke.
"Get up, you little slut," Ahri growled, her eyes flashing with a dark, malevolent light. "You're not here to lounge around and show off your tits and ass to anyone who walks by. You're here to work, and I suggest you start working with some clients right now"
Qiyana looked up at Ahri, her eyes wide with surprise and a hint of defiance as she met the older woman's gaze. She was used to getting her way, to using her youth and her beauty to manipulate and control those around her. But Ahri was not so easily swayed, and the fox-woman's words struck a chord within Qiyana, a reminder of the true purpose of her presence in LeBlanc's chateau.
"I am working," Qiyana said, her voice pouty and petulant as she spoke. "I'm enticing the clients, drawing them in with my body. Isn't that what LeBlanc wants?"
Ahri's eyes flashed with a dangerous light as she leaned in close to Qiyana, her voice low and threatening as she spoke.
"LeBlanc wants results, you little bitch," she hissed, her words dripping with venom. "She doesn't care how you get them, as long as you do. And if you think that just sitting here spreading your legs and flaunting your tits is going to bring you money, then you're even dumber than you look."
Qiyana's face flushed with anger and embarrassment at Ahri's words. The younger woman's defiance and her arrogance had been a constant source of irritation for the fox-woman, but now, Ahri saw an opportunity to put Qiyana in her place, to remind her of the true power that lay within LeBlanc's domain.
"Well, well, well," Ahri purred, her voice low and seductive as she leaned in close to Qiyana. "It seems that our little princess is having a hard time adjusting to her new life. Perhaps a night off would do you some good."
Qiyana's eyes widened in surprise, her mouth falling open as she looked up at Ahri. She had never expected the older woman to offer her such a thing, to show her any sort of mercy or compassion.
"Y-you mean it?" Qiyana stammered, her voice filled with a mix of hope and disbelief. "I can have the night off?" Ahri nodded, a slow, deliberate motion as she looked down at Qiyana, her eyes gleaming with a dark, malevolent light.
"But there's a catch," she said, her voice low and dangerous as she spoke. "You'll have to come with me and LeBlanc to the forest tonight. We have some...business to attend to, and we could use an extra set of hands."
Qiyana's face fell, her hopes of a night of freedom and relaxation dashed by Ahri's words. The thought of spending the night in the forest with LeBlanc and her dark sorcery filled her with boredom. She had always been skeptical of the old woman's powers, dismissing them as nothing more than fairy tales and myths.
"It's not exactly a free night, is it?" she muttered, her voice filled with a pouty, petulant tone as she spoke. "And besides, I don't believe in all that stupid sorcery crap. The old gods are just a myth, a fairy tale told to scare little children."
Ahri's eyes flashed with a dangerous light as she looked down at Qiyana, her voice low and threatening as she spoke. "Those are your options, little girl," she hissed, her words dripping with venom. "You can either come with us to the forest and witness the true power of LeBlanc's sorcery, or you can stay here and face the clients on your own. The choice is yours."
Qiyana's mind raced as she considered her options, the weight of Ahri's words settling heavily upon her shoulders. She knew that she had to make a decision, had to choose between LeBlanc's boring tea party on the forest, and the certainty of a night filled with clients anxious to buttfuck her.
And as she looked up at Ahri, her eyes filled with a mix of fear and defiance, Qiyana knew that the choice was really simple in fact.
"Fine," she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper as she spoke. "I'll go with you and LeBlanc to the forest. But I'm not going to believe in any of that stupid sorcery crap, no matter what I see."
Ahri's lips curled into a cold, cruel smile as she looked down at Qiyana, her eyes gleaming with a dark, malevolent light. "We'll see about that"
As Ahri and Qiyana ventured deeper into the forest, the shadows seemed to close in around them, the darkness pressing in from all sides as the dim light of the lamp cast eerie shadows on the twisted trees and the gnarled branches that reached out like skeletal fingers. Qiyana's heart raced with each step, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps as she tried to suppress the growing sense of dread and unease that filled her chest.
With every rustle of the leaves, every snap of a twig, Qiyana flinched, her eyes darting wildly in the darkness as she searched for the source of the sound. Her imagination ran wild, conjuring up images of monstrous creatures and twisted beasts lurking just beyond the reach of the light, waiting to pounce and devour her whole.
"Hurry up, you little bitch," Ahri hissed, her voice sharp and impatient as she pushed Qiyana forward, her hand digging into the younger woman's arm with a painful grip. "We don't want to be late. LeBlanc hates it when we keep her waiting."
Qiyana stumbled forward, her feet tangling in the roots and the underbrush as she struggled to keep up with Ahri's rapid pace. The fox-woman moved with a predatory grace, her eyes gleaming in the darkness as she led them deeper and deeper into the heart of the forest.
And as they walked, Qiyana couldn't shake the feeling that they were being watched, that unseen eyes were following their every move, tracking their progress through the trees. She shuddered, wrapping her arms around herself as she tried to ward off the chill that seemed to seep into her bones, the cold tendrils of fear and uncertainty that coiled around her heart.
"What is this place?" she whispered, her voice trembling with fear as she looked around at the twisted, gnarled trees that seemed to loom over them like ancient sentinels. "Where are you taking me?"
Ahri turned to look at Qiyana, her eyes gleaming with a dark, malevolent light as she smiled, a slow, deliberate motion that sent a shiver down the younger woman's spine.
"You'll see soon enough," Ahri purred, her voice low and seductive as she spoke. "Just keep walking, little girl. And try not to scream too loud when you see what's waiting for us in the heart of the forest."
Qiyana's blood ran cold at Ahri's words, her mind racing with images of dark rituals and twisted sacrifices, of ancient gods and demonic entities that lurked in the shadows, waiting to claim their next victim. She wanted to turn and run, to flee back to the safety and the familiarity of the chateau, but something held her back, some unseen force that seemed to root her to the spot, compelling her to follow Ahri deeper and deeper into the darkness.
They arrive to a glade surrounded by dark stones. Qiyana looked around the glade, her eyes widening as she took in the sight of the dark, ancient stones that surrounded them, their surfaces etched with strange symbols and runes that seemed to pulse with an otherworldly energy. In the center of the glade stood LeBlanc, her body naked beneath a flowing purple robe, her eyes gleaming with a dark, malevolent light as she looked out at Ahri and Qiyana.
"Remove your clothes," LeBlanc commanded, her voice low and dangerous as she spoke to Qiyana. "And put on these jewels. They will amplify your power and your connection to the ancient ones."
Qiyana's heart raced as she looked down at the exquisite jewels that LeBlanc had placed before her, the bracelets, the anklets, the necklace, all crafted from precious metals and adorned with glittering gemstones. She knew that she had no choice but to obey, that to refuse would only bring her pain and suffering at the hands of the sorceress.
But as she reached for the jewels, Qiyana couldn't shake the feeling of dread and unease that filled her chest, the knowledge that she was being drawn into something dark and sinister, this was another one of LeBlanc's games to show her dominance.
"Are you seriously considering killing me for your stupid ritual?" she asked, her voice trembling with fear and defiance as she looked up at LeBlanc. "Do you really want to sacrifice me to your gods or whatever?"
LeBlanc laughed, a cold, cruel sound that sent a shiver down Qiyana's spine as the sorceress looked down at the younger woman, her eyes gleaming with a dark, malevolent light.
"Would you believe me if I said no?" she asked, her voice low and seductive as she spoke. "Besides, you are my property, little one. I like to keep my things mostly intact."
Qiyana's face flushed with anger and humiliation as LeBlanc's words sank in, the realization that she was nothing more than a possession, a toy to be used and discarded at the sorceress's whim hitting her like a punch to the gut. She had always been proud, always been confident in her own worth and her own power. But now, faced with the cold, cruel reality of her situation, Qiyana felt a sense of helplessness and despair that threatened to consume her whole.
"I expected better from you," she spat, her voice filled with a mix of rage and disgust as she looked up at LeBlanc. "I thought you were a woman of power and influence, not some pathetic little witch playing at dark rituals and blood sacrifices."
LeBlanc's eyes flashed with a dangerous light as she looked down at Qiyana, her lips curling into a cold, cruel smile as she spoke.
"Oh, you have no idea, little girl," she purred, her voice low and threatening as she spoke. "But you will. You will see the true power that lies within these stones, the ancient magic that flows through my veins. And you will learn to fear me, to respect me, to bow down before me as your mistress"
As Qiyana reached for the jewels, as she began to adorn her body with the glittering stones, Qiyana couldn't help but wonder what horrors awaited her in the heart of the forest, what dark and twisted rituals LeBlanc had planned for her and for the ancient gods.
Qiyana stood in the center of the glade, her body adorned with the glittering jewels that LeBlanc had given her, the stones cold and heavy against her skin as they rested upon her wrists, her ankles, her neck. She shivered, not from the chill in the night air, but from the growing sense of unease and dread that filled her chest as she looked around at the ancient stones that surrounded them, their surfaces etched with strange symbols and runes that seemed to pulse with an otherworldly energy.
LeBlanc and Ahri stood on either side of her, their voices rising in a chant that echoed through the night, the words strange and guttural, speaking of ancient gods and dark rituals that Qiyana could not begin to understand. The rhythm of their chanting was hypnotic, drawing Qiyana in, making her head spin and her vision blur as she struggled to maintain her focus, to keep her wits about her in the face of the growing darkness that surrounded them.
"Old gods..." Qiyana muttered, her voice filled with a mix of disdain and disbelief as she looked up at the sky, at the stars that twinkled above them. "Myths, for the weak-minded and the gullible. This is all just nonsense, a bunch of superstitious bullshit designed to control the masses."
But even as she spoke, even as she tried to convince herself that there was nothing to fear, Qiyana couldn't shake the feeling that something was happening, that the world around her was shifting and changing in ways she could not begin to comprehend. The stars above seemed to rearrange themselves, their positions shifting and realigning to form strange, alien patterns that defied all logic and reason.
And as Qiyana stared up at the sky, her eyes wide with a mix of fear and wonder, she saw something that made her blood run cold, something that sent a shiver down her spine and made her heart race with a primal terror. For a moment, just for a fleeting instant, Qiyana swore she could see a face in the stars, a vast, infinite visage that seemed to stretch across the night sky, its features shifting and changing like the sands of time, yet somehow remaining constant and eternal.
It was a face without angles or features, yet somehow Qiyana felt as if she could perceive its presence, could sense its gaze upon her, studying her, judging her, as if it could see into the very depths of her soul. And in that moment, Qiyana knew with a bone-deep certainty that the gods were real, that the ancient ones were watching, and that they had chosen her for a purpose that she could not begin to fathom.
"This is bullshit," she whispered, her voice trembling with a mix of fear and disbelief as she looked up at the sky, at the face that seemed to stare down at her from the heavens above. "Random confluence of celestial bodies, nothing more. There's no way in hell that this is real."
But even as she spoke the words, even as she tried to convince herself that there was a rational explanation for what she was seeing, Qiyana couldn't shake the feeling that she was on the verge of something sinister and evil. Something truly dark.
Qiyana's head spun as the chanting of LeBlanc and Ahri grew louder, more insistent, the strange, guttural words washing over her in a dizzying wave of sound. She couldn't understand the language they were speaking, if it could even be called a language at all, but the intent behind their chanting was clear to her. They were inviting something, summoning something, and Qiyana had a sinking feeling that she was supposed to be the main course at this twisted feast.
Everything went dark, a suffocating blackness that seemed to swallow up the glade, the ancient stones, the twisted trees, and the stars above. Qiyana felt as if time had stopped, as if the moment was stretching out into an infinite duration, an eternity of stillness and silence that pressed down upon her from all sides. She struggled to breathe, feeling her massive breasts strain against the jewels that adorned them, the weight of the stones making it difficult to expand her chest, to draw in the air she so desperately needed.
"What kind of parlor trick is this, LeBlanc?" Qiyana demanded, her voice echoing in the unnatural silence that had descended upon the glade. "Is this your idea of a joke? Some kind of sick game to mess with my head?"
But there was no response from the sorceress, no answer to Qiyana's desperate pleas. LeBlanc and Ahri continued their chanting, their voices rising in a crescendo of dark, primal power that seemed to shake the very foundations of the earth. Qiyana's heart raced, her mind spinning with a whirlwind of fear and confusion as she tried to make sense of what was happening to her.
Qiyana stood frozen in the darkness, her body trembling with a mix of fear and confusion as the strange, dark entity began to materialize before her. It was a grotesque parody of a living being, a twisted amalgamation of iron, rotted cloth, and weathered wood, its form shifting and changing like the shadows cast by a flickering flame.
"What is this?" Qiyana whispered, her voice trembling with fear as she stared at the entity, her mind racing with a whirlwind of terrifying possibilities. But the response she received was not in words, but in thoughts, in impressions that seemed to sear themselves into her mind with the force of a lightning bolt.
Fear. Despair. A god. A ghost. A corpse. A construct. The Black Crane. Fiddlesticks. The thoughts crashed over Qiyana in a dizzying wave, each one more unsettling than the last as she tried to make sense of the messages that the entity was sending her. She had always been a rational thinker, a woman who relied on logic and reason to make sense of the world around her. But faced with this dark, incomprehensible being, Qiyana felt her certainties crumbling, her beliefs and convictions shattered like glass against a stone.
"Fiddlesticks? Never heard about that" she said, trying to remain in control of her own thoughts. "There is nothing there, Nothing at all." Qiyana muttered, her voice trembling with a mix of disbelief and fear as she stared at the entity, trying to convince herself that it was nothing more than a trick, a illusion created by LeBlanc's dark sorcery. "Gods don't exist. I think, therefor i am. They do not, therefore they don't exist."
But even as she spoke the words, Qiyana couldn't shake the feeling that there was something deeply wrong about this entity, something that went beyond mere illusion or trickery. It was as if the very fabric of reality was being warped and twisted in its presence, the laws of physics and logic bending to accommodate its existence.
Qiyana felt the rough, cold iron hands of the entity groping her naked body, its metal fingers digging into her soft flesh as it pawed at her breasts, her ass, her pussy with a brutal, animalistic hunger. She cried out in pain and fear as the creature forced her to her knees, its strength overwhelming her own as it loomed over her, its dark form blotting out the stars above.
Qiyana gasped, her voice trembling with a mix of rage and revulsion as she struggled against the entity's iron grip. "I've never seen anything so crude and insufferable in my life. You're nothing but a pile of rusted scrap metal pretending to be something more."
But even as she spoke, even as she tried to deny the entity's existence, Qiyana felt a strange, unseen force compelling her to submit, to surrender herself to its dark desires. She shuddered as what she could only interpret as the entity's cock, hard as steel and hot as a branding iron, probed at her lips, forcing its way into her mouth as she tried to turn her head away, to escape its relentless assault. "Does a god even need to have it's cock sucked? come on!"
"Nnnngghhh!" Qiyana gagged, choking on the thick, bitter taste of the entity's member as it thrust into her throat, its metal shaft scraping against her teeth and the soft flesh of her mouth. She felt the creature's hands gripping her head, holding her in place as it fucked her face with a brutal, mechanical rhythm, its hips pistoning back and forth like a well-oiled machine.
Qiyana's mind reeled with a whirlwind of dark, forbidden thoughts as the entity violated her, its cock pumping in and out of her mouth, coating her tongue and the inside of her cheeks with a thick, viscous fluid that tasted of oil and metal. She couldn't understand how something so inanimate, so utterly devoid of life or warmth, could be capable of such base, primal lust, such a depraved hunger for her flesh.
And yet, even as she struggled and fought against the entity's advances, Qiyana couldn't deny the shameful, traitorous heat that was building between her legs, the slick arousal that was gathering in her pussy as the creature used her mouth like a common whore. She hated herself for responding to its touch, for feeling anything but revulsion and disgust as the entity's iron fingers probed her most intimate places, its cold metal cock sliding in and out of her with a brutal, mechanical precision.
"This isn't happening," Qiyana gasped, tears streaming down her face as she tried to pull away, to escape the entity's relentless assault. "It's not possible. I must be dreaming. This is just a nightmare, a sick, twisted fantasy cooked up by my own mind."
But even as she spoke the words, even as she tried to convince herself that none of this was real, Qiyana couldn't ignore the dark, primal pleasure that was building inside her, the shameful ecstasy that was threatening to consume her whole as the entity fucked her mouth with a ruthless, merciless intensity.
Qiyana gagged and choked as the entity's iron cock thrust into her mouth, the rough, rusted metal scraping against her tongue and the soft flesh of her cheeks. The taste of iron was strong, almost overpowering, and for a moment she wondered if it was iron from the creature's ancient, corroded phallus, or if it was the taste of her own blood, drawn from her lips by the entity's brutal assault.
She struggled and fought, trying to turn her head away, to escape the creature's relentless fucking, but its iron hands held her in place with an unyielding grip, forcing her to submit to its dark desires. Qiyana's mind reeled with a whirlwind of dark, forbidden thoughts as the entity violated her, its cock pumping in and out of her mouth with a brutal, mechanical rhythm, its hips pistoning back and forth like a well-oiled machine.
And then, with a sudden, violent thrust, the entity's cock erupted, filling Qiyana's mouth with a thick, viscous fluid that tasted of oil, metal, and something else, something she couldn't quite place. It wasn't the sour, salty taste of cum that she had grown accustomed to, but something far more primal, more visceral. It was the taste of fear, liquid fear, pouring into her mouth and down her throat, filling her with a cold, sickening dread.
As the entity's orgasm subsided, the darkness around them began to change, shifting and swirling like a stormy sea. Qiyana's mind spun, her senses overwhelmed by the taste of fear and the relentless pounding of the entity's cock. And then, with a sudden jolt, she found herself in a familiar place, a place she had thought she would never see again.
She was back in her palace on Ixtal, the grand halls and sweeping staircases bathed in the warm, golden light of the setting sun. But something was wrong, something was off. The palace was silent, eerily still, as if it were holding its breath, waiting for something terrible to happen.
Qiyana stood frozen, her heart pounding in her chest as she tried to make sense of what was happening. How had she gotten here? What was the entity doing to her? And why did she have the sudden, overwhelming sense that she was not alone, that something dark and malevolent was watching her from the shadows?
She took a tentative step forward, her bare feet sinking into the plush carpets that lined the hallway. The air was thick with the scent of jasmine and sandalwood, the familiar smells of home, but there was something else, something rotten and decayed that made her stomach turn.
Qiyana's heart pounded in her chest as she stood before her family, her parents and sisters all gathered in the throne room, their faces twisted with mockery and scorn. She could hear their jeers and taunts echoing in her ears, their voices merging into a cacophony of hate and ridicule.
"The neverqueen!" they shouted, their voices rising in a cruel chorus. "The fool! The last one!"
Qiyana wanted to scream, to shout back at them, to tell them all to go to hell, but she couldn't find her voice, couldn't make the words come out. She felt paralyzed, trapped in a nightmare from which she could not escape.
Her mother stepped forward, a look of disgust and contempt on her face as she reached out and grabbed Qiyana by the arm, her nails digging into her flesh like talons. "You're a disappointment, Qiyana," she hissed, her voice like a serpent's venom. "A prodigy wasted on a temperamental brat. Thank the gods you'll never be queen."
Qiyana tried to pull away, to break free from her mother's iron grip, but it was no use. She was trapped, held in place by the weight of her own shame and failure.
Her father approached then, his eyes gleaming with a dark, twisted hunger as he grabbed Qiyana by the hips and forced her legs apart, exposing her bare pussy to the leering eyes of the court. "You may be unfit to be queen," he growled, his voice like gravel, "but you'll make a fine concubine."
And with that, he thrust himself inside her, his cock driving deep into her pussy with a brutal, merciless force. Qiyana cried out in pain and shock, her body shaking as her father pounded into her, his hips slamming against hers with a sickening rhythm.
She looked up at him, her eyes wide with horror and disbelief, and for a moment, she thought she saw the face of the entity, the dark, twisted creature that had violated her in the glade. The face of her father and the entity merged, became one, and Qiyana felt a cold, sickening dread wash over her as she realized that she was trapped, not just in this nightmare, but in a cycle of abuse and degradation that would never end.
Qiyana's body trembled as her father's cock, cold and hard as iron, thrust into her pussy with a brutal, merciless force. She cried out in pain, tears streaming down her face as the cruel metal shaft scraped against her delicate flesh, filling her with a searing agony that seemed to consume her whole.
She looked up at her father's face, but it was no longer the face of the man who had raised her, the man who was supposed to love and protect her. It was the face of the entity, the dark, twisted creature that had violated her in the glade, its eyes glowing with a malevolent hunger as it loomed over her, pinning her down with its iron hands.
"This is just an illusion," Qiyana gasped, her voice barely a whisper as she struggled to maintain her sanity amidst the nightmare that surrounded her. "Just a bad dream, a trick of LeBlanc's sorcery. There are no gods, no demons, no entities. It's all in my mind."
But even as she spoke the words, even as she tried to convince herself that none of this was real, Qiyana couldn't ignore the pain that was ripping through her body, the searing agony of the iron cock driving into her pussy with a relentless, mechanical rhythm. She could feel the cold, hard metal scraping against her most intimate places, filling her with a sickening, soul-crushing despair.
"Please," she whimpered, her voice barely audible over the sound of her father's grunts and the lewd, wet noises of his cock pumping in and out of her. "Please, stop. I can't take anymore."
But her pleas fell on deaf ears, her father's face twisting into a cruel, mocking sneer as he continued to violate her, his hips slamming against hers with a brutal, merciless force. Qiyana could feel her mind starting to fracture, the line between reality and nightmare blurring as the pain and degradation consumed her whole.
"This is not how it happened," she gasped, her voice barely a whisper as she tried to cling to the memories of her past, the moments of joy and happiness that had once filled her life. "This is not real. It's just a trick, a nightmare, a twisted fantasy cooked up by my own mind."
But even as she spoke the words, even as she tried to convince herself that none of this was real, Qiyana couldn't escape the pain, the agony, the shame and degradation that filled her with every thrust of her father's iron cock. And as she lay there, trapped and helpless beneath him, she couldn't shake the feeling that this was just the beginning, that there were worse horrors yet to come, darker chapters of her past that she would be forced to revisit and corrupt.
Qiyana felt the iron cock swell inside her, pulsing and throbbing as it pumped its dark, viscous seed deep into her womb. The moment seemed to stretch on forever, an eternity of pain and humiliation as her father, the entity, whatever it was, filled her with its vile essence.
And then, as suddenly as it had begun, it was over. The nightmare faded away, melting into the darkness like a bad dream, leaving Qiyana alone in the silence of her own mind.
But the respite was short-lived. The darkness around her shifted and changed, and Qiyana found herself in a new place, a new memory that she had tried so hard to forget. She was back on Ixtal, back in the midst of the war, the sounds of battle echoing in her ears as the Piltovian army stormed her kingdom, laying waste to everything in their path.
Qiyana remembered it all too well: the defeat, the capture, the humiliation of being sold to the pleasure houses, her body and soul laid bare for the depraved appetites of rich Piltovian men. She could still feel the rough ropes biting into her wrists and ankles as she was tied to the bed, her naked body on display for all to see.
And now, here she was again, reliving that first night, that first violation as a man approached her from behind, his face obscured by the shadows. Was it the entity? A rich Piltovian man? LeBlanc in disguise? Qiyana couldn't tell, couldn't see his face as he loomed over her, his dark, rusted phallus jutting out like a weapon, ready to claim her most intimate place.
She braced herself, her body tensing as she felt the hard, cold metal press against her asshole, stretching her tight ring of muscle with a brutal, unforgiving force. The pain was intense, searing, as the rusted phallus tore into her, ripping her apart from the inside out.
Qiyana screamed, her voice raw and ragged as it echoed through the chamber, but there was no one to hear her, no one to save her from this nightmare. She was alone, trapped in a cycle of abuse and degradation, forced to relive her darkest memories over and over again.
As the man behind her began to thrust, driving his iron cock deeper and deeper into her ass, Qiyana felt a wave of despair wash over her. This was not the way it was supposed to be. She was not meant to be a slave, a plaything for the twisted desires of others. She was a queen, a warrior, an empress in her own right.
But here, in this nightmare, in this twisted reflection of her past, she was nothing more than a pawn, a piece to be moved and manipulated by forces beyond her control. And as the man behind her continued to pound into her, his rusted phallus scraping against her raw, abused flesh, Qiyana could only close her eyes and pray for an end to this madness, an end to the pain and humiliation that seemed to consume her whole.
Qiyana's tears flowed freely now, the pain and humiliation of her past violations overwhelming her senses. She felt like she could pass out at any moment, the agony of the iron cock pounding into her ass and the memories of her suffering threatening to consume her whole.
But then, in the midst of the pain and despair, a memory surfaced, a moment from her past that she had long tried to forget. It was LeBlanc, the enigmatic sorceress who had once offered her a way out, a chance to escape the life of poverty and suffering that had been her lot since the fall of Ixtal.
"Qiyana, my dear," LeBlanc had said, her voice like silk as she stood before the young queen, her eyes gleaming with a dark, knowing hunger. "Are you satisfied with being just another Ixtali bitch, conquered and claimed by the might of Piltover? Is this the life you truly desire?"
At the time, Qiyana had been terrified, her heart pounding in her chest as she looked up at the sorceress, her mind reeling with a whirlwind of dark, forbidden thoughts. But now, as she lay there, tied to the bed and being violated by the entity, that memory took on a new meaning, a new purpose.
"If you are to be a whore," LeBlanc had continued, her voice a seductive purr, "then at least live in luxury and comfort. Come with me, Qiyana, and I will ensure that you want for nothing. You will want for nothing, and perhaps, one day, you may even become queen again."
And now, as the entity filled her ass with its vile seed, as it pumped its dark essence into her most intimate place, Qiyana felt a spark of defiance ignite within her. She would not be a victim, not anymore. She would take control, seize her destiny, and make those who had wronged her pay. Including LeBlanc
LeBlanc stood before the Black Crane, her eyes gleaming with a dark, hungry light as she gazed upon the ancient entity. The creature's form was shrouded in shadows, its features obscured by the darkness that seemed to cling to it like a second skin.
"Great one," LeBlanc said, her voice a seductive purr as she spoke to the entity, "I come to you seeking power, seeking victory over my enemies. Grant me the strength to crush those who would dare to defy me, to make them bow before my might."
The Black Crane regarded her with inescrutable eyes, its gaze unreadable as it stared at LeBlanc from the depths of the shadows. For a moment, there was only silence, the air thick with tension as the entity seemed to consider her request.
And then, with a sudden, sharp movement, the Black Crane raised its hand, pointing one long, bony finger at LeBlanc. "Power," it muttered, its voice like the rasp of metal on stone.
LeBlanc's eyes widened, a thrill of excitement coursing through her as she realized that the entity had granted her wish, had given her the power she so desperately craved. But then, just as quickly, the Black Crane's finger shifted, pointing now at Qiyana, who stood nearby, her eyes wide with fear and confusion.
"More," the entity hissed, its voice barely above a whisper.
LeBlanc's brow furrowed, her mind racing as she tried to decipher the creature's meaning. More power? More sacrifices? More... something?
But before she could ask, the Black Crane seemed to dissolve into the shadows, its form melting away like mist in the sunlight. LeBlanc stood there for a moment, her heart pounding in her chest as she tried to make sense of what had just happened.
And then, as suddenly as it had begun, it was over. The night was calm once more, the stars and moon shining down from the heavens above, casting their silvery light over the quiet forest.
Ahri approached LeBlanc, her eyes filled with concern as she looked at the sorceress. "What did the creature mean?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "What did it say to you?"
LeBlanc sighed, a dark, knowing smile playing at the corners of her mouth as she turned to face her companion. "If I want more power," she said, her voice a low, dangerous purr, "I will need to make more sacrifices. The Black Crane has spoken, and I would be a fool to ignore its warning."
Ahri's eyes widened, a chill running down her spine as she realized the implications of LeBlanc's words. More sacrifices? What did that mean? What was LeBlanc planning?
But before she could ask, LeBlanc turned and walked away, her form disappearing into the shadows as she left Ahri alone in the moonlight, her mind racing with a whirlwind of dark, forbidden thoughts.
Qiyana opened her eyes, blinking against the soft glow of the moonlight that filtered through the trees. She was back in the forest, lying on the soft earth, the damp leaves and twigs pressing against her bare skin. For a moment, she felt a flicker of panic, a sudden rush of fear as the memories of her nightmares came flooding back to her.
But as she sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, Qiyana realized that she felt no pain, no lingering ache from the brutal violations that had seemed so real in her dreams. It had all been a nightmare, a twisted fantasy cooked up by her own mind, a dark reflection of the horrors she had endured in the past.
As she sat up, Qiyana saw Ahri standing nearby, the fox girl's eyes fixed on her with a mix of concern and curiosity. She stepped forward, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth as she reached out to help Qiyana to her feet.
"Congratulations, Qiyana," Ahri said, her voice filled with a mix of awe and admiration. "The gods have judged you, and they have found you pleasing and worthy. Aren't you glad at the outcome?"
Qiyana's eyes narrowed, a flicker of anger and defiance sparking in their depths as she pulled away from Ahri's outstretched hand. "Not remotely," she spat, her voice dripping with disdain. "I know my worth, and I know my strength. There are no gods, Ahri. Gods don't exist."
Ahri's brow furrowed, a look of confusion and concern crossing her face as she studied Qiyana's hardened expression. "But Qiyana," she said softly, "haven't you felt the power at play tonight? The way the Black Crane responded to you, the way it seemed to...choose you, in a sense?"
Qiyana scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping her lips as she turned away from Ahri, her eyes fixed on the distant horizon. "Gods are for the weak," she said, her voice a low, dangerous growl. "And I am not weak."
But even as she spoke the words, even as she tried to convince herself that her defiance was born of strength and conviction, Qiyana knew that it was a lie, a desperate attempt to cling to the last shreds of her crumbling sanity. For deep down, in the darkest recesses of her mind, Qiyana knew that something had changed within her tonight, that the encounter with the Black Crane had left an indelible mark on her soul.
Chapter 6: Swain's payback
Summary:
Swain’s Black Crow stands as a tribute to his cunning and brutality, spreading across conquered territories and entrenching his control. His rivalry with LeBlanc is personal and political, fueled by his belief that only he should dictate the future of Noxus Prime. Akali and Zeri, each trapped in his network for their own reasons, reflect the complexity of Swain's empire. Their roles might reveal more about his methods, the toll of conquest, and the ways Swain consolidates power while plotting LeBlanc’s downfall.
Chapter Text
Zeri slumped into the velvet seat next to Akali, the pulsing beat of the club still thudding faintly through the walls. Both girls were exhausted, their bodies aching from hours of performing under the relentless gaze of their audience. Their skimpy lingerie offered no warmth in the dimly lit backroom, but the energy drinks in their hands were a small reprieve.
Zeri took a long sip before turning to Akali, her bright eyes wide with curiosity. “Hey, Akali,” she began, her voice hesitant but brimming with that usual enthusiasm, “what do you think happened to that guy? You know... the one who, uh, combusted himself?”
Akali raised an eyebrow, not looking up from her own drink. “Combusted himself?” she repeated dryly. “You mean the idiot who got torched in the VIP room?”
“Yeah,” Zeri said, leaning in closer, her voice dropping conspiratorially. “I heard it wasn’t an accident. People are saying it was the work of some wicked sorceress.”
Akali sighed, setting her drink down with an audible thunk. “Zeri, you really need to stop listening to every piece of gossip that floats through this place. Half of it’s nonsense.”
“But what if it’s true?” Zeri pressed, her tone earnest. “What if it was her? That LeBlanc woman? Everyone says she’s like... super evil or something.”
Akali finally looked at her, her jade-green eyes sharp and unimpressed. “Listen, kid, the only thing you need to know about this job is that there’s always a bigger monster lurking in the shadows. LeBlanc, Swain, whoever—you think it matters? We’re all just pawns to them. The only way you survive is by keeping your head down and doing what you’re told.”
Zeri frowned, fidgeting with the hem of her lace stockings. “That’s so bleak, though. I mean, don’t you ever think about... getting out? Like, running away or something?”
Akali scoffed, leaning back in her seat. “And go where, Zeri? There’s nothing out there. Just ruins and warzones. At least here, we have a roof over our heads and food on the table. You think freedom is worth starving for?”
Zeri bit her lip, clearly unsatisfied with the answer. “But don’t you ever get tired of it? Of... them using us like this? Like we’re nothing?”
Akali’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, there was a flicker of something raw in her expression—anger, maybe, or regret. “Of course I do,” she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper. “But you don’t change the game by playing reckless. You wait. You watch. And when the time’s right...”
She trailed off, shaking her head as if dismissing the thought.
Zeri, despite her mentor’s harsh tone, leaned closer, her eyes wide with hope. “You think there’ll ever be a right time?”
Akali didn’t answer immediately, her gaze distant. When she finally spoke, her voice was flat, guarded. “Get some rest, Zeri. You’re gonna need it.”
Talon entered Swain's dimly lit office, the air heavy with the scent of tobacco and aged leather. The general sat behind his imposing desk, his crimson gaze fixed on the flickering embers in the fireplace. Without waiting for acknowledgment, Talon spoke.
“The girls are restless,” he said, his tone clipped. “They’re scared. After what happened to that client... they’re questioning their safety.”
Swain exhaled a slow breath through his nose, his fingers steepling. “Of course they are. Fear is a contagious disease in a place like this.”
“They’re not wrong to be afraid,” Talon added, stepping closer. “LeBlanc’s reach is longer than we thought. If she can strike at one of our clients like that, she might—”
“Stop,” Swain interrupted, his voice calm but laced with iron. “You think I don’t know what she’s capable of? That conniving bitch knows exactly where to strike to make her message loud and clear. The loss of one client is nothing—she’s trying to attack the foundation of my business. The girls. The trust of my clientele. My bottom line.”
Talon said nothing, watching as Swain leaned back in his chair, his expression cold and calculating.
“She’s smart,” Swain admitted, his voice almost admiring. “But she made a mistake. She thinks she can humiliate me, chip away at my empire without consequence. What she doesn’t realize is that I’ve already set the wheels in motion for her payback.”
Talon raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”
Swain smirked, his crimson eyes glowing faintly in the firelight. “Let’s just say her little game will cost her more than she bargained for. Something far more painful than a few damaged girls or lost income. She’ll learn what it means to provoke the Black Crow.”
Talon nodded, though a shadow of unease flickered in his usually stoic expression. “What’s the plan?”
Swain’s smile widened, his tone venomous. “Patience, Talon. You’ll see soon enough. For now, ensure the girls know their safety is my priority. Reassure them, calm their fears. And make sure no one—no one—suspects a thing. I want her blindsided.”
Talon gave a curt nod and turned to leave, but not before glancing back at Swain. The man’s smirk had turned into something darker, something cruel. Whatever he had planned for LeBlanc, Talon knew it would be nothing short of devastating.
Zeri followed Akali down the hall, her steps quickening to keep up with her mentor's brisk pace. The air was heavy with the promise of what was to come - another private dance for two VIP clients.As they approached the door, Zeri could hear muffled voices and the clinking of glasses from inside. Her heart raced in anticipation and nervousness - would they be kind or cruel, generous or cheap? Akali glanced back at her, sensing her tension."Relax," she murmured."Just do what I do and you'll be fine."
With that, she pushed open the door - revealing two men lounging on plush velvet couches, sipping cocktails as they watched the girls enter.
The men's eyes raked over Zeri and Akali's bodies with undisguised hunger as they stepped into the dimly lit room. Akali sauntered towards them, hips swaying seductively, a confident smirk playing on her lips."Evening, gentlemen," she purred, leaning down to trail a finger along one man's thigh."I'm Akali, and this is my little friend Zeri. We're here to make sure your night is...pleasurable."
Akali walked over to a small table in the corner, returning with a bottle of coconut oil. She poured a generous amount into her hand, rubbing it between her palms before beginning to cover her skin with the silky liquid.
Zeri watched her for a moment before following suit, smearing the oil over her own body. The oily substance made their skin glisten under the room's dim lighting, making them look almost ethereal.As the clients watched, the girls started to dance, their hips swaying in time with the music playing softly from hidden speakers. They moved closer and closer to each other until their bodies were pressed together, skin sliding against oil-slicked skin in a sensual, erotic embrace.
Akali and Zeri's dance grew more intense, their bodies grinding against each other in a way that left little to the imagination. Akali reached out to cup Zeri's breast, kneading the soft flesh in her oily hand while Zeri gasped and arched into the touch.
They turned and twisted, each girl taking turns to lead the other in a dance that was as much about seduction as it was about the art of movement. The men watched with rapt attention, their eyes glued to the erotic display unfolding before them.
Akali and Zeri's dance had left the men breathless and eager for more. As they approached their clients, the girls moved with a predatory grace, straddling the men's laps and pressing their oiled bodies against them.
Zeri was the first to notice the wandering hands - one man's fingers trailing up her thigh, inching dangerously close to her barely-covered core. She tensed slightly, glancing at Akali for guidance.
Akali's eyes narrowed as she caught the man's roaming touch."Ah ah," she said sharply, grabbing his wrist and pulling his hand away from Zeri's body. "You want to play with the merchandise? You're gonna have to pay for it."
The man's eyes widened in surprise at Akali's sudden rebuke, but he quickly recovered, a sly grin spreading across his face. "Is that so?" he asked, his voice low and laced with desire."And what exactly would that entail?"
Akali leaned in close, her lips brushing against his ear as she whispered,"For a price, we can give you the full treatment... something that will leave you begging for more." The man's breath hitched at her words, and he nodded eagerly. "I'm in," he said, reaching for his wallet."How much?"
Akali named her price, and the man didn't hesitate to pay.
The four of them made their way into another room, the air thick with anticipation. As soon as the door shut behind them, Akali and Zeri wasted no time in stripping off their skimpy lingerie, letting it fall to the floor in a pool of silk and lace.
The men watched hungrily as the girls revealed their naked bodies, their eyes roaming over every curve and dip. Zeri blushed under their scrutiny, but Akali simply smirked, enjoying the power she held over them.With a nod from Akali, the men began to undress as well, their clothes joining the girls' on the floor. Soon, all four of them were completely naked, their bodies pressed close together in the confined space.
Akali reached out to grasp one of the men's throbbing erections, stroking it slowly as she leaned in to kiss him deeply. Meanwhile, Zeri took the other man's cock into her mouth, swirling her tongue around the head before taking him deeper.
The men groaned in pleasure, their hands roaming over the girls' naked bodies, groping and squeezing. Akali broke away from her kiss to whisper,"You want to fuck us, don't you? To claim our tight little pussies with your big, hard cocks?"
The men nodded eagerly, their desire evident in their hungry expressions. Akali smiled, guiding one of them to lay down on the bed before straddling his hips."
Akali sank down onto the man's cock with a low moan, her eyes fluttering closed in ecstasy as she felt him fill her. She began to ride him slowly, her hips rolling in sensual circles as she savored the feeling of his hard length stretching her.
Zeri watched for a moment before joining them on the bed, positioning herself above the other man's face. She lowered herself onto his mouth, gasping as his tongue found her clit and began to lap at it eagerly.
The room filled with the sounds of pleasure - moans and grunts mingling with the wet noises of skin on skin.
Akali rode her client with increasing fervor, her hips slamming down onto his cock with each thrust. She leaned back, bracing her hands on his thighs as she changed the angle, taking him even deeper inside her.
The man groaned beneath her, his fingers digging into her hips as he matched her rhythm. Akali could feel her own orgasm building, the familiar tension coiling in her core.
She reached down to rub her clit, her fingers moving in tight circles as she chased her release. The sensation of his cock pounding into her and her own touch sent her over the edge, and with a cry, she came undone, her pussy clenching around him as waves of pleasure crashed over her.
As Akali's cries of pleasure filled the room, Zeri found herself lost in her own world of sensation. The man beneath her was an expert with his tongue, lapping at her clit with skillful precision.She could feel her orgasm building, her body tensing with anticipation. When it finally hit, it was like a bomb going off - her back arching as she screamed out her release, her pussy pulsing and throbbing against his mouth.
Zeri collapsed onto the bed beside them, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. The man grinned up at her, his face glistening with her juices."You taste incredible," he said, his voice low and husky.
Zeri cried out in surprise as the man shifted, his cock pressing against her ass. She looked back at him over her shoulder, eyes wide with a mix of fear and curiosity."Wait, not there," she protested weakly, even as her body seemed to betray her by instinctively pushing back against him. The man didn't listen - he gripped Zeri's hips and thrust forward, breaching her tight asshole with one smooth stroke. Zeri let out a strangled yelp as pain shot through her but quickly gave way to a different kind of sensation - pleasure that radiated from where they were joined."Fuck...it feels strange," she panted, trying to adjust to the new sensation. The man just grunted in response, starting to move inside her ass with deep, powerful strokes that left Zeri breathless.
Akali watched with rapt attention as Zeri took the man's cock in her ass, her expression a mix of fascination and concern. She knew all too well the intense sensations that came with being taken anally - it was a rush unlike any other.As if sensing Akali's gaze, Zeri glanced back at her, their eyes locking for a brief moment before she focused again on the pleasure-pain throbbing between her cheeks. "It's so deep," she whimpered, digging her nails into the sheets beneath them.
"You like that?" the man growled, his thrusts growing more forceful as he pounded into Zeri's tight rear entrance."Yes...fuck yes," Zeri gasped out, even as tears pricked at the corners of her eyes from the intensity. Her body began to respond despite herself - every push and pull sending sparks of electricity shooting through her nerve endings until she felt raw and exposed under his relentless pace.
As the man's thrusts grew more frenzied, Akali could feel her climax approaching like a tidal wave. She wrapped her legs around his waist, locking him in place as he pistoned into her clenching pussy.
"Yes, just like that," she moaned, her voice thick with desire. "Fuck me hard...I'm so close..."
The man grunted and redoubled his efforts, slamming into Akali with brutal intensity. His cock throbbed inside her, swollen and pulsing as he neared his own release.
With one final deep thrust, he buried himself to the hilt and exploded within her - hot ropes of cum flooding Akali's spasming cunt as she screamed out her orgasm. The sensation was overwhelming - pleasure so intense it bordered on pain - but Akali reveled in every second of it.
As the man's pace quickened, Zeri felt a sense of impending release wash over her. Her body tensed and convulsed around him with each jabbing thrust, until finally he buried himself to the hilt and began to unload inside her.
Zeri cried out as she felt his hot seed spurt into her ass, painting her insides with his essence. The sensation was intense - foreign yet thrilling - as if marking her in some primal way.
When he pulled out, Zeri gazed back at him with wide eyes as ropes of cum cascaded down onto her buttocks and lower back. It dripped from between her cheeks, leaving sticky trails on the sheets beneath them.
"That was...incredible," she panted breathlessly, still trying to process the overwhelming sensations coursing through her battered body.
After the clients had dressed and left the room, Akali turned to Zeri, who lay spent on the bed. The younger girl's body was covered in a sheen of sweat, her breathing ragged as she tried to catch her breath.
"Well," Akali said with a tired but satisfied smirk, "that wasn't so bad, was it?" She stretched out beside Zeri, running a hand through her own disheveled hair."You did great out there. Really made those men eat their eyes out."
Zeri let out a weak laugh at that. "I can barely move," she admitted, flopping back onto the pillows with an exhausted groan. "But...yeah, I guess it wasn't terrible."
Akali nodded in agreement. "This life isn't all bad," she said philosophically. "Sure, it's rough sometimes - physically and emotionally - but it's better than starving out in the warzones."
In the dead of night, a shadow slithered through the Château, unseen by the girls, moving with an eerie silence through the dimly lit halls. Katarina lay on her bed, the constant threat from LeBlanc bearing down on her. She was barely asleep when she heard the faint scratching at her window—a sound so subtle, yet unmistakable to her sharp senses.
Her eyes snapped open, and she rose quickly, crossing the room in a few fluid steps to unlatch the window. The moment she did, a familiar bird flew in—a raven, dark and ominous. It settled on the edge of her vanity, its cold, red eyes staring at her with unnerving intensity.
She knew who had sent it.
Katarina approached the raven, and it tilted its head as if to acknowledge her. With a swift motion, it opened its beak, and Swain's voice, low and authoritative, echoed through the small room.
"Sabotage. LeBlanc has made a fool of me," the voice rasped, every word heavy with cold fury. "She dared to ruin what I built, to dismantle my brothel and humiliate me. Her attack was meant to cripple me, to send a message."
Katarina clenched her fists, her jaw tight. She remembered the night LeBlanc, in one of her many disguises, had sabotaged Swain’s business. LeBlanc was ruthless, and her reach knew no bounds.
The raven’s eyes glinted as Swain’s voice continued. "I don’t care how you do it. I don’t care what price you must pay. You will find a way to repay that debt, Katarina. The Château is a prison, and it is ripe for chaos. Break it from within. Wreak havoc. LeBlanc must be made to feel the consequences of crossing me."
Katarina’s mind raced as she listened to her commander’s words. He wasn’t giving her a direct plan, only a mandate: destroy LeBlanc’s control from the inside, no matter the cost. She felt a pit form in her stomach at the thought. LeBlanc’s grip on the Château was ironclad, her magic permeating every corner. Even minor disruptions would draw attention quickly. But failure wasn’t an option. Swain would not tolerate it.
The raven cocked its head, awaiting a response. Katarina nodded slightly. “I’ll do what’s necessary,” she whispered, her voice firm but laced with tension. “But LeBlanc won’t go down easily.”
Swain’s voice, once more from the raven’s beak, was harsh and unforgiving. "Make her bleed, Katarina. Make her regret. Do not fail me."
The raven flapped its wings and darted out of the window as swiftly as it had come, leaving Katarina standing there, her chest tight, her mind spinning with the weight of Swain's orders. She closed the window behind it, the cool night air disappearing as the heavy silence of the Château settled once more around her.
As she paced the small room, Katarina’s thoughts raced. She couldn’t take direct action without drawing suspicion—LeBlanc was always watching, always listening, and now with the curfew. But there were cracks in the Château’s foundation.
Katarina moved like a shadow through the dimly lit corridors of the Château, trailing behind Ahri as silently as possible. She kept her distance, knowing that Ahri’s heightened senses could easily pick up on any slight movement or sound. But Katarina had spent years honing her stealth, and she was confident she could remain undetected.
Ahri was walking with a purpose, her steps quick and light, the long tails of her coat swaying behind her. Every now and then, Ahri would glance over her shoulder, as if paranoid, but she didn’t seem to notice Katarina’s presence. The fox’s nervous energy piqued Katarina’s curiosity even more—something was off. Ahri never moved with such unease unless something important was happening.
Katarina watched as Ahri approached a door at the far end of the hall and slipped inside. LeBlanc was already there, waiting. Katarina’s heart raced—this was no ordinary meeting. She needed to know what was going on.
She pressed herself against the cold stone wall, inching closer, her sharp ears straining to hear anything beyond the thick door. The muffled sounds of Ahri and LeBlanc’s voices reached her, but she couldn’t make out the words. She needed to get closer.
There was another door down the hall, one that led into the Château’s lower levels—the dungeons. Katarina had never ventured down there herself, but she had heard the rumors, whispered by the other girls. The dungeons were where LeBlanc kept her failures, the girls who had displeased her, and more recently, the mysterious prisoner LeBlanc had been so secretive about.
Katarina’s eyes narrowed as she moved toward the second door, slipping inside just before it shut. She descended a narrow staircase, her footsteps light as feathers. The air grew colder as she went deeper, the faint scent of damp stone and metal filling her nose. There was something oppressive about the dungeons, the darkness pressing in on her from all sides.
At the bottom of the staircase, she found herself in a dimly lit corridor lined with cells. Most of them were empty, but there was a single door at the end of the hall, bolted shut with heavy chains. The faint sound of whimpering reached her ears, mixed with soft, maniacal giggles.
Katarina crept closer, her hand resting on the hilt of her dagger. She peered through the small barred window of the cell, and what she saw sent a chill down her spine.
Inside, slumped against the wall, was none other than Jinx, the infamous Loose Cannon from Piltover. Her once vibrant blue hair was matted and dirty, her arms and legs bound with heavy chains. She was rocking back and forth, her eyes wide and wild, muttering to herself between fits of laughter.
LeBlanc had Jinx. Katarina had heard the stories of how Jinx had caused chaos in Piltover, her destructive tendencies making it impossible for Sheriff Caitlyn to rebuild the city. Caitlyn had apparently sold Jinx to LeBlanc in a desperate attempt to rid Piltover of her once and for all.
Katarina’s heart pounded as the pieces fell into place. LeBlanc was torturing Jinx down here, keeping her as a prisoner, no doubt for some dark purpose. This could be the leverage Swain needed—the kind of chaos he would love. Jinx was unstable, unpredictable, and if Katarina could find a way to free her, there would be no telling the destruction that would follow.
But getting Jinx out without alerting LeBlanc would be another challenge entirely. She could feel the weight of Swain’s command pressing down on her: wreak havoc, destroy the Château from within. Jinx could be the key.
Katarina backed away from the cell, her mind racing. She would need a plan, and quickly. LeBlanc was always one step ahead, and if Katarina wasn’t careful, she would find herself caught in a trap of her own making.
She slipped back up the stairs, her movements swift and silent, her mind already working on how she could turn this discovery to her advantage. Jinx was a wild card, but in the right hands, she could be exactly the weapon Katarina needed to bring the Château to its knees.
LeBlanc wiped her hands on a silken cloth, blood and sweat staining the delicate fabric. She looked down at Jinx, who lay slumped against the wall, her breath ragged, her manic giggles reduced to a hoarse whisper. The chains that bound her rattled as she shifted, though she barely had the strength to lift her head.
Ahri stood nearby, her face a mixture of discomfort and forced indifference. She had grown used to LeBlanc's methods over the years, but something about the sight of Jinx—broken, yet still clinging to her madness—made even Ahri uneasy.
“How long do you think it will take?” Ahri asked, her voice carefully measured. She glanced at Jinx, who was muttering to herself incoherently, her eyes flickering between delirium and defiance.
LeBlanc smiled, folding the bloodied cloth and setting it aside. “It depends,” she said, her tone casual, as though discussing something as mundane as the weather. “Jinx is... stubborn. But everyone has their breaking point. We simply haven’t found hers yet.”
Ahri frowned. “She’s been here for weeks. She barely responds to anything we do to her. What if she’s beyond control? Some people are too far gone.”
LeBlanc let out a soft, almost condescending laugh. “Nonsense, my dear. No one is beyond control. It’s all about finding the right... motivation.”
She moved closer to Jinx, kneeling beside the girl’s trembling form. Jinx's lips twitched into a broken smile, her eyes still full of that wild, unhinged energy that had made her so infamous. LeBlanc reached out, gently brushing a strand of Jinx’s tangled blue hair behind her ear. “You see, Jinx is a puzzle. She doesn’t respond to fear or pain the way most do. She craves chaos. Destruction. But there’s something, deep down, that she wants more than that.”
LeBlanc’s eyes gleamed with cold amusement as she rose to her feet. “And once I find out what that is, I’ll use it against her. She’ll be begging to work for me.”
Ahri’s expression darkened. “And if you don’t find it? What if she never breaks?”
LeBlanc’s smile widened, predatory and cruel. “Then I’ll simply continue to enjoy myself in the meantime. Breaking her is a game, Ahri, and I do so love games.”
Ahri crossed her arms, trying to maintain her composure. “What kind of life would that be for her? Even if she submits, she’ll never truly be herself again.”
LeBlanc waved her hand dismissively, turning away from Jinx as if the girl were already forgotten. “She won’t need to be. She’ll be whatever I want her to be. A weapon, a tool... perhaps even one of your companions in the Château. Imagine the kind of attention a girl like Jinx would bring, the chaos she could cause—under my control, of course.”
Ahri shuddered at the thought. She had seen LeBlanc’s twisted plans unfold before, but using Jinx, someone so mentally broken, as a puppet for her own gain felt even darker than usual. “And what if she turns on us? She’s dangerous.”
LeBlanc chuckled softly. “That’s the beauty of it, Ahri. She’s dangerous now, but once she’s mine, she’ll be dangerous for me. The clients will adore her, and any who displease me... well, let’s just say Jinx won’t hesitate to unleash her special brand of madness on them.”
Ahri looked down at Jinx, her heart heavy. She knew better than to voice too much opposition to LeBlanc’s plans, but a part of her couldn’t help but feel pity for the broken girl. “I just hope you know what you’re doing,” she murmured.
LeBlanc’s smile didn’t waver as she glanced back at Ahri. “Oh, my dear, I always know what I’m doing. The only question is how long it will take before Jinx realizes that what she really wants... is to belong to me.”
With that, LeBlanc strode toward the door, her dark robes billowing behind her, leaving Ahri alone with her thoughts and the faint sound of Jinx’s broken laughter echoing through the dungeon.
The cold stone walls of the Château’s dungeon felt even more oppressive under the cover of darkness. Katarina moved silently, her breath shallow as she listened for any sound that might betray her presence. The heavy iron doors, each lined with intricate magical seals, were no easy task to bypass. But Katarina had spent years honing her skills—skills that thrived in the shadows. If she had learned anything in her time within LeBlanc’s twisted world, it was that complacency bred weakness. And LeBlanc, for all her cunning, felt too safe in her own fortress.
That would be her undoing.
Hooded and wrapped in dark fabric, Katarina blended seamlessly into the shadows, her presence undetectable to even the Château’s magical wards. She moved quickly but methodically, slipping past the arcane locks as if they were nothing more than minor inconveniences. The soft click of a final lock made her heart race—it was always the quietest moments that held the most danger.
Beyond the last door lay Jinx, chained and half-broken from weeks of torture. Katarina had seen the madness in her eyes earlier, during her reconnaissance. It was a madness born from suffering, but it was also dangerous—unpredictable. And yet, it was the only weapon Katarina could think to wield against LeBlanc. If she freed Jinx, unleashed that chaos back into the world, perhaps the sorceress would finally lose control of her carefully constructed empire.
As she stepped into the dim light of the dungeon, Katarina’s eyes fell on Jinx. The girl was slumped against the wall, her hair matted with sweat and blood, her wrists raw from the iron cuffs that bound her. The eerie blue light from the nearby torches flickered across Jinx’s face, casting shadows on her sunken cheeks. Her eyes, once wide with crazed energy, were now half-lidded, her breathing shallow and uneven.
But Katarina knew better than to trust appearances. Jinx was dangerous, even like this. Especially like this.
Katarina crouched beside her, her voice low and barely more than a whisper. “Jinx,” she murmured, reaching for the chains. “I’m here to get you out.”
Jinx stirred slightly, one eye cracking open as a twisted smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “Out?” she rasped, her voice a broken whisper. “Out where? There’s no out... only in, in, in.”
Katarina worked quickly, using her blade to break through the enchanted locks that held Jinx captive. “There’s an out,” she replied, her voice firm despite the pit in her stomach. “And you’re going to help me get it.”
Jinx giggled, the sound sending a chill down Katarina’s spine. “You think I’ll help you? Oh, that’s rich. What makes you think I won’t blow this whole place up the second I’m free?”
Katarina paused, meeting Jinx’s wild gaze. “Because that's exactly what i want you to do”
For a moment, Jinx’s eyes flickered with something—anger, maybe. Or was it recognition? It was hard to tell with her, but Katarina pressed on.
“LeBlanc’s using you, Jinx. And she’ll keep using you until there’s nothing left. But if you help me, we can bring this whole place down. Together.”
Jinx’s smile widened, a manic glint returning to her eyes. “Bring it down? Together?” She giggled again, her voice rising to a near-hysterical pitch. “Now you’re talking my language.”
Katarina let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. She had her.
The final lock clicked open, and Jinx’s chains fell to the floor with a dull thud. For a moment, neither of them moved. Then, slowly, Jinx stood, her body trembling from exhaustion and pain, but her eyes gleaming with something far more dangerous—determination.
Katarina rose beside her, her hand resting on the hilt of her dagger. “Stay quiet,” she whispered. “We need to get out of here before someone notice anything.”
Jinx grinned, her eyes alight with the familiar madness. “Quiet?” she repeated, her voice dripping with glee. “Oh, sweetheart, that’s boring.”
Katarina cursed under her breath. She should have known better than to expect subtlety from Jinx. But there was no turning back now.
As they moved through the dungeon’s corridors, Katarina could feel the weight of the Château pressing down on them. If they were caught now, there would be no escape. But with Jinx by her side, unpredictable and volatile as she was, perhaps they had a fighting chance.
Katarina’s heart pounded in her chest, the adrenaline of the escape fueling her every step as she and Jinx crept through the shadowed halls of the Château. She could feel the pressure building, the ever-present weight of danger pressing down on her. Every creak of the floorboards underfoot, every soft whisper of wind through the narrow passageways, felt amplified in the silence they were forced to maintain.
Her hand hovered near the hilt of her blade, instinct guiding her as she moved, her eyes darting from shadow to shadow. Jinx, on the other hand, was practically vibrating with suppressed energy. Katarina could hear her muttering to herself under her breath, but the words were too jumbled to make sense of—most likely just noise in Jinx’s mind, a constant stream of chaotic thoughts.
Katarina shot her a warning glance, raising a finger to her lips. “Quiet,” she whispered sharply. “I need you to stay silent. Until I get your weapons back, you’re not in a position to cause any chaos.”
Jinx pouted but nodded, her wild eyes wide with excitement as if she were holding herself back from doing something explosive. But Katarina had learned long ago that you couldn’t rely on others to keep quiet unless they understood the gravity of the situation. And Jinx? Well, she was known for her lack of restraint.
They passed through the dim hallways, avoiding the few scattered servants who were still awake, their lanterns casting flickering shadows that seemed to move like ghosts in the dark. Katarina’s mind raced. She had no idea where LeBlanc would have hidden Jinx’s weapons, but she was certain they were here somewhere. LeBlanc, after all, didn’t leave anything to chance. The sorceress knew how important it was to keep control of those who could truly cause her harm, and Jinx, with her chaotic mind and destructive power, was a threat that couldn’t be underestimated.
“LeBlanc wouldn’t be foolish enough to leave them in plain sight,” Katarina muttered to herself. “But if I were her, I’d hide them somewhere that only she and Ahri would know.”
She paused outside one of the many ornate doors, listening for any sounds of movement from within. A faint laugh echoed from the other side, followed by the sound of something heavy being shifted around.
Katarina’s breath caught in her throat.
“Ahri...” she whispered. She could hear the fox woman’s voice. She and LeBlanc were likely having their nightly conversation, discussing their latest machinations.
Jinx shifted beside her, her eyes flashing with mischief, her lips curling into a grin. “Ahri,” she repeated, dragging out the word, and Katarina’s nerves tightened further. “She’s always so... tight-lipped. I bet she’s got some good stuff hidden in there.”
Katarina clenched her fists, momentarily caught off guard by Jinx’s sudden outburst. “Not now, Jinx,” she hissed. “We need to be smart about this.”
Jinx’s grin faltered slightly, and she nodded, trying to contain herself as Katarina surveyed their surroundings. She spotted a narrow hallway to their right, just beyond the open doorway. It led to what appeared to be a storage room, its door slightly ajar.
“This way,” Katarina murmured, moving quickly and silently toward the hall. She kept close to the walls, trying to stay hidden in the shadows as they crept forward.
When they reached the storage room, Katarina slowly pushed open the door, the creak of the hinges barely audible in the silence. The room was dimly lit by a single candle in the far corner. Shelves lined the walls, filled with various objects—books, tapestries, and vials of glowing liquids that might have been potions or poisons. But Katarina didn’t care about any of that. Her eyes scanned the room, landing on a set of ornate chests tucked against the far wall. One was slightly open, the contents visible: a set of weapons.
She could feel her pulse quicken as she moved toward them. These were Jinx’s weapons—her beloved explosives, the tools of her chaos. Katarina grabbed a few items, placing them carefully in a bag. She handed Jinx a pair of jagged pistols, a wicked grin spreading across the crazy girl’s face as she eagerly took them, the madness in her eyes reigniting.
“Now we can play,” Jinx whispered, her voice low and giddy with excitement.
Katarina didn’t respond, but she felt a flicker of unease. The plan was to get out, not to let Jinx run rampant through the Château. But then again, Katarina reminded herself, she needed Jinx’s wild unpredictability if they were going to break free. LeBlanc and Ahri had underestimated her, and it was time to turn that underestimation into their downfall.
They stepped out of the storage room, ready to continue their journey through the Château. The danger was far from over. The clock was ticking, and Katarina knew they had limited time before LeBlanc or Ahri realized what was happening.
The chaos they were about to unleash would be swift and violent, but it would also be the only way out for them both.
And Katarina? She was done waiting for things to break her way.
It was time to break them.
The Château erupted into chaos as Jinx’s manic laughter echoed through the hallways, her crazed eyes alight with the thrill of destruction. She moved like a whirlwind, tearing through the halls with abandon, her pistols blazing. Explosions rattled the walls, the sound of shattering glass and crumbling stone filling the air. It was as though the very foundation of the Château was crumbling beneath their feet.
The girls in the Château, roused from their sleep by the noise, began to stumble out of their rooms, confusion and fear painted across their faces. Some of them tried to flee, others rushed to find out what was going on. The chaos had already spread, but none of them could understand what had triggered the madness.
Katarina’s heart was racing, her eyes narrowing as she watched Jinx wreak havoc. The girl was a force of pure chaos, and Katarina knew she couldn’t let herself be caught in the crossfire. She needed to blend in, to make sure no one realized she had been involved in freeing Jinx. If she was seen with her now, it would be the end of everything.
As the explosions rocked the Château, Katarina took a deep breath, sliding into the crowd of confused and terrified girls emerging from their rooms. She made sure to keep her head down, pretending to be just another panicked soul caught in the turmoil. She could hear the distant screams of the girls as they fled for cover, and the whizzing sound of Jinx’s guns as she shot at anything that moved.
But it wasn’t just the noise of destruction that caught her attention. A shot rang out, and Katarina’s gaze flicked to the side, her heart sinking as she saw Sona fall to the ground, blood blooming from a wound in her side. The other girls around her screamed, trying to help, but Jinx wasn’t aiming to hurt anyone in particular—she was just shooting, enjoying the chaos for the sake of it.
Katarina's stomach twisted, but she couldn’t stop to help. She had to remain hidden, remain in the shadows. She kept her focus sharp, avoiding anyone who might look her way. The moment was too dangerous. Any suspicion could unravel everything.
In the chaos, she caught sight of Ahri, who was charging toward the noise, her eyes flashing with fury. Katarina couldn’t help but feel a sense of dread wash over her. If Ahri saw her, the game would be over. She would have no choice but to report her to LeBlanc, and the consequences would be severe.
Katarina ducked into a nearby alcove, breathing shallowly, praying that no one had seen her. Her pulse pounded in her ears as she stayed hidden, watching the scene unfold. She could hear the girls shouting, the sounds of hurried footsteps, and then... the unmistakable voice of LeBlanc.
“Stop this madness!” LeBlanc’s voice rang out, cold and commanding. She appeared at the top of the stairs, her figure tall and imposing, her eyes flashing with rage as she surveyed the destruction.
Jinx was still laughing, her pistols firing again and again into the air, as if the Château were nothing more than a playground for her. The chaos had reached a new level now, and LeBlanc was far from pleased. She raised her hands, her fingers weaving through the air as she called upon her magic.
Katarina's eyes darted to the sides again, trying to stay out of view. She couldn't stay here too long. LeBlanc would have everyone locked down soon enough, and she knew there was no room for mistakes. Not when she was already risking everything.
But it was too late to turn back now. Jinx’s madness was the spark that would ignite everything. The game had changed, and there would be no easy way out.
Katarina stayed still, trying to breathe through the rising tension, hoping that the whirlwind of destruction around her would cover her tracks long enough for her to slip away unnoticed.
She just had to wait.
The chaos surged to a new height as Jinx’s laughter filled the air, her pistols blazing with reckless abandon. She spotted LeBlanc standing at the top of the stairs, her posture regal and commanding, as she prepared to quell the madness. But to Jinx, this was a game, and the sorceress was the perfect target.
With a manic grin, Jinx aimed her pistols at LeBlanc and pulled the triggers. The loud bang of the guns echoed through the Château as the shots flew toward their target, but before they could hit, a blur of motion darted in front of LeBlanc.
Ahri, with her fox-like agility and speed, dashed forward, her spirit form almost glowing as she appeared to phase through space. In an instant, she grabbed LeBlanc, pulling her out of the line of fire just in time. The bullets whizzed by, narrowly missing them both.
“Watch where you’re pointing that thing!” Ahri snapped, her voice a mixture of concern and annoyance as she set LeBlanc down safely a few steps away.
LeBlanc steadied herself, glaring at Jinx, her expression a perfect mask of fury and control. But Ahri didn’t give her a chance to speak. She shifted her stance and, with a quick flick of her fingers, tried to cast her charm on Jinx.
The air shimmered with the beginnings of magic as Ahri’s eyes glowed, her voice soft yet commanding. “Come on, little one... Let’s calm down.”
But Jinx wasn’t one to be tamed that easily.
With a cackle, Jinx spun around, her wild eyes filled with mania. The moment the charm hit the air, she was already in motion, her nimble body twisting and flipping, evading the spell with insane speed. Ahri’s charm missed entirely, swirling harmlessly around her as Jinx danced out of its range.
“Nice try, fox!” Jinx shouted, her voice laced with madness and glee. She skidded to a halt and aimed her pistols again, this time at Ahri.
But Ahri was quick. She darted to the side, her agility almost supernatural as she avoided the shots, her tail flicking with irritation. She had underestimated Jinx’s speed—and her unpredictability.
“Hold still!” Ahri growled, her patience thinning. She wasn’t used to being outmaneuvered like this, especially not by someone like Jinx, whose mind was as wild as her movements.
LeBlanc, now safely out of danger, raised her hand, ready to unleash a counterspell, but paused when she saw Jinx’s chaotic dance. The girl was too erratic, too difficult to predict.
Jinx laughed maniacally, taunting Ahri as she kept on the move. “Catch me if you can, fox! Catch me if you can!”
The sound of gunfire echoed through the Château as Jinx shot again, forcing Ahri to dash to the side, her form flickering with the afterimage of her dash.
Meanwhile, the sound of destruction only grew louder, and the once-sleek, controlled environment of the Château was now a full-fledged warzone, with Jinx as the wild hurricane tearing through it all.
Katarina, still hidden in the shadows, watched with growing tension. The scene was unraveling faster than she had anticipated. Chaos was everywhere, but she couldn’t afford to get caught up in it. LeBlanc and Ahri were distracted, focused on Jinx—and that was her moment to act. She needed to slip away before anyone realized she had played a part in unleashing the madness.
LeBlanc’s mind raced as the sounds of destruction grew louder, each blast echoing through the Château. She stood motionless for a moment, her piercing gaze focused on Jinx as the chaos continued to unfold before her. Ahri, despite her agility and speed, was struggling to contain the manic girl, whose movements were too erratic and unpredictable. The gunfire and explosions were a constant reminder that the situation was spiraling out of control, and LeBlanc had to think fast.
“Karma,” she barked, her voice cold but sharp with authority, “Get Sona to the healer. Now. And make sure she’s treated immediately.”
Karma, who had been standing nearby, nodded swiftly and rushed off to tend to Sona, who had been caught in the crossfire. LeBlanc, still rooted in her position, turned to the other girls who were now peeking out from their rooms, their faces filled with fear and confusion. She raised her hand and spoke in a tone that brooked no argument.
“Everyone else, go back to your rooms,” LeBlanc commanded. “Do not leave until I tell you to. This is no drill. Someone has broken into my Château. There is a spy among us.”
The girls, wide-eyed and shaking, scrambled back to their rooms as fast as they could, leaving only a few scattered figures in the hallway. But LeBlanc’s mind was elsewhere, piecing together the fragments of the situation.
She had no doubt that this was an attack on her—on her home. But the timing, the precision with which Jinx had been released into the Château… It was too calculated. It wasn’t just random chaos. Whoever had done this knew exactly what they were doing.
Swain.
The thought struck her like a bolt of lightning. Swain—of course. Who else could be behind such a move? He had always been crafty, and now, it seemed, he had decided to make a bold strike. He was always playing a long game, and now it seemed like he had found the perfect weapon to disrupt her plans.
But there was something more that unsettled her—how did he know?
Jinx’s presence in the Château wasn’t a secret, but the fact that she had been used so effectively against her was a different matter entirely. Jinx was too unstable, too unpredictable to be controlled easily, and yet someone had managed to manipulate her. Whoever had done this had somehow gotten the information they needed to exploit Jinx’s chaos.
Had the spy been in the Château all along?
LeBlanc’s thoughts spiraled further as she processed the implications. She had kept a tight control over her territory, ensuring that no one could breach her defenses—at least, not without her knowledge. If there was a spy here, then everything she had worked for could be in jeopardy. She had trusted the girls who worked for her, and yet, one of them could be working for Swain—or worse, against her.
She turned toward Ahri, still struggling with Jinx in the distance. The fox woman was fast, but she wasn’t fast enough. Jinx was an agent of pure chaos, and no one was safe when she was in full swing.
LeBlanc’s lips curled into a tight smile. “Ahri,” she called out sharply. “Deal with Jinx, and if you fail, I will personally make sure you regret it.”
Ahri, with her eyes narrowed, gave a brief nod before darting toward Jinx once more. LeBlanc watched her go, then turned her focus back to the growing problem in her Château.
Jinx's manic laughter abruptly stopped as Ahri's charm struck her. Her vibrant eyes, usually filled with chaos and mischief, softened into a dazed, almost serene gaze. Her weapons, poised to unleash another round of destruction, slipped from her hands as she swayed in place, momentarily subdued. The entire Château seemed to hold its breath as the chaos paused for the first time that night.
Ahri gasped for air, her chest rising and falling heavily. The fox's tails swirled around her as she maintained the magical link, her hands trembling slightly from the strain of holding Jinx under control. She glanced back at LeBlanc, who stood a few paces behind, watching with a calculating glint in her eyes.
"Now," Ahri called, her voice strained but determined. "Do it—quickly!"
LeBlanc stepped forward, her hands already weaving intricate patterns in the air. Her fingers glowed with dark energy as magical chains materialized around Jinx. The sorceress moved with precision, binding Jinx’s limbs and torso in ethereal links that shimmered with power. The chains tightened with a snap, securing the manic girl before the charm wore off.
Jinx blinked, her docile expression twisting back into wild defiance as the charm’s effects began to fade. She thrashed against the chains, growling and laughing in her usual chaotic manner. "Ooooh, you think these little things can hold me? I'll blow this place to smithereens, just you wait!"
LeBlanc approached her captive with a slow, deliberate gait, her face a mask of cold amusement. She leaned in close, her eyes locking with Jinx’s. "You’ve been quite the troublemaker tonight," she purred, her voice laced with venom. "But troublemakers have their uses… if they know their place."
Jinx spat at LeBlanc, her grin unfazed. "You think you scare me, lady? You’re just another boring bossy type who thinks they’re in charge. Newsflash: I don’t follow rules!"
LeBlanc wiped the spit from her cheek, her smile never faltering. Instead, it grew sharper. "Ahri," she said without looking away from Jinx, "fetch me the silencer collar. It seems our little guest needs a reminder of who holds the leash in this house."
Ahri hesitated, glancing at Jinx, whose wild eyes darted between her captors. For a moment, something unspoken passed between the two women—a flicker of understanding, perhaps pity—but Ahri quickly steeled herself. "Yes, Mistress," she replied, her tone subdued. She turned and dashed off to retrieve the device.
LeBlanc straightened and stared down at Jinx, who continued to thrash and taunt her captors, undeterred by her predicament. The sorceress’s lips curled into a cruel smile. "You can rage all you want, dear. But tonight, you’ll learn what happens to those who try to defy me."
Jinx’s laughter rang out, sharp and defiant. "Oh, honey, you have no idea what I’m capable of."
The tension in the room thickened, the air heavy with the aftermath of destruction and the promise of more to come. As LeBlanc tightened her magical grip on the chaos incarnate before her, she couldn't shake the nagging thought in the back of her mind. This attack had been orchestrated. And while Jinx had been the weapon, the real enemy was still out there, waiting for their moment to strike again.
LeBlanc stood amidst the smoldering ruins of her once-pristine château, her crimson eyes scanning the wreckage with icy fury. The shattered windows allowed the cold night air to sweep through, chilling her skin as her gaze flickered over the broken walls and scorched decor. The grand chandeliers had fallen, their glittering crystals scattered like ash across the floor. What had once been a symbol of her untouchable power and control was now a gutted husk of chaos.
Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, nails biting into her palms. Jinx. That manic girl had unleashed a whirlwind of destruction that would cost LeBlanc far more than just her pride. Repairing the damage would drain her coffers, money she could scarcely afford to part with after her recent maneuvers against Swain. And worse, the time it would take to restore her château meant precious weeks, perhaps months, without income. Her girls couldn’t work in these conditions. Her reputation as the queen of Noxian decadence was at stake.
Behind her, Ahri stepped carefully through the debris, her steps light but hesitant. She wore a grim expression, her nine tails swaying slowly behind her. “The wards in the dungeons were broken,” she said softly, her voice trembling slightly in the tense atmosphere. “This wasn’t some random attack. It was deliberate. An internal job.”
LeBlanc’s head snapped toward Ahri, her eyes narrowing dangerously. “Are you certain?” she hissed, her voice venomous.
Ahri nodded, trying not to flinch under the weight of LeBlanc’s glare. “Yes. Only someone who knew the château, who knew how to get past the outer wards, could’ve done this. The dungeon’s protections were specific and... powerful. Whoever it was had help from the inside.”
LeBlanc’s lips curled into a snarl, her mind racing. A traitor in her midst? The thought sent a fresh wave of rage coursing through her veins. Her girls—her property—were bound to her by fear, loyalty, or both. None of them would dare cross her. At least, that’s what she had believed.
She stepped toward Ahri, her voice dropping to a low, dangerous whisper. “Find out who it was,” she commanded, her tone brooking no argument. “I don’t care how long it takes or what you have to do. Bring me the name of the traitor.”
Ahri hesitated for a moment, her eyes darting to the broken chandelier hanging precariously above them. “LeBlanc,” she ventured cautiously, “it might not be... one of the girls. What if Swain had someone planted here? Someone skilled enough to manipulate Jinx?”
LeBlanc’s jaw tightened, and she turned back to the ruins of her château. The idea of Swain infiltrating her home, undermining her from within, was infuriating. But it also made a twisted kind of sense. This wasn’t just an attack on her; it was an attack on her livelihood, her power base. Swain wasn’t trying to kill her—he was trying to humiliate her, to cripple her financially and strategically.
Her voice was a razor’s edge when she finally spoke. “Whether it was one of mine or one of his, it doesn’t matter. Whoever did this will regret it. And Swain...” She paused, a cruel smile creeping onto her lips. “Swain will learn that I do not forgive, and I never forget.”
Ahri nodded silently, her unease growing as she watched the glint in LeBlanc’s eyes harden into something cold and unyielding. This wasn’t just a setback for the sorceress—it was the beginning of a reckoning.
The dungeon was eerily silent except for the faint creak of the chains as Jinx hung upside down from the ceiling, her wild blue hair dangling like a curtain toward the stone floor. The flickering torchlight cast shifting shadows across her bruised and bloodied frame. A leather gag was tightly secured in her mouth, muffling her protests and the occasional manic giggle that still escaped her lips.
LeBlanc entered the room with deliberate grace, a small wooden bench in her hands. She placed it down with a quiet thud and seated herself, crossing her legs as though she were about to attend a casual tea party. Her crimson eyes glinted with amusement and malice as she observed the mad girl hanging before her.
For a moment, she said nothing, simply watching as Jinx squirmed against her restraints, her muffled voice unintelligible but defiant. Then LeBlanc let out a soft chuckle.
“You know, I must admit,” she began, her voice calm and measured, “I’m impressed. The destruction you caused upstairs... truly remarkable. You’ve outdone yourself, Jinx. Though,” she leaned forward slightly, her smile sharpening like a blade, “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. After all, I was warned about you. Jinx ruins everything. That’s what Caitlyn and her little girlfriend said, isn’t it?”
At the mention of Caitlyn, Jinx’s squirming intensified, her muffled protests becoming louder. LeBlanc tilted her head, her smile never wavering.
“Oh, don’t act like it’s not true,” she said, waving a dismissive hand. “They know you, Jinx. Better than anyone. And they’ve already written your story, haven’t they? The mad girl who ruins everything she touches. What a tragedy.”
LeBlanc stood, her movements fluid as she approached Jinx’s suspended body. She trailed a single, gloved finger along the girl’s exposed arm, her touch as cold as her voice.
“But you’ve done more than just ruin my château, haven’t you?” she murmured. “You’ve cost me money. A lot of money. Do you have any idea what that means, little one?” She leaned closer, her breath ghosting against Jinx’s ear. “It means I collect my debts.”
Jinx froze for a moment, her eyes darting to meet LeBlanc’s, but the sorceress’s gaze was unreadable—a blend of curiosity and cruelty.
“The repairs will take weeks,” LeBlanc continued, pacing around her like a predator circling prey. “Weeks in which I’ll lose revenue. Weeks in which I’ll have to explain to my clients why their favorite little den of sin is closed. Weeks of setbacks, all thanks to you.” She stopped, tilting her head thoughtfully. “But I’m nothing if not resourceful. I’ve already thought of a way to recover my losses.”
She crouched slightly, her face now level with Jinx’s, her smile widening as she reached out to trace the girl’s cheek. “The moment the repairs are finished, you, Jinx, will make your grand debut. Everyone will come to see you. And do you know who will be in the front row?” Her tone dropped to a whisper, her words like poison seeping into Jinx’s mind.
Jinx’s wide eyes stared back at her, panic beginning to creep into their depths.
“Your sister,” LeBlanc hissed, her smile twisting into something far more sinister. “And that stupid Caitlyn. They’ll be there, watching as you prove them right. Watching as you fall to your lowest, as you destroy whatever scrap of dignity you have left. Because I’ll make sure they see it all.”
Jinx’s struggles became frantic, her muffled cries now tinged with desperation. But LeBlanc wasn’t done.
“And if that’s not enough to break you?” LeBlanc straightened, her tone as casual as if she were discussing the weather. “Then I’ll break them. I’ll drag your sister down to this very dungeon, and that righteous little sheriff too. I’ll give them a reason to say that Jinx ruins everything. I’ll let them watch as their lives crumble into ash—all because of you.”
For the first time, Jinx felt something she hadn’t in years: pure, unrelenting fear. It wasn’t the fear of pain or death—it was the fear of being the architect of her loved ones’ suffering, of seeing the people she hated and loved in equal measure reduced to ruins because of her.
LeBlanc stepped back, satisfied with the silence that now filled the room. “Good,” she said softly, her voice laced with a cruel satisfaction. “You’re beginning to understand.”
Without another word, she turned on her heel and strode out of the dungeon, leaving Jinx suspended, terrified, and utterly alone in the dark.
Swain sat in his study, the soft glow of chemlight casting flickering shadows across the intricate maps and documents strewn across his desk. His crimson cloak draped over the back of his chair, and his sharp, calculating gaze fixed on Talon, who stood before him with his usual air of quiet menace.
"The château is in disarray," Talon began, his voice low and direct. "Significant damage to the structure, and it will be closed for repairs. Weeks, possibly longer. It’s already affecting her operations."
Swain’s lips curved into a faint smile, his clawed hand tapping the armrest of his chair rhythmically. "And the source of this... disruption?"
Talon hesitated for a moment, but Swain’s expectant gaze urged him on. "Jinx. She caused chaos, as expected. But it wasn’t entirely spontaneous. It seems someone—" He let the implication hang in the air.
Swain leaned back, his smile deepening. "Ah, Katarina." His tone was a blend of approval and amusement. "I trust she played her role to perfection?"
"She planted the seeds, as you instructed," Talon confirmed. "The rest was Jinx’s natural inclination for destruction. But the timing was precise, and the chaos was... substantial."
Swain chuckled softly, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "LeBlanc prides herself on her cunning, yet she’s so easily blinded by her arrogance. A nudge here, a whisper there, and her prized den crumbles under its own weight. Delightful."
Talon watched Swain carefully, noting the subtle pleasure in his commander’s demeanor. "So this was part of the plan?"
Swain stood, his imposing frame casting a long shadow across the room. He turned to gaze out the window, overlooking the heart of Noxus. "Every setback she suffers weakens her grip, not only on her domain but on her image of invincibility. The château was more than just a business—it was a symbol of her control. Now, it’s in ruins."
Talon remained silent, waiting for Swain to elaborate further.
"Katarina has done well," Swain continued. "LeBlanc will be too busy licking her wounds to notice the noose tightening around her neck. And while her château stands empty, the Black Crow will thrive. Her clients will find solace in my halls. Her allies will question her competence. Her girls will see the cracks in her façade." He turned back to Talon, his voice calm but resolute. "And when the time is right, we’ll strike. Hard. Decisively."
Talon gave a curt nod. "What are your orders?"
"Keep the pressure subtle but constant," Swain instructed. "Let her feel the weight of her failures. And keep an eye on Katarina. I trust her loyalty, but it’s always wise to ensure the knife in the dark doesn’t point back at us."
Talon smirked faintly at that, then disappeared into the shadows as silently as he had come.
Swain sat back down, his smile returning as he steepled his fingers. "LeBlanc," he murmured to himself, "you’ve been queen of your little game for too long. Let’s see how you fare when the board tilts against you."
Chapter 7: Nilah's Mission
Chapter Text
The lobby of the château was a shadow of its former glory. Once adorned with opulent chandeliers and gilded mirrors, it now bore the scars of destruction—cracked walls, shattered glass, and splintered furniture strewn across the floor. The girls, a mix of fear, anger, and desperation etched on their faces, gathered in the center of the chaos. They murmured among themselves, voices rising until a cacophony of frustration filled the air.
LeBlanc descended the grand staircase, her steps as poised and deliberate as ever, though the surrounding ruin made the sight almost surreal. She wore her usual calm, an aura of authority that seemed out of place in the crumbling remains of her domain.
“Explain yourself, Madame!” one of the girls, a sharp-eyed woman named Seraphine, demanded. “You can’t expect us to work like this. The public areas are destroyed! Where do you think we’ll entertain clients? In the rubble?”
The murmur turned into shouts of agreement.
“And the food!” a girl chimed in. “The kitchen’s been destroyed. There’s nothing left to eat. Are we supposed to fend for ourselves now?”
Another girl folded her arms, her tone soft but resolute. “Only the second floor is untouched—our personal rooms. You’re not seriously expecting us to take clients in our own spaces, are you?”
In contrast to the heated accusations, Nilah lounged at the edge of the group, her eyes half-lidded and a lazy grin on her face. She exhaled a puff of smoke from whatever herbal concoction she’d been enjoying, waving a hand absently. “Chill, everyone. I mean, it’s just walls and stuff, right? We’ll figure it out. Besides, didn’t you hear? LeBlanc always has a plan.”
The crowd turned to LeBlanc, their anger and unease thick in the air. The unspoken question loomed: how could she possibly expect them to survive, let alone thrive, under these conditions?
LeBlanc raised a hand, silencing the crowd with a gesture. Her voice, as smooth and cold as silk over steel, cut through the tension.
“My dears,” she began, her tone almost condescending in its calmness, “I understand your concerns. Believe me, no one is more invested in this château than I am.” She gestured to the ruined walls around them. “But let us not forget that we are resilient. We are survivors. This… setback is temporary.”
Seraphine frowned, her arms still crossed. “Temporary doesn’t put food on the table. How are we supposed to survive without clients?”
LeBlanc’s eyes narrowed, and the room seemed to chill. “Do you think I would let my girls starve? You insult me. Even now, I am arranging for private patrons—those willing to pay a premium for exclusivity during this… transitional period.”
The same girl who had spoken about the food bit her lip. “In our rooms?”
LeBlanc smiled, a predatory curve of her lips. “You will do what is necessary. The rooms are undamaged, and your safety is my utmost priority. Would you prefer to entertain among the debris? Or perhaps leave and fend for yourselves in the streets of Noxus, where even survival is not guaranteed?”
A heavy silence followed her words, the weight of the threat hanging in the air. Some of the girls exchanged uneasy glances; others looked down, unable to meet her gaze.
“What about repairs?” Seraphine pressed. “How long until this place is even remotely functional again?”
LeBlanc sighed, as though burdened by their lack of faith. “Repairs are already underway. But these things take time. Patience is a virtue, my darlings, one you’d do well to cultivate. In the meantime, we adapt. We persevere. That is what we do.”
“And if we have no clients?” another girl whispered, her voice trembling.
LeBlanc’s smile didn’t waver. “Then you trust me. You trust that I will provide, as I always have.”
The room fell into an uneasy hush. LeBlanc’s gaze swept over them, her expression unreadable but firm. “You are under my care. My protection. This is not the time for doubt. This is the time to prove your loyalty to me and to this family we’ve built. Together, we will rise from this stronger than ever.”
Her words hung in the air, a mixture of reassurance and veiled threat. Slowly, reluctantly, the girls began to disperse, their whispers fading as they returned to their rooms or found solace in one another. But the tension remained, a silent undercurrent beneath the surface.
LeBlanc stood in the center of the ruined lobby, her calm façade unbroken, though her mind was already calculating her next move. The château might have been in shambles, but her grip on her girls—and her empire—remained as tight as ever.
LeBlanc’s office was dimly lit, the heavy velvet curtains drawn tightly against the outside world. The air was thick with incense, its cloying sweetness doing little to mask the tension in the room. LeBlanc sat behind her ornate desk, her posture regal and unyielding, her fingers steepled as she watched Seraphine with cold, assessing eyes.
Ahri leaned casually against the wall nearby, her tails swaying gently behind her. Her expression was softer, almost sympathetic, a stark contrast to LeBlanc’s icy demeanor.
Seraphine fidgeted in her chair, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. The weight of the two women’s gazes made her feel like a caged animal.
LeBlanc’s voice broke the silence, sharp and cutting. “Let’s not waste time with pleasantries, my dear. You know why you’re here.”
Seraphine swallowed hard, nodding. “It’s about… the night of the attack.”
“Correct,” LeBlanc said, leaning forward slightly. Her eyes narrowed, the intensity of her gaze making Seraphine squirm. “What were you doing that night? I want every detail.”
Seraphine hesitated, glancing at Ahri as if searching for some sign of leniency. Ahri gave her a small, reassuring smile and stepped forward, her tone gentle and coaxing.
“We’re just trying to piece everything together, Seraphine,” Ahri said softly. “No one’s accusing you of anything. But if you know something, anything, it could help us protect everyone here.”
Seraphine nodded, taking a shaky breath. “I… I was in my room that night. Writing. I wasn’t feeling well, so I didn’t come down for dinner.”
LeBlanc raised an eyebrow. “Convenient,” she said, her tone dripping with skepticism. “And did anyone see you? Can anyone verify this alibi?”
Seraphine flinched at the accusation, her voice trembling as she replied. “N-no, I was alone. But I swear, I didn’t know anything was happening until I heard the commotion!”
Ahri placed a comforting hand on Seraphine’s shoulder, her voice soft but firm. “Seraphine, we’re not here to scare you. But LeBlanc and I need to know if there’s anything you’re leaving out. Did you see anyone acting suspicious? Hear anything strange?”
Seraphine shook her head quickly. “No! I didn’t see or hear anything. I was just in my room, working on my music. Please, you have to believe me.”
LeBlanc leaned back in her chair, studying Seraphine with an unreadable expression. The silence stretched uncomfortably before she finally spoke. “I find it odd,” she said slowly, “that someone so attuned to the emotions of others would miss the chaos unfolding in her own home.”
“I-I was distracted,” Seraphine stammered. “Lost in my thoughts. I wasn’t paying attention to anything outside my room.”
Ahri shot LeBlanc a warning look, stepping between her and Seraphine. “That’s enough,” she said gently. “Seraphine’s always been like that, haven’t you? Getting lost in your music?”
Seraphine nodded eagerly, clinging to Ahri’s words like a lifeline. “Yes, exactly! I didn’t mean to miss anything. If I had known—”
“Enough,” LeBlanc interrupted, her voice like a blade slicing through the air. She stood, towering over the desk as her eyes bored into Seraphine’s. “I will determine what to believe, and what is convenient fabrication. For your sake, I hope you’re telling the truth.”
Seraphine’s eyes welled up, but she managed a small nod. “I am. I swear.”
Ahri guided her gently toward the door, offering her a kind smile. “Thank you, Seraphine. You can go now. Get some rest, okay?”
As soon as the door closed behind her, Ahri turned to LeBlanc, her expression serious. “She’s scared out of her mind. I don’t think she’s lying.”
LeBlanc smirked, her eyes glinting with something dangerous. “Perhaps. But fear often brings out the truth. Let’s see how the others hold up under scrutiny.”
The door to LeBlanc’s office creaked open again, and Samira strutted in, her usual swagger slightly subdued by the oppressive atmosphere. Her eyepatch caught the dim light, adding to her devil-may-care aura, but there was a flicker of unease in her expression as she glanced between LeBlanc and Ahri.
LeBlanc gestured to the chair in front of her desk. “Samira. Sit.”
Samira plopped down, slouching casually, her arms draped over the sides of the chair. “Alright, boss. What’s the fuss? You don’t call me in here for small talk.”
LeBlanc’s lips curled into a thin smile, though there was no warmth behind it. “No, I don’t. I prefer directness. So, let’s be direct, shall we? What were you doing the night of the attack?”
Samira shrugged, her tone nonchalant. “Nothing out of the ordinary. Had dinner in the cafeteria like usual. Then I went to Sivir’s room.”
“And?” LeBlanc prompted, her eyes narrowing.
Samira smirked, leaning back in her chair. “We had a deep conversation, if you catch my drift.”
Ahri’s tails twitched, and she brought a hand to her mouth to stifle a laugh. LeBlanc, however, was less amused.
“How enlightening,” LeBlanc said dryly, her tone cutting. “And this ‘deep conversation’ lasted all night, I presume?”
Samira’s grin widened. “Pretty much.”
LeBlanc’s fingers drummed on the desk. “Convenient timing for such an... intimate exchange. Are you telling me you noticed nothing unusual? Heard no commotion? Felt no disturbances?”
Samira’s grin faltered slightly, and she glanced at Ahri, who gave her a gentle nod of encouragement. “Look, we were... preoccupied. But if something happened, it wasn’t near Sivir’s room. I’d have heard it otherwise.”
LeBlanc leaned forward, her gaze sharp and probing. “So, you expect me to believe that during one of the most chaotic nights this Château has ever seen, you were so... distracted that you missed everything?”
Samira shrugged again, though there was a slight edge to her voice now. “I’m telling you the truth. Maybe if someone’d told me we were under attack, I could’ve done something. But I can’t fight ghosts, boss.”
Ahri stepped closer, her tone softening as she addressed Samira. “No one’s accusing you of anything, Samira. But if there’s anything you remember, anything that seemed off, it could help us figure out who’s responsible.”
Samira’s expression softened slightly, and she rubbed the back of her neck. “Look, Sivir and I might’ve heard a couple of weird sounds—like footsteps or something—but we figured it was just someone sneaking around for... you know, a midnight rendezvous.”
LeBlanc raised an eyebrow. “Footsteps? Where?”
Samira frowned, thinking. “Hard to say. Hallways echo, you know? Could’ve been anywhere.”
LeBlanc studied her for a moment longer before leaning back in her chair. “Very well. If that’s all you have to offer, you may go. But let me be clear—if I find out you’re withholding anything...”
“I’m not,” Samira interrupted, her tone firm. She stood, her swagger returning as she headed for the door. “But hey, if you need someone to kick some ass when you find whoever did this, you know where to find me.”
As the door closed behind her, Ahri turned to LeBlanc. “She’s not lying. She’s just... Samira.”
LeBlanc smirked, her eyes glinting. “Indeed. But even Samira has her uses. Let’s see if the others can provide more.”
The door opened, and Qiyana walked in with her usual air of superiority, her chin held high and an unmistakable swagger in her step. She barely spared a glance at LeBlanc before plopping into the chair without being invited, crossing her legs and leaning back as if she owned the place.
“Well?” she said, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “What do you want now? I hope this isn’t a waste of my time.”
LeBlanc arched an eyebrow, her lips curling into a faint smirk. “Charming as always, Qiyana. Let’s get straight to it, shall we? Where were you the night of the attack?”
Qiyana shrugged nonchalantly. “Had dinner in the cafeteria, same as always. After that, I went to smoke with Nilah.”
Ahri tilted her head slightly. “Nilah? Did you hear or see anything unusual while you were with her?”
Qiyana scoffed, rolling her eyes. “No, because that idiot brought something too strong. I barely took a few puffs, and the next thing I know, I’m out like a light. Woke up the next morning with a headache and Nilah still giggling like the fool she is.”
LeBlanc’s fingers tapped against the desk as she studied Qiyana. “So you’re saying you slept through the entire night? You didn’t notice any noise, commotion, or disturbances?”
Qiyana shrugged again, clearly uninterested. “Didn’t notice a thing. And trust me, if I had, I wouldn’t have cared. Not my problem.”
Ahri frowned slightly, her tone soft as she asked, “Why were you smoking with Nilah? You don’t usually spend time with her.”
Qiyana’s bravado faltered for a fraction of a second before she waved her hand dismissively. “Helps me sleep without dreaming. That’s all.”
LeBlanc’s sharp gaze narrowed. “Dreams, hm?”
Qiyana’s eyes flashed with annoyance. “It’s none of your business. The point is, I was out cold. If you’re looking for someone to blame, try Nilah. She’s the one who picked the damn stuff.”
LeBlanc let the comment hang in the air, her silence heavy.
Ahri, however, gently pressed on. “Qiyana, if something’s bothering you, you can tell us. We can help.”
Qiyana bristled, her walls snapping back up. “I don’t need help. I need food. Speaking of which, when are we getting more? Because I went down for breakfast, and there wasn’t any. Do you expect us to starve now, too?”
LeBlanc’s smirk widened, cold and calculating. “You seem very concerned about your meals for someone who slept through an attack that nearly brought this Château to ruin.”
Qiyana leaned forward, her tone sharp. “Look, if you want to starve me, fine. But don’t come crying to me when I’m too weak to be of any use to you. It’s not like this place will survive without me anyway.”
LeBlanc chuckled darkly, her fingers steepled. “You’re dismissed, Qiyana. I’ll make sure the kitchen is informed of your... concerns.”
Qiyana stood, her bravado fully restored as she turned to leave. “Good. And tell Nilah to pick better stuff next time.” She paused at the door, glancing over her shoulder. “Oh, and maybe get someone competent to handle security. Just a suggestion.”
As the door closed behind her, LeBlanc turned to Ahri, her expression unreadable. “She’s hiding something.”
Ahri nodded slowly. “But she’s not lying about the smoking. She reeks of it. And... she’s still scared of something from her past. You saw how defensive she got.”
LeBlanc’s smirk returned, sharper than ever. “Oh, I noticed. We’ll deal with her... when the time comes. For now, let’s see what Nilah has to say for herself.”
Nilah sauntered into the office, her eyes half-lidded and a lazy grin plastered across her face. She dropped into the chair, sinking so far down she practically slid off, and waved cheerfully at LeBlanc and Ahri.
“Ladies, what’s up?” she drawled, her voice as languid as her posture. “Gotta say, this whole interrogation vibe is kinda intense. You sure we can’t just chill with some smokes instead?”
LeBlanc’s expression was icy. “Nilah, let’s get straight to the point. Where were you the night of the attack?”
Nilah tilted her head, as if the question had taken a few moments to register. “The night of the attack? Oh, man, that feels like ages ago... Let me think.” She tapped her chin, staring at the ceiling. “I was with Qiyana, you know? That girl really can’t handle her stuff. Passed out after, like, two puffs. So, being the good friend I am, I had to carry her back to her room.”
Ahri leaned forward, her tone gentle but probing. “That’s kind of you, Nilah. Did anything happen while you were helping her?”
Nilah’s eyes brightened. “Oh, totally! It was a journey. First, I got totally lost and ended up in the Roman baths. That was wild. Then I somehow wandered near that creepy basement LeBlanc loves to visit—uh, no offense, boss.” She waved vaguely in LeBlanc’s direction. “Or maybe it was the other way around? Baths, then basement? Anyway, it was super hard carrying Qiyana. Girl’s got legs for days, and don’t even get me started on that ass. Very sexy, but also very heavy.”
LeBlanc pinched the bridge of her nose, exhaling sharply. “Nilah, focus. Did you see or hear anything unusual?”
Nilah squinted, as if trying to recall. “Hmm... Oh! Yeah, there was this voice. Like, I was struggling with Qiyana, and I heard someone say, ‘Oh, it’s you!’ Super weird, right? Maybe the person who did it is called... You.” She nodded sagely, as though she’d just solved the entire mystery.
Ahri hid a smile behind her hand. “Did you recognize the voice, Nilah? Was it familiar?”
Nilah shrugged. “Couldn’t tell ya. Too busy not dropping Qiyana. But now that you mention it, there is something strange I’ve noticed. Katarina and Ashe—they never sit at the same table during dinner. Like, what’s up with that? Super sus, if you ask me.”
LeBlanc’s gaze sharpened. “And why do you think that is, Nilah?”
Nilah gave an exaggerated shrug. “No clue! Maybe they’re allergic to each other or something. Or, you know, secret plots and drama and stuff. This place is wild.”
LeBlanc exchanged a glance with Ahri, her mind clearly working through Nilah’s scattered revelations.
Nilah stretched and yawned, her voice dreamy. “Anyway, can I go now? This chair’s kinda uncomfortable, and I’m getting hungry. Oh, wait—are we getting snacks anytime soon?”
“Nilah,” LeBlanc began with measured patience, “I have a task for you.”
Nilah tilted her head, her smile broadening. “Ooh, a task? Like a secret mission? Oh, I love secret missions! Do I get a cool hat? Maybe a badge?”
LeBlanc’s lips twitched in faint irritation, but she kept her tone calm. “You won’t need a hat, Nilah. What you will need is to keep your eyes and ears open. I want you to observe the other girls. Watch for anything unusual—behavior, conversations, anything that feels... off.”
Nilah nodded enthusiastically. “Got it! Eyes and ears wide open. Like a hawk. Or an owl. Or a hawk-owl hybrid! This is so fun!”
“This is not for fun,” LeBlanc said sharply, leaning forward. “It’s a secret mission. No one can know you’re doing this, or they’ll act differently around you. Understand?”
Nilah’s expression grew mock-serious as she saluted. “Top secret. Classified. Locked in a chest at the bottom of the sea, guarded by sharks with laser beams!”
LeBlanc waved her off, realizing any further elaboration would likely be lost. “That will do, Nilah. You may go.”
Nilah skipped out of the office, humming a nonsense tune about “secret spies and laser sharks.” Ahri stepped in from the adjoining room, her arms crossed, a skeptical look on her face.
“Why her?” Ahri asked, watching Nilah disappear down the hall. “She’s... well, you know how she is. Always dazed, always singing nonsense. How do you expect her to gather useful information when she probably won’t even remember what you asked her to do?”
LeBlanc leaned back in her chair, her smirk widening. “Precisely because no one takes her seriously. The girls will relax around her, thinking she’s too distracted to notice anything important. They won’t guard their words or actions.”
Ahri raised an eyebrow. “And if she forgets everything by tomorrow?”
“She’ll forget the obvious,” LeBlanc admitted, her tone sharp with amusement, “but she’ll remember the trivial, the ridiculous, and the things the others think no one notices. Those small, stupid details are often where the truth lies.”
Ahri sighed, unconvinced. “I just hope you’re right.”
LeBlanc’s gaze hardened, her smirk fading into a calculating expression. “I’m always right, Ahri. And if Nilah stumbles onto something... we’ll know soon enough.”
Ashe stood nervously outside Katarina’s door, her knuckles barely brushing the surface before the door swung open, revealing Katarina’s cautious, sharp gaze. She quickly peered down both ends of the hallway, ensuring they were alone, before grabbing Ashe by the wrist and pulling her inside.
The door clicked shut behind them with a soft thud, the quietness of the room adding an unsettling weight to the air. Katarina’s eyes locked onto Ashe’s, her voice low and urgent.
"We can’t be seen like this," she hissed, a touch of panic in her words. "You know how dangerous it is. If LeBlanc finds out—"
Ashe cut her off, her breath shaky as she spoke, her voice filled with concern. "I know, but this—this is different. I just heard Ahri questioning Nilah. She’s looking for a traitor, Katarina. If she thinks someone betrayed her, it’ll destroy us all."
Katarina’s expression tightened, but she said nothing. Her silence was deafening, and it made Ashe’s stomach churn with worry. She couldn’t figure out what was going through the woman’s mind, but she needed answers.
"Ashe," Katarina began, finally breaking the silence, her eyes flickering with something unreadable. "You don’t know what you’re talking about."
Ashe’s eyes narrowed, the frustration boiling over. "I just heard Ahri asking Nilah if she knew anything about the betrayal. She suspects someone in the château is working for Swain. What if that someone is—"
The words caught in her throat as she finally asked the question that had been gnawing at her. "Did you have anything to do with Jinx?"
Katarina’s face hardened, her expression shutting down instantly. For a long moment, she didn’t say anything, her lips pressed tightly together as though she were considering how to respond.
Ashe’s voice broke the silence, laced with anger and disbelief. "How could you? After everything we’ve been through... How could you get involved in something like this, with them? In this war between LeBlanc and Swain? If you’re involved with Jinx, you might as well be working for Swain himself!"
Katarina’s eyes flared with a cold, cutting rage. She stepped forward, her face inches from Ashe’s, her voice sharp enough to slice through the tension in the room.
"You have no idea what it’s like to be trapped in this world, Ashe," she spat. "You think I’m doing this for fun? No. I’m doing this for you—for us. Every day I watch you grovel for LeBlanc’s favor, every day I see you selling yourself to that witch, and it sickens me. But what other choice do I have? What else can we do? Nothing will change unless LeBlanc is destroyed completely."
Her voice softened for a moment, her eyes flickering with a dangerous, determined fire. "We can’t keep living like this, Ashe. We can’t keep serving her. If we bring LeBlanc down, then maybe, just maybe, we can finally have what we both want. We can be free... together."
Ashe felt her heart twist at Katarina’s words, a mix of guilt, anger, and desire surging through her. She wanted to believe in what Katarina was saying, wanted to believe that there was a way out, that the two of them could escape the clutches of LeBlanc’s control.
But a part of her still held back. She couldn’t deny the fear of what would happen if they did go too far, if their rebellion pushed them beyond the point of no return.
"I don’t know, Katarina," she murmured, her voice trembling. "I don’t know if we can just... take her down. It’s too risky. LeBlanc is too powerful."
Katarina’s gaze softened, but only for a second before it turned back to that same cold determination. "And that’s why we have to do it. Before she has a chance to destroy us. Before she turns us against each other. Don’t you see? We can’t keep living like this, pretending we’re loyal when all we really want is to be free. To be together."
The words hung in the air, heavy with their implications. Ashe’s mind raced as she looked into Katarina’s eyes, torn between the fear of LeBlanc’s wrath and the dangerous allure of Katarina’s plan. Could they really do this? Could they really tear down the only thing standing between them and freedom?
Ashe took a shaky breath, her heart pounding in her chest. "What do you need me to do?"
Katarina smiled darkly, her eyes gleaming with something almost predatory. "Just follow my lead. Together, we’ll make sure LeBlanc never sees us coming."
Nilah lounged in the shadows of the garden terrace, lazily swirling the straw of her half-finished drink and humming her favorite tune under her breath. She was on her “mission,” although she wasn’t entirely sure what LeBlanc wanted her to find. Secret spy business was funny that way—you didn’t know the secret until it just popped out at you.
Chapter 8: Jinx's reformation
Notes:
Had to rewrite some bits of it after seeing LB'S new visual update. glorious
Chapter Text
The sound of soft, lilting music drifts through the grand ballroom, its warm glow casting shadows across polished marble floors. Ahri looks down at herself, dressed in an elegant gown she doesn’t remember owning, and up at the towering chandelier that bathes the room in golden light.
At the far end of the ballroom, LeBlanc approaches, her steps graceful, her crimson gown shimmering with every movement. Her usual air of cold authority is replaced by something softer, something almost human.
"Ahri," LeBlanc says, her voice like silk, extending a gloved hand toward her. "Dance with me."
Ahri blinks in surprise, her heart skipping a beat. LeBlanc never dances. Not in all the time Ahri had known her, not even during the most extravagant celebrations. But here she is, asking as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.
Unable to deny her, Ahri takes LeBlanc’s hand. The sorceress leads her to the center of the ballroom, pulling her close as they begin to sway to the music. For a moment, Ahri forgets everything—her doubts, her pain, her unrequited love. Here, in LeBlanc’s arms, it all fades away.
As they glide across the floor, Ahri tilts her head and asks, "Why did you want to dance, LeBlanc? You’ve never been one for things like this."
LeBlanc’s gaze softens, her hand tightening ever so slightly around Ahri’s. "Because tonight, I wanted something different. I wanted to enjoy a perfect night with the one person who truly understands what I want."
Ahri's breath hitches as LeBlanc continues, her voice carrying an unfamiliar vulnerability. "For a long time, I’ve been thinking of you, Ahri. Not as a pet. Not as a servant. But as something more. Something... deeper."
Ahri’s heart pounds at those words, but instead of elation, a bittersweet smile spreads across her lips. She lets out a small, soft laugh, shaking her head.
"It really is a perfect night," Ahri says, her voice trembling. "So perfect that it can only be a dream."
LeBlanc’s brows furrow in confusion. "What do you mean?"
Ahri pulls back slightly, just enough to look into LeBlanc’s eyes. "The LeBlanc I love will never say those words to me. She doesn’t see me this way. She never will. So this must be a dream... a beautiful, cruel dream."
LeBlanc says nothing, her expression unreadable. The music slows, and the golden light of the room seems to dim, flickering as if on the verge of vanishing entirely.
Ahri closes her eyes, the warmth of LeBlanc’s hand in hers already beginning to fade. "If this is a dream," she whispers, her voice thick with emotion, "then let me stay here, just for a little longer."
But when she opens her eyes again, the ballroom is gone, replaced by the cold, dark confines of her room. Her hand, outstretched, clutches only empty air.
The soft morning light filters through the lace curtains of Ahri’s room as she sits at her vanity, brushing out her hair. Her golden locket dangles from her neck, catching the light with each movement. She reaches for it, gently opening it to reveal the small, intricate portrait of LeBlanc inside.
She stares at the portrait for a long moment, a wistful smile tugging at her lips. Her fingers trace the edge of the locket as if by doing so, she could bring the image to life.
"Good morning, my Lady," Ahri whispers, her voice playful yet tinged with longing. "It’s a big day today—your grand re-opening. What should I wear to make sure I do you proud?"
She holds up a crimson dress adorned with gold accents, pressing it against herself as she studies her reflection. "This one, perhaps? Or is it too much?"
There’s a pause, and then, in an eerily perfect mimicry of LeBlanc’s commanding tone, she answers herself. "Ahri, darling, you’ll look stunning in anything. But crimson suits you—it brings out the fire in your eyes."
Ahri giggles softly, setting the dress aside and pulling out another—this one a sleek black gown with a plunging neckline. She presses it to herself and tilts her head at the locket, her golden eyes gleaming with mischief.
"What about this one, my Lady? Too daring? Or would you prefer I leave them speechless?"
Again, she answers in LeBlanc’s voice, her tone laced with faux disapproval. "Speechless, perhaps, but do try not to overshadow me, Ahri. You do have a habit of stealing the spotlight."
Her laughter fills the room as she carefully sets the black gown aside, pulling out yet another dress, this time a deep sapphire blue. She holds it up and hums thoughtfully.
"Blue, then? Or is it too somber for a celebration?"
She glances back at the locket, feigning a sigh in LeBlanc’s voice. "Ahri, must I decide everything for you? Just wear the crimson. You know it’s my favorite."
Ahri closes the locket and presses it to her lips, her smile fading into something softer, more bittersweet. She sets it back down, her hand lingering over it for a moment.
"Thank you, my Lady," she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper. "I’ll make sure to shine for you today."
With that, she slips into the crimson dress, the fabric clinging to her form as though it were made for her. She applies her makeup with practiced precision, her movements meticulous. By the time she finishes, she looks every bit the vision she imagined LeBlanc would want to see.
As she stands before the mirror, adjusting the golden locket so it rests perfectly between her collarbones, she takes a deep breath. "For you," she whispers, her resolve firm.
Ahri steps out of her room, ready to face the great re-opening
Ahri stepped out of her room, the soft rustling of her robes drowned by the bustling noise of the château as preparations for Yule night reached their crescendo. The scent of freshly polished wood mingled with the faint aroma of roses, candles flickering in sconces to light the grandeur of the halls. She hurried down the corridor, her mind racing with last-minute details.
In the kitchens, Morgana’s stern voice cut through the hum of activity. "Pantheon, watch the glaze! It needs to shine, not scorch," she barked, her piercing gaze fixed on the warrior-turned-cook.
Pantheon grunted as he adjusted the heat on the stovetop, muttering something about never signing up for this. Leona, standing beside him, wore an apron over her usual armor and worked on arranging trays of festive desserts. She chuckled softly at his grumbling.
"You’re doing fine," Leona said, her voice a calm counterpoint to Morgana’s harshness. "Just don’t let her catch you slacking."
But as Ahri reached the grand staircase, all motion seemed to pause. A hush swept over the girls below, who turned collectively toward the top of the staircase. LeBlanc descended like a vision, each step deliberate and commanding. She wore a magnificent gown of deep crimson and gold, its fabric shimmering with an almost otherworldly glow. The intricate design traced her figure with an elegance both regal and dangerous, her golden epaulettes catching the light like miniature suns. Her staff, ever an extension of her authority, glided beside her, pulsing faintly with magic.
The murmurs began softly, but they grew as LeBlanc descended, heads turning in admiration—and a touch of fear. Even the most jaded among them could not deny her allure tonight.
Ahri, however, stood frozen, her amber eyes wide as they drank in the sight. Her tail swished nervously, betraying the thrum of emotions she tried to contain. She hadn’t meant to stare, but her gaze refused to budge from the sorceress’s figure. Her lips parted slightly as if she wanted to say something, but no words came.
The girls around her noticed immediately.
“Ahri, close your mouth before you start drooling,” one of them teased, nudging her side with a wicked grin. Another laughed, “You’d think she’s seeing LeBlanc for the first time.”
“She’s so obvious!” a third chimed in, smirking. “Her tail gives her away every time!”
Ahri flushed furiously, her ears twitching as she fumbled for a response. “Shut up, all of you!” she snapped, but her voice lacked conviction.
LeBlanc, now at the foot of the staircase, turned her gaze toward the commotion. Her piercing eyes landed on Ahri, narrowing ever so slightly. She strode forward, her heels clicking against the marble floor as the teasing laughter fell silent.
“Ahri,” LeBlanc said coolly, her voice cutting through the tension like a blade. “Do you plan to stand there gawking all night? Or perhaps you’ve forgotten there’s work to be done?”
Ahri stiffened, her ears flattening in embarrassment. “N-no, of course not, Mistress. I was just—”
“Distracted,” LeBlanc finished for her, her tone sharp and impatient. She folded her arms, the movement causing the fabric of her gown to shimmer enticingly. “Focus, Ahri. We don’t have time for your wandering thoughts tonight. Or must I remind you what’s at stake?”
The room grew uncomfortably quiet, save for the sound of Ahri swallowing hard. “I understand,” she said finally, lowering her head.
“Good,” LeBlanc replied, her expression softening only slightly. She turned on her heel, the hem of her gown sweeping the floor with an almost predatory grace. “Now, everyone, back to work. Tonight must be perfect.”
As the girls dispersed, Ahri let out a small sigh of relief, her heart still racing. But as she glanced at LeBlanc, now issuing commands with her usual poise, she couldn’t help the small smile tugging at her lips. Even when scolding her, the sorceress had a way of leaving her utterly captivated.
LeBlanc stood at the center of the room, her presence commanding attention as the final preparations swirled around her. Her crimson gown seemed alive, catching the flickering light of chandeliers and drawing every gaze like moths to a flame. She turned her sharp, calculating eyes to Ahri, who lingered nearby, fidgeting with the edge of her sash and trying to appear composed.
“Ahri,” LeBlanc began, her tone crisp and businesslike. “Is everything ready for tonight’s event? We cannot afford even the smallest misstep.”
“Yes, Mistress,” Ahri said quickly, stepping forward, her tails swishing nervously behind her. “The girls are prepared, the rooms are set, and the entertainment is arranged as you instructed.” Her voice wavered slightly, her eyes flickering over LeBlanc’s face, drawn once more to the delicate curve of her jaw and the faint glimmer of her lips. Goddess, she’s breathtaking.
LeBlanc raised an eyebrow, catching Ahri’s lingering gaze. She tapped her staff lightly on the ground, pulling Ahri’s attention back to the conversation. “And Jinx?” she pressed, her voice colder now. “She is the centerpiece of tonight’s show, after all. Has she been prepared for her… debut?”
Ahri hesitated for a moment, clearly uncomfortable at the mention of Jinx. “Yes, Mistress. She’s been dressed and is waiting in the backroom under wards. Everything is as you asked.”
“Good,” LeBlanc said, her lips curving into a faint, predatory smile. “And Caitlyn and Violet? Have they arrived?”
“They’re here,” Ahri answered quickly. “I personally ensured they were welcomed and escorted to the lounge. They… seemed tense, but they’ll stay. I told them you were eager to show them the rebuilt château yourself.”
LeBlanc’s smile widened, though it carried a dangerous edge. “Perfect. They’re essential for tonight’s entertainment. Their reaction will set the tone for the rest of the evening.” She turned slightly, her gaze distant as she calculated every step of her plan.
Meanwhile, Ahri’s heart pounded in her chest. She took a cautious step closer to LeBlanc, her hands clasped nervously in front of her. “Mistress,” she said softly, her voice tinged with an almost shy flirtation, “you look… incredible tonight. The gown, the way you carry yourself… you’re radiant.”
LeBlanc’s eyes snapped to Ahri, narrowing in irritation. “Flattery will not excuse incompetence,” she said sharply. “Focus on your tasks, Ahri. I don’t have time for your childish distractions.”
Ahri flushed, but she didn’t step back. If anything, she leaned in slightly, emboldened by the proximity. “It’s not flattery,” she murmured, her voice dropping lower. “I mean it. You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”
LeBlanc’s grip on her staff tightened, the faint glow of its magic flickering. “Enough,” she snapped, her tone biting. “If you’ve finished your report, I suggest you return to your duties. Now.”
Ahri hesitated, her ears drooping slightly at the harshness of LeBlanc’s words, but the longing in her eyes remained. “Of course, Mistress,” she said quietly, bowing her head. She lingered for a moment longer, as if hoping LeBlanc might soften, but the sorceress had already turned away, her attention fixed on the grand hall.
As Ahri retreated, her chest tightened with frustration. She couldn’t help but marvel at how effortlessly LeBlanc commanded her—even when scolding her, the sorceress made her heart race. But beneath the surface of her infatuation, there was a growing ache. No matter how hard she tried, LeBlanc seemed unreachable, her gaze always focused on the grander picture, never on Ahri.
LeBlanc, for her part, exhaled sharply once Ahri was out of earshot. The fox was becoming an annoyance—distracted, emotional, and utterly incapable of keeping her feelings in check. But as much as she wanted to reprimand her, a small, inconvenient part of her almost enjoyed the attention. It was a weakness she would never admit to, least of all to herself.
“Foolish girl,” LeBlanc muttered under her breath, adjusting the angle of her staff. “The sooner she learns her place, the better.”
The grand double doors to the lounge creaked open as LeBlanc stepped inside, the click of her heels echoing across the polished floor. The flickering golden light of chandeliers danced on her black gown with its crimson edges and golden interior, giving her an ethereal, almost menacing glow. Every detail of her ensemble screamed opulence, carefully chosen to showcase her power and poise.
Caitlyn and Vi stood near the bar, a striking pair that commanded attention in their own right. Caitlyn wore an elegant Piltovian gown of deep navy, adorned with intricate silver embroidery, her posture as impeccable as her appearance. Vi, on the other hand, contrasted sharply in a tailored black-and-white tuxedo that hugged her athletic frame. Her stance was casual yet protective, one hand resting on the bar as she leaned slightly toward Caitlyn.
LeBlanc’s smile was a perfect mask of warmth as she approached them, arms spreading in an almost welcoming gesture. “Ah, Caitlyn, Vi,” she purred, her voice smooth and honeyed. “How wonderful to see you both tonight. It warms my heart that you could make it. This evening is quite special, after all—for me, for you, and even for young Powder.”
Vi stiffened immediately, the name striking her like a physical blow. Her jaw tightened, and her hand curled into a fist at her side. Caitlyn placed a calming hand on her partner’s arm, her own expression remaining carefully neutral, though her eyes narrowed slightly at LeBlanc.
“Powder,” Vi repeated, her voice low and tense. “We don’t call her that anymore.”
LeBlanc tilted her head, a faint smile playing on her lips as if she found Vi’s reaction amusing. “Oh, I know,” she said lightly. “But I have a fondness for old names. They hold such… sentimental value, don’t you think?” Her eyes sparkled with a knowing glint as she let the question hang in the air for a moment before continuing. “As for your dear sister, you’ll see her soon enough. In fact, tonight you’ll witness something truly remarkable—how I’ve managed to take a young, wayward misfit and make her into something useful.”
Vi’s fist slammed against the bar, the sound reverberating through the room. “What the hell does that mean?” she growled, her voice sharp and dangerous.
Caitlyn immediately stepped in, her tone firm yet measured. “Vi,” she said softly but with authority, her hand squeezing her partner’s arm. Then, addressing LeBlanc, she added, “We agreed to come tonight under the assumption this would be a civil affair. I trust you’ll keep to that, LeBlanc.”
LeBlanc’s smile never wavered, though her eyes gleamed with an edge of triumph. “But of course,” she said smoothly, gesturing for them to sit. “I only meant to assure you that your sister is in… capable hands. You’ll see soon enough.”
Vi’s glare remained locked on LeBlanc, her knuckles white as she clenched her fists. Caitlyn guided her toward one of the velvet chairs, but Vi didn’t sit, her tension too great to allow her to relax.
LeBlanc took the opportunity to pour herself a glass of wine from a decanter on the bar, her movements graceful and deliberate. She held the glass up, letting the crimson liquid catch the light, before taking a delicate sip. “Now,” she said, her tone as casual as if they were discussing the weather, “why don’t we enjoy the festivities? The night is young, after all, and there’s so much to celebrate.”
Vi’s eyes burned with barely restrained fury, but Caitlyn’s hand on her arm kept her grounded—for now. LeBlanc, meanwhile, reveled in the tension, a small, satisfied smile curling at the edges of her lips. Everything was proceeding exactly as she had planned. LeBlanc tilted her head, her smile cool and poised as she finished the last sip of her wine. “If you’ll excuse me,” she said, setting the glass down with a soft clink, “I must tend to the star of the show before the curtain rises. But rest assured, my dear guests, Ahri will ensure that you both have the finest seats for tonight’s spectacle.” Her eyes lingered on Vi for a moment, her smile curving into something sharper. “I wouldn’t want you to miss a thing.”
Without waiting for a reply, she turned with the grace of a dancer, her gown swirling around her as she made her way toward the exit. The heavy door swung shut behind her, leaving Caitlyn and Vi alone in the lavish lounge.
Vi let out a sharp breath, crossing her arms as she leaned back against the bar. “What the hell is she playing at?” she muttered, her voice thick with frustration. “Why the fancy invitation? Why the smug attitude? She’s up to something—I can feel it.”
Caitlyn adjusted her posture, her hands clasped neatly in front of her as she regarded Vi with a calm, measured expression. “You know why she invited us, Vi,” she said quietly.
Vi’s brow furrowed. “Jinx.” The name came out like a growl, her fists clenching again. “Of course it’s Jinx. She’s probably dragged us into one of her damn traps, and now LeBlanc’s pulling the strings.”
“It’s not necessarily a trap,” Caitlyn said carefully, though her tone carried a note of doubt. “LeBlanc seems to have a flair for theatrics. Whatever this is, she wanted us here for a reason. If it involves Jinx, then…” She hesitated, watching Vi’s face darken. “Then maybe it’s a chance to figure out what’s really going on with her.”
Vi pushed off the bar, pacing a few steps before stopping abruptly. “Figure out what’s going on?” she repeated, her voice rising. “We already know what’s going on! Jinx—Powder—whatever she’s calling herself now, is in trouble. She’s tangled up with LeBlanc, and I don’t trust either of them as far as I can throw them.”
Caitlyn stepped closer, placing a steadying hand on Vi’s shoulder. “I know you’re angry,” she said softly. “I am too. But we have to stay calm. Losing our heads won’t help Jinx, and it definitely won’t help us deal with LeBlanc.”
Vi exhaled sharply, looking away. “Fine. But if this is some kind of twisted game…” She trailed off, shaking her head. “Jinx or no Jinx, I’m not letting LeBlanc get the last laugh.”
Caitlyn offered her a faint, reassuring smile, though her own unease was evident. “We’ll get through this. Together.”
Vi gave a reluctant nod, though the tension in her body didn’t ease. Both of them glanced toward the door LeBlanc had exited through, the weight of uncertainty settling over them like a shroud.
LeBlanc stepped into the dimly lit backstage chamber, her heels clicking sharply against the polished floor. The air was thick with tension, the faint hum of her magic still lingering as crimson runes glowed faintly on the walls. At the center of the room sat Jinx, her slim, trembling body bound in the shimmering chains of LeBlanc's conjurations. Her wild blue hair had been brushed and styled into something orderly, though it still bore her chaotic essence. The tiny blue bikini she wore did little to cover her, its purpose more humiliating than practical. She was a picture of rebellion forcibly subdued, her exotic beauty a stark contrast to her current predicament.
LeBlanc's crimson lips curled into a delighted smile as she approached. “Ah, there you are, my little star,” she purred, her voice dripping with mock warmth. “How radiant you look tonight. I must say, the effort was worth it. You’re the perfect image of redemption… or rather, of submission.”
Jinx’s purple eyes burned with fury as she thrashed against the chains, muffled, angry noises escaping her gagged mouth. The bright red gag gleamed under the room’s low light, matching the runes that held her in place. Her hands clenched into fists, but the magical bonds ensured her resistance was futile.
LeBlanc crouched to meet Jinx at eye level, her expression shifting into one of cruel amusement. “Now, now, darling. That’s no way to behave,” she chided, brushing a stray strand of blue hair from Jinx’s face. “Tonight is a very special night for you. It marks the start of a new chapter in your life—a chapter of responsibility, of discipline, of community service,” she said, her voice laced with venomous glee. “Of course, you’ll need to understand what service truly means in my Château.”
Another muffled scream of rage burst from Jinx, her body jerking against the chains. LeBlanc straightened, clicking her tongue in mock disappointment. “Such fire,” she mused, crossing her arms. “It’s a shame you never used that passion for anything worthwhile. But don’t worry—I’ll help you channel it into something… productive.”
LeBlanc stepped closer, leaning down until her lips were inches from Jinx’s ear. “Oh, and let me remind you,” she whispered, her tone soft and sinister, “there is no escape from this new life. You’re mine now. Every thought, every breath, every ounce of your being belongs to me. But…” She trailed off, letting the word linger like a knife suspended in the air.
Straightening, she continued with a chilling smile, “You can still save your precious sister and her adorable little girlfriend from sharing your fate. They’re here tonight, you know. Curious about you. Watching, wondering what’s become of their beloved Powder.”
At the mention of her sister, Jinx’s eyes widened, and for a moment, fear flashed across her face.
LeBlanc chuckled darkly, savoring the reaction. “Yes, I see that struck a nerve. You care about them, don’t you? So here’s the deal, my dear. You can choose to accept your new role gracefully—be a good little girl, do as you're told, and maybe, just maybe, I’ll leave them out of this. But,” she added, her tone hardening as her smile faded, “if you continue to act out, if you think about defying me, or even consider rebelling again, I’ll make sure they join you under my protection.”
Jinx growled through her gag, her body shaking with equal parts rage and despair.
LeBlanc’s smirk returned as she knelt once more, meeting Jinx’s glare with her icy gaze. “The choice is yours, Powder. But I suggest you choose wisely. After all, you wouldn’t want to drag Vi and Caitlyn into your mess, would you?”
With a final mocking pat on Jinx’s cheek, LeBlanc straightened, turning toward the door. “Now, stay put, my little star. The audience is waiting.” She cast one last glance over her shoulder, her golden eyes gleaming with sadistic satisfaction, before disappearing through the doorway, leaving Jinx alone with her thoughts—and her chains.
Ahri led Caitlyn and Vi through the grand, decadent hall of LeBlanc’s chateau, her steps light and graceful, though the tension in her movements betrayed a subtle unease. She glanced back at the pair with her usual soft smile, but her golden eyes lingered a little too long on Vi's frown and Caitlyn's composed yet wary expression.
As they arrived at the lavishly prepared seating area—a raised platform with plush crimson velvet chairs at the very front of the stage—Ahri gestured for them to take their places. “Please, make yourselves comfortable,” she said warmly, her voice carrying a practiced politeness that masked an undertone of pity.
Caitlyn hesitated for a moment before sitting, her gown rustling softly as she adjusted her posture with her usual elegance. Vi followed suit, but her sharp eyes darted around the room, scanning for threats. She felt uneasy, like they were walking into a trap.
As soon as they settled into the luxurious chairs, both women stiffened. A faint shimmer of magic crackled around them, invisible to the untrained eye but unmistakable to its victims. Caitlyn’s hands instinctively reached for her lap, but it was as if her arms were weighed down by lead. Vi attempted to rise, her muscles straining against an unseen force, but her body refused to obey.
“What the—?” Vi growled, her jaw clenched.
Caitlyn glanced at her, her calm exterior cracking as realization dawned. “Magic,” she whispered, her voice low and grim. “LeBlanc’s magic.”
Ahri’s smile faltered, a flicker of guilt passing over her face as she quickly looked away. “Enjoy the show,” she murmured before retreating into the shadows.
Moments later, the room dimmed, and a spotlight illuminated the stage. The hum of conversation among the audience died down as LeBlanc herself emerged, gliding onto the platform like a queen gracing her court. Her black gown shimmered with crimson edges and golden accents, the light catching the intricate designs that danced across the fabric. She raised a hand, her presence commanding absolute silence.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” she began, her voice dripping with charm and authority, “welcome to the grand reopening of my humble Château. Your generosity during these difficult weeks has been nothing short of remarkable. Thanks to your unwavering support, we have rebuilt, reimagined, and risen anew.”
A round of applause rippled through the audience, though it was laced with murmurs of anticipation.
LeBlanc continued, her golden eyes scanning the crowd with predatory satisfaction. “And tonight, as a token of my gratitude, I present to you something truly extraordinary. A treasure. A marvel. A wild spirit tamed for your pleasure.”
She gestured toward Caitlyn and Vi, who were now glaring daggers at her from their immobilized seats. “But first, let us thank our special guests of honor, who have made this all possible.” Her lips curved into a smile that was as insincere as it was cutting. “Caitlyn Kiramman and Violet, the enforcers of Piltover themselves. Without their… inadvertent assistance, tonight’s main attraction would not have been possible.”
Vi’s jaw tightened, her fists clenched as she strained against the magical restraints. “You snake,” she spat through gritted teeth.
LeBlanc paid no mind to the insult, her gaze now shifting toward the curtains at the back of the stage. “And now,” she declared, her voice rising with theatrical flair, “I give you the one, the only, Jinx—the Loose Cannon herself!”
The curtains parted, and there stood Jinx, chained and gagged, her pristine and exotic appearance a stark contrast to the wild chaos she was known for. Her blue bikini left nothing to the imagination, and the gleaming magical chains binding her wrists and ankles only served to emphasize her vulnerability. Her eyes were wide with fury and humiliation, darting between the audience and LeBlanc with a mixture of rage and helplessness.
The spotlight bathed LeBlanc in an ethereal glow as she stood beside the trembling Jinx, her presence dominating the room. The audience hushed, their anticipation palpable as they leaned forward in their seats. LeBlanc extended her arms, her voice rich with theatrical charisma.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” she began, her lips curving into a sly smile, “as many of you know, it is tradition here at the Château that when we introduce a new addition to our… community, we celebrate their debut with a grand auction. The first to win the bid earns the honor of breaking in our newest star, marking the beginning of their journey into service.”
The crowd erupted into scattered murmurs, a mix of excitement and curiosity buzzing through the air. LeBlanc let the anticipation build before holding up a hand to silence them, her expression turning almost regal.
“However,” she continued, her golden eyes flickering with sadistic glee, “tonight is a special occasion, and I believe exceptions should be made for such a monumental event. Powder, or as some of you know her—Jinx—is no ordinary debutante. She is a rare gem, a spirited soul whose capture was made possible by none other than our esteemed guests of honor.”
Her gaze turned toward Caitlyn and Vi, who sat frozen in their seats, their bodies bound by LeBlanc’s invisible magical restraints. Caitlyn’s expression was calm but icy, her mind racing as she tried to assess the situation, while Vi’s was a mask of barely contained fury, her jaw clenched so tightly it might as well have been made of steel.
LeBlanc’s smile widened as she addressed them directly. “And so, as a token of my deepest gratitude to the illustrious enforcers of Piltover, I have decided to forego the usual auction. Instead, I grant you both a rare and exclusive honor: the privilege of being the first to enjoy our dear Jinx.”
The room erupted in applause and laughter, the crowd reveling in the humiliation unfolding before them. LeBlanc let their reactions linger, basking in the chaos she had orchestrated before continuing.
“And, of course,” she added with a sly grin, “it would only be fitting that such an intimate reunion between sisters happens here, on this stage, in front of all of us. A public spectacle, if you will—a show of unity and reconciliation, of service and submission.”
Jinx’s muffled screams grew louder, her body jerking violently against the magical chains binding her. Her eyes burned with rage, glaring at LeBlanc with a hatred so fierce it could have melted stone. Vi, meanwhile, was on the verge of snapping. Her muscles strained against the invisible force pinning her to the chair, her knuckles white as her fists clenched in futile resistance.
“You sick, twisted monster!” Vi snarled, her voice shaking with fury. “I’ll kill you, LeBlanc! I swear, I’ll—”
LeBlanc interrupted her with a mocking laugh, tilting her head as if she found Vi’s outburst amusing. “Oh, darling Vi,” she purred, “you’ve always been so passionate. But perhaps you should focus that passion where it truly matters—on the stage, with your dear little sister.”
The spotlight shifted, illuminating Jinx in stark relief. Her tiny blue bikini shimmered under the harsh light, the chains around her wrists and ankles glinting as they glowed with LeBlanc’s enchantment. The gag in her mouth muffled her protests, her wild eyes darting between Vi and Caitlyn, silently pleading for help.
LeBlanc turned back to the audience, her voice ringing out with triumphant authority. “Ladies and gentlemen, I give you tonight’s grand spectacle: a reunion like no other. Caitlyn and Vi, the Enforcers of Piltover, sharing a tender moment with the infamous Loose Cannon, Jinx.” Her grin widened, her teeth glinting in the light. “Let the festivities begin!”
The audience erupted into raucous applause and cheers, their twisted excitement filling the room like a suffocating fog. LeBlanc stepped back, watching the scene unfold with a glint of malicious satisfaction in her eyes.
Vi’s entire body stiffened as LeBlanc’s magic forced her to stand, her legs moving of their own accord toward the stage. Every muscle in her body strained against the invisible bonds, but it was hopeless. The spell was too strong, and Vi could do nothing but glare at LeBlanc with seething rage.
“LeBlanc!” Vi roared, her voice trembling with fury. “Let me go! This isn’t right, and you know it!”
LeBlanc turned toward her with an amused smile, one hand idly adjusting the crimson-edged hem of her gown. “Right? Oh, darling, you should know by now that right has no place here. This is simply justice—my kind of justice. And it’s about time someone taught that little misfit what happens when you cross me.”
Vi’s fists clenched so tightly her nails dug into her palms as her body ascended the stage steps, powerless to resist. Her breath came in short, ragged bursts as she locked eyes with Jinx, tied to the table at the center of the stage. The magical chains glimmered faintly in the dim light, holding Jinx’s wrists and ankles in place. She was utterly helpless, clad in an impossibly tiny blue bikini that only added to the humiliation. Tears streamed down her face as muffled cries escaped the red gag that silenced her.
Ahri stood beside the table, tightening the last of the straps that secured Jinx to her position. Her movements were calm, almost mechanical, as though she had done this a thousand times before. When Vi’s angry gaze landed on her, she hesitated for a brief moment, her golden eyes flickering with something unspoken.
“Ahri,” Vi snarled through gritted teeth. “How can you go along with this? She’s just a kid! How can you let LeBlanc do this to her?”
Ahri exhaled softly, straightening as she finished her task. She glanced down at Jinx, then back at Vi, her expression cold and distant. “Jinx made her choices, Vi,” she said quietly. “She crossed LeBlanc. And no one crosses LeBlanc without paying the price.”
“She doesn’t owe LeBlanc anything!” Vi barked, her voice cracking with emotion.
Ahri’s ears twitched, and for a moment, her gaze softened. But it didn’t last. She shook her head and crossed her arms, leaning against the edge of the table. “She owes everything,” Ahri replied firmly. “Jinx is just repaying her debt, like everyone else here. If she didn’t want this, she should’ve known better than to cross paths with the sorceress.”
“Debt?” Vi repeated incredulously. “You think this is about a debt? You’re as twisted as she is if you believe that!”
Ahri’s expression darkened, and her tail flicked in irritation. “Call it whatever you want,” she said, her tone sharp. “But Jinx is getting what she deserves. And if you think you can change that, then you don’t understand how things work around here.”
LeBlanc’s laughter interrupted the heated exchange, drawing both women’s attention back to the sorceress. She clapped her hands lightly, as if entertained by the spectacle. “Oh, Vi, Ahri is simply doing what I’ve taught her: understanding her place in this world. Perhaps you’ll learn yours soon enough.”
Vi’s eyes blazed with fury as her body was forced to step closer to the table. Jinx’s muffled cries grew more desperate, her wide, tear-filled eyes locked onto her sister’s. Vi’s heart shattered at the sight, but her legs continued to move, betraying her every effort to resist.
LeBlanc stepped between them, placing a hand under Vi’s chin and lifting her face so their eyes met. Her smirk widened, cruel and mocking. “You see, Vi,” she purred, “this is what happens when you try to defy me. But don’t worry, darling. After tonight, your dear little sister will be something truly valuable—something I can be proud of.”
“Let her go,” Vi hissed, her voice trembling. “If you want someone to punish, take me instead. Just… let her go.”
LeBlanc’s laughter echoed across the stage, cold and merciless. “Oh, my dear, you’re already playing your part,” she said, her tone dripping with condescension. “And you should be grateful. After all, I’m teaching Jinx to live a life of order and responsibility—a life under my authority. That’s far better than the chaos she brought upon herself.”
Vi’s voice cracked as she screamed, “You’re a monster! She doesn’t deserve this!”
LeBlanc leaned in closer, her crimson-painted lips curling into a vicious smile. “Oh, I’ve been called worse, my dear,” she whispered. “And you’d do well to remember: this is my world, not yours.”
With a flick of her hand, LeBlanc’s magic forced Vi to step onto the stage, her movements robotic and unyielding. Meanwhile, Ahri adjusted Jinx’s restraints one final time, ensuring the girl was fully immobilized. The audience buzzed with anticipation, their twisted excitement filling the room like a suffocating fog.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” LeBlanc announced, turning to face the crowd, “tonight is a celebration of discipline, transformation, and the bonds that hold us all together. Let us begin!”
Vi’s heart pounded in her chest as the nightmare continued to unfold, her every attempt to resist met with cruel futility. All she could do was glare at LeBlanc.
Ahri's hands moved with a mechanical precision, her fingers deftly untying the tiny strings that held Jinx's bikini in place. The flimsy fabric fell away, revealing Jinx's naked form to the leering crowd. The young girl's body trembled, tears streaming down her face as she struggled against her bonds.
Vi watched in horror, her own body betraying her as an erection began to strain against the confines of her pants. She shook her head frantically, trying to will it away, but her hands moved of their own accord. With shaking fingers, she unbuttoned her pants, allowing her large, throbbing cock to spring free. Pre-cum beaded at the tip, a glistening pearl of moisture that dripped onto Jinx's tear-stained cheek.
The sisters' eyes met, both shimmering with unshed tears as Vi's cock smeared its essence across Jinx's face. The depravity of the situation was almost too much to bear, the violation of Vi's own body adding to Jinx's torment.Ahri, her expression cold and unreadable, reached out and untied the gag from Jinx's mouth. The young girl gasped for air, her chest heaving with panicked breaths. Before she could utter a word, Ahri replaced the gag with a metal ring, forcing Jinx's mouth open wide. The ring glinted in the stage lights, a cruel symbol of her subjugation.Vi's heart shattered as she realized the true extent of LeBlanc's twisted desires. With Jinx's mouth held open by the ring, Vi's cock pressed against her lips, the head already slick with pre-cum. LeBlanc's magic forced Vi's hips forward, the tip of her shaft pushing past Jinx's teeth to rest on her tongue.
Vi's cock slid deeper into Jinx's mouth, inch by inch, as LeBlanc's magic compelled her forward. Jinx's eyes widened in horror, tears streaming down her face as the thick shaft stretched her lips and filled her mouth. Vi could feel the warmth of Jinx's tongue, the softness of her palate, as her cock pushed deeper, reaching the back of the girl's throat."Mmmmph!" Jinx gagged around Vi's cock, her throat convulsing as it was forced to accommodate the intrusion. The metal ring held her mouth open wide, preventing her from pulling away or closing her lips. She was powerless to resist as Vi's cock pushed in deeper, the head forcing its way past her throat and into her esophagus.
Vi's hands gripped the edge of the table, her knuckles white as she fought against the magical compulsion. But it was useless. LeBlanc's power was too strong, and she could only watch in agony as her own body violated her sister. Tears streamed down Vi's face, mingling with the drool that trickled from the corner of Jinx's stretched lips.The audience watched with bated breath, some leering in twisted enjoyment, others with a sick fascination. Ahri stood to the side, as she watched the scene unfold. LeBlanc, meanwhile, looked on with a wicked smile, savoring the depraved spectacle she had orchestrated.Vi's cock was now fully sheathed in Jinx's throat, the girl's nose pressed against Vi's pelvis. Jinx's eyes bulged, her face flushed red as she struggled for air through her nose. Vi could feel the desperate fluttering of Jinx's throat around her shaft, the muscles spasming as they fought to expel the intrusion.
Vi's hips pulled back, her throbbing cock sliding out of Jinx's mouth with a wet pop. Just as the head cleared her lips, Vi's body was compelled to move downwards, positioning her shaft at the entrance of Jinx's virgin pussy. The young girl whimpered, her thighs quivering as the thick cockhead nudged her delicate folds.
At the same time, Caitlyn was forced to rise from her seat by LeBlanc's magic. The sheriff beauty stumbled forward, her heels clicking against the stage as she was drawn towards Jinx's face. With trembling hands, Caitlyn reached behind her back and unzipped her dress, letting it fall to the floor in a pool of shimmering fabric. She stood before Jinx, naked and vulnerable, her pussy mere inches from the girl's face.Ahri, meanwhile, leaned over Jinx and gently removed the metal ring from her mouth. She brushed a stray lock of hair from the girl's face, her touch almost tender."Be a good girl now, Jinx," Ahri murmured, her voice low and soothing."Do as you're told, and this will all be over soon. For your sister's sake, if not your own."
Jinx's teary eyes flicked from Ahri to Vi, then up to Caitlyn. She swallowed hard, her throat bobbing, and gave a tiny, imperceptible nod. Ahri smiled, a glimmer of approval in her eyes, before straightening up and stepping back to give the sisters room.Vi's hips flexed, the head of her cock pushing insistently against Jinx's virgin entrance. The girl's folds were slick with fear and reluctant arousal, a shameful wetness that betrayed her body's response to the violation. Vi's shaft slid forward, stretching Jinx's tight channel as it began to push inside her.Caitlyn, under the influence of LeBlanc's magic, slowly lowered herself to straddle Jinx's face. Her pussy, glistening with arousal despite her revulsion, hovered over the girl's mouth.
"Open wide," Ahri instructed, her tone firm but not unkind."You're going to make Caitlyn feel good now. Understand?"
The room fell silent, the audience holding its collective breath as Vi's cock pushed into Jinx's virgin pussy. The girl's tight walls stretched around the thick shaft, her delicate folds parting to allow the intrusion. Jinx's body shuddered, a choked whimper escaping her lips as Vi's cock slid deeper, inch by inch, claiming her most intimate space.
"Nnngghh! Ahhh!" Jinx's cries were muffled against Caitlyn's pussy, which was now pressed firmly against her mouth. The sheriff's musky scent filled Jinx's nostrils, her arousal evident even in this twisted situation.
"That's it, darling,"
Ahri purred, one hand resting on the back of Caitlyn's neck, guiding her movements.
"Ride her pretty face. Use her just like she deserves."Vi's hips rocked forward, driving her cock deeper into Jinx's tight heat. The girl's body jerked beneath her, tears streaming down her face as she was penetrated for the first time. Vi's face was a mask of agonized concentration, her jaw clenched as she fought against the magical compulsion."Fuck, it's so tight,"Vi grunted, her voice strained."LeBlanc, please... I can't... I don't want to..."
LeBlanc's laughter echoed through the room, cruel and mocking. "Look at her, Vi," she taunted, pointing at Jinx's tear-streaked face. "She's doing such a wonderful job, taking your cock like a good little slut. You should be proud of her."
Caitlyn's hips rocked against Jinx's face, her pussy grinding against the girl's mouth as she rode her with increasing fervor. Jinx's muffled cries were lost in the Caitlyn's slick folds, her nose pressed against Caitlyn's clit as the woman chased her own pleasure.
"Ohhh fuck," Caitlyn gasped, her head falling back in an ecstasy she could not hide anymore.
Vi's thrusts grew more erratic, her body moving with a mind of its own as LeBlanc's magic drove her closer to the edge. She could feel the pressure building in her loins, the telltale tingling that signaled her impending release.
"No, no, no!" Vi cried out, her voice raw with desperation. "I can't... I'm going to... LeBlanc, please!"
The sorceress merely smirked, her eyes glinting with malice.
"Yes, that's it," she purred."Give in to it, Vi. Fill your sister's cunt with your seed. Claim her"
Vi's body bucked and shuddered, her cock pulsing inside Jinx's tight heat. The girl's eyes widened in terror as she felt the first hot spurts of Vi's cum painting her insides, marking her in the most intimate way possible.
"NOOO!" Vi screamed, her voice cracking with anguish as her hips jerked forward one last time, driving her cock to the hilt inside Jinx's violated pussy.
Vi's spent cock slipped out of Jinx's abused pussy with a wet plop, a river of cum flowing out in its wake. The thick, creamy essence coated Jinx's thighs, dripping onto the stage below. The girl lay there, limp and broken, her face still buried beneath Caitlyn's spasming pussy as the sheriff rode out her intense orgasm.
"AAHHHHH!!!!" Caitlyn cried out, her juices gushing out on Jinx's face. The fluids ran in rivulets down the girl's cheeks, pooling beneath her head.
"What a good little slut you are, dear Jinx" Ahri purred, as LeBlanc's magic forced the piltovian duo back to their seats.
LeBlanc's eyes gleamed with sadistic glee as she addressed the salivating crowd. "Now that our delectable little Jinx has been properly...prepped, shall we say, it's time for you all to take your turn?" She paused for dramatic effect, her voice dripping with malice. "Jinx has been a pain in the ass for a lot of us in the past, so, it's time to teach her that's not way to behave! Each of you may line up and fuck this tight little asshole as much as you want, but remember - the only rule is to cum outside, no semen, no spit, not anything, she will take all of you raw. Not a single drop on her precious anus!"
The audience erupted into cheers and whistles at LeBlanc's announcement, their faces twisted with lust and anticipation. Vi watched in horror as men began to file onto the stage, their hard cocks jutting out like weapons ready for deployment.
Caitlyn sat rigid in her seat beside Vi, her face pale but resolute despite the terror in her eyes. Vi reached out to grip Caitlyn's hand tightly, offering what comfort she could under these vile circumstances.
The room buzzed with a sinister energy as LeBlanc stood at the center of her stage, commanding attention like a conductor orchestrating a twisted symphony. The crowd’s murmurs rose and fell like waves, their anticipation feeding the dark sorceress's smug confidence. Caitlyn and Vi remained motionless, their bodies locked in place by the magic that bound them to their seats, forced to endure every second of this grotesque spectacle.
Summoning every ounce of strength she had, Caitlyn clenched her teeth and growled, her voice cracking with defiance. "LeBlanc, this wasn’t part of our deal! You were supposed to contain her, not degrade her into... this!" Her voice wavered, but her determination cut through the tense air like a knife.
LeBlanc turned slowly toward Caitlyn, her expression one of mocking indifference. "Ah, Sheriff Kiramman," she drawled, her lips curving into a wicked smile. "I’ve altered the deal. Pray I don’t alter it any further." Her tone dripped with sarcasm, deliberate and cruel. She tilted her head slightly, her eyes glinting with satisfaction as she basked in Caitlyn’s outrage.
As the first client approached her sister, Vi's stomach churned with revulsion. She watched in sickening detail as he forced his cock into Jinx's tiny anus without any pretense of gentleness or care for her well-being.
Jinx's scream echoed through the room, a sound of pure agony that seemed to shatter Vi's very soul. The image seared itself into Vi's mind - her sister's face contorted in pain and humiliation, eyes wide with terror as she was violated from behind. Jinx tried to kick, but her legs were restrained by LeBlanc's chains.
The line moved on relentlessly, each man taking his turn to brutalize Jinx in the same merciless way. They fucked her ass without mercy, their grunts and groans mingling with Jinx's desperate sobs as they pounded into her over and over again.
The room was filled with the sounds of flesh slapping against flesh, grunts and moans of pleasure mingling with Jinx's anguished cries. Each client seemed to take sadistic delight in claiming her ass, their cocks plunging into her violated hole without any concern for her well-being.
Vi felt a wave of nausea wash over her as she watched, tears streaming down her face. She wanted to look away, to pretend this wasn't happening...but she couldn't tear her gaze from the macabre scene unfolding before her eyes.
The line of clients continued to advance, each one taking their turn violating Jinx's helpless body. Her face was a mess of tears and snot, her cries muffled by the constant invasion of cock after cock ramming into her abused ass.Ahri stood nearby, smirking as she held out receptacles for each man to shoot his load onto when finished. Vi watched in revulsion as the containers filled with thick ropes of cum, Ahri's eyes gleaming with sadistic pleasure at every new addition.
LeBlanc's words cut through the haze of pain and despair, her voice dripping with cruel amusement.
"You know why this is happening to you, Jinx. You're aware that people are made to be broken - it's in their nature. And let's be honest, my dear, I'm far better at breaking them than you ever were. After all, what was your little rebellion really about? A futile attempt to cling to some misguided notion of freedom and autonomy? How quaint."
Her laughter echoed through the room, sending shivers down Jinx's spine as she tried desperately not to break down completely under the relentless assault.
As the line of clients stretched on seemingly without end, Jinx's abused body continued to bear the brunt of their depraved desires. Her once pristine ass now a mangled, bloodied mess from the relentless pounding it had endured.
Despite her physical state, or perhaps because of it, the men showed no mercy. Each one took his turn violating her with ruthless efficiency - cock after cock plunging into her battered hole with brutal force. The wet slapping sounds of flesh meeting flesh filled the air, mingling with Jinx's anguished cries and sobs.
Ahri hovered nearby, collecting each load as it was deposited onto the growing pile at her side. The receptacles overflowed with thick ropes of cum - viscous white streams that glistened in the dim light like macabre trophies.
As another man pressed his throbbing cock against Jinx's abused entrance, she could feel the engorged head probing at her raw, sored hole. The sensation was a mix of agony and humiliation - her body screaming in protest to the impending violation.
The first painful inch slid inside with an audible squelch, stretching her torn flesh around him like a vice. Jinx's vision blurred as tears streamed down her face, mingling with the sweat and small bits of cum already coating her skin.
Each subsequent thrust drove him deeper into her ravaged ass, causing stars to burst behind Jinx's eyelids from the intense pain. Her muscles clenched reflexively around his shaft in a futile attempt to expel him...but it only served to heighten both their pleasure.
The man's cock pulsed and throbbed inside Jinx, his hips snapping forward with brutal force that sent waves of agony through her battered body. Each thrust ground against her tender insides, the head of his dick battering at a spot that made her see white.
"Fuck...you're so tight," he grunted, his hands gripping Jinx's hips hard enough to bruise as he drove into her over and over again. "Love feeling your ass squeeze my cock like this..."
Jinx could only whimper in response, overwhelmed by the sensations of pain and soreness. Her abused hole clenched around him reflexively as he continued to pound away, each movement sending shockwaves through her ravaged body.
Ahri leaned in close, her sultry voice a menacing whisper against Jinx's ear. "I told you, dear...LeBlanc always wins in the end. Let this be your lesson."
Her eyes glinted with sadistic amusement as she watched Jinx writhe beneath the relentless onslaught of cocks.
"You still have a choice," Ahri continued, her tone dripping with false sympathy. "Break now and embrace what you're meant to become - one of LeBlanc's sluts, serving at her pleasure. Or..."
She paused for dramatic effect, her gaze flicking over to where Vi and Caitlyn were being similarly brutalized.
"Keep rebelling," Ahri purred. "Watch as your precious sister and her girlfriend are broken just like this...and know that it will be all your fault."
The implication hung heavy in the air - surrender now or risk seeing those they loved suffer even more at LeBlanc's hands.
As the last man on the line finished filling his receptacle, Ahri moved with swift efficiency to Jinx's mouth. With a firm grip, she forced the ring gag between Jinx's lips again, securing it in place.
"Time to feed you all your hard work," Ahri purred, her voice dripping with sadistic delight as she held up each filled receptacle in turn.
One by one, she poured the thick ropes of cum directly into Jinx's mouth and down her throat. The taste was acrid and bitter - a potent reminder of the depraved acts that had brought about this moment.
Jinx's eyes watered as she gulped down each load, the gag muffling her protests into muffled grunts and whimpers. Ahri's sadistic laughter filled the air as she forced Jinx to swallow every last drop.
"There...all done," Ahri cooed once the receptacles were empty, her hand lingering on Jinx's cheek with an unsettling gentleness. "Such a good little cumdump."
LeBlanc stepped forward then, her gaze raking over Jinx's ravaged form with cold satisfaction. "Excellent work, my pet fox. I do so love watching you in action."
LeBlanc's fingers expertly removed the gag from Jinx's mouth, allowing her to gasp for air. The sorceress leaned in close, her eyes glinting with a predatory light as she waited for Jinx's response. "So, my dear," LeBlanc purred, "what did you learn from this little...lesson?"
Jinx stared back at her captor, tears streaming down her face as she struggled to process the sheer scope of her degradation. Her voice was hoarse and shaky when she finally spoke."I...I learned that I'm nothing more than a plaything for your twisted desires."
She spat out the words, anger and humiliation warring within her. "That no matter how hard I fight or resist, it only ends with me being broken and used."
A cruel smile played on LeBlanc's lips as she nodded slowly. "Exactly. You're starting to understand now."
LeBlanc's eyes sparkled with dark delight as she addressed the room, her voice dripping with false gratitude.
"Thank you all so much for your...generous contributions to Jinx's education," she purred, gesturing to the battered and broken girl at her feet. "I must say, I'm thoroughly impressed by how well you've helped me shape this rebellious little thing into an obedient and useful member of society."
She knelt down beside Jinx, running a cruel finger along the girl's tear-stained cheek. "And now that our lesson is complete, I can finally let this criminal to join my gracious team of prostitutes. No more hiding in the shadows for her - from now on, she'll earn her keep through honest labor...as one of my personal whores."
A chilling smile spread across LeBlanc's face as she stood back up. "Welcome to your new life, Jinx. You're going to be very busy serving your new masters."
Chapter Text
The sound of tapping against glass shattered the silence of Katarina’s dimly lit chamber.
She turned, muscles tensing as her gaze landed on the dark shape perched just outside the window. Even in the faint candlelight, she could see the intelligence in its beady, black eyes. A deep exhale, then a swift motion—she unlatched the window.
With a rush of wings, the crow swept inside, landing gracefully on the back of a wooden chair. Its talons scraped against the polished surface, the only sound in the oppressive stillness. Then, in a voice that did not belong to any living bird, it spoke.
“Any news?”
Katarina crossed her arms, her expression unreadable. “LeBlanc has resumed operations,” she said coolly.
The crow let out a low, rasping chuckle. “I already know that,” the voice of Swain murmured through the creature’s beak. “I need something useful.”
Katarina exhaled sharply, shifting her weight against the window frame. “She’s already watching me,” she admitted. “That means any information I get is probably what she wants you to hear.”
The crow did not react, save for a small ruffle of its feathers. “She cannot control everything,” it said. Then, after a pause, it added, “The latest show was very... entertaining. At least, for some sick people.”
Katarina’s lips pressed into a thin line. Her mind flickered to Jinx—the girl lying motionless, her body barely responding as Seraphine and Sona wiped away the blood and filth. The shattered look in her eyes. The way she had whispered for her sister, not fully comprehending what had happened to her.
“It’s true,” Katarina admitted at last, her voice quieter than before. “Jinx is broken. I don’t see how she could be of any use against LeBlanc—not anytime soon.”
A long, heavy silence stretched between them.
Then the crow spoke again, slow and deliberate.
“It is... remarkable,” Swain’s voice mused, as if savoring the thought. “That LeBlanc could break that girl. But tell me—if Jinx submits, it must be because LeBlanc has leverage over her. Remove the leverage, and she will be free.”
The words hung in the air like a dagger suspended over Katarina’s throat.
She straightened, her gaze sharpening. “It’s not that simple,” she said, measuring each word carefully. “How do you expect me to free her sister and the Sheriff?”
The crow tilted its head sharply, its eyes gleaming like twin obsidian shards.
“I never said anything about freeing them.”
A cold, creeping sensation slithered down Katarina’s spine.
Before she could speak, the crow spread its wings, dark feathers casting long shadows over the room. Then, with a powerful thrust, it launched into the night, vanishing beyond the city skyline.
Katarina remained frozen, the weight of those last words pressing against her like an iron hand around her throat.
She understood what Swain meant.
Killing Jinx’s family would break LeBlanc’s hold over her. Without Vi, without Caitlyn, Jinx would have nothing left for LeBlanc to threaten.
But at what cost?
Her hands clenched into fists.
Was this truly what it would take to bring LeBlanc down?
Akali exhaled, rolling her shoulders as she stepped back into the Black Crow bar. The neon chem lights painted the air in sickly hues of green and violet, casting eerie reflections across the polished floor. The music thumped in her chest, a steady, hypnotic beat that pulsed through the crowd like a drug.
On the main pole, Zeri was putting on a show, her petite frame twisting and flipping with raw energy, electricity crackling faintly along her arms. The girl was cute, that much was undeniable. But her crush? That was just plain irritating.
That’s what Akali got for being kind.
Zeri’s gaze flicked toward her mid-spin, a flash of excitement passing through her golden eyes before she quickly looked away, trying to play it cool. Akali smirked to herself. Pathetic.
Across the room, another stage commanded its own attention—Miss Fortune, in all her stacked glory, was putting on a different kind of show. Her curves swayed with calculated precision, each motion sultry, each step perfectly timed despite the ridiculous height of her heels.
Akali had no idea how the redhead managed to move like that without tripping over herself.
A particularly enthusiastic patron reached out a little too eagerly, and before he could make contact, Miss Fortune’s boot met his chest, sending him crashing back into his seat. She didn’t even break her rhythm.
The crowd erupted in cheers, more bills rained onto the stage, and the man who got kicked just laughed, delighted by the personal attention.
Akali snorted. Fucking simps.
But then there was Kai’Sa.
The girl was a problem.
Clad in a high-cut purple latex monokini that barely covered anything, Kai’Sa moved with quiet, effortless grace. Unlike Miss Fortune, who commanded attention, Kai’Sa had a different pull—silent, confident, and impossible to ignore.
Akali was not crushing on her. No way. Maybe she appreciated the view, but that was it.
…Alright, maybe a tiny crush.
But at least she wasn’t following Kai’Sa around like a lost dog, unlike a certain someone she could name.
Better not to get attached. Not in this place. Not to anyone.
Akali took a long swig from her third beer, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She wasn’t sure if she was thirsty from all the dancing or from the heat simmering beneath her skin. Either way, the alcohol wasn’t helping—it only made her body feel heavier, her muscles looser.
She felt the presence before she saw it.
Kai’Sa.
Unlike Zeri, Akali actually knew how to play it cool. She took another lazy sip, eyes flicking up only when Kai’Sa leaned against the bar beside her.
“Got a request,” Kai’Sa murmured, voice low enough that only Akali could hear over the pounding music. “Some high-roller wants a threesome. You in?”
Akali scoffed, rolling her shoulders like she was too tired to even entertain the idea. “Pass. I’ve been dancing my ass off all night.” She let the words hang between them, daring Kai’Sa to push the issue.
But instead of insisting, Kai’Sa just laughed—a low, knowing chuckle that sent a shiver up Akali’s spine. “Figures,” she said, reaching into the thin strap of her monokini and pulling out a small metal flask. She twisted off the cap, revealing a bright purple liquid inside.
Akali’s brow furrowed. “Shimmer? You actually take that shit?”
Kai’Sa inhaled deeply, letting the vapors curl through her nostrils before exhaling slow, pupils blown wide. “Helps me work better,” she said smoothly, then held the flask up, just under Akali’s nose.
The scent hit her first—sweet, cloying, and dangerous.
Akali hesitated. She’d seen what shimmer did to girls who overused it. It gave you energy, made you fearless, made your body want to move. But it also took something. The edge, the control, the ability to say no.
Kai’Sa watched her expectantly, that same unreadable expression on her face.
Akali inhaled—just a little.
The rush hit her brain like a static shock, sizzling through her nerves, lighting up every sense. Her vision sharpened, her skin buzzed, and suddenly, the exhaustion she’d been pretending to have vanished.
Kai’Sa smirked. “So? Still too tired?”
Akali exhaled, rolling the empty beer bottle between her fingers. Fuck.
“…Maybe I’ll think about it.”
Akali barely registered the moment Kai’Sa’s hands found her waist, pulling her to her feet. Her head was buzzing, her thoughts loose and weightless, like clouds drifting in a neon-lit sky. The shimmer was good—maybe too good.
Kai’Sa didn’t let go. One hand slid from Akali’s hip to her wrist, guiding her forward. Akali followed, her body moving before her brain could catch up.
They weaved through the bar, past pulsing bodies and the flashing glow of chem lights, until they reached a secluded booth. A man sat there, leaning back like he owned the place.
Ekko.
Young, cocky, and sharp as ever, even without the goggles he usually wore. His golden-brown eyes flicked up lazily, but Akali didn’t miss the way they lingered on her.
Kai’Sa pressed up behind her, arms looping around Akali’s waist. The warmth of her body was impossible to ignore, her breath teasing against Akali’s ear.
“Cute, isn’t she?” Kai’Sa purred, her fingers grazing up Akali’s stomach before cupping her chest. “Just your type, I bet.”
Akali’s breath hitched, the touch sending an electric pulse through her already overstimulated nerves.
Ekko’s lips curled into a slow, knowing smirk. He tilted his head, letting his eyes drag over her body like he was taking his time deciding.
“Yeah,” he said, voice rich with amusement. “She’s exactly what I wanted.”
The air in the booth was thick with tension, a heady mix of shimmer, alcohol, and something far more primal. Akali’s heart pounded in her chest, her senses heightened by the drug coursing through her veins. She could feel Kai’Sa’s breath on her neck, the faintest brush of lips against her skin, and it sent a shiver down her spine.
Ekko leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, his gaze never leaving Akali. “So,” he drawled, his voice smooth and teasing, “you’re the famous Akali. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
Akali raised an eyebrow, trying to maintain her composure despite the way her body was reacting to the situation. “All good things, I hope.”
Ekko chuckled, a low, rich sound that made her stomach flip. “Depends on who you ask.”
Kai’Sa’s hands tightened around Akali’s waist, pulling her closer. “She’s been a very good girl tonight,” she murmured, her voice dripping with suggestion. “Haven’t you, Akali?”
Akali’s breath caught in her throat, her mind racing. She wasn’t sure if she was more turned on or annoyed by the way they were playing with her. But the shimmer had her body singing, every touch, every word sending waves of pleasure through her.
“I’m always good,” Akali replied, her voice steady despite the storm raging inside her.
Ekko’s smirk widened, and he reached out, his fingers brushing against her cheek. “I like a girl who knows her worth.”
Akali’s eyes narrowed, but before she could respond, Kai’Sa’s lips were on her neck, kissing and nipping at her skin. Akali’s head fell back against Kai’Sa’s shoulder, a soft moan escaping her lips.
Ekko watched with dark, hungry eyes, clearly enjoying the show. “You two make a pretty picture,” he said, his voice rough with desire. “But I think it’s time we got to know each other a little better.”
Kai’Sa pulled back slightly, her hands sliding down to Akali’s hips. “What do you say, Akali? Ready to play?”
Akali’s mind was a whirlwind of conflicting emotions, but the shimmer had her body screaming for more. She looked at Ekko, then at Kai’Sa, and finally nodded. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”
The air in the booth grew heavier, the tension palpable as Ekko’s request hung in the air. Akali’s heart raced, her body still buzzing from the shimmer, her senses heightened and her inhibitions lowered. She glanced at Kai’Sa, who was already moving with that effortless confidence, her fingers deftly undoing the thin straps of her own high-cut purple latex monokini. The material slid down her body, pooling at her feet, leaving her completely bare. Kai’Sa’s skin glistened under the neon lights, her toned figure on full display, unashamed and unapologetic.
Akali hesitated for a moment, her pride warring with the heat pooling low in her stomach. But the shimmer had a way of making decisions for her, and the way Ekko was looking at her—like she was something to be devoured—made her pulse quicken. She reached for the clasp of her emerald bikini, her fingers trembling slightly as she undid it. The fabric fell away, revealing her petite frame, her smooth skin, and the neatly trimmed patch of black hair between her legs. She stood there, exposed, her cheeks flushed but her gaze steady, refusing to let them see her falter.
Ekko’s eyes darkened as he took her in, his gaze roaming over her body with a hunger that made her shiver. “Damn,” he murmured, his voice low and rough. “You’re even more stunning than I imagined.”
Kai’Sa stepped closer, her bare skin brushing against Akali’s as she circled her like a predator. “Told you she was your type,” she purred, her fingers trailing lightly over Akali’s shoulder, down her arm, sending a jolt of electricity through her.
Akali’s breath hitched, her body responding to their attention despite the part of her that wanted to resist. She wasn’t used to being so vulnerable, so exposed, but the shimmer had a way of making her crave the intensity, the danger of it all.
Ekko reached out, his fingers brushing against her hip, his touch sending a wave of heat through her. “You’re perfect,” he said, his voice thick with desire. “Both of you.”
The neon lights cast a surreal glow over the scene, highlighting the curves of Kai’Sa’s body as she positioned herself between Ekko’s legs.
Kai’Sa’s hands moved with practiced ease, her fingers deftly unwrapping the fabric that concealed Ekko’s hard cock. When it sprang free, Akali’s eyes widened slightly—she hadn’t expected that. Kai’Sa didn’t hesitate. She leaned forward, her lips parting as she took him into her mouth, her golden eyes flicking up to meet Ekko’s gaze with a look that was equal parts challenge and invitation.
Ekko’s head fell back against the booth, a low groan escaping his lips as Kai’Sa worked him with skill and precision. His hands tangled in her dark hair, not guiding, just holding on as if he needed something to ground him. Akali stood frozen for a moment, her body humming with anticipation, her own desire building as she watched the scene unfold.
Kai’Sa’s movements were deliberate, her tongue swirling around the tip before she took him deeper, her cheeks hollowing as she sucked. The sound was obscene, wet and rhythmic, and it sent a jolt of heat straight to Akali’s core. She couldn’t look away, her own body responding to the sight, her skin flushing with arousal.
Ekko’s eyes found hers, dark and intense, and he reached out, his fingers brushing against her hip. “Your turn,” he said, his voice rough with need.
Akali’s breath hitched, but she didn’t hesitate. She stepped closer, her body moving almost on its own, driven by the shimmer and the heat of the moment. She sank to her knees beside Kai’Sa, her hands trembling slightly as she reached out to touch Ekko’s thigh. Kai’Sa pulled back slightly, her lips glistening, and smirked at Akali.
“Go on,” Kai’Sa murmured, her voice low and teasing. “Show him what you can do.”
Akali’s heart pounded in her chest, but she didn’t back down. She leaned in, her lips brushing against Ekko’s length, her tongue darting out to taste him. The sensation was overwhelming—the salt of his skin, the heat of him, the way he twitched under her touch. She took him into her mouth, her movements tentative at first, but growing more confident as she found her rhythm.
Kai’Sa watched with a satisfied smile, her hand reaching out to stroke Akali’s hair. “That’s it,” she encouraged, her voice a purr. “Just like that.”
Ekko’s breath came in ragged gasps, his hips bucking slightly as Akali and Kai’Sa worked him together. The combination of their mouths, their hands, their bodies pressed close, was too much. He groaned, his fingers tightening in their hair as he fought to keep control.
Akali’s world narrowed to the sensations—the taste of him, the sound of his pleasure, the way Kai’Sa’s fingers trailed down her back, sending shivers through her. She lost herself in the moment, the shimmer amplifying every touch, every sound, every heartbeat.
The air between them crackled with rivalry, a silent dare as Kai’Sa pulled back, lips slick and swollen, her eyes glinting under the neon haze. “Your turn’s cute,” she drawled, thumb brushing Ekko’s leaking tip, “but let’s see if you can keep up.”
Akali bristled, the shimmer in her veins sharpening the hunger in her gut. She shoved Kai’Sa’s hand aside, grip possessive on Ekko’s thigh as she swallowed him deeper, throat fluttering around his shaft. Her nails dug into his skin, claiming territory, refusing to let Kai’Sa’s taunt go unanswered. Ekko’s groan vibrated through her—raw, unfiltered—and she reveled in it, tongue working the throbbing vein beneath his cock.
But Kai’Sa wasn’t sidelined long. Her fingers slid into Akali’s hair, not gentle, yanking her back just enough to steal Ekko’s head into her own mouth. She sucked hard, obscene and wet, her free hand massaging his balls with a smirk aimed at Akali. “Too slow,” she murmured around him, the vibration making Ekko curse.
Akali snarled, pride pricked. She surged forward, shoving Kai’Sa’s face aside to reclaim him, her teeth grazing his length in warning—mine. Ekko’s hips jerked, his voice breaking as he muttered, “Fuck—!” Kai’Sa laughed, low and throaty, her fingers slipping between Akali’s legs to stroke her dripping pussy. “Jealousy’s a bad look,” she breathed, two fingers sliding inside her without warning.
Akali arched, a choked moan escaping as she fought to keep rhythm on Ekko. The dual sensation wrecked her—Ekko’s cock stretching her lips, Kai’Sa’s fingers pistoning ruthlessly, curling just right. She glared up through fluttering lashes, refusing to let Kai’Sa steal this. With a growl, she twisted Kai’Sa’s wrist, forcing her fingers deeper, harder, while her mouth devoured Ekko to the hilt.
Kai’Sa’s composure faltered. She leaned in, biting Akali’s earlobe. “You wanna play rough?” Her other hand grabbed Ekko’s ass, nails biting as she ground him harder into Akali’s throat. “Choke on him then. Let’s see you gag.”
Akali’s eyes watered, but she didn’t pull back. Instead, she hollowed her cheeks, sucking like her life depended on it, throat contracting in brutal waves. Ekko’s breath shattered, his hips bucking wilder, fingers tearing at the booth’s upholstery. “Shit—I’m close—!”
Kai’Sa’s laugh was dark, triumphant. She released Akali’s hair to thumb Ekko’s slit, spreading precum like gloss. “Come where, pretty boy?” Her other hand still worked Akali’s cunt, relentless. “Her mouth? My tits? Or...” She traced his balls, feather-light. “...down her tight little throat?”
Akali redoubled her efforts, humiliation and arousal warping into fury. She’d be damned if Kai’Sa dictated this. With a guttural sound, she ripped her face free, Ekko’s cock slapping against his stomach. “He’s mine,” she spat, surging up to straddle him, her soaked pussy hovering over his shaft. Her hands framed his face, forcing his gaze. “You wanna come? Beg for it.”
Ekko’s smile was feral. “Make me.”
Kai’Sa’s fingers clamped Akali’s hips, nails drawing blood. “Oh no you don’t—”
But Akali slammed down, taking him in one vicious thrust, her scream ripping through the booth. Ekko roared, back arching, as her walls vise-gripped him. Kai’Sa watched, pupils blown, before her lips found Akali’s shoulder, sucking marks into her skin. “Fine,” she hissed. “Break him then.”
The competition dissolved into chaos—hands, teeth, sweat—the shimmer burning their bodies into one molten thing. Ekko’s resolve shattered first, spilling deep with a shout that drowned the bassline. Akali collapsed against him, trembling, Kai’Sa’s laugh ghosting over her neck.
“Round two?” Kai’Sa’s hips rolled slow at first, her thighs flexing as she ground down on Ekko’s cock, her back arched to put every inch of her toned body on display. The neon lights glazed her sweat-slick skin as she looked down at him, that infuriating half-smirk plastered on her face. “See how it’s done, *princess*?” she purred over her shoulder at Akali, one hand braced against Ekko’s chest. “No teeth needed.”
Ekko’s hands gripped her waist, thumbs digging into the dimples above her ass. “Fuck, you’re tight—”
“Keep talking,” Kai’Sa interrupted, slamming down harder, her cunt swallowing him to the hilt, “and I’ll make it tighter.” Her laugh was pure venom, gaze cutting to Akali. “Bet you’d love to watch him unravel, hm?”
Akali leaned against the booth’s edge, arms crossed, her own arousal a traitorous ache between her legs. “Looks like he’s doing the unraveling for you,” she shot back, nodding at Ekko’s white-knuckled grip on the seat cushions. “Too bad you’ve gotta work so hard for mediocre dick.”
Kai’Sa’s smirk didn’t falter. She lifted herself until only the tip of Ekko’s cock remained inside her, hovering there as she locked eyes with Akali. “Jealousy’s not a good color on—”
Her words dissolved into a sharp gasp. Ekko’s hands slid to her hips, yanking her down as he thrust up—hard—but not into her wet, waiting pussy. His cockhead caught her asshole instead, stretching her unprepared rim abruptly.
“Motherf—!” Kai’Sa’s nails clawed into Ekko’s shoulders, her entire body locking up at the sudden intrusion. Her thighs trembled, breath hitching audibly as she fought to adjust.
Akali barked a laugh, loud and merciless. “Oh, shit—! Thought you had this under control?” She leaned in, close enough to see the flicker of discomfort in Kai’Sa’s usually unshakeable glare. “Didn’t peg you as the type to skip prep.”
“Shut—” Kai’Sa hissed through clenched teeth, her voice strained as Ekko began to move, shallow thrusts that made her flinch. “—the fuck up.”
Ekko grinned, lazy and wicked, his hands anchoring her hips so she couldn’t escape the relentless push. “Complainin’?” He snapped his pelvis up harder, burying another inch. “Thought you liked it rough.”
Kai’Sa’s lips peeled back in a silent snarl, pride warring with the burn. Her nails dug crescent moons into Ekko’s skin, but she forced her body to relax, to take him deeper. Slowly, she rolled her hips again, this time matching his rhythm, her breath steadying. “Rough’s fine,” she growled, voice dripping with acid. “Just didn’t realize you had a humiliation kink for amateurs.”
Akali’s jaw tightened. The dig was less about Ekko, more about her—a reminder of Akali’s earlier stumble. She shoved off the booth, storm-dark eyes blazing. “You want humiliation?” She grabbed Kai’Sa’s hair, wrenching her head back to expose her throat. “Let’s give him a show.”
Before Kai’Sa could retaliate, Akali’s mouth crashed into hers, all teeth and spite. Kai’Sa stiffened, then melted into the kiss with a low, dangerous hum, her tongue clashing against Akali’s like it was a fight to the death. Her hand fisted in Akali’s tank top, dragging her closer until their breasts pressed together, sweat-slick and heaving.
Ekko groaned beneath them, his thrusts turning erratic as he watched. “Fucking hell—both of you—”
Kai’Sa broke the kiss first, her lips bruised, pupils blown wide. She kept Akali’s face inches from hers, breath ragged. “You want me,” she whispered, sharp and soft, a blade slipped between ribs. “That why you’re shaking?”
Akali froze. The shimmer in her veins roared, but it didn’t drown the truth. Her grip on Kai’Sa’s hair loosened. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
Kai’Sa’s laugh was velvet fire. She ground down on Ekko’s cock, her ass clenching around him as she reached between their bodies to rub rough circles over Akali’s clit. “Liar.” Her touch was punishment and promise. “Bet you’re soaked thinking about riding my face after he’s done.”
Akali’s hips jerked involuntarily, a whimper escaping before she could bite it back. “Fuck you.”
“You wish” Kai’Sa breathed, her smirk victorious as Ekko came with a choked groan, spilling deep inside her. She held Akali’s gaze the entire time, never blinking, even as her own breath stuttered. “But maybe next time, Hon."
The booth’s air clung thick and humid as Ekko pulled out, his cum glistening on Kai’Sa’s ass before she casually wiped it away with the edge of her discarded monokini. He slumped back, chest heaving, a smirk playing on his lips as he eyed the two girls. “Shit,” he panted, running a hand through his damp locs. “If I leave you two alone you will keep going without me.”
Kai’Sa rolled her eyes, but her smirk mirrored his. She straddled the booth’s edge, thighs still trembling faintly, and plucked a damp towel from a passing server’s tray. “Not a bad idea at all,” she said, dabbing at the sweat pooling between her breasts. “but it would be lacking”
“Lacking,” Akali snorted, slumping next to Ekko, her knee bouncing with restless energy. She grabbed a sports drink from the tray he’d ordered—neon green, electrolyte-sludged garbage—and cracked it open. The first gulp was cold, sour, perfect. “You mean Boring?.”
Ekko chuckled, swirling his own drink, the ice clinking like a threat. “Hardly doubt it” His grin faded slightly as Kai’Sa produced the shimmer flask again, her movements languid, deliberate. She uncapped it, inhaled deep, and held it out to Akali like a shared secret.
Akali hesitated—and took a sharp pull. The vapor hit like a live wire, her nerves snapping back to life, the fatigue washed away in a neon tide. She offered it to Ekko, eyebrow raised.
He leaned back, palms up. “Hard pass.”
Kai’Sa stilled, her head tilting. “Since when does the boy savior say no to a good time?”
The booth’s temperature seemed to drop. Ekko’s gaze fixed on the condensation sliding down his drink. “Had a... friend,” he said, voice steady but hollow. “Shimmer cooked her brain into confetti. Violent confetti.” He shrugged, too casual. “Last I saw her? Couldn’t tell a trigger from a teddy bear. Thanks to Le-fucking-Blanc.”
The name slithered through the air like smoke. Akali’s fingers twitched against her drink—everyone knew LeBlanc. The witch who’d turned Noxus into her personal puppet show, strings attached to anything that bled.
Kai’Sa’s smile turned razor-thin. She recapped the shimmer, but her eyes never left Ekko’s face. “You’ve seen her chateau,” she stated, not a question. “Walked those pretty halls?”
Ekko’s jaw tightened. He took a long swig, ice crunching between his teeth.
Akali watched him, the unspoken yes hanging like a blade. Her mind raced—LeBlanc’s fortress was a myth, a honeycomb of traps and illusions. If Ekko had been inside...
Kai’Sa leaned forward, elbows on the table, cleavage framing the flask still clutched in her hand. “Bet you’ve got stories,” she murmured, voice dripping with faux sweetness.
Ekko’s laugh was brittle. “Stories get people killed.”
The booth lapsed into tense silence, the bass from the club thumping like a distant heartbeat. Akali’s skin prickled—half from the shimmer, half from the way Kai’Sa’s foot brushed hers under the table. Purposeful. Testing.
Kai’Sa’s lips quirked. She kicked Akali’s shin harder, a lazy challenge, before turning back to Ekko. “So,” she drawled, tracing the flask’s rim with her thumb. “You gonna hide behind ghosts... or let us in on the fun?”
Ekko’s fingers tightened around his drink, knuckles pale under the neon’s glare. “You know LeBlanc shut down her brothel for a while,” he muttered, voice flat. The girls nodded—everyone in the undercity had heard about the explosion, the rumors of Jinx’s handiwork. His jaw twitched. “She lost cash, face, the usual bullshit. But you don’t kill a snake like her. Just piss it off.” He took a swig, ice clattering like bones. “Reopening night? Pure theater. Heimerdinger’s dumbass name got me in. Expected tits, ass, the usual rich-fuck buffet.”
A muscle feathered in his temple. “Wasn’t a show. Was a message.” His gaze flicked to Kai’Sa, then Akali. “LeBlanc’s got this... magick. Twists your guts, makes you want to snap your own spine. She used it on Vi. Made her fuck Jinx raw in front of everyone. Sister to sister.” His bottle creaked under his grip. “Then opened Jinx’s ass to the room. No lube. No mercy. Just pain.”
Akali’s stomach roiled. She’d seen shit—knife fights, overdoses, gangrapes in alleyways—but this? This was rot dressed in silk. Kai’Sa’s face stayed cold, but her fingers dug into the flask hard enough to dent it.
Ekko laughed; a hollow, broken sound. “Pretentious fucks cheered. Acted like it was art. I left before sunrise—couldn’t even jack off for a week.”
The booth’s heat turned cloying, sticky with spilled sweat and the stench of cheap sports drinks. Akali’s tongue felt too thick. “Fuck,” she managed.
“Fuck,” Kai’Sa echoed, but her voice lacked its usual bite. She recapped the shimmer, her smirk brittle. “Mood’s dead. Congrats.”
Ekko shrugged, staring at the table. “ You asked.”
Silence pooled between them, sour and heavy. Across the club, Miss Fortune’s laugh sliced through the bass—bright, careless. Akali suddenly hated her for it. Kai’Sa stood abruptly, her monokini on her hands. “Gonna shower,” she announced, tone daring either of them to follow.
Akali’s crush throbbed like a fresh bruise. She watched Kai’Sa stride off, her ass still marked red from Ekko’s grip, and wondered if the sorceress’ poison had already seeped into their night.
Ekko didn’t protest. Just stood, shoulders slumped, and followed them out. The bar’s music felt like a taunt now, the bassline grating as they pushed through the crowd. No afterparty, no stimulants, no grand exit. Just three bodies retreating into the neon haze, the sorceress’s shadow clinging to their backs long after the doors swung shut.
The Black Crow’s halls were tombs after midnight, the usual moans and laughter replaced by the groan of old floorboards and the muffled pulse of the city’s never-ending grind. Akali lay sprawled on her shitty mattress, one arm flung over her eyes, the other dangling off the edge. Sleep teased her like a bad client—close enough to taste, but never sticking around.
The knock came soft, hesitant.
Her jaw tightened. Fucking who?
She dragged herself upright, bare feet slapping the cold floor as she stalked to the door. Yanked it open.
Zeri stood there, all nervous energy and neon-green bangs, clutching a half-crushed bag of chips like it was a shield.
Akali leaned into the doorframe, eyebrow cocked. “The fuck you want?”
Zeri’s smile wobbled. “Can’t sleep.”
“And?”
She rattled the bag. “Brought salt and grease.”
Akali snorted but stepped aside. “Five minutes. Then fuck off.”
Zeri scurried in, the door clicking shut behind her. Akali flopped back onto the bed, the springs whining. Without asking, Zeri perched on the edge, legs crossed, already tearing into the chips.
Akali shot her a look. “You just assume my bed’s free real estate now?”
Zeri froze mid-crunch, cheeks flushing. “I—I didn’t—”
“Relax,” Akali smirked, kicking her feet up onto Zeri’s lap. “We’ve swapped enough bodily fluids for you to know where the line isn’t.”
Zeri rolled her eyes but didn’t shove her off. “Asshole.”
They ate in silence, the crunch of chips louder than the distant sirens outside. Akali stared at the water-stained ceiling, trying not to think about Ekko’s hollow stare earlier, the way his hands had felt colder when he told that story.
Zeri broke first. “You… okay?”
“Peachy.”
“Bullshit.”
Akali’s jaw flexed. She grabbed a chip, crushed it between her fingers. “What’s there to not be okay about? Another day, another dick. LeBlanc’s fucked-up circus isn’t our problem.”
Zeri’s laugh was brittle. “You really believe Swain’s any better?”
“He pays. Doesn’t make us chew through our own screams.”
The lie hung between them, sticky as the chip dust on their fingers.
Zeri hugged her knees. “Jinx used to laugh at me. Called me ‘sparkplug’ when I’d short-circuit the lights. Now she’s just… meat.”
Akali sat up suddenly, the bed creaking. “Stop.”
“But—”
“Stop.” Her voice cracked, sharp as a whip. “We survive by not thinking about it. You wanna end up like her? Keep picking at the scab.”
Zeri flinched but didn’t back down. “What if Swain decides we’re disposable too?”
Akali grabbed her by the wrist, yanking her close enough to smell the salt on her breath. “Then we slit his throat first. But until then? Shut the fuck up and eat your chips.”
Zeri stared, then let out a shaky laugh. “You’re such a bitch.”
“And you’re still in my bed.” Akali flopped back, arm over her eyes again. “Lights off on your way out.”
But Zeri didn’t move. The bag crinkled as she slid down beside her, shoulders brushing. The city kept humming.
The air in Akali’s room was thick, the kind of heavy that made it hard to breathe without feeling like you were drowning. Zeri shifted on the bed, her fingers twitching like she didn’t know what to do with them now that the chips were gone. She glanced at Akali, her eyes darting away the second Akali caught her looking.
She moved closer.
Akali didn’t even turn her head, just gave her that sideways glare that could cut glass. “What are you doing?”
“Nothing,” Zeri said, her voice too high, too fast. She stretched her arms like she was trying to play it cool, but her thigh brushed against Akali’s, and the jolt of contact made her cheeks burn.
Akali scoffed, her lips curling into a smirk. “You’re not smart enough to think you can seduce me.”
Zeri’s face flushed deeper, her pout forming before she could stop it. “I wasn’t—”
“You were.” Akali leaned back, propping herself up on an elbow, her dark eyes boring into Zeri’s. “I spend all day getting paid to fuck strangers. The last thing I want to do right now is have sex. Not even if you paid me.”
Zeri squirmed, her fingers twisting the hem of her shirt. “Then what do you want to do?”
Akali exhaled sharply, rolling onto her side so her back was to Zeri. “I want to sleep.”
Zeri hesitated, her heart pounding so loud she was sure Akali could hear it. Then, before she could talk herself out of it, she scooted closer, pressing her body against Akali’s back. Her arm slid around Akali’s waist, tentative but firm.
Akali stiffened, her voice low and warning. “Now you’re overstepping.”
“Come on,” Zeri murmured, her lips brushing against Akali’s shoulder. “I can’t sleep if I don’t…”
Akali sighed, the sound heavy with irritation. “You have hands. Use them.”
Zeri nuzzled closer, her breath warm against Akali’s skin. “Not the same. Besides… you could enjoy it too.”
Akali let out a long, tired breath, like she was already regretting what she was about to do. “I don’t have patience for this.”
In one swift motion, Akali flipped Zeri onto her side, spooning her from behind. Zeri’s breath hitched, her body tensing as Akali’s arm tightened around her waist.
“This is going to be quick,” Akali murmured against her ear, her voice a low growl that sent shivers down Zeri’s spine. “And when I’m done, you’ll let me sleep.”
Zeri barely had time to nod before Akali’s hand slipped beneath her shorts, fingers sliding between her thighs. Zeri gasped, her hips jerking forward as Akali’s touch found her pussy, already wet from the tension simmering between them.
Akali’s fingers moved with practiced precision, circling Zeri’s clit in slow, deliberate strokes. Zeri bit her lip to stifle a moan, her body arching into Akali’s touch. She could feel Akali’s breath on her neck, hot and steady, and it made her skin prickle with heat.
“Fuck,” Zeri whispered, her voice trembling as Akali’s fingers dipped lower, sliding into her with ease.
Akali didn’t respond, her movements efficient, almost clinical. She wasn’t doing this for Zeri’s pleasure—she was doing it to shut her up, to get her off so she could finally get some sleep. But Zeri didn’t care. Her crush on Akali had been simmering for months, and even this detached, half-hearted attention was enough to make her head spin.
Akali’s fingers curled inside her, hitting that spot that made Zeri’s toes curl. She gasped, her hips rocking against Akali’s hand as the pressure built, hot and urgent.
“Akali—” Zeri choked out, her voice breaking as the first wave of pleasure crashed over her.
Akali didn’t slow down, her fingers working Zeri through her orgasm until she was trembling, her breath coming in ragged gasps.
When it was over, Akali pulled her hand away, wiping her fingers on Zeri’s shorts. “Done,” she said flatly, rolling back onto her side. “Now let me sleep.”
Zeri lay there, her chest rising and falling in uneven gasps, her body still tingling from the aftershocks. Her mind was a jumbled mess, half-dazed from the release and half-stunned by the way Akali had handled her—like she was just another task to check off a list. She turned her head slightly, her cheek brushing against the rough fabric of Akali’s pillow, and glanced at the other girl.
“How… how did you learn to do that?” Zeri asked, her voice soft and breathless, like she was afraid to break the fragile silence.
Akali didn’t even look at her. She was busy wiping her fingers on the edge of Zeri’s shorts, her movements brisk and efficient. “Used to practice,” she said flatly, like she was talking about learning to tie her shoes. “A lot.”
Zeri blinked, her face flushing as the implication sank in. “Oh.”
There was a beat of silence, the kind that made Zeri’s stomach twist. She couldn’t help herself—the question slipped out before she could stop it. “Did you… have a girlfriend before? Someone you practiced with?”
Akali froze for a split second, her hand stilling on Zeri’s shorts. Then she let out a short, sharp laugh, shaking her head. “First,” she said, holding up a finger, “I practiced on myself. Second,” another finger, “I’ve never had a girlfriend. And third,” she added, her voice dropping into a warning tone, “we’re not girlfriends.”
Zeri’s face burned, her cheeks turning the same shade as the neon lights outside. “I didn’t mean—I wasn’t saying—”
“Good,” Akali cut her off, tossing the now-stained fabric aside. “Because we’re not.”
Zeri swallowed hard, her fingers twisting in the sheets. She wanted to say something, to explain herself, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, she just nodded, her gaze dropping to the floor.
Akali sighed, running a hand through her messy hair. “You can go back to your room now,” she said, her voice firm but not unkind. “And next time, either do it yourself or ask someone else. I’m not your personal fuck toy.”
Zeri flinched at the bluntness of the words, but she didn’t argue. She pushed herself up, her legs still shaky, and grabbed what was left of her clothes. She didn’t look at Akali as she slipped off the bed and headed for the door, her heart pounding in her chest.
As she reached for the doorknob, Akali’s voice stopped her.
“Zeri.”
She turned, her eyes wide, hope flickering in her chest despite herself.
“Don’t make this weird,” Akali said, her tone flat and final.
Zeri nodded, her throat tight. “I won’t,” she whispered, before slipping out the door and into the dimly lit hallway.
The door clicked shut behind her, and Zeri leaned against the wall, her breath hitching as the weight of everything hit her. She pressed a hand to her mouth, trying to stifle the sob that threatened to escape.
It wasn’t supposed to feel like this.
But then again, nothing ever did.
The neon lights of the bar pulsed in time with the bass-heavy music, casting Akali’s toned body in shades of green and gold as she moved on the pole. Her emerald bikini clung to her like a second skin, the fabric shimmering under the lights as she twisted and spun, her movements sharp and precise. The crowd was rowdy tonight, their cheers and whistles blending into a cacophony of noise that barely registered in her mind. She was in the zone, her body working on autopilot while her thoughts churned.
The call from Swain had come earlier that day, pulling her away from the bar for a brief but tense meeting. Now, back on the pole, she couldn’t shake the weight of his words. LeBlanc’s château. Two hostages. A suicide mission.
Her feet hit the floor with a soft thud as she finished her routine, the crowd erupting into applause. She grabbed a towel from the edge of the stage, wiping the sweat from her face and neck as she made her way to the bar. The bartender slid her a glass of water without a word, and she downed it in one go, her eyes scanning the room.
Swain’s office loomed in the back of her mind like a shadow. She could still hear his voice, cold and calculating, as he laid out the mission.
“LeBlanc has two hostages in her château. I want them dead.”
Akali had laughed at first, the sound sharp and bitter. “Getting in isn’t the problem. Getting out? That’s a different story.”
Swain had leaned back in his chair, his one good eye fixed on her. “If you’re not up to the task, perhaps you’d like to find employment elsewhere.”
Her jaw had tightened at the threat, but she didn’t back down. “We both know what happened to Jinx. One misstep, and I’m worse than dead. You really want to risk the money I make for you like that?”
Swain’s lips had curled into a faint smirk. “Your arrogance seems to have vanished. Is the name LeBlanc so terrifying?”
Akali had met his gaze without flinching. “My life is worth more than your money or your business. The problem isn’t getting in. The problem isn’t blending in or finding the targets. The problem is LeBlanc isn’t stupid. She’ll have anti-teleport spells, magical alarms—the second I kill someone, she’ll know. And then I’m trapped. If you can’t give me a way out, count me out.”
Swain had leaned forward, steepling his fingers. “I’ll think of something. For now, return to the bar.”
The memory faded as a hand brushed her arm, pulling her back to the present. A client, drunk and grinning, leaned too close, his breath reeking of cheap liquor. “How much for a private dance?”
Akali shot him a look that could melt steel. “Not for sale tonight.”
The man pouted but didn’t argue, slinking back into the crowd. Akali sighed, tossing the towel onto the bar. She needed a plan, but Swain’s vague promise of a solution wasn’t enough to ease her nerves. LeBlanc’s château wasn’t just a building—it was a fortress, a labyrinth of magic and traps designed to keep people like her out—or in.
As the music shifted to a slower, sultrier beat, Akali grabbed her water and headed for the back room. She needed a moment to think, to breathe, away from the noise and the groping hands.
But as she pushed through the door, she found Zeri waiting for her, perched on the edge of a couch with a nervous energy that made Akali’s stomach twist.
“What do you want?” Akali asked, her tone sharper than she intended.
Zeri flinched but didn’t back down. “I heard Swain called you in. Is everything… okay?”
Akali rolled her eyes, leaning against the wall. “Peachy. Just another day in paradise.”
Zeri hesitated, then stood, her hands twisting in front of her. “If you need help… with anything… I’m here.”
Akali studied her for a moment, the earnestness in Zeri’s eyes almost enough to make her laugh. Almost. “You’d get yourself killed in five minutes,” she said, pushing off the wall and heading for the shower. “But thanks for the offer.”
As the water hit her skin, Akali closed her eyes, letting the steam wash over her. She didn’t have the luxury of fear, not in this line of work. But as the image of Jinx’s broken body flashed in her mind, she couldn’t help the cold knot of dread that settled in her chest.
Swain better have a damn good plan.
The shower’s steam clung to the air like a second skin, the water sluicing down Akali’s toned body as she braced her hands against the tiled wall. Her head hung low, muscles tense from Swain’s bullshit mission still gnawing at her nerves. The door hissed open behind her, but she didn’t turn—not until Zeri’s voice cut through the rush of water.
“I-I want to return the favor,” Zeri blurted, standing there in a neon-orange bikini that glowed against her pale skin, the fabric clinging to her curves like it was painted on. Her chest rose and fell too fast, her crush naked in the way her eyes darted from Akali’s face to her pussy and back.
Akali turned slowly, water streaming down her breasts, her expression flat. “Promised not to make it weird, sparkplug.”
Zeri stepped closer, her fingers twisting the hem of her bikini top. “It’s not weird. Just… fun.”
Akali’s patience evaporated. In one motion, she fisted Zeri’s neon-green hair and yanked her forward, slamming her knees into the wet tile. Zeri yelped, hands scrambling against Akali’s thighs, but Akali didn’t let go. She hooked a thumb under the orange bikini bottom and ripped it sideways, the fabric snapping as it tore free. Zeri’s pussy glistened, already wet, but Akali didn’t give her time to breathe.
“You want fun?” Akali snarled, spreading her legs and grinding her cunt over Zeri’s mouth. “Earn it.”
Zeri’s lips parted instinctively, her tongue lapping at Akali’s pussy with clumsy hunger. Akali rolled her hips, forcing Zeri’s face deeper, the girl’s nose pressing into her clit as her tongue fucked into her. Zeri gagged but didn’t pull back, her hands gripping Akali’s ass to steady herself.
“Not enough,” Akali hissed. She twisted Zeri’s head lower, until the girl’s tongue dragged over her asshole. “There. Lick it.”
Zeri froze, her breath hitching, but Akali’s grip tightened, nails scraping her scalp. “Now.”
A whimper vibrated against Akali’s skin as Zeri obeyed, her tongue circling the tight ring of muscle, tentative at first, then bolder. Akali’s head fell back, a groan tearing from her throat as Zeri’s tongue fucked her ass, wet and desperate. She reached down, fingers knotting in Zeri’s hair to grind the girl’s face harder against her, fucking herself on Zeri’s mouth.
“Fucking—yes—” Akali’s thighs trembled, the pressure coiling low in her gut. Zeri’s muffled moans fueled her, the vibrations against her clit pushing her closer.
The shower door slammed open.
Kai’Sa leaned against the frame, her smirk sharp as a blade. “Cute.”
Akali’s hips stuttered, her orgasm ripping through her as Kai’Sa’s voice hit her ears. She came hard, juices gushing over Zeri’s chin, her thighs clamping around the girl’s face as she rode out the waves. Zeri’s fingers dug into Akali’s ass, her tongue still working, swallowing every drop.
Kai’Sa leaned against the shower door, her sharp eyes locked on Akali’s trembling form as the assassin’s orgasm ripped through her. Zeri’s face was buried between Akali’s thighs, her tongue still working desperately even as Akali’s juices dripped down her chin and throat. The sight sent a hot twist of jealousy through Kai’Sa’s gut—fuck, Akali looked good like this, all power and sweat and undone edges. But she bit her tongue, her smirk never slipping, as she crossed her arms over her chest.
“Need me to come back later?” Kai’Sa drawled, her voice dripping with false politeness. “Or are you two almost done?”
Akali’s head snapped toward her, chest heaving, water sluicing down the hard lines of her body. For a split second, Kai’Sa saw the flicker of something raw in her eyes—challenge, maybe, or invitation—before Akali shoved it down. With a grunt, she stepped back from Zeri, leaving the girl kneeling on the shower floor, face glazed with cum and pussy slick, her orange bikini top hanging off one breast.
“Done,” Akali muttered, snatching a towel and wrapping it around her hips. She didn’t glance back as she shoved past Kai’Sa, leaving wet footprints on the tile.
Kai’Sa watched her go, the heat between her own thighs throbbing in time with her pulse. Fuck. She’d be lying if she said she hadn’t imagined Akali pinning her against that wall instead. But she’d never give the assassin the satisfaction of knowing it.
Her gaze dropped to Zeri, who still knelt there, trembling, her lips swollen and eyes glassy. Pathetic. Adorable. Ridiculous. Kai’Sa stepped into the shower, her heeled boots clicking against the wet floor as she turned the water back on. The spray hit her latex-clad body, steam rising around her as she stared down at Zeri.
“You planning to camp there all night,” Kai’Sa purred, “or you wanna scram before I get ideas?” She tilted her head, peeling off her gloves slowly, deliberately. “Unless… you’re hoping I’ll use you like Akali did.”
Zeri blinked up at her, mouth opening and closing like a fish. “I—I didn’t—!”
Kai’Sa laughed, low and cruel, as she unzipped her monokini and boots, letting them pool at her feet. Her bare skin gleamed under the water, every muscle taut and predatory. “Relax, sparkplug. You’re not my type.” She stepped closer, forcing Zeri to crane her neck. “But if you’re that desperate…” She trailed a finger down Zeri’s cheek, smearing Akali’s cum. “I could always bend you over and fuck you with a strap. Give you something real to cry about.”
Zeri scrambled backward, her ass hitting the shower wall. “N-no! I’m—I’m good!”
“Pity.” Kai’Sa turned away, lathering her hands with soap, her back to Zeri like the girl was already forgotten. “Now get out. Unless you wanna scrub my ass with your tongue next.”
Zeri fled, her torn bikini flapping, as Kai’Sa chuckled to herself. The water hid the way her hands lingered a little too long on her own body, the way her breath hitched as she imagined Akali’s hands replacing hers. But that was a secret she’d take to the grave.
Chapter 10: The Auction part 1: The new doll
Chapter by SeekerPS
Notes:
This chapter has piss play/golden shower, so if that's not your thing you are warned. For the rest of you: Enjoy
Chapter Text
The Medarda estate loomed over the dead world like a monument to hubris—white stone, dark steel, and golden glass molded into something that defied decay. Where others had starved, burned, or bowed, the Medardas had feasted. They had survived the sixth Rune War not by hiding from it, but by profiting off its every tragedy.
Tonight, the garden was transformed into a decadent arena. Perfumed nobles, mercenary lords, and warmongering matriarchs lined the terraces, their laughter dripping with malice, their eyes hungry for the spectacle of the auction. Slavery had returned not as a secret shame, but as a luxury commodity—something to display, to flaunt, to savor.
Ahri stood beneath a marble arch wrapped in roses. Her silk hood concealed the high tilt of her ears, but her tails, wrapped tightly around her waist like a sash, shifted in agitation. She had come with clear instructions. LeBlanc’s orders had been laced with venom and obsession: Bring back Luxanna Crownguard.
It wasn’t just about power. It was about beauty, about symbols. It was about stealing something that once belonged to Demacia and watching it bloom in the mud.
The crowd hushed as a silver-clad auctioneer stepped forward onto the central dais. He raised his staff, the head forged in the shape of a gilded yordle skull.
“Lot Seventeen!” he announced. “Luxanna Crownguard. Once a beacon of Demacian virtue. Highborn. Mage-blooded. Untouched. Re-educated in the academy of correct thought. A rare specimen… and a rare opportunity.”
Guards flanked the stage as Lux was led into view. She wore a white shift, her golden hair braided in a loose crown, and her eyes… her eyes were distant, like the light had been dimmed just enough to make her harmless.
“Let the bidding begin at fifty thousand crowns.”
Ahri raised her fan immediately. “One hundred thousand.”
Gasps flared across the terrace. Servants froze mid-step.
Across the garden, Talon stepped out of the shadows with practiced elegance. Clad in dark leathers and silver trim, he looked every inch the dagger Swain had forged for moments like this.
“Two hundred and fifty thousand,” he said coolly.
Ahri narrowed her eyes.
“Four hundred thousand,” she countered, her voice sharp as cut glass.
A moment of silence. The crowd was salivating.
Talon smiled—barely—and raised one gloved hand. “One million crowns.”
Gasps turned to chaos. Someone dropped a wine goblet. Nobles whispered to one another—half scandalized, half aroused.
Ahri stepped forward, lips parted, tail twitching. “He doesn’t have the coin,” she said, voice low and dangerous. “Swain’s purse is blood and promises. Let’s not turn the auction into a Noxian joke.”
The auctioneer hesitated, turning toward the central balcony.
There, seated like an empress of decay, was Ambessa Medarda. Her long coat was folded neatly over her shoulders, her expression unreadable behind her obsidian gaze.
She didn’t stand. She simply nodded once.
The auctioneer turned back, voice trembling slightly.
“House Medarda will guarantee the Noxian bid. On credit.”
Ahri froze.
“Credit?” she repeated, voice full of venom. “Is this how you repays favors? You break bread with Swain now?”
Ambessa finally stood. Her voice carried like steel dragged across silk.
“I honor debts, not threats. When your mistress returns what belongs to me—namely, the Piltovian assets she keeps chained in her brothel like pets—then perhaps I’ll consider her grievances valid. Until then, she may keep her claws off my estate.”
Ahri’s hands clenched, nails digging into her palms.
“This is an act of provocation,” she hissed. “If you side with Swain, you will not only betray every pact with the Black Rose, you will be signing the end of your neutrality.”
“I maintain neutrality,” Ambessa replied. “But I do not tolerate theft. LeBlanc keeps Caitlyn and Vi as bargaining chips. She has no right to complain when her enemies do the same.”
The auctioneer raised the staff again, loudly, cutting through the storm of murmurs.
“Sold! Lot Seventeen, to the Noxian delegation—guaranteed by House Medarda.”
Ahri’s mouth was dry. Her fan trembled. She looked up—just once—as Luxanna was led away toward Talon’s waiting carriage. The Demacian’s eyes brushed against hers, confused. Empty.
Ahri ehaled sharply wanting to walk away before her rage could consume her.
The war hadn’t begun yet. But the chessboard was shifting. And someone had just taken a queen.
The murmurs had only just begun to fade, the name Luxanna still clinging to lips like sweet poison, when the auctioneer tapped his staff once more.
“And now, Lot Eighteen… A rare beauty with no name on any record, no faction, no war crimes, no past. Found wandering near the Shadow Islands deadlands—unarmed, unafraid.”
There was a pause. A subtle murmur.
The guards pulled back the curtain.
And there she stood.
A girl. Barefoot on the marble, skin like porcelain kissed by morning, a cascade of indigo hair curling around her shoulders like soft smoke. Her eyes shimmered with an unnatural blue—bright, open, unclouded by fear or shame. She looked at the crowd with childlike awe, as though she had wandered into a masquerade ball and not a den of predators. Her dress was simple white linen, too thin for the chill night air. Someone had braided her hair with tiny golden pins. She held the hem of her dress in both hands like she didn’t know what else to do with them.
She smiled.
And that, more than anything, unsettled them all.
“She doesn’t know,” Ahri murmured.
She didn’t need to hear the murmurs behind her to know what the crowd was thinking. Is she trained? Is she real? Is she... alive? Gwen’s innocence was not an act. She didn’t even know she was being sold.
“She was sewn together, the scouts say,” the auctioneer continued. “Found with a silver needle clutched in her hand. No documentation. No memory. Just a name, whispered once—Gwen.”
He smiled sharply.
“Starting bid: fifty thousand crowns.”
A long silence. Then a breath.
“Eighty thousand,” Ahri said, almost without thinking.
She had to bring something back. Anything. Lux was gone. LeBlanc would never forgive her for it. Not unless she brought something of equal value—or at least, something... pretty enough to distract her.
There were no counter-bids.
Talon had disappeared into the Medarda wing, Luxanna in tow. His mission was complete. Swain had his prize.
Ahri stood alone now, the full weight of the night pressing on her shoulders.
She was right.
This girl—this Gwen—wasn’t trained, wasn’t weaponized, wasn’t anything but pure mystery wrapped in silk. A gamble. A puzzle. A work of art.
But also: a burden.
Ahri waited, heart pounding.
No one else bid.
The auctioneer lifted his staff.
“Sold. To the Black Rose envoy.”
Gwen tilted her head, confused.
Ahri stepped forward as the guards led Gwen off the platform toward her.
“Hello,” Gwen said softly, eyes bright. “Are you... my tailor?”
Ahri stared at her for a long moment, lips parted. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
“No,” she said, gently placing a hand on Gwen’s arm. “I’m your new handler.”
Gwen blinked. “Is that like a friend?”
Ahri smiled bitterly. “Something like that.”
She turned away from the crowd, from the golden stairs, from the silent eyes of Ambessa Medarda watching her from above.
The taste of failure lingered in her mouth. She hadn’t won. She had salvaged. LeBlanc would not be pleased.
The carriage creaked under the weight of silence and luxury. Velvet seats, gold-trimmed windows, the scent of rose-oil and night air drifting through. Outside, the spires of the Medarda estate faded behind them, swallowed by mist and the dying stars of a poisoned sky.
Ahri sat with her arms folded and eyes locked on the shifting curtains, her mind a tangle of fury and dread. She had gambled—and lost. No matter how beautiful the girl sitting across from her was, LeBlanc would not forgive the loss of Luxanna.
Next to her, Gwen sat with her hands folded in her lap, feet swinging lightly above the floor like a child unsure if she was allowed to touch it. Her bright blue eyes darted to Ahri, then out the window, then back again.
“Are you mad at me?” she asked, tilting her head slightly.
Ahri didn’t answer at first. She stared out the window, lips pressed tight.
“Where are we going?” Gwen asked again, her voice soft. “And why do you look so angry? Did I do something wrong at the party?”
Ahri exhaled sharply, brushing strands of her hair behind one ear. “You didn’t do anything, Gwen. It’s not about you.”
“Then what’s it about?” Gwen’s brow furrowed. “You said you bought me. Is that what this is? I’m yours now?”
Ahri glanced at her, eyes cold and tired. “I’m taking you to your new home. You’ll be working for a woman named LeBlanc.”
Gwen blinked, confused. Then her face lit up with a comical grin. “Oh! I can work! I’m actually really good at sewing. I can make dresses, suits, even cloaks with hidden pockets. If you tell me what the lady likes, I can stitch anything.”
Ahri stared for a long second. Then laughed—a tired, bitter laugh.
“Gwen… Do you even know what a whore is?”
The girl tilted her head again, still smiling. “I’ve been called that before! Usually by older ladies after I play with their husbands. I never really understood what it meant.”
Ahri's eyes widened slightly. “Wait. Are you saying… You’ve been having sex?”
“Sex?” Gwen’s face brightened, almost proud. “Oh yes! That’s the game everyone likes. It’s the most popular one I’ve learned since I stopped being a small doll. I still don’t understand all the rules, but people love to play it with me.”
She leaned in, whispering like it was a secret. “It usually starts with kisses and ends with moaning. Some men play it very loud.”
Ahri stared at her, stunned into silence.
Gwen smiled, utterly oblivious. “Afterwards, their wives usually call me a whore. But they’re always so mad about the game. I think they don’t like fun.”
Ahri slowly leaned back, pressing two fingers against her temple.
She wasn’t sure if she wanted to laugh or scream.
This girl—this beautiful, innocent, impossibly naïve creature—had no idea what kind of world she was walking into. No idea what sex meant, what ownership meant. She didn’t even grasp that she was now someone’s property.
And Ahri… Ahri had just become her keeper.
“I swear,” Ahri muttered under her breath, “LeBlanc’s going to eat you alive.”
The grand doors creaked open, and Ahri stepped into the darkened office with Gwen at her side. The chamber was drenched in shadow and candlelight, the scent of jasmine and old books heavy in the air. Behind the vast obsidian desk, LeBlanc sat motionless, quill scratching lightly against parchment. She didn’t look up.
“She’s not Luxanna,” LeBlanc said flatly.
Ahri swallowed, lowering her gaze. “I know. I apologize, mistress. I… wasn’t able to acquire her.”
The scratching stopped. LeBlanc finally looked up, her pale eyes colder than the wind outside. “Didn’t I give you enough gold to outbid Swain’s mutt?”
“Yes. You did,” Ahri answered carefully. “But… Ambessa allowed Talon to outbid me on credit. Which was supposed to be against the rules.”
LeBlanc arched an eyebrow. “And?”
“I wasn’t prepared to go beyond liquid gold. We brought what our informant said Talon had on him in cash. I assumed—”
“That was your first mistake,” LeBlanc interrupted, her voice a sharp whisper. “You assumed.”
Ahri’s shoulders stiffened.
LeBlanc rose slowly from her chair, crossing the room with predatory grace. Her heels clicked like the ticking of a clock that had just run out. She came to a stop in front of Ahri and looked her over like an object that had ceased to function.
“I give you one task. One,” she hissed. “And you come back with this?” She gestured toward Gwen.
Gwen stood politely just behind Ahri, blinking wide-eyed at the towering sorceress. She held her hands clasped before her, rocking gently on her heels. “Hello,” she said cheerfully.
LeBlanc didn’t even acknowledge the greeting. Her attention was fixed on Ahri.
“I suppose this is my fault,” LeBlanc murmured, brushing a strand of Ahri’s hair behind her ear with a touch that was as cold as it was possessive. “Sometimes I forget that you’re still just an indoor, naïve little pet.”
Ahri’s lips parted slightly, but she said nothing.
LeBlanc turned then, finally taking Gwen in for the first time. Her eyes scanned her—long legs, delicate waist, flawless skin, curls like silk, and those bright, sparkling eyes filled with a purity that had no business still existing in a world like this.
She looked back at Ahri.
“And who the hell is the girl you did bring me?”
Gwen raised a hand with a small wave. “I’m Gwen,” she said brightly. “I sew things. And I’m very good at making people smile.”
LeBlanc stared at her, utterly still. Then slowly, she turned back to Ahri, lips curling into something between amusement and disdain.
“You brought me a doll,” she said flatly. “You lost the golden prize… and brought me a toy.”
Ahri lowered her gaze. She didn’t argue. She knew it wouldn’t matter.
LeBlanc leaned back into her chair, her arms crossing languidly across her chest as Ahri remained in place, still waiting, still silently hoping for something—redemption, forgiveness, even another insult she could swallow down like all the others.
But none came. Instead, LeBlanc simply said:
“You’re going on holiday.”
Ahri blinked. “What?”
LeBlanc smiled, slow and icy. “A full week. Away from the château. Fresh air. No perfume, no lace, no me.”
“Mistress, I—”
“Don’t interrupt.” The words landed like a slap—sharper than the ones LeBlanc gave when her fury flared. “I’m sending you to the Freljord. To negotiate with Sejuani.”
Ahri’s lips parted. “Sejuani? But—”
“She has a raiding party large enough to raze what’s left of the northern routes. Swain already tried to tempt her with steel. You will make sure she pledges to the Black Rose before he tries again.”
“Amusing her? Convincing her?” Ahri asked, her voice small now, wounded pride leaking through her tone.
“Yes,” LeBlanc said. “Flirt, dance, whimper in her tent, or stab her if she tries something stupid—I don’t care how you do it. Consider this a lesson, pet. In being prepared. In what it means to truly serve. And if you fail again...”
She let that threat hang in the room like a guillotine blade, suspended only by her fading patience.
Ahri stood in silence. There was nothing left to say.
She turned, bowed stiffly, and walked out. Gwen watched her go, frowning slightly, her head tilting as if the fox-woman’s sadness confused her.
Once the door clicked shut, LeBlanc exhaled deeply and turned to Gwen. The softness in her face was gone. Only that surgical, calculating stare remained.
“Well then,” LeBlanc said, rising from her chair again and circling the young woman slowly. “You’ve had quite the day, haven’t you?”
Gwen blinked, her hands clasped before her. “I suppose so! The carriage was bumpy, and the other lady seemed really angry. Is she always like that?”
LeBlanc ignored the question. “Tell me, Gwen. What do you know?”
“Know?” Gwen repeated, smiling gently. “Oh, lots of things! I know how to measure a waist with one look. I can fix a torn corset in under three minutes. I can make twenty-seven embroidery patterns without ever drawing them first. And I know a lot of people want to… play with me.”
Her eyes glittered with innocent mischief, as if she’d just told LeBlanc a delicious little secret.
“But that’s mostly because they say I’m soft and warm, and sometimes they get very quiet afterward. Like they’re guilty. It’s strange, really.”
LeBlanc stared at her for a long time.
“So… no one’s ever told you what you were?” she asked finally.
Gwen tilted her head.
“I’m Gwen,” she said simply. “I sew. I love pretty things. And I make people happy.”
LeBlanc’s lips curved ever so slightly—not in warmth, but in the recognition of something far more valuable than a slave.
Something malleable.
The stink hit her first.
Lux stumbled through the doors of the Black Crow, the iron chain clinking between her wrists and Talon's firm grip dragging her forward. A haze of shimmer-sick fog curled across the ceiling, stained by the flicker of pulsing chem lights. The colors were artificial and wrong—greens that glowed like rot, pinks that pulsed like infected wounds. It made everything, even the skin of the half-naked dancers on stage, look raw and surreal.
Music blared like a machine's death rattle. The floor vibrated with every bassline. Laughter—too loud, too forced—cut through the din, mingling with coughs and the faint hiss of inhalers and injection guns. The scent of sweat, smoke, perfume, and drugs clung to everything like grease.
Lux had seen battlefields. She had seen the dead, the dying, the maimed.
But nothing had prepared her for this.
She staggered slightly, trying not to meet the eyes of the other girls swaying on elevated platforms or dancing on laps, bodies slick with sweat and shimmer oil. Some were numb-eyed. Others smiled like broken dolls.
Talon said nothing. He just pulled her along, silent and efficient, like a knife.
They reached a black iron door with the shape of a crow engraved across its surface. It opened with a hiss. Inside, the noise dulled, as if the walls themselves swallowed sound.
Swain stood behind a wide desk, hands folded neatly before him, flanked by glowing screens and a slow-burning brazier. He did not smile.
"Talon," he said, voice like grinding stone. "You exceeded expectations."
He gestured to Lux without looking at her.
"You humiliated LeBlanc and her pet fox. And you brought us this... shining little trophy. A righteous girl ripped from the Light into our warm, familiar darkness." His lips curved faintly. "Well done."
Talon gave a slight bow. "She struggled, of course."
"Of course she did." Swain finally turned to Lux. His one working eye gleamed like an old coin in the dark. "Welcome to the Black Crow, Luxanna."
She lifted her chin, defiant.
Swain studied her. “Normally I prefer our new girls to begin earning their keep immediately. But for you… I’ll make an exception. You're worth far more if your debut is purchased by the right man. Someone with influence. Someone useful.”
His gaze hardened. "Now tell me something. Are you still a virgin?"
Lux spat in his face.
There was silence. Then the dull thump of Talon’s fist slamming into her stomach.
Lux doubled over, gasping, a scream trapped in her throat as pain spread through her core like fire.
Talon calmly answered, "Yes. The auction physician provided the certificate himself. She’s untouched."
Swain wiped the spit from his cheek with a silk cloth, expression unreadable.
"Good," he said. "The pure ones always fetch the highest price. But don’t worry, my dear..."
He leaned down, his voice a whisper in her ear.
"Nobody stays pure for long in the Crow."
The heavy doors of the first floor swung open with a touch of LeBlanc’s gloved fingers, and the soft murmur of voices quieted immediately. The scent of perfume and powder still lingered thick in the air, mingled with something sweeter—wine, perhaps—and something more bitter. Anticipation.
The girls of the château were gathered in the main lounge, lounging across plush velvet cushions and fainting couches, dressed in various stages of undress. As always, the air buzzed with competitive tension.
LeBlanc didn’t need to speak to command attention. Her presence was enough.
Trailing just behind her, Gwen stepped with slow, curious eyes and a child’s fascination, her delicate features bright with wonder as she took in the grand interior. The laced frills of her dress swayed as she moved, her pale skin practically glowing beneath the chandeliers. She smiled at everyone she saw.
“Ahri will be taking a… holiday,” LeBlanc announced, her voice smooth and cool as glass. “Effective immediately. She will be assisting our friends in the Freljord.”
A few glances darted about the room. Surprise. Confusion. A hint of amusement.
“And since Irelia failed spectacularly the last time I asked her to play personal assistant,” LeBlanc continued, shooting a razor-thin smile toward the Ionian, “she will now run the business side of the house.”
Irelia’s mouth opened slightly. She closed it again, bowing her head in silent acknowledgment.
LeBlanc then stepped aside, letting Gwen take her place at the center. “This is Gwen.”
The girl gave a small, delighted wave. “Hello!”
“Normally,” LeBlanc went on, “a new acquisition such as her would be reserved for auction. But as I understand it, Gwen has already been… used.”
A few eyebrows rose. Sivir snorted.
“And since Ahri will be on vacation,” LeBlanc said with a flick of her wrist, “Gwen will take her place. On the more physically intensive tasks. Of pleasing me.”
The silence turned to electric tension. Someone stifled a laugh. Sivir didn’t.
“Oh,” Sivir said with mock sweetness, “since when do the new girls start with favoritism?”
LeBlanc turned to her, gaze sharp. “Would you prefer the responsibility of pleasing me, Sivir?”
The Shuriman’s grin vanished.
“I thought not,” LeBlanc replied, turning back to the others. “Now. Gwen is… eager to please. Remarkable, albeit a bit degrading. She’ll need training.”
She paused, allowing her words to sink in.
“You all know the rules. The clients pay first. Then they play. Do not let her innocence become a loss to the house.”
“I’m not sure she even knows where she is,” Sivir muttered. “Do we have to babysit the new bitch so she doesn’t give free fucks to every guy who compliments her? Is she a child or just retarded? Does she even know what a brothel is?”
LeBlanc tilted her head slowly, eyes glinting.
“Then I suggest you personally ensure she doesn’t cost me money, Sivir,” she said softly. “Every free fuck she gives will be deducted from your cut.”
The room went quiet again.
Sivir opened her mouth, thought better of it, and leaned back into her chair with a glare that could cut steel.
Trying to cut through the tension, Irelia clapped her hands lightly. “Seraphine, Sona,” she said gently, “go play dress-up with Gwen. Show her the lingerie room. Something pastel, I think. Something that screams ‘doe-eyed and dumb.’”
Seraphine grinned, hopping up. Sona gave a musical hum of amusement as she followed.
Gwen blinked at them. “Do I get to wear ribbons?”
“Yes, darling,” Seraphine said, taking her hand. “You’ll get lots of ribbons.”
LeBlanc watched them go, her smile unreadable.
“Let’s see if this little doll survives the game,” she murmured.
The lingerie room was a gallery of lace and silk decadence. Corsets in rich blacks and deep reds hung beside translucent garters and embroidered panties like trophies of some strange battlefield. Mirrors lined the walls, framed in gold, reflecting every teasing angle.
Seraphine twirled, holding up a scandalously sheer set of pink lace. “This one, Sona. This one screams innocent girl caught in the wrong room.”
Sona responded with a silent laugh, her fingers already rummaging through a trunk of stockings.
Gwen stood barefoot in the middle, eyes sparkling like a child in a toy store. She clutched a ruffled bra against her chest and giggled. “Are you really letting me try all of them?”
“Darling,” Seraphine said, walking over with a corset that was more ribbons than fabric, “you’re the star of the night.”
They dressed her slowly—mocking, loving, worshipping her with every tug of satin and clip of a garter. Each new piece more revealing, more absurd, more humiliating, than the last. And yet Gwen beamed at herself in the mirror like a child playing princess.
“Oh! This one has tiny hearts!” Gwen gasped, spinning. The strings of her panties snapped against her thighs.
Seraphine leaned in, fingers threading into Gwen’s blue curls. “Let’s get your hair done.”
Gwen sat cross-legged on a velvet stool while Sona brushed and curled, Seraphine applying powder and lip stain with a practiced hand. The mirror slowly transformed her from a wide-eyed waif to something resembling one of them—a creature crafted for pleasure. Only her eyes remained untouched, still glowing with the joy of a child who didn’t understand the game she’d already joined.
Seraphine studied her handiwork with a slow, sultry smile. “You’re so pretty it’s unfair.”
“Thank you!” Gwen clapped. “You’re both so nice. Nobody’s played dress-up with me since I was a doll.”
“Oh?” Seraphine exchanged a glance with Sona, whose cheeks flushed slightly. “And did you… play much before you came here?”
Gwen tilted her head, confused for a moment. Then her face lit up. “Oh! Sex? Lots of people liked playing that game with me. It was the most popular one!” she said proudly. “They always said I was the best at it, even though I didn’t always understand the rules.”
Seraphine licked her lips, stepping closer, a slow hunger blooming behind her eyes. “And how old were you… when you started playing?”
“Well,” Gwen said, tapping her lip. “I guess I was about five minutes old when I came to life, so… pretty much right away?”
Sona looked away, biting her lip.
Seraphine reached out, running a fingertip along the line of Gwen’s jaw. “You really don’t understand what this place is, do you?”
Gwen smiled brightly. “It’s a big house where everyone is really pretty and plays grown-up games!”
Seraphine gave a low laugh. “Yeah. Something like that.”
The two women stood there in silence, watching their porcelain doll spin in lingerie, twirling in front of the mirror as if she were still in a child’s bedroom.
And somehow, the room felt quieter. Hungrier.
Sona set down the hairbrush, her fingers lingering a little too long in Gwen’s hair. Her voice, soft and cool, pulsed through Gwen’s mind like music beneath water.
Have you ever played with girls before, Gwen?
Gwen blinked, her smile faltering for just a second. “With girls? You mean sex? No. Not really. Only boys ever asked to play that game with me. Girls always said I was stealing their toys.” She pouted slightly, her eyes dipping to her bare thighs, crossed delicately on the velvet stool. “They called me names. Slut. Homewrecker. But I never broke any homes. I swear.” Gwen attitude was feeding them both with a lust and an obsession they couldn't understand, the obsession to make her realize where she was, to crush that joyful smile.
Sona’s mental voice returned, laced with quiet sympathy and curiosity. And did you want to? With girls, I mean.
Gwen looked up, lips parted slightly. “I… don’t know. Nobody ever asked me before.”
Seraphine stepped in, draping herself lazily over the arm of the chair, chin resting in her palm. “That’s too bad,” she murmured, her voice silk. “Because here? Plenty of girls play. Some say it’s even better than with men.”
Gwen’s eyes lit up again, curious. “Really? How?”
Seraphine chuckled, reaching out to trace a line along Gwen’s collarbone, her nail grazing the lace of the lingerie. “Oh, it’s a different kind of game. Slower, softer. Sometimes hungrier.”
Gwen giggled nervously, squirming slightly under the attention but not pulling away. “I like slow games. And hungry ones too.”
“Then you’ll fit right in.” Seraphine leaned in close, her breath warm against Gwen’s cheek. “But you’ll need practice. It’s only fair. You wouldn’t want to play wrong, would you?”
“I… I don’t want to mess up,” Gwen said, voice smaller now, cheeks pink. “Can you teach me?”
Sona’s hand slid to Gwen’s knee. Her thoughts, whisper-soft, filled the girl’s mind.
We’ll teach you everything, little doll.
Seraphine smiled, slow and wicked, and took Gwen’s hand. “Let’s start with what you like…”
Seraphine’s fingers slid down Gwen’s arm, guiding her trembling hand toward the damp heat between her thighs. “Start here, doll,” she purred, spreading her legs on the plush velvet ottoman. Her lace panties were already shoved to the side, pussy glistening under the flickering gas lamps. “This is how girls play. You’ll use your fingers—or that sweet little mouth—to make us feel good. Think you can manage that?”
Gwen nodded eagerly, her blue curls bouncing. “Like a game? Do I win if you make noises?” She giggled, crouching between Seraphine’s legs without hesitation. Her tongue darted out experimentally, lapping at the older woman’s clit with messy, childlike enthusiasm. Seraphine’s breath hitched, her hips jerking forward to grind against the doll’s face.
“Fuck, she’s a natural,” Seraphine groaned, tangling her fingers in Gwen’s hair. Sona watched from the chaise, skirt hiked to her waist as she lazily fingered herself, her mental voice slithering into Gwen’s mind. Deeper. Curl your tongue. Make her scream.
Gwen obeyed, slurping at Seraphine’s cunt like it was melting ice cream, her nose buried in wiry curls. When Seraphine came, shuddering and swearing, Gwen clapped her sticky hands. “Did I win?!”
Sona’s stockinged foot nudged Gwen’s chin upward. Now me. Take off your panties first.
Gwen yanked the heart-strewn lace down her thighs, revealing a bare, hairless pussy. “Do I get a prize if I do it right?” she asked, crawling toward Sona. “Oh, you’ll get something,” Seraphine smirked, recovering.
Seraphine’s fingers dug into the cold brass handle of the drawer, pulling out a thick obsidian plug glazed with oil. The memory hit her like a slap—Ahri’s nine tails pinning her face-first to this same velvet divan so long ago, that first brutal stretch as the vulpine shoved the toy into her virgin ass without warning. She’d screamed until her throat bled. Now, her knuckles whitened around the toy, a jagged smile cutting across her lips as she turned to Gwen.
“Bend over the armrest, doll. Let’s see if you’re as talented back here as you are with your mouth.”
Gwen obeyed instantly, her hairless ass glowing pale under the lamplight. Sona hooked two fingers into the doll’s drooling pussy from the front, keeping her in place as Gwen continued lapping at her slit. “Mmm! Sona’s tastes like peaches!” the doll mumbled, nose buried in dark curls.
Seraphine spat on the plug, watching saliva mix with oil before pressing the cold tip to Gwen’s tight hole. “Ever had anything up here, sweetheart?”
Gwen hummed, the vibration making Sona’s thighs twitch. “I don’t think so? But sometimes men put their thumbs in weird places when we played. It tickled!”
The plug breached her with one brutal shove. Seraphine waited for the gasp, the tears—anything. Instead, Gwen giggled, her ass swallowing the toy to the base without resistance. “Oh! It’s warm now! Like… like I’m sitting on a fireplace!”
“Fucking hell,” Seraphine hissed. Her palm cracked against Gwen’s right cheek, leaving a crimson handprint. “Does that hurt?”
Gwen moaned, pushing back eagerly. “Do it again, Sera! Harder!”
Sona’s mental growl vibrated through Gwen’s skull as the doll’s tongue flicked faster. You’re supposed to cry. Beg us to stop. Her fingers thrust deeper into Gwen’s sopping cunt, nails scraping the doll’s inner walls.
“But why?” Gwen panted, hips grinding against Sona’s hand. “It feels nice! Like… like when you shake a present to guess what’s inside!” Seraphine’s spanks came faster now, the sharp smacks echoing off the mirrors as Gwen’s ass bloomed scarlet. Each blow only made the doll’s pussy gush hotter, her juices slicking Sona’s wrist.
“You’re not—fuck—you’re not even trying to resist?” Seraphine snarled, yanking the plug out and slamming it back in. The flared base slapped against Gwen’s ravaged hole.
Gwen lifted her head, Sona’s slick coating her chin. “Resisting sounds boring! Oh! Sona’s squeezing my hair!” The mute woman had fisted Gwen’s curls, mashing her face deeper into her cunt. Seraphine watched, chest heaving, as the doll’s asshole gaped around the toy—pulsing, red, ruined—yet Gwen kept cooing like a fucking songbird.
When Sona came, her silent scream rattled the chandelier. Gwen popped off her pussy with a wet gasp. “Did I win both games? Your legs shook so much!”
Seraphine stared at the plug glistening with the doll’s unnatural lubrication. No blood. No tears. Just that vacant, radiant smile. That irritated Sona. how could a woman smile after being used like that? She had taken years to be able to pretend she enjoyed herself with the clients. A perverse thought crossed her mind.
Sona’s fingers closed around the slender silver pin plucked from her hair—a decorative spike meant to mimic a music note. She held it over the candle’s flame, the metal glowing cherry-red as Seraphine wrenched Gwen onto her back, pinning her wrists above her head. The doll’s breasts jutted upward, nipples pert and pink, untouched by fear.
“New game, little dove,” Seraphine whispered, her breath jagged against Gwen’s neck. “Sona’s got a… special toy for you.”
Gwen craned her neck to watch, fascinated, as Sona approached with the needle. The mute woman’s thoughts slithered into Gwen’s mind, laced with venomous nostalgia. A man once paid triple to watch me writhe as he pushed hot pins through my skin. LeBlanc made him choke on his coins when he refused to cover the scars. The red-hot tip hovered an inch above Gwen’s left nipple, the heat radiating in waves. You’ll hate this. You’ll finally understand.
The needle pierced the soft flesh.
Gwen gasped—not a scream, but a shuddering sigh. Her back arched, not in agony, but like a cat stretching in sunlight. The smell of scorched sugar filled the air as the metal slid deeper, her skin parting without resistance, without blood, without even a blister. Sona’s hand trembled; this wasn’t the ragged tear of human tissue. It was like plunging the needle into warm wax.
“Does it… tingle?” Gwen moaned, her hips squirming. Seraphine’s grip tightened, nails digging half-moons into Gwen’s wrists. “It’s like… when you leave a hairpin in too long and it gets all cozy inside!”
Sona snarled silently, twisting the needle. Gwen’s nipple dimpled around the metal, the surrounding flesh smooth and unbroken. The doll giggled, her cunt dripping onto the velvet below. “Oh! It’s throbbing now! Does that mean I’m winning?”
Seraphine released Gwen’s wrists like they’d burned her. “You’re supposed to hurt,” she spat, voice cracking. “You’re supposed to sob, to claw at us, to—”
Gwen sat up, the needle still protruding from her breast like a perverse ornament. She tilted her head, eyes wide. “But why? Games are supposed to be fun.” She reached down, fingers sliding through her own slick, and brought them to her lips. “Mmm! Tastes like honey today! Want to try?”
Sona stumbled back, the candle toppling. Wax pooled across the floor as she pressed a hand to her mouth, her mind screaming static into the air. Seraphine stared at the needle—pristine, unbloodied—and for the first time since Ahri had broken her in this same room, she felt the cold lick of fear.
The doll just kept smiling.
Seraphine’s nails dug into Sona’s arm as she dragged her into the corridor, her voice a venomous hiss. “That sand-swallowing cunt Sivir lets her clients piss on her like she’s a fucking chamber pot. Charges triple for the ‘honor.’” She spat the words like they tasted foul, her jealousy curdling into cruelty. “Let’s see if our little doll enjoys golden showers as much as she loves getting spit-roasted.”
Sona’s lips curled, a dark amusement flickering in her eyes as they returned to Gwen, who sat cross-legged on the stained rug, twirling the still-embedded needle in her nipple. Seraphine seized a porcelain vase from the vanity, its lilies scattering. “New game, Gwen. Ever play… rainstorm?”
Gwen clapped. “Like dancing in puddles?!”
“Exactly,” Seraphine lied, hiking up her skirts. Sona settled behind Gwen, locking her in place with thighs clamped around the doll’s head.
Seraphine’s hands trembled as she hiked her skirts higher, the ghost of her old life clawing at her throat—the roar of crowds cheering her name, the silk gowns, the way nobles once begged just to hear her hum a fucking chorus. All ashes now. The war had melted her stage into this pit, where even Sivir—that sun-scorched mercenary-turned-whore—monopolized clients with her freakish piss kink.
“You want rainstorms, doll?” Seraphine snarled, rage sharpening her voice to a blade. Sona crouched behind Gwen, knees pinning the girl’s shoulders as Seraphine positioned herself over Gwen’s face. “Let’s make it pour.”
The first hot stream hit Gwen’s forehead, streaking down her cheeks. Sona joined in without hesitation, her arc aimed at Gwen’s chest, the twin jets crisscrossing as they drenched the doll’s lace-clad body. Gwen giggled, tongue darting out to catch the bitter streams. “It’s spicy!” she sputtered, swallowing greedily.
Seraphine’s bladder burned, humiliation coiling in her gut. Before the war, she’d been headlining sold-out theaters, her voice weaving magic that made admirers weep. Now her most loyal audience were degenerates jacking off to her high notes while she rode them. And this creature—this thing—got off on the filth Seraphine had been forced to swallow?
“Open wider, you stupid cunt,” she hissed, grinding her cunt over Gwen’s mouth, piss splashing across the doll’s lips. Sona’s stream targeted Gwen’s nostrils, forcing her to snort the acrid liquid. Gwen’s choked laughter bubbled up, her hands clapping like a delighted toddler in a fountain.
Seraphine’s palm itched to crack across that smiling face. She raised her hand—then froze.
Memory flashed: crouched in the brothel’s scullery a week after her debut, scrubbing dried cum from her thighs with a bristle brush. Ahri’s voice echoes: “No more encores, songbird. Spread your legs or starve.”
“STOP LAUGHING!” Seraphine shrieked, stumbling back. Piss dribbled down her own thighs as she gaped at Gwen—perched in the puddle, radiant, unbroken. The doll’s joy was a grenade shredding the lie Seraphine told herself: that everyone here was as hollow and miserable as her.
Sona gripped her arm, mental voice urgent. LeBlanc will smell this. The roman baths exist for a reason.
“Let her smell it!” Seraphine kicked the soaked rug, sending droplets flying. “Let her see what her precious new toy is—a fucking piss-drinker!”
Gwen crawled toward her, leaving a wet trail. “Did I play wrong?” She pressed her drenched face to Seraphine’s knee, eyes wide. “I can do better! I’ll drink gallons!”
Seraphine recoiled like Gwen’s touch burned. “You… you were supposed to hate this,” she whispered, voice cracking. “You were supposed to understand.”
But Gwen just nuzzled closer, a living mockery of the despair Seraphine drowned in daily. Downstairs, a pianist struck a discordant tune—the same melody Seraphine had once sung for emperors.
Now it was just another jingle for the brothel’s grind.
Gwen’s bare feet slapped against the marble floor as she bounded into the brothel’s foyer, her piss-sodden curls leaving wet tracks on the tiles. Irelia glanced up from her ledger, nose wrinkling at the stench. “What in the Ten Kingdoms is that smell? Did you roll in a fucking latrine?”
“Seraphine and Sona made me a rain cloud!” Gwen chirped, shaking her arms like a dog. Drops sprayed the ledger.
Irelia gagged, slamming the book shut. “Sivir!” she barked.
The Shuriman woman emerged from the shadowed archway, golden crossblade strapped to her back even in this den of silk. Her amber eyes narrowed. “What?”
“Take the new brat to the baths. Teach her how to… satisfy clients without marinating in piss.” Irelia’s voice dripped with implication.
Sivir’s tanned face flushed crimson. “I’m not her fucking governess.”
“LeBlanc disagrees,” Irelia said coolly, tossing a perfumed handkerchief at Gwen. “Unless you want me to tell everyone you’ve been water-sharing with patrons again?”
Sivir’s hand twitched toward her blade before she snatched Gwen’s wrist. “Move, maggot.”
Steam curled off the bathhouse pools as Sivir shoved Gwen into the nearest trough. “Scrub. Until you smell like roses, not rancid dick.”
Gwen giggled, lathering soap into her hair. “But you like that game! Seraphine said you’re the best at it!”
“Seraphine’s a washed-up songbird who licks cunt for copper.” Sivir crouched, grip tightening on Gwen’s shoulder. “Listen, doll. Piss might make men cream their pants, but you start offering it for free? I will skin you alive and see if you keep that dumb smile”
“But why?” Gwen blinked soap from her lashes. “Clients love games! They’d pay twice if we play together!”
Sivir’s jaw flexed. “You think this is a game? I spent years carving out my corner here, becoming LeBlanc's top bitch, i did what i had to do. One word to the right perverts, one drop of convincing tears, and—”
Gwen suddenly stood, water sloshing. Before Sivir could react, a golden arc sprayed from the doll’s pelvis, splashing hot across Sivir’s leathers.
“Stop—!” Sivir lurched back, but the stream chased her, soaking the bandages beneath her armor. Her breath hitched. The warmth. The shame. The power of it—
“Fuck,” she hissed, thighs clamping together as heat pooled low in her gut. Gwen swayed, still pissing, her laughter echoing off the marble.
“You’re blushing!”
Sivir tackled her into the water, hissing. “You breathe a word of this, and I’ll feed you to LeBlanc’s shadow hounds. Understood?”
Gwen wrapped her legs around Sivir’s waist, blissfully ignorant. “Can we play again tomorrow?”
Sivir’s pulse roared. She’d kill Seraphine for this. Later.
Sivir dragged Gwen by the elbow into the opium-thick haze of the smokers’ den, where Nilah lay sprawled across a pile of silk cushions, her pupils blown wide as saucers. A hookah coiled between her legs like a lazy serpent, its hose nestled in her slack fingers. “Your problem now,” Sivir growled, shoving Gwen forward. “Keep her away from clients unless they’re paying triple. And if LeBlanc docks my coin, I’ll peel the skin off your high ass.”
Nilah giggled, smoke spilling from her lips. “Mmm, skin’s overrated. Wanna try?” She offered the hookah mouthpiece to Gwen, her free hand fondling her own nipple through a sheer chemise.
Gwen inhaled deeply, the acrid burn scraping her throat. She coughed, eyes watering. “Tastes like… burnt hair!”
“That’s the magic,” Nilah slurred, tugging Gwen down beside her. The doll’s bare ass hit the cushions, still pink from Seraphine’s spanking. “Clients love it. They get all… hands-y.” She demonstrated by groping Gwen’s breast, thumb circling a nipple. “Then they stick their dicks in you. Or each other. Or the hookah. Once, a guy came on the coal tray. Hilarious.”
Gwen mimicked Nilah’s pose, legs splayed, though her cunt remained dry. “Do they pay you when they stick things in?”
Nilah frowned, taking another hit. “Ahri used to make them pay. She’d say, ‘Your cock’s not a coupon, fuckface.’” She blew a wobbly smoke ring. “But Ahri’s… gone? Vacation? Why’s she get vacations?” Her hand drifted to her own pussy, fingers dipping absently into sticky folds. “Wait—shouldn’t they pay me? For letting them cum? That’s… that’s labor!”
Gwen nodded sagely. “Like when Seraphine made me drink her pee! She didn’t pay me, but it was fun!”
Nilah sat up, the hookah tipping over. “Exactly!” Embers scattered, burning tiny holes in the rug. “Fuck LeBlanc’s fees. Next client who wants a puff can earn it.” She grabbed Gwen’s hand, pressing it against her soaked cunt. “Wanna see?”
Before Gwen could answer, a red-faced merchant stumbled into the den, belt already unbuckled. “Sorry fore eavesdropping but.. heard there’s… huff… a two-for-one special?”
Nilah leapt up, tits swaying, and shoved the man onto the cushions. “You wanna fuck? You pay us.”
The man blinked, cock half-hard. “But I’ve only got silver—”
“Nuh-uh.” Nilah straddled him, grinding her drenched pussy against his thigh. “Your dick’s the currency now.” She grabbed Gwen’s wrist, forcing the doll’s fingers into the man’s mouth. “Lick. Then maybe we’ll touch you.”
Gwen beamed, thrilled by the “game,” while Nilah’s stoned logic unraveled the brothel’s economy one confused thrust at a time.
The smokers’ den dissolved into a sweaty tangle of limbs and greed. Word spread through the brothel’s halls like venereal disease—free fucks upstairs—and soon men crowded the doorway, cocks in hand, teeth bared.
Nilah rode the first client reverse-cowgirl, her ass slapping against his hips as she shoved the hookah hose into his mouth. “Puff-puff,* then grind-grind,” she giggled, smoke leaking from her nostrils. Gwen knelt beneath another man, his dick crammed down her throat as two more lined up behind her, hands groping her plugged ass and soap-raw cunt.
“Fuck, she’s slick,” a merchant groaned, thrusting into Gwen’s pussy from behind. His fingers dug into the needle still lodged in her nipple. “Like shoving my cock into a warm jar of honey!”
Gwen gagged around the dick in her mouth but hummed happily, the vibration making the man curse and spill. She turned, cum dripping off her chin. “Next!”
Nilah had graduated to double penetration, a client in her cunt and another in her ass, her head lolling as a third fed her opiates. “S’not free,” she slurred, sucking the man’s thumb. “You’re… you’re paying us. With… with sperm points.”
The men didn’t care. They came in Nilah’s hair, across Gwen’s painted toes, over the hookah’s brass coils. The air reeked of jizz and burnt opium, the carpet a swamp of bodily fluids. Gwen marveled at the variety of cocks—thick, curved, one with a gold ring through the tip—each sheathed inside her without resistance, her doll’s body stretching impossibly to accommodate them.
“That’s the fifth load in her ass,” a client panted, watching Gwen bounce on a bearded man’s lap. “She even human?”
“Dunno,” his friend grunted, pumping into Nilah’s slack mouth. “But I’m gonna fuck her til I die.”
By midnight, the den looked like a bukkake battleground. Nilah bumped over 2 cocks, cum crusting her eyelashes, while Gwen remained dutifully spread on the floor, letting a sweaty trio use her holes.
“Best… game… ever,” she sighed, as a man’s climax painted her belly.
Irelia’s heeled boots crunched over a discarded opium pipe as she shoved open the den’s door, the stench of semen and burnt hashish hitting her like a slap. The scene froze—for a heartbeat—in grotesque tableaux: Gwen arched over the edge of a divan, a merchant’s cock buried in her ass while another fucked her slack mouth, his thumbs hooked in her nostrils. Nilah, sprawled on the floor, legs splayed around a man’s hips as she giggled through a mouthful of someone else’s cum. The air was milky with spent desire, the carpet a swamp of fluids, and every surface glistened with the evidence of unpaid transactions.
Irelia’s ledger-brain tallied the losses in real time. Ten men. Minimum five services each. Premium rates for double penetration, oral, anal, group… Her gorge rose. “Get. Out.”
The command sliced through the moans. Clients stumbled back, cocks wilting under her glacial stare. A portly merchant tried to cover himself with a cushion. “We were just—!”
“Just racking up a debt of two hundred silver marks,” Irelia hissed, plucking a ledger from Sivir’s trembling hands. “Pay by dawn, or your membership—and your manhood—will be forfeit.”
The room emptied, men tripping over trousers and dignity. Sivir kicked a stray cock ring across the floor. “Told you not to leave them alone.” Irelia screeched at her.
Nilah blinked up, cum dripping off her chin. “But they paid us! In… in sperm coins!”
Irelia’s pen snapped in her fist. “Sperm what?”
Gwen sat up, a pearl-white strand of semen stretching from her lips to the floor. “It’s a game! You collect loads, and then… um…” She tilted her head. “What do you get after?”
Irelia massaged her temples. LeBlanc’s ledger entry for tonight flashed in her mind: Revenue—zero. Damages—incalculable. “You two. LeBlanc’s office. Now.”
Nilah wobbled upright, her thigh smearing a handprint of jizz on the divan. “But Ahri said—”
“Ahri’s not here to clean up your festive little messes anymore.” Irelia grabbed Gwen’s wrist, the doll’s skin tacky under her grip. “Move, or I’ll have Sivir sell you to the gladiator pits.”
Sivir snorted. “They’d return her in an hour. ‘Too cheerful. Ruins the angst.’”
The march to LeBlanc’s office was a parade of indignity: Nilah tripping over her own chemise, Gwen waving at confused clients, and Irelia’s heels clicking like a execution drum. By the time they reached the sorceress’s door Irelia’s composure hung by a thread.
“Explain to her,” Irelia said, shoving them inside, “why this brothel isn’t a fucking charity.”
The door slammed. Nilah hiccuped. Gwen peered into the gloom.
“Hello?” she called.
A dozen candles flared at once, revealing LeBlanc seated at her desk, a quill poised over parchment. Her smile was a scalpel.
“Darlings,” she purred. “Let’s… itemize your evening.”
Nilah slumped in the velvet chair, her pupils swallowing the last dregs of her irises as she gestured wildly. “So then the guy with the… the forked beard—or was it a beard-fork?—anyway, he said, ‘I’ll pay you in sperm shares!’ and Gwen just gurgled—”
LeBlanc’s gloved finger tapped her desk, each click a death knell. “Every syllable you utter,” she interrupted, “reduces my faith in evolution. Let me simplify: if a cock enters you, gold enters my coffers. Fail again, and I’ll carve ‘PAY ME FIRST’ into your forehead with a rusted scalpel. Permanently.”
Gwen bounced in her seat, dried cum flaking off her thighs. “But the clients looked so happy! Like puppies with treats!”
“You are not a treat dispenser,” LeBlanc said, her voice colder than a Noxian winter. “You’re a profit margin. Misunderstand again, and I’ll sell you to Zaunites who’ll dismantle that giggle.” She flicked her wrist toward the door. “Tell Irelia I require her. Now.”
Nilah saluted, nearly toppling. “Tax question—if sperm coins are interest-bearing—”
“Out.”
Irelia stood rigid in the corridor, her usual poise fractured. The girls’ exit spared her no sympathy—Nilah mumbled about “fungible cum,” Gwen hummed a jaunty tune—but their passing left her alone with the click of LeBlanc’s door unlatching.
She remembered her last punishment when she had to replace Ahri. LeBlanc’s mirrored chamber. Cold steel restraints. “You’ll learn to anticipate failures,” the sorceress had purred, “in every hole.”
Her knees trembled.
Inside, LeBlanc awaited, a spread of ‘disciplinary tools’ glinting on silk. “Strip,” she commanded. “We’re revisiting your… accounting errors.”
Nilah paused at the brothel’s courtyard fountain, dunking her head to wash off jizz. “Do you think sperm coins expire?”
Gwen twirled, moonlight catching on the reflective water. “I hope not! I’ve got so many to spend!”
Above them, a muffled scream rattled the stained-glass windows. Neither noticed.
Chapter 11: The Auction part 2: The training
Chapter by SeekerPS
Chapter Text
Ahri’s boots crunched over broken stone and ash as she walked through the skeleton of the old Demacian capital. The sky above was grey, heavy with clouds but refusing to cry. Just like her. This place, once radiant with banners and sanctimonious speeches, now reeked of rot, broken pride, and ghosts.
She pulled her cloak tighter. Not because of the cold—but because of what she might find.
He was here. He had to be.
That ancient fool, clinging to the crumbling bones of a kingdom that had already lost everything. Of course he’d come back here. Petty. Theatrical. Proud.
Typical Jarvan.
LeBlanc wanted her to take a trade route. Strengthen supply lines to keep Sejuani fed and drunk. A fool’s errand. Sejuani would trade her soul for salted meat, but that wasn’t power—it was appeasement. And appeasement didn’t restore respect.
Respect—Ahri had lost it the moment Luxanna slipped through her fingers. And with that respect gone, Irelia's eyes started to linger a little too long on Ahri’s place beside LeBlanc. Too many whispering mouths. Too many waiting knives.
No. She wouldn’t crawl back until Lux was in chains again—or burned to ash.
“Luxanna’s not just a girl,” Ahri whispered to the ruins. “She’s a banner. And Swain’s getting ready to raise it.”
She passed a rusted suit of Demacian armor half-buried in the rubble. A crown crest, broken in two. Poetic. She kicked it aside. Ahead, she saw flickers of light in a shattered temple. A camp. Makeshift. Quiet. Arrogant enough not to fear being found.
He was here.
Ahri's tails swayed slowly as she moved forward, hand slipping to the blade at her thigh. There’d be no excuses. No negotiations.
Either Lux returned with her… or she’d make sure there was no Lux left for anyone.
The campfire flickered over cracked marble and broken pews. Jarvan sat hunched beneath a shattered Demacian standard, its golden insignia blackened by soot. His beard was overgrown, his armor rusted and mismatched. He looked more like a grave robber than a prince.
Ahri stepped into the ruin, arms crossed, eyes sharp.
“So this is where the last lion crawled off to die.”
She clicked her tongue, circling him slowly. “You’ve groveled long enough, haven’t you? Tell me, does your shame keep you warm at night, or do you burn it like your banners?”
Jarvan didn’t even lift his head at first.
Then, in a low voice: “Why are you here?”
Ahri smirked, tilting her head. “Your mother sent me.”
In a blur of motion, steel rang out.
Jarvan surged to his feet, grabbing his sword and slamming Ahri against a ruined pillar with one hand around her throat. Dust rained down as the stone cracked from the impact.
“SHE IS NOT MY MOTHER!”
His voice thundered across the broken cathedral. “That woman… that witch… she killed Demacia. She sold us out to monsters, she betrayed our name, our honor— She's a plague.”
Ahri choked but didn’t flinch. Her lips curled into a crooked, almost amused smile. “Still… she bore you, didn’t she? That makes her your mother, whether you like it or not.” She narrowed her eyes. “And since I serve her, that makes me what? A… stepmother of sorts?”
She let her voice drip with mockery.
“So why don’t you put your sword down, boy, and listen to what your new mommy wants?”
Jarvan’s grip trembled—his rage boiling just beneath his skin. But deep down, they both knew he didn’t have the strength for this. Not anymore.
Ahri slowly, deliberately, pushed his hand away from her throat.
“You want to scream and rage? Fine. But LeBlanc has bigger games in motion. And you’re a piece on the board whether you like it or not.”
Jarvan stumbled back from Ahri, panting, the tip of his sword lowering to the dust-caked floor.
“You know what she did” he spat, his voice hoarse with fury and years of betrayal. “The moment it was revealed who my mother truly was… what she was… half of Demacia’s army defected overnight.”
He paced in a ragged circle, eyes wild, gesturing like a mad preacher in a ruined temple.
“The generals stopped answering my summons. The noble houses turned their banners upside down. She didn’t just humiliate me—she made it impossible to prove she wasn’t real. Every word, every illusion, every whisper… it was all her ploy.”
He slammed the pommel of his sword into a cracked stone bench. “And when the fractures spread deep enough—when there was no faith left in the crown—Noxus came.”
His voice dropped to a bitter murmur. “They didn’t even need to conquer. They just walked through the gates and tore apart what was left.”
He turned, face half-shadowed by the moonlight filtering through a shattered stained-glass window. “Demacia died the moment she made people stop believing in it.”
Ahri folded her arms, tail twitching behind her. For a second, silence reigned.
Then she scoffed.
“Touching. Tragic. A tale of a fallen king no one asked for.”
She stepped forward, her expression cold and unreadable.
“But I’m not here to listen to your remorse, Jarvan.” Her voice sharpened like a blade. “I’m here to tell you that Demacia can rise again. Not as it was, but as it must be. And you—broken, bitter, disgraced as you are—still have a use.”
She leaned in, her lips almost brushing his ear.
“Your mother has plans for you. And if you’re not too proud to kneel, then maybe—just maybe—you’ll wear a crown again.”
Jarvan’s fingers tightened around the hilt of his sword as he glared at her.
“Why should I trust you?” he growled, voice low and ragged. “Weren’t you the smiling fox who paraded into the royal court, so proud to reveal the truth? You laughed while you tore my family apart—while the realm crumbled beneath us.”
He stepped closer, eyes burning with resentment.
“And her?” he spat. “LeBlanc didn’t raise a son—she bred a weapon. Groomed me like livestock for slaughter, just to set me loose when it suited her. Now you come here, speaking of rebuilding?”** He scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief. “What guarantees does she offer? What certainties?”
Ahri didn’t flinch. She stared at him like he was a page in a book she had read before.
“LeBlanc doesn’t offer guarantees,” she said, flat and merciless. “There is no safety. No promises. Only choices. You obey, or you get left behind. It’s your ruin or your use. That’s the only truth.”
She turned, slowly, letting her tails swish behind her as she headed toward the exit of the ruined hall.
“You want certainty? Die here. Rot in your ruin. But if you want a chance at revenge, at meaning—then kneel to the only queen this continent has left.”
She paused at the broken doorway, casting a last glance back. “She still calls you her son, Jarvan. Even now. Don’t waste it.”
Jarvan’s face twisted in rage. With a roar, he lunged toward Ahri, his blade flashing. She was faster. She dodged effortlessly, but not without grace—her tails flicking as she spun, sidestepping his anger like it was beneath her.
“You think this is a game?!” Jarvan shouted.
Ahri didn’t answer with words. She answered with a sharp, sudden slap that echoed through the broken hall.
He froze. His cheek reddened. His pride stung more than his skin.
“You’re pathetic,” Ahri hissed, her golden eyes narrowing. “You were born to power. Given everything. And the moment it was stripped from you, you crumbled. A true king would have bled for his people. You just wept for your throne.”
Jarvan stared at her, breath shaking, as if slapped back into reality.
“You want power again?” she continued, venom in her tone. “Then earn it. You want to be more than a footnote in the fall of Demacia? Then prove you're worthy. Stop hiding in the ashes of your kingdom like a spoiled princeling crying for his cradle.”
He clenched his fists, trembling—not just from rage now, but shame.
There was silence. He finally asked, voice low:
“…What does she want from me?”
Ahri smirked, a sharp and knowing curve of her lips.
“She wants you to strike at Swain.”
That name hit like a hammer.
“Prove that he can bleed. Prove that the Black Crow can fall. Do that…” She stepped closer, her voice softening just enough to seem sincere. “…and the fallen houses of Demacia will rally to you. LeBlanc will give you what you’ve lost. She’ll restore your kingdom.”
She leaned in. “But only if you deserve it.”
Jarvan let out a hollow, bitter laugh, throwing his head back as it echoed through the ruined throne room.
“You’re asking me to commit suicide,” he scoffed. “You want me to challenge Swain? The man who crushed the remnants of my army? You think a handful of words and empty promises from a fox in velvet will change that?”
Ahri didn’t flinch. Her tone stayed cool, sharp as a dagger.
“I’m not offering promises. I’m offering a plan.”
Jarvan narrowed his eyes. “A plan?”
Ahri stepped forward, slowly, deliberately.
“Yes. A strike. Swift, symbolic. You won’t be marching an army to war—you’ll be striking at the Black Crow’s image. You won’t kill Swain, no. But you’ll make the world believe he can be hurt. That he’s not invincible.”
Jarvan clenched his jaw. He didn’t reply.
Ahri circled him now, voice gaining momentum.
“Demacia is broken, yes. But it still lives in the hearts of its people. They’re afraid. They’ve forgotten how to hope. Give them a reason to believe again, and they’ll follow. Reignite the fire, and the nobles hiding in their keeps will crawl back to your banner.”
She stopped in front of him, holding his gaze.
“You strike the enemy, and I take you to LeBlanc. You ask for your reward. You rebuild what was taken. That’s the deal. A kingly opportunity…” Her smile was sly. “…for someone who wants to be more than a ghost.”
Jarvan was silent.
Then, finally, he asked:
“And what if I fail?”
Ahri’s smile didn’t falter.
“Then you die. But at least you’ll die a man trying to be a king… not a shadow curled in ruins.”
LeBlanc rested her cheek on her fingers, elbow propped on the armrest of her throne as she stared blankly ahead. The financial scrolls Irelia laid out on the desk might as well have been written in ancient Shuriman for all the attention she paid them.
Irelia, always composed, glanced up from the papers. "If you're tired, I can finish this alone. You don’t need to stay if your mind is elsewhere."
LeBlanc’s lips curved faintly, an empty smile. "You're quite right, darling. I am tired. Tired of reading numbers when they no longer surprise me. But more than that..." She stood, stretching with feline elegance. "...I'm tired of managing everything alone."
She turned her back on Irelia and walked toward the large mirror at the end of the chamber, trailing her fingers along its golden frame.
"You’ve grown into your role well, Irelia. You're my most beautiful weapon, graceful and deadly, and the girls follow you like a queen. But..." she tilted her head slightly, eyes catching Irelia’s reflection in the mirror, "...you still lack vision. You react. You do not yet anticipate."
Irelia's voice, cool but inquisitive, filled the silence. "Do you miss Ahri?" Her gaze didn’t flinch. "You could call her back, and she’d return in an instant. Retake her duties. Reclaim her place."
LeBlanc gave a soft, amused scoff. "Ahri’s place has never been in question. She chose to run off chasing redemption or some petty notion of self-worth. Let her. If she truly belongs here, she’ll return with something worthy of forgiveness—or she won’t return at all."
She turned fully now, facing Irelia. "Besides, her absence has revealed many things. Including just how much you want her place."
Irelia’s expression barely changed, though the silence that followed was sharp and deliberate.
"I don’t want Ahri’s position," she said calmly. "It was clear to me the last time I had to fill in for her."
LeBlanc’s laughter came rich and amused, echoing lightly across the chamber. She walked closer, slow and deliberate, like a cat circling a restless bird.
"Oh, I know," she said with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. "I was torturing you on purpose, darling. I wanted to see how long you'd last before snapping or begging me to release you. But you didn’t. You just... endured."
She stopped in front of Irelia, eyes narrowing in quiet admiration. "That was remarkable."
Then, casually, LeBlanc leaned in, letting her voice drop, velvety and poisonous. "Of course, Ahri is far better at what truly matters—at pleasing me, tending to my moods, and of course..." her fingers brushed lightly along Irelia’s collarbone, "...at sex."
Irelia met her gaze without flinching. "Maybe. But I could improve in those areas with practice, couldn’t I?"
LeBlanc raised an eyebrow, a spark of something dangerous dancing in her eyes—amusement, intrigue, maybe something darker. "Mmm... perhaps you could."
LeBlanc leaned back in her velvet chair, eyes half-lidded, regarding Irelia like one might regard an expensive blade—beautiful, sharp, and dangerous only if mishandled. Her tone was soft, almost curious, but it carried that ever-present undertone of menace.
"What is your end goal, Irelia?" she asked. "You sold yourself to me in exchange for aid against the Noxian invasion. And I kept my word. Ionia is free—for now. And you’ve stayed loyal, haven’t you? Because you know that betraying me means betraying that fragile freedom your people cling to."
She stood slowly, walking toward Irelia with calculated grace.
"But then… why this?" Her hand gestured faintly toward the ledgers, the gilded bedchamber, the silk sheets and perfumed halls. "Why push yourself into a more intimate place in my court? You’re not foolish enough to think you could end me in my own home. You know it’s my orders alone that keep Swain confined to the western coast of Ionia."
Irelia’s shoulders were tense, but her voice, when it came, was low and honest. Worn.
"I’m tired." She looked away for a moment, then met LeBlanc’s eyes again. "Tired of the clients. Tired of selling myself every night to strangers, to nobles and monsters and sadists with coin to burn. I told myself I could endure it. That I was doing it for my people. That it was a small price to pay." Her voice cracked, only slightly. "But I’m spent. Every night chips away at something I don’t know how to get back."
She inhaled, trembling, but didn’t stop.
"Ahri has it worse in many ways. She has to please your every whim, submit herself to you completely... but at least those are your whims. Not the whims of every pervert who walks through the château with enough gold in hand."
There was no accusation in her voice. Just exhaustion.
LeBlanc tilted her head, studying her with a gaze that was no longer just amused.
"So... you envy Ahri."
LeBlanc didn’t stop Irelia as she moved closer. Her smile deepened, curling at the corners like smoke, watching every step with that predator’s stillness she always wore. Irelia’s movements were deliberate, smooth, like a dance—like she knew she was being judged, weighed, appraised.
When she finally straddled LeBlanc’s lap, the sorceress arched one brow but said nothing, letting the silence stretch like silk between them.
Irelia leaned in, her breath warm against LeBlanc’s neck, her voice a whisper laced with bitterness and longing.
“I envy her,” she confessed, “because she doesn’t have to force a smile for every pig with a heavy pouch of gold. Because her body, her time, her pain—belong to just one person.” She ran a finger along the collar of LeBlanc’s dress. “I envy that she’s yours… not everyone’s.”
She pulled back just enough to meet LeBlanc’s gaze. “But I’m not naïve. I know everything here has a price. And Ahri—she’s paid hers in full. Every night, every moan, every bruise and sigh. That’s the cost of being your favorite, your second-in-command.”
A pause. Then, with a hint of steel beneath her sultry tone:
“And maybe I’m just tired of being owned by strangers. If I have to sell myself to survive… I’d rather sell to someone who knows the value of what she’s buying.”
LeBlanc’s eyes gleamed, cold and intrigued. Her fingers slowly trailed up Irelia’s spine.
“And what is it you’re offering, exactly, my dear blade dancer? Your loyalty? Your body?” She smiled, dark and knowing. “Or is it your soul?”
Irelia didn’t flinch. She leaned in closer, lips just a breath from LeBlanc’s ear.
“Let the doll Gwen rest tonight,” she murmured, voice low, daring. “Let me show you how much my stamina has improved.”
LeBlanc’s chuckle was slow and indulgent, like velvet over steel. Her hand slid along Irelia’s thigh with casual possession, as if measuring her worth.
“How generous,” she purred. “And so bold… You do know how I enjoy boldness.”
She tilted her head, examining Irelia with new interest—like a favorite toy rediscovered.
“Go,” she finally commanded, voice calm and absolute. “To my chambers. I expect you warm, willing, and ready by the time I arrive.” Then, with a small smirk: “And if you fail to impress me… I might have to reconsider how much rest the fox truly needs.”
The doors to LeBlanc’s private chambers opened with a slow, ominous creak.
The room was dim, lit only by a series of violet witchlights flickering in the corners, casting dancing shadows over velvet curtains and gilded furniture. The scent of old books, perfumed oils, and faint smoke hung in the air like incense.
LeBlanc entered without a sound, her presence immediate and commanding. Her long coat slipped from her shoulders, pooling at her feet like spilled ink. She paused in the threshold, golden eyes scanning the room until they landed on the figure waiting for her.
Irelia knelt at the foot of the bed, naked save for the silken red sash around her waist. Her posture was obedient, but her eyes were not. They burned—quiet, fierce, uncertainly proud.
LeBlanc raised an eyebrow.
“You’re here. And on time.” A slow step forward. Her voice was cool, smooth, amused. “That alone is better than most.”
She approached, running a single gloved finger along Irelia’s collarbone, then lifting her chin to meet her gaze.
“So,” she whispered, thumb grazing Irelia’s lip. “Let’s see if you’ve truly improved since last time”
LeBlanc’s hand cracked across Irelia’s cheek, the sound sharp as a whip. “Undress me. Now,” she hissed, golden eyes glowing in the dim chamber. Irelia’s fingers shook as she fumbled with the sorceress’s laceless bodysuit, the fabric dissolving like shadow under her touch. LeBlanc smirked as her bare cock materialized—thick, pulsing, and glistening with magical residue. “Ahri never fumbled,” she purred, grabbing a fistful of Irelia’s hair. “She could strip me with her teeth in three seconds flat.”
The magical cock slammed against Irelia’s lips, leaking bitter precum. “Suck,” LeBlanc ordered, shoving deeper when Irelia hesitated. “Wider. Ahri took it to the base on her knees. You look like a fish choking on a hook.” Irelia gagged, saliva dripping down her chin as LeBlanc fucked her throat in short, brutal strokes. “Her tongue worked miracles,” LeBlanc sneered, grinding her hips. “Yours is as lively as a corpse’s.”
When LeBlanc yanked her cock free, Irelia collapsed, coughing. “Don’t rest,” the sorceress snapped, kicking her onto her back. She spread Irelia’s legs, her pussy glistening with traitorous arousal. “Ahri’s cunt danced around me,” she growled, thrusting inside without warning. Irelia screamed, her nails clawing at the sheets. “Quiet,” LeBlanc snarled, slapping her thigh. “She came three times before I even spilled. You’ll be lucky to earn one.”
Her hips pistoned, the slap of skin echoing as she drilled into Irelia’s trembling body. “Y-your cock—!” Irelia stammered, her walls fluttering.
“Ahri could take it faster,” LeBlanc taunted, her balls slapping wetly as she buried herself to the hilt. With a guttural groan, she came, magical cum flooding Irelia’s pussy.
Irelia lay limp, chest heaving, but LeBlanc crouched beside her, fingers probing her asshole. “How’s your training here?” she mocked, spitting on the tight ring. “Ahri took my fist after a month. You still whimper at two fingers.”
“I’ll—hnn—improve,” Irelia panted.
LeBlanc laughed, shoving her cock into Irelia’s ass without preamble. The dancer’s scream was muffled by the mattress as the sorceress snarled, “Start improving now.”
LeBlanc’s cock twisted deep in Irelia’s ass, each thrust agonizingly slow as the ridges of her magical shaft dragged against raw flesh. “How’s it feel, Liberator of Ionia?” she purred, her breath hot against Irelia’s ear. “Knowing a Noxian cock is splitting you wider than Swain’s armies split your precious homeland?” She laughed, fingers digging into Irelia’s hips hard enough to bruise. “He’d hang you from the Immortal Bastion for this. His hatred enemy, taking Noxus in the ass.”
Irelia choked back a sob, her nails carving crescents into the bedsheets. “F-faster,” she hissed, desperation bleeding into her voice.
“Faster?” LeBlanc’s hand cracked across her ass, leaving a crimson handprint. “Ahri never begged. She earned.” She snapped her hips harder, the slap of skin sharp as a blade. “You’re loose. Sloppy. Like a common whore.”
“I’ll—hnng—do better,” Irelia gritted out, her spine arching involuntarily as the cock brushed a vulnerable spot.
“Prove it.” LeBlanc yanked her hair, forcing her onto all fours. “Swain sends ten raids to Ionia’s heart daily. I sabotage them all. But tomorrow?” She leaned down, biting Irelia’s shoulder until blood bloomed. “I’ll only burn the number of times you make me cum tonight.”
Irelia froze. “Y-you can’t—!”
“Ahri made me spill four times the first night,” LeBlanc interrupted, ramming into her again. “Your people die by the hundreds for every raid I ignore. So clench.” She pistoned harder, her cock swelling as Irelia’s ass spasmed. “One.”
The sorceress groaned, her thrusts turning erratic. “Pathetic. She’d have milked three by now—” Her voice broke as she came, hot magical cum flooding Irelia’s guts. “Two,” she corrected, smirking at Irelia’s whimper. “A generous deal. We duel until dawn. Each orgasm buys your rebels another day. Fail to make me finish again… and I’ll gift Swain your village’s coordinates.”
LeBlanc’s cock slid out of Irelia’s ass with a wet pop, trails of thick, black cum oozing from the gaping hole. The sorceress counted aloud, voice dripping with mockery. “Ten. Ten raids spared. How generous of me.” She flicked her wrist, the magical cock dissolving into smoke as she stared at Irelia’s trembling form. “Ahri would’ve begged for twenty. But you? Barely worth the effort.”
Irelia’s ass burned like fire, her thighs slick with sweat and cum. She collapsed forward, cheek pressed to the mattress, breath coming in ragged gasps. LeBlanc tutted, dragging a gloved finger through the mess leaking from Irelia’s ruined asshole. “Look at this. A fountain. Ahri kept every drop inside—said it made her feel full-filled.” She wiped the sludge on Irelia’s back. “You’re just… messy.”
The dancer tried to rise, legs buckling. LeBlanc kicked her onto the floor. “My bed’s for me,” she snapped. “Ahri sleeps at the foot like a good bitch. Says it’s ‘convenient’ when I want her mouth at midnight.” She leaned down, yanking Irelia’s hair. “You? Crawl to your room. Or lick the cum off my boots and stay on the tiles. Your choice.”
Irelia’s fingers clawed at the rug, her ass throbbing with every inch she dragged herself toward the door. LeBlanc lounged on the bed, lighting a cigarette. “Ahri enjoys the floor,” she mused, blowing smoke at Irelia’s hunched form. “Says the cold keeps her humble. You’ll learn—if you survive tomorrow.”
The door slammed shut behind Irelia, leaving her in the dark hallway. She slumped against the wall, cum still trickling down her thighs. Somewhere nearby, a familiar laugh echoed inside her head —Ahri’s, light and venomous. “New toy’s already breaking?” the fox purred from the shadows, or the depths of her thoughts. “Don’t worry, little blade. She’ll toss you back soon. I always land on my feet.”
Irelia didn’t answer. She crawled onward, the sting in her ass a grim reminder: in this game, Ahri’s shadow was a noose. And LeBlanc’s bed? A pyre.
In the soft morning light that filtered through the stained glass of the château’s upper halls, Irelia walked slowly—elegantly, as always—but with a noticeable stiffness in her steps. She made sure to keep her back straight, her expression neutral. Still, a few glances followed her with veiled smirks or curious eyes.
Jinx, lounging near the balustrade with a lollipop in her mouth, gave a sideways grin. “Rough night, huh? Someone looks like they got the deluxe backdoor package.”
Irelia didn’t respond. She didn’t flinch. But she did avoid the plush lounge chairs the girls usually fought over—standing was preferable today. The bruises on her hips and thighs reminded her with every breath that she was no Ahri, and LeBlanc had made that clear.
She spotted Qiyana descending the stairs, dressed in something far too extravagant for her chores and twirling a silver ring on her finger with boredom.
Irelia intercepted her.
“Qiyana,” she began, voice sharp and to the point. “We need to talk. Privately.”
Qiyana rolled her eyes and gave a mocking tilt of her head. “Unless you’re planning to polish my bracelets for me, I have zero interest in whatever business you're playing at while Ahri’s gone.”
“No?” Irelia folded her arms despite the ache. “Then maybe I’ll assign you to clean the Roman baths after Sivir’s clients leave. Thoroughly. With a toothbrush.”
Qiyana grimaced, one hand dramatically flying to her chest like she’d just been mortally wounded.
“Ugh, that’s disgusting. You wouldn’t—”
“I would.”
Qiyana stared at her for a moment, huffed, then muttered, “Fine. But this better be important. You get ten minutes, tops.”
Without waiting for a response, she spun on her heel and marched toward the servant corridors, clearly annoyed.
Irelia followed, her steps as dignified as possible... despite the burn in her legs and the dull ache that reminded her she’d been thoroughly broken in.
In one of the château's lesser-used sitting rooms—curtains drawn, door locked—Irelia faced Qiyana with the sharp focus of someone whose pride had taken a severe bruising. She spoke low, with only a hint of irritation breaking through her discipline.
"Everybody knows you're the biggest anal slut here, Imean, by the record of your clients, your pussy could be as good as virgin" Irelia said coolly. "You must have some trick. Something that makes it feel less like a hot, red knife being shoved in your ass."
Qiyana smirked like she’d been waiting for that kind of confession all day.
"Please. It’s not about tricks, it’s about talent," she said, arms crossed under her chest. "You either got it or you don’t. And frankly, you don’t. You also have to enjoy it from the start—" she leaned in with a wicked little grin, "—it’s not exactly an acquired taste, darling."
Irelia rolled her eyes, her usual poise cracking just enough to show how tired she really was. "Cut the crap. I need to keep up the pace. Give me anything that helps."
Qiyana cocked an eyebrow, then walked in a slow, deliberate circle around Irelia like a shark circling prey.
"Why so interested? As soon as your beloved Ahri gets back, you'll be shoved right back into your little corner like all the other whores. If you don’t want to give your asshole to the clients, no one’s forcing you..." She paused, letting her words twist a little. "Unless you don’t want to give up your new position."
Irelia didn’t take the bait. At least, not entirely.
"I’m only trying to do my job well," she said. "If Ahri falls out of favor, it’ll be her fault, not mine."
Qiyana chuckled, tapping a finger on her lips as if weighing the words.
"Mm. You’re colder than you look, Irelia. Fine. I could give you a few classes—though don’t come crying when you’re too sore to take LeBlanc tonight." She grinned wider. "Your choice. But you better choose fast. I don’t usually waste my talents on peasants."
Irelia sighed but nodded. Pride was a luxury she couldn’t afford.
"Fine. After lunch?"
"Skip it," Qiyana said, already turning toward the door. "I don’t want your mistakes shitting my sheets."
Irelia pushed open Qiyana’s door, the room assaulting her senses—neon tapestries clashing with gilded Ixtali relics, half-eaten pastries on a skull-shaped dish, and a shelf crammed with jeweled anal plugs glowing faintly with enchanted oils. Qiyana sprawled on a bed shaped like a giant lotus, licking honey off her thumb.
“Strip or stare, peasant,” Qiyana snapped, nodding at the toys. “The toilet bowl drainers in Zaun train faster than you.”
Irelia shed her robe, her ass still puffy and red from LeBlanc’s abuse. She climbed facedown onto the bed, knees sinking into velvet. “Just fucking do it,” she muttered, cheek pressed to silk.
Qiyana snorted, straddling her thighs. “LeBlanc doesn’t prep,” she said, globbing cold lube onto Irelia’s hole. “She rams. You need your ass begging to be split before she even unbuckles.” Her finger circled the tight ring, pushing just the tip in. “Train this sad little clench daily. Fuck yourself with your fingers after breakfast. Stretch it in the baths. Grope it while sucking cock.”
Irelia hissed as Qiyana worked a second finger in, the burn easing into a dull stretch. “Lube’s your new perfume,” Qiyana continued, scissoring slowly. “Smear it on every hour. When LeBlanc wants to pound you raw in a hallway, your ass better be slick as a Noxian’s lies.”
A third finger slid in, and Irelia’s hips twitched forward, a muffled groan escaping.
“Ohhh,” Qiyana purred, twisting her wrist. “The Liberator of Ionia likes getting fingered like a back-alley whore.” She curled her fingers, hitting a spot that made Irelia’s toes curl. “Clench. Now. Pretend it’s LeBlanc’s cock.”
Irelia obeyed, her walls spasming around Qiyana’s digits. “Good bitch,” Qiyana mocked, speeding her thrusts. “But don’t cum. You’ll get addicted to this… and LeBlanc won’t care if you beg her to stop.”
Qiyana yanked the beaded dildo from the table, the obsidian-black shaft studded with gradually enlarging bumps, glistening with a viscous lavender lube. “Cock swells,” she said, slapping it against Irelia’s sore asscheek. “LeBlanc’s magic dick? It’ll throb inside you like a live eel. You need to choke your asshole on progressively worse choices.”
Irelia braced on her elbows, jaw clenched as Qiyana pressed the first bead against her entrance. It slid in easily, barely stretching her. “Pathetic,” Qiyana sneered. “Ahri took three of these before breakfast her first week.” The second bead followed, then the third—a thicker nub that made Irelia’s breath hitch. “Relax? Never. Clench until your teeth rattle. Force your slut-muscle to memorize the stretch.”
The fourth bead burned, and Irelia hissed, fingernails tearing at the sheets. “LeBlanc doesn’t care,” Qiyana hissed, twisting the toy. “She’ll shove in dry if she’s bored. Your job is to leak readiness.” The fifth bead, fat as a plum pit, forced a whimper from Irelia’s throat—
“Oops.” Qiyana ripped the entire toy out in one brutal pull.
Irelia cried out, her asshole clamping air, but Qiyana was already slamming the beads back in, shoving past the fifth, sixth, seventh knot in rapid succession. “No warm-ups in war,” she spat, drilling deeper. “LeBlanc’s cock’ll surge inside you mid-fuck. Ass gasping, thighs shaking—you stay loose.”
Irelia’s body writhed, a mix of sharp pain and unwelcome slick heat pooling in her cunt. Qiyana noticed, laughing. “Ah. There it is. Hate how good betrayal feels, don’t you?” She pistoned the toy, each bead dragging over Irelia’s raw walls. “Your ass is learning faster than your pride. Keep that up, and LeBlanc might keep you as her bitch.”
With a final thrust, she left the toy buried to the hilt, the largest bead stretching Irelia’s hole into a quivering ‘O’. “Walk with this in until dinner,” Qiyana ordered, kicking her off the bed. “If it slips out? Start over. Ahri did laps with this inside her.”
Irelia stumbled, the toy shifting obscenely with every step. “Oh, and dancer?” Qiyana called after her, voice saccharine. “Your cunt’s drooling. Might wanna wad your robe between your legs before LeBlanc smells desperation.”
Irelia moved through the marble corridors of the château with every ounce of grace she could fake. Her back was straight, her steps deliberate—but too deliberate. The fullness inside her pulsed with every movement, a deep ache that flared every time she shifted her weight. She kept her hands locked behind her back, trying not to show how tense she was. But it was pointless. The girls noticed. Of course they did.
“Look at her walk,” hissed Sivir sweetly to Nilah, lounging in the sunroom. “Like she’s got a wine bottle stuck up there instead of a spine.”
Nilah chuckled. “She looks like she’s going to burst. You alright, manager? Or is that stick up your ass finally getting comfy?”
Irelia passed them without a word, but their snickers followed behind her like perfume.
“Poor girl,” drawled Samira later, tossing her hair as she emerged from one of the upper chambers. “Trying so hard to look dignified when everyone knows she’s just trying to keep up with Ahri. Does she really think LeBlanc’s going to toss away her little fox for a broken ballerina with sore legs?”
“Maybe she’s hoping Ahri won’t come back at all,” Jinx piped up from the stairwell, grinning wide. “Wouldn’t that be cute? Irelia, the new favorite. A bit stiff, but hey—maybe LeBlanc’s into that.”
Katarina was cruder still. “Let her try,” she muttered, arms crossed beneath her robe. “We’ll see how long she lasts before she cracks and starts begging for the easy work again. She was barely lasting a week last time Ahri was gone.”
The remarks weren’t even hushed. There was no effort to hide the venom in their tone, the jealousy and mockery intertwined. In the château, every girl was a weapon, and Irelia was bleeding opportunity.
But she said nothing. She didn’t flinch, didn’t snap back. She walked past them all like a statue carved from stone, even as her insides twisted with pressure and pain.
She had made her choice.
And if she was going to suffer, she’d make it count.
Qiyana’s heel tapped impatiently as Irelia entered, the door clicking shut with a magically amplified snap. “Have you been stuffing that ass like I told you? Or did you sob into your porcelain throne instead?” The Ixtali princess flicked her wrist, nails sharpened to talons. “Strip. Now.”
Irelia peeled off her robe, the chill of the room prickling her skin. Before she could speak, Qiyana’s ungloved finger jammed into her asshole without warning, twisting to test the resistance. “Hm. At least you’re slick enough to pass as a greased piglet,” she sneered, withdrawing with a wet sound. “On the bed. Ass up, face down. Don’t make me repeat myself.”
Irelia knelt on the mattress, chest pressed to silk, her exposed ass trembling faintly under Qiyana’s scrutiny. The princess circled her like a vulture, trailing a fingertip along the puffy rim. “LeBlanc fucks like she’s hammering nails,” she said, plunging two fingers in abruptly. “But this—” She crooked her digits, dragging them against Irelia’s inner walls with deliberate roughness.“—this is where you learn to beg for the pain.”
Irelia gasped, her hips jerking forward as the pressure ignited a hot, prickling ache. “Your cunt’s dripping,” Qiyana smirked, scissoring her fingers wide. “Pathetic. You hate how your body betrays you—” She thrust deeper, grinding her knuckles against a nerve that made Irelia’s toes curl. “—but your ass hungers. LeBlanc knows it. So do I.”
She twisted her wrist, stretching Irelia’s hole into a taut ring, the sound of lube and friction obscenely loud. “You’ll clench around her cock like a starving mouth,” she whispered, leaning close. “And when she’s done wrecking you? You’ll thank her.”
With a final brutal curl of her fingers, Qiyana yanked free, leaving Irelia shuddering.
Qiyana smirked, pulling out a thick, veiny inflatable toy from a drawer—rubber black as Noxian steel, glinting under the brothel’s dim lights. “This one sings,” she purred, coating it in lube that reeked of menthol. “Open wide, peasant.”
Irelia clenched instinctively as the cold tip pressed against her sore asshole. “Relax? Fuck you,” she hissed, but Qiyana rammed it in anyway, the slender shaft sliding deep with a wet schluck. Irelia gagged, expecting agony—but it just... stung. “T-that’s it?” she spat, glaring over her shoulder. “Feels like a fucking chopstick.”
“Patience, gutter-whore.” Qiyana tapped a rune on the toy’s base. “It’s not a cock until it’s thick.”
The rubber hissed, veins bulging as it began to swell. Irelia’s asshole stretched around the growing girth, her breath hitching. “S-stop—!”
“Begging already?” Qiyana laughed, watching the toy’s ridges inflate like a serpent’s throat. “This is half-size. LeBlanc’s magic cock’ll make this feel like a tampon.”
Irelia’s hands clawed at the sheets, sweat dripping down her spine as the rubber bitch-fisted her ass wider, hotter, tighter. “Hurts—fuck—hurts!”
“Good,” Qiyana sneered, cranking the rune higher. “Rub your clit. Distract your needy cunt before I shove this up to your ribs.”
Irelia hesitated—then shamefully slid a hand between her legs, fingers slicking through her soaked pussy lips. “Tch. *Filthy,” Qiyana spat, slapping her ass hard enough to leave a handprint. “Bet your Ionians never knew their hero’s a painal-slut.”
The toy swelled wider, throbbing as it punched into Irelia’s guts. She whimpered, fingers circling her clit frantically—hate-fucking herself to blunt the agony. “P-please—!”
“Louder,” Qiyana demanded, twisting the toy’s base. “LeBlanc wants her pets vocal. Scream. Cry. Let the whole brothel know your ass is hers.”
Irelia’s thighs shook, her pussy clenching around nothing as the pressure in her ass snapped something primal. She came with a broken sob, squirting across the sheets as the toy buried itself to the hilt.
Qiyana yanked it out with a wet pop, leaving Irelia’s asshole gaping. “Still think it’s a ‘chopstick’?” She kicked her off the bed. “Clean yourself up. LeBlanc’s gonna ruin you tonight.”
Ahri's boots echoed against the marble floor, the scent of incense and old blood hanging thick in the air. The towering halls of Vladimir’s dwelling were both opulent and decayed—an abandoned castle twisted into a cathedral of crimson, every wall draped in velvets of purple and red. Faded portraits of Vladimir stared down from their gilded frames: the same man, painted over centuries, dressed as a noble, a soldier, a priest, a scholar. Always smirking.
A circle of robed acolytes chanted in unison near the entrance, swirling arcs of hemomagic in trembling hands. Their eyes flickered with madness and devotion, desperate to siphon even a drop of their master’s power. Jarvan looked visibly disgusted. His lips curled into a sneer.
“This place reeks of madness,” he muttered under his breath.
Ahri rolled her eyes, flicking her tails dismissively. “Grow up.”
They stepped into the throne room.
There he was.
Vladimir, seated languidly on a high-backed chair carved from blackened wood, lounged like a man who hadn’t moved in years. In his hand, a goblet shimmered with thick, dark red liquid. Wine or blood—it was never quite clear. His crimson eyes gleamed with mischief as he leaned forward, lips stained.
“Ah… the lovely little fox,” he purred. “I had heard you were frolicking around the tundra, tail between your legs. And yet here you are, slinking through my halls like a stray cat. Did your mistress forget to leash you, or is this another one of her games?”
Ahri stopped before him, folding her arms. Her face betrayed no emotion.
“I don’t have time for your riddles, Vladimir. We need your help.”
He sipped from his cup, savoring it like a man tasting vintage secrets.
“Now that’s rare,” he chuckled. “The Ahri asking me for help? Surely the world is ending.”
Ahri’s tone grew sharp. “It already has. You just haven’t noticed.”
Vladimir raised an eyebrow, gaze shifting to Jarvan. “And who is this sorry knight? Ah. Royalty, isn’t he? Or used to be.” He sniffed the air. “Smells like defeat. You’ve brought me a crumbling king and a disobedient fox. Tell me, Ahri—should I be flattered or insulted?”
Ahri didn’t blink. “You should listen.”
Vladimir’s chuckle echoed through the throne room like dripping blood in a silent crypt.
“Since when, little fox, have you grown so bold as to defy LeBlanc?” he asked, tilting his goblet just enough for the red liquid to catch the moonlight. “You do remember what she does to those who forget their place…?”
Ahri stood her ground. “I’m not defying her. I’m carrying out her will. She sent me to undo Swain’s growing influence, and I need your help to do that.”
Vladimir gave her a look of amusement, then slowly rose to his feet, his robes cascading like living silk around him.
“Don’t insult me.” He stepped closer, his voice dropping, more intimate, more dangerous. “I can hear your heartbeat stutter with every word. I can smell the fear beneath your perfume. You are improvising, Ahri. Desperately trying to weave a tale convincing enough to restore the favor of a woman who will never truly love you.”
He leaned in, just a breath away from her face.
“You still burn for her, don’t you?” he whispered. “That cruel, brilliant witch. You ache for her approval, for her touch, like a dog who returns to the hand that beats it.”
Ahri’s tails bristled, but she said nothing.
Vladimir stepped back, eyes gleaming.
“And yet… I find that charming. Tragic. A little romantic, even. Fine.” He lifted his goblet again. “Tell me what you want. Let’s see how far your desperation will carry you.”
Ahri’s steps were steady as she crossed the room, her golden eyes sharp with unwavering determination. Her voice, however, trembled ever so slightly—not with fear, but with something deeper, more vulnerable.
“I’ll do anything,” she said. “Whatever it takes to be at LeBlanc’s side again. If you want to mock me, go ahead. But I’m warning you: help me, or stay out of my way. I will raid the Black Crow, and I will get Lux back. Or I’ll die trying.”
Vladimir raised an eyebrow, his grin widening with wicked delight. He swirled the contents of his goblet lazily.
“Oh my,” he said with a theatrical sigh, “so noble, so tragic. The fox who sells her pride to chase the affection of a serpent. Truly, this devotion of yours, misguided as it is, is… comically inspiring.”
He stepped down from the dais, boots silent against the marble floor, and stopped a pace away from her.
“You must be very desperate to come crawling to me,” he continued, his voice like velvet over glass. “The one woman you want most cast you aside, and now, here you are—begging help from the only person she ever respected. The only one who’s ever made her… squirm.”
Ahri’s ears twitched. Her tail stiffened.
Vladimir smirked, savoring her reaction.
“You must loathe me for that. All that jealousy bottled up, imagining what she and I have shared.” He leaned in, voice lower. “But let me assure you, little fox: I have never loved your master. And if anything did happen between us—no matter how much she enjoyed it—it was merely business. Cold, efficient, transactional.”
He straightened again, eyes gleaming like bloodlit rubies.
“Now… tell me. What do you need from me, Ahri? Let’s see what kind of weapon you want to steal from a monster.”
Vladimir reclined deeper into his throne, swirling the red liquid in his goblet as his crimson eyes gleamed with amusement. "Down in the dungeons," he said with a smile that was all teeth. "You'll find something that may serve your plan. If you can tame it, of course."
Ahri didn't respond. Her gaze was sharp, but her silence was colder. Jarvan scoffed beside her, one hand still never straying too far from his sword hilt.
Without waiting for permission, Ahri took one of the iron-forged torches from the wall. The flame flickered hungrily, casting jagged shadows as they descended the winding stairs beneath Vladimir’s manor.
The air grew heavier with every step, thick with the coppery stench of blood and rot. The stone underfoot was slick in places—too slick.
They saw them soon enough: dismembered limbs, gnawed bone, skulls cracked open and tossed aside like fruit husks. Some corpses had been chained to the walls, others looked like they'd tried to crawl their way out—unsuccessfully.
Jarvan muttered a curse under his breath.
Ahri said nothing. Her ears were up, twitching as her hand tightened on the torch.
Then, just as the flame began to sputter, a sudden gust of fetid air blew down the corridor, snuffing the fire entirely.
Everything was plunged into blackness.
There was no sound for a moment but the slow drip of blood and the hiss of breath—
Then a scream.
Jarvan didn’t even have time to draw his sword. Something moved in the dark—fast, feral—and slammed into him with monstrous force, sending him crashing against the stone wall with a grunt of pain.
Ahri hissed and backed up, trying to summon light with her magic—but something was already snarling in the dark, low and primal.
A voice followed, half-feral, half-human.
“You smell like prey...”
Then, a shape leapt forward—gaunt, wild-eyed, with chains still dangling from her arms. Pale skin stained with blood. Eyes glowing with bloodlust. Fangs bared in a twisted grin.
It was a girl—but not really. Not anymore.
It was Briar.
And she was starving.
Jarvan roared as claws tore through his cloak, slashing at the armor underneath. He shoved back with a grunt, struggling to free himself from the snarling creature that clung to him with inhuman strength.
Briar’s breath was hot against his throat, feral and panting, her limbs a blur of motion as she clambered over him like a beast, always reaching for the vulnerable spots.
“Get it off me!” he bellowed.
“I’m trying,” Ahri snapped, lifting both hands as she summoned a swirl of ghostly flame. She hurled it into the dark with a whisper of invocation—boom—it lit the corridor in a flash of violet and gold.
And missed. Completely.
Jarvan flinched as it exploded against the far wall, sizzling harmlessly. “Were you aiming for her or for me?” he barked, barely blocking another swipe from Briar.
“Hard to tell you apart in the dark!” Ahri snarled, already preparing another volley. “You’re both loud, angry, and stupid!”
More flashes. A glimpse of blood-smeared stone. The wild glint of Briar’s eyes. Jarvan’s furious, panicked face.
Ahri narrowed her gaze.
That was enough.
She took a breath, focused her magic, and in a voice smooth as silk and sweet as poison, whispered: “Look at me, little darling…”
The charm hit like a bell tone, soft and musical—and irresistible.
Briar froze mid-swipe. Her eyes widened. Her mouth slowly curled into a dreamy smile, eyes shimmering pink from the magical influence. But she didn’t let go of Jarvan.
No.
She pressed closer.
Still straddling him, her claws loosened just enough to stop drawing blood, and her head tilted as if seeing him for the first time. Her breathing slowed—not calmer, just… different. Hunger still danced behind her gaze, but now it had shifted.
“Oh…” she breathed, brushing her face along his cheek like a cat marking her prey. “You smell even better when you’re scared…”
Jarvan tensed beneath her, caught between horror and confusion. “What—what did you do?!”
Ahri raised an eyebrow, brushing back her hair coolly. “Charmed her,” she said with a smirk. “But I think she found her own target.”
Jarvan thrashed, one hand trying to grab Briar’s wrist as the other pushed against her chestplate—uselessly. She was on top of him, perched like some deranged predator, lips parted, fangs just inches from his face. Her fingers dragged slowly over the edges of his armor, not with violence… but with unsettling curiosity.
“Let’s see what’s underneath all this...” Briar whispered, eyes wide, pupils blown, voice husky with unnatural infatuation. She clawed at the clasps of his breastplate, tilting her head in delight when he bucked against her.
“Ahri!” Jarvan barked, panicked now. “Undo the spell! This is madness!”
Ahri stood calmly at the edge of the dim hallway, arms crossed, her expression unreadable. “I told you, I can’t undo it,” she said flatly. “And if I could, she’d be trying to drink your blood again, so maybe count your blessings.”
Briar giggled—an unhinged, girlish sound completely out of place in the blood-soaked dungeon. “I don’t want his blood anymore,” she said, grinding her hips down against Jarvan’s waist. “I want… him.” She leaned down and sniffed deeply, like a starving dog teased with meat.
“This is worse than being killed!” Jarvan shouted, straining. “She’s possessed!”
Ahri let out a long sigh. “Welcome to my life,” she muttered.
Jarvan’s eyes darted to her. “This is your plan?! You want me to fight Swain, and you’re letting this maniac—”
“You’re alive,” Ahri interrupted sharply, stepping closer. “And if you’re smart, you’ll stay alive by keeping her… entertained. At least until we figure out how to leash her properly.”
Briar purred, licking her lips as she straddled him tighter. “I like the way she talks… Can I keep him?”
“He’s not yours,” Ahri said coolly, “he’s LeBlanc’s.”
That actually made Briar pause.
She looked down at Jarvan with a pout. “That mean lady in the mask? Ugh. She never lets me have any fun.”
Briar’s claws shredded through the rusted clasps of Jarvan’s armor like paper, her breath ragged with lust as she peeled the breastplate off his sweat-slick chest. “Fuck, you’re pretty under all this junk,” she growled, licking a stripe up his throat. Her hips ground down against his groin, the ragged fabric of her prison shift riding up to reveal her bare, blood-streaked cunt.
Jarvan’s hands scrabbled for purchase against the slimy dungeon floor. “Get off me, beast!” he snarled, bucking violently—but Briar just laughed, slamming her fist into his ribs hard enough to crack bone.
“Feisty,” she purred, tearing open his trousers. His cock sprang free, half-hard despite his fury. Briar’s eyes lit up. “Oh, look at you! Liar liar, pants on fire!” She grabbed his shaft roughly, squeezing until he hissed. “Gonna make you drip for me, princeling.”
Ahri leaned against the damp wall, arms crossed, her tails flicking with boredom. “Hurry up. LeBlanc’s expecting us.”
“You hurry up,” Briar shot back, sinking her teeth into Jarvan’s shoulder as she positioned her wet pussy over his cock. “I’m busy making friends!” She slammed down, taking him to the hilt in one brutal thrust.
Jarvan roared, pain and unwanted pleasure twisting his face. “Demacia will flay you alive for this—!”
“Demacia’s ash,” Briar giggled, riding him like a wild animal, her cunt clenching greedily around his dick. “Now shut up and nut!” Her claws raked his chest, drawing blood as she bounced harder, her tits jiggling beneath the filthy shift. “C’mon, c’mon—fuck me like you miss your kingdom!”
Jarvan’s hips jerked involuntarily, his cock betraying him as Briar’s tight heat milked him. “No—!”
“YES,” Briar moaned, slamming her hand over his mouth. “You’re mine now, golden boy. Gonna pump me fulla that royal jizz!” She threw her head back, howling as her orgasm hit, juices gushing down his thighs.
Ahri gagged theatrically. “Disgusting. Finish him.”
Briar’s nails dug into Jarvan’s throat, her cunt spasming. “Cum. Now.”
He came with a choked sob, shooting thick ropes inside her as she giggled and rode out every pulse.
When she finally climbed off, Briar patted his ashen face. “Good boy.” She licked his cum off her fingers, sighing happily. “LeBlanc can have the leftovers.”
Briar’s bloodshot eyes glazed over as she licked Jarvan’s cum off her fingers, her hips already twitching to grind back onto his softening cock. “Round two,” she slurred, drool dripping onto his chest as she clawed at his thighs. “Gotta… fuck… breed…”
Ahri’s torch cracked across Briar’s skull with a hollow thunk. The feral girl crumpled off Jarvan, whining as she clutched her head. “Ow! Bitch! I was gonna share!”
Jarvan scrambled backward, fumbling to yank his ruined trousers up over his slick, sticky dick. “You waited until she finished?!” he roared, blood streaking his chest from Briar’s claw marks.
Ahri shrugged, twirling the torch like a baton. “Thought you needed the ego boost. Demacian royals love being rape-drained by monsters, right?”
“Fuck you—!”
Briar lunged at Ahri, fangs bared. “Gimme back my snack!”
Ahri sidestepped, slamming the torch shaft between Briar’s legs hard enough to make her gag. “Focus, mutt. LeBlanc’s got a real feast waiting in Noxus. Or do you wanna stay here gnawing Vladimir’s dungeon rats?”
Briar froze, panting. “…Feast?”
“Yes,” Ahri hissed, leaning in. “Whole fucking cities to shred. Rivers of blood. Swain’s personal guard—plump, juicy, begging to be torn open.”
Briar’s pupils dilated, a hungry giggle bubbling up. “Yessss… chew their dicks off…”
Jarvan limped toward the stairs, clutching his battered ribs. “I’d rather take my chances with the rats.”
Ahri’s tails lashed out, tripping him. “You,” she sneered, “are LeBlanc’s bargaining chip. So unless you want Briar to wreck that soggy princess cock of yours again, move.”
Briar perked up. “Can I wreck it after the feast?”
“Depends how fast he limps.”
The trio climbed toward the surface, Briar sniffing Jarvan’s ass like a dog eyeing a steak. “Mmmm… still leaks… smells ripe…”
Ahri smirked. “Keep dreaming, Fangface. His dick’s for politics now.”
Jarvan’s fist clenched. “When I reclaim my throne—”
“You’ll what?” Ahri snorted. “Ban sex? Face it, prince—your kingdom’s a brothel now, and you’re the prettiest whore in the window.”
Somewhere deep in the dungeon, Vladimir’s laughter echoed—dark, wet, and endlessly amused.
Chapter 12: The Auction part 3: The preamble
Chapter by SeekerPS
Chapter Text
Talon dragged Lux down a narrow corridor lit with sputtering chem lanterns, the iron chain still tight around her wrists. The music faded slightly behind them, replaced by muffled chatter and the sound of laughter too raw to be real. They passed velvet curtains, faint moans, and the reek of sex clinging to the walls like mold.
They stopped at a heavy steel door etched with the words Personnel Only in peeling gold paint. Talon kicked it open.
The camerino was warmer, more humid, reeking of sweat, perfume, and old shimmer. Makeup kits were splayed open across cracked vanities. Heels were strewn across the floor beside tossed lingerie. A large mirror spanned the far wall, half-fogged with humidity and dust, and filled with reflections of girls at varying stages of undress.
Kai’Sa sat on a stool in the corner, tugging her fishnet stockings up her long legs, bare skin marked faintly where her void armor used to latch. Evelynn stood nearby, painting her lips deep violet, licking her teeth between strokes. Akali leaned against a vanity, applying eyeliner with a steady hand and not sparing Lux a glance. Zeri sprawled across a couch, kicking her legs idly while tapping a beat with her fingers. And Miss Fortune? She lounged like a queen, silk robe open just enough to show why clients kept coming back, polishing one of her rings with studied boredom.
All eyes turned when the door banged open.
“Your new royal court,” Talon drawled, releasing Lux’s chains. They clattered to the ground like dead weight. “Be grateful. You’ve been gifted the finest advisors on your… new royal duties.”
Lux glared, wrists red and raw.
Talon grinned at her. “Lesson one, princess: here, you don’t rule anything. You please. So learn fast.”
He turned to the others. “She’s off-limits. No stage, no clients—yet. But teach her the ropes. Get her cleaned up. If she doesn’t catch on fast, she won’t last long.”
He gave a mock bow toward Lux, eyes cold. “Enjoy your coronation.”
And then he was gone.
For a beat, silence hung in the room—thick and heavy.
Zeri whistled low, propping herself up on her elbows. “Damn. Swain really wants to make a spectacle out of you.”
Kai’Sa gave Lux a once-over. “Hope you’re good at taking orders, sunshine. We don’t have time to babysit.”
Miss Fortune didn’t even look up. “Just keep her from crying on the makeup chairs. That shimmer powder’s expensive.”
Evelynn walked over, catlike, and gently tilted Lux’s chin up with one finger. Her nails were sharp, painted blood-red. “You’re pretty. That’ll help… until it doesn’t.”
Lux slapped her hand away, breathing hard, defiance still burning under the layers of grime and fear.
Akali finally spoke, voice dry. “Cute. Let’s see how long that attitude survives.”
She turned back to the mirror, fixing a false lash. “Get her a brush. Or a bottle. Whatever shuts her up first.”
No one offered comfort. No one offered kindness. This wasn’t a sisterhood.
This was the Crow.
And Lux had just been caged inside it.
Lux stood frozen near the door, arms wrapped around herself, trying to shrink from the heat, the eyes, the reality pressing down on her.
She found her voice, small and strained. “How long… how long am I supposed to stay here?”
Silence.
The girls didn’t even blink. Akali continued sharpening a black pencil against her thumb. Evelynn checked her reflection, turning her face side to side. Zeri hummed a tune, kicking her heels against the couch. Miss Fortune yawned.
Lux’s voice cracked. “I’m asking you! How long until they let me go?”
Kai’Sa turned, eyes unreadable, her tone flat.
“If you haven’t figured it out yet,” she said, stepping closer, “then let me spell it out for you.”
She leaned in, voice like cold steel against skin.
“You. Are. Here. Forever.”
Lux’s breath hitched. Her legs gave a slight tremble as the word settled deep in her gut. Her hands rose slowly, pressing against her head, fingers digging into her hair.
“No,” she whispered. “No, this can’t—this isn’t real. This is a nightmare. It has to be…”
Kai’Sa rolled her eyes. “Great. We got a crier.”
She turned toward the others. “So, who’s gonna babysit the princess?”
“Not me,” Akali muttered instantly, tossing the pencil onto her vanity. “I did it last time, remember? Now I’ve got this one stuck to me like a damn barnacle.” She jerked a thumb toward Zeri.
Zeri stuck out her tongue in reply, grinning. “You love it.”
Akali didn’t even look her way.
Miss Fortune, still lounging, let out a theatrical sigh. “Please. I’ve got five back-to-backs tonight. I don’t have time to wipe tears or explain where the in goes and where the out goes. Besides, didn’t your mommy and daddy teach you about the birds and bees when you were little, cupcake?”
Evelynn gave a soft, venomous laugh. “Oh, I doubt the golden girl ever got that talk. Bet her brother shielded her from every dirty joke in the barracks.”
“Bet he is dead now,” Kai’Sa said bluntly, earning a brief silence.
Lux flinched.
Zeri scratched her head. “I mean, I could help, but I already gotta shadow Akali, and she hates when I talk too much.” She grinned again. “Which is always.”
“No volunteers, huh?” Kai’Sa said, folding her arms.
Akali snorted. “Guess she’ll just have to learn the old-fashioned way.”
Miss Fortune gave a lazy wave. “Trial by fire. The fastest teacher of them all.”
Lux slid down the wall, knees hitting the cold floor. She didn’t speak again.
No one reached for her.
Then Kai’Sa sighed, long and slow. She stepped forward, her arms dropping to her sides.
“I’ll take her.”
The room turned.
Kai’Sa glanced down at Lux with faint irritation, but her voice was dry, almost amused. “Looks like we’ve got a stray puppy. Fine. I’ll train her.”
She turned her back before anyone could thank her—not that anyone would.
Lux looked up, stunned.
Kai’Sa didn’t smile. “Don’t make me regret it.”
“What’s this?” Akali said, spinning lazily on one heel. “You that desperate to copy me you’re getting yourself a pet too?”
Kai’Sa didn’t even glance over her shoulder. “I could never match your taste, Akali. I don’t collect strays—I rehabilitate them.”
She gave Lux a gentle tug, but her next words were aimed elsewhere.
“And you,” she added, eyes flicking briefly to Zeri, “should be happy. Seems Akali’s promoted you from nuisance to pet. That’s practically a ring on your finger.”
Zeri lit up, sticking her tongue out again as she threw an arm around Akali’s shoulders. “Told you! I am her girlfriend.”
Akali rolled her eyes so hard it was audible. “You are not my girlfriend.”
Zeri clutched her chest in mock betrayal. “Wow. So cold. After everything we’ve been through—snacks, smoke breaks, joint showers—”
Kai’Sa gave a smug little smirk. “See what I mean? She doesn’t even deny the showers part.”
Akali’s jaw clenched, and for a heartbeat the tension crackled between them. It would almost seem real to anyone else—except the way Akali’s senbon stopped spinning mid-finger, the way her eyes didn’t quite narrow in anger but something far closer to annoyance barely masking something deeper.
Kai’Sa’s gaze lingered a second too long.
Then she scoffed, tugging Lux again.
“I have better things to do than debate my life choices with a grumpy ninja and her clingy sidekick.”
She tossed her hair back and started toward the dressing room door, her voice trailing with a note of steel.
“Come on, princess. First lesson in hell: eat when you can. I’ll find you something before you starve”
Lux followed, still shell-shocked, while behind them Zeri called out, “Don’t worry, Lux! You’ll get used to the smell after a week!”
“Zeri,” Akali muttered, rubbing her temples, “I will lock you in a closet.”
Zeri just grinned, entirely unbothered. “So, you’re saying I am your girlfriend.”
Akali groaned.
Kai’Sa led Lux through a back corridor, the walls lined with peeling paint and grime-stained posters advertising “premium companionship” in glitchy neon fonts. The smell of old fryer oil and something vaguely sour hit before they even reached the door.
She shoved it open.
“Welcome to fine dining,” Kai’Sa said dryly.
Lux paused in the doorway, eyes wide. The “kitchen” was more like a converted storage room, lit by flickering fluorescent panels and cluttered with grease-streaked counters, dented fryers, and a fridge that looked like it had survived a war. But that wasn’t what made her stumble back a step.
It was the massive red creature hunched over the grill.
Tahm Kench turned slowly, too-large chef hat perched atop his slimy head, his apron strained across his bloated gut. He barely fit between the counters, his tail curled awkwardly under the prep table. A thick tongue flicked across his jagged teeth as he noticed them.
“Well now,” he rumbled, voice like bubbling tar, “if it ain’t my favorite customer. You bringin’ me another little treat, Kai’Sa?”
Lux’s face went pale.
Kai’Sa just chuckled. “Relax, Princess. He only eats what he cooks... on the clock, anyway.”
Lux still hovered near the doorway, gaze locked on Tahm’s gaping maw.
Kai’Sa smirked. “What? Never seen a real demon before? That Demacian school of yours really leave all the good bits out?”
“Pleasure,” Tahm Kench said, bowing low—too low. “Don’t worry, miss. I’ve been tamed. Health regulations and all.”
He winked with one gooey eye. Lux flinched.
“Anyway,” Kai’Sa said, leaning against a filthy counter. “You still got burgers?”
“Two left,” he crooned. “Lucky you.”
“Then I’ll take ’em. Extra greasy.”
“Comin’ right up.” He licked a spatula clean and turned back to the sizzling grill.
Kai’Sa glanced at Lux, who was still frozen. “Fast food’s the only thing we can afford around here. Swain sells it to us at a ‘friendly discount.’”
She mimed air quotes. “Which means it’s cut from our wages. Everything else—the real food? Only the rich pigs upstairs get that.”
Lux’s eyes darted between the broken-down fryer and the slowly cooking meat. “This is what you all eat?”
Kai’Sa shrugged. “If we’re lucky.”
Then she gave her a once-over and jabbed a finger toward her stomach. “So you better start pulling your weight soon. Or all those calories’ll go straight to your hips.”
Lux blinked, confused.
Kai’Sa smirked. “No clients for fat girls here. Maybe one or two with a squish kink, but don’t count on it.”
Lux looked down at the greasy tile floor.
Kai’Sa’s voice softened—barely. “Eat. It’ll help with the shakes.”
She leaned in, voice dropping low. “And don’t worry. You’ll hate it here a little less once you start to understand how it all works.”
Behind them, Tahm Kench hummed a tuneless song as he flipped the burgers.
The burgers sizzled in the background, the only sound filling the dirty little kitchen besides the buzz of an old ceiling fan rattling overhead. Lux sat on a cracked stool, arms hugging herself, still staring at the floor.
Then she broke the silence.
“All of this is a mistake,” she whispered. “Swain can’t do this. This isn’t how you treat a prisoner, least of all one of high standing. He has to see reason.” Her voice rose with each word. “He has to listen to me. I need to speak to him again. Tell him who I am. Tell him he has to respect my station. My family name—"
Kai’Sa didn’t even let her finish.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” She rolled her eyes and slammed the flat of her hand on the counter, making Lux jump. “Save it. Spare me the whole ‘I’m a noble lady of Demacia’ routine.”
Lux looked at her, wide-eyed, trembling.
“You think this is still the ‘denial’ phase?” Kai’Sa said, stepping closer. “Skip it. You’ll save yourself a lot of pain.”
Lux stood up, defiant again. “I am Luxanna Crownguard! Of House Crownguard! I am not some whore in a brothel! I will not be treated like this! I would rather rot in a cell than—”
The slap rang out across the kitchen.
Lux stumbled back, hand flying to her cheek in shock. Tears welled in her eyes from the sting, but more from the humiliation.
Kai’Sa didn’t even look sorry.
“You better start fixing that attitude,” she said coldly. “The clients? They hit harder. And they don’t give warnings.”
She stepped forward, voice sharp as glass now.
“Demacia is gone, Lux. The high walls, the golden banners, the armies—gone. You think your precious family name means anything here? You think someone’s going to ride in on a white horse and pay a fat ransom for the golden little girl?”
She shook her head.
“There’s no crown. No court. No government. No one’s coming. Nobody cares.”
Lux’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. Her whole world, her identity, cracked like porcelain under Kai’Sa’s words.
“You have no bargaining chip. No leverage. No status.” Kai’Sa’s voice dropped, quiet but merciless. “Just a body. That’s all Swain sees. That’s all anyone here sees.”
The sizzling behind them stopped. Tahm Kench flipped the burgers onto a paper plate and waddled over with a grin, but even he kept quiet when he saw Lux’s face.
Kai’Sa took the plate and handed one of the sloppy, dripping sandwiches to her.
“Eat,” she said simply. “You’ll need strength.”
Lux stared at it, but didn’t move.
“Because like it or not,” Kai’Sa added as she bit into her own, “you start training tomorrow.”
Lux stared at the greasy burger in her hands, its warmth bleeding into her fingers. She opened her mouth, took a shaky bite—then stopped. Her shoulders trembled.
Tears fell again.
Silently, at first. Then with choked little gasps she tried to muffle with a hand. The flavor of grease and cheap meat mixed with salt and shame on her tongue.
Kai’Sa sighed, exasperated.
“For fuck’s sake,” she muttered, leaning against the counter, arms crossed. “You’re still thinking about what it was, huh?”
She jabbed a finger toward Lux, her tone cold and cutting.
“It’s been years since the war ended. Since the cities fell. Since the rich were dragged off their thrones and the rest of us were left clawing to survive. You’re here, eating a burger, under a roof, with running water. That’s more than most people out there have.”
Lux sobbed harder.
“Forget it. Forget it all. Your titles, your dresses, your fancy tutors, the way people used to bow when you walked in. It’s dead, Lux. That pride of yours? That name? It’ll only keep you down here. Chained. Starving. Beaten.”
Kai’Sa stepped closer, her voice dropping low, deadly serious.
“You want to survive this place? Start thinking about your future. How to work. How to earn. How to improve your odds.”
Lux cut her off, voice cracking in rage and despair.
“In how to whore myself better?”
A bitter silence settled in the room.
Then Kai’Sa shrugged.
“Yes,” she said flatly. “That would be a smart move.”
She leaned in close, her eyes like knives.
“Because there are no other options left for you now.”
Lux stared back, shattered.
And slowly—painfully—lowered her gaze to the half-eaten burger in her hands.
After the meager meal, Kai’Sa led Lux back through the hallways of the Black Crow. The muffled thrum of music pulsed behind the walls, mixed with laughter and the occasional moan. When they pushed open the door to the personnel camerino, it was empty. The girls were all on the floor now, grinding out their hours under the hungry eyes of strangers.
Only silence and the faint scent of perfume lingered.
Kai’Sa walked toward a rack of clothes—if they could be called that—and gestured with a tilt of her head. “Go on. Pick something you like. Something that makes you feel pretty.”
Lux frowned, confused. “What does that have to do with anything?”
Kai’Sa rolled her eyes. “You feel good, you look good. You look good, you get more attention. Attention means tips. Clients. Favors. Leverage. Welcome to economics in hell.”
Lux hesitated. Then she walked slowly toward the racks and drawers, her face twisting in fresh disgust with every garment she touched.
There were no dresses. No tunics. No uniforms. Just lace and latex, leather and mesh. Strings and straps and frills. Lingerie, bikinis, thigh-high boots, chokers, cropped tops with words like slut and daddy’s girl printed in sparkly letters.
She pulled a tiny corset top from the rack and immediately dropped it like it burned her fingers.
“I can’t—there’s nothing here I could possibly consider wearing in public,” Lux muttered, her voice shaky.
Kai’Sa didn’t even look up. “Sweetheart,” she said, walking over to a different rack, “that is public now.”
She rummaged a little, then smirked. “Here,” she said, holding up something shimmering.
It was a parody of a Star Guardian uniform—barely a costume at all. A tiny pink and white ensemble, glittery and sheer, complete with a collar and heart-shaped chest window that plunged way too deep. The skirt was a strip of fabric and a prayer.
Kai’Sa tilted her head and grinned wickedly. “This’ll look good on you.”
Lux stared at it in horror. “That’s supposed to be a hero’s outfit.”
Kai’Sa shrugged, dangling it from one finger. “Used to be. Now it’s just another fantasy.”
“I’m not wearing that,” Lux said flatly, eyes still fixed on the obscene parody of heroic costume.
Kai’Sa didn’t flinch. “Alright then,” she said with a shrug. “Don’t pick anything. I’m sure Talon’ll love that. He can drag you on stage himself. Strip you down in front of the clients, piece by piece. You’ll be the opening act. Very memorable.”
Lux’s lips quivered, and her face drained of color.
With shaking hands, she took the costume.
The changing corner wasn’t even curtained. Just a small space by the lockers. Kai’Sa turned her back, leaning casually on a counter as Lux slowly, painfully undressed and pulled on the humiliating outfit. Straps slipped from her shoulders. The skirt rode up high, barely covering anything. The heart-cut of the top revealed more than it hid.
When she finally stepped out, Kai’Sa looked her over with a smirk. “Not bad,” she said, circling her once. “If you didn’t have that traumatized whore look on your face, I might’ve bumped you once or twice.”
Lux flushed scarlet, arms wrapping around herself in shame.
Kai’Sa pulled a chair up to the long mirror station. Bright bulbs ringed the frame like a cruel parody of a star’s dressing room. She sat down, crossed her legs, and tapped the chair next to her.
“Come on, princess. Sit.”
Lux didn’t move at first. Then slowly, like in a trance, she walked forward and sat beside her.
Kai’Sa turned slightly. “Tell me, do you know how to put on makeup, or did your royal court have servants for that too?”
“I never used makeup,” Lux muttered. “My beauty was always… natural.”
Kai’Sa chuckled, reaching for a brush. “Of course it was.”
She picked up a compact, then glanced at Lux’s tear-streaked face. “Dry those eyes. No more crying. That mascara costs more than your self-respect’s worth right now, and I don’t wanna waste money you’re still not earning.”
She popped the compact open with a snap. “Now hold still.”
Lux sat stiffly in the chair, eyes focused on her own reflection as she followed Kai’Sa’s instructions. Her face, still pale with shock and humiliation, now bore the light trace of foundation and a hesitant application of lipstick. Her trembling hands struggled with the eyeliner as Kai’Sa watched with a half-amused, half-critical gaze.
The door creaked open, and voices flooded the room.
Evelynn entered first, tossing her coat lazily over a chair. “Well, well,” she purred, sharp nails tapping against her collarbone. “I didn’t know you had a big sister side, Kai’Sa. Teaching the new girl how to be pretty and all.”
Kai’Sa gave her a dry look. “Shut up, Eve.”
Akali strolled in behind, tying her long dark hair into a bun. She glanced at Lux, then at the makeup kit on the counter. “If she’s learning from you, she’ll be looking like a clown in no time.”
Zeri popped her gum loudly, following behind. “Yo, she doesn’t look that bad…” She paused. “Okay, maybe a little like a lost kid at a costume party.”
From the back of the room, Miss Fortune’s voice cut across the chatter. “Hold up—are you bitches using my makeup?! I swear to the Abyss, I paid triple for the good stuff and I am not sharing it with a bunch of freeloaders!”
Kai’Sa rolled her eyes and turned toward her. “Relax, fat cow, nobody’s touching your fucking makeup.”
Miss Fortune froze mid-step, lips curling. “What did you just call me?”
Kai’Sa didn’t even blink. “You heard me. Stick to your glitter palettes and overpriced perfume. I’m not about to waste that crap on the princess.”
Evelynn laughed and leaned against the wall. “I love when mommy and mommy fight.”
Akali raised a brow and muttered, “More like mommy and menopausal stepmom.”
Zeri snorted, stifling a laugh as Miss Fortune shot a glare at Akali.
Kai’Sa turned back to Lux, who looked completely overwhelmed, shoulders hunched in the seat. She placed a hand on Lux’s arm—firm, not comforting. “Ignore them. Finish your eyes. Then we’ll see if we can fix that terrified expression of yours.”
Akali flopped onto a nearby couch, arms crossed behind her head. “So… you ditched a full house of clients for a pajama party with your new pet?” she smirked. “You’ll be the one crying on payday.”
Kai’Sa didn’t even glance at her. “One night won’t hurt me. Not like you, always scraping for tips just to pay for your girlfriend’s candy addiction.”
Zeri huffed. “Hey!”
Akali clicked her tongue, ready to fire back, but Kai’Sa raised a hand. “Enough. I’m tired. We all are. Go to your rooms and stop squawking.”
The other girls began to scatter, tossing sarcastic goodnights and chuckles as they left. Lux remained frozen near the mirror, still in the humiliatingly skimpy Star Guardian costume, arms wrapped around herself.
“I don’t know which room is mine…” she finally muttered, eyes low.
Kai’Sa, already grabbing her things, didn’t stop moving. “Talon has to assign it.”
Lux visibly recoiled at the name. “I… I can’t— I don’t want to talk to him again.”
Kai’Sa turned to her, unimpressed. “Then get comfortable sleeping in the toilets. Maybe under the sink if someone hasn’t already claimed the spot.”
Lux’s face twisted with dread. “Please…” she whispered, desperate. “Can you come with me? Just to ask…”
Kai’Sa sighed, long and loud, as if weighing the inconvenience against the irritation. She slung her bag over her shoulder.
“Fine,” she said coldly. “But you owe me, princess.”
She turned on her heel and started toward the door, not even checking if Lux was following.
“Come on. If you keep dragging your feet like that, I might just let Talon strip you instead of assigning you a room.”
Lux flinched but followed quickly, swallowing her fear.
Talon was finishing up with the last of the security bouncers, giving them clipped instructions and waving them off with a grunt. His expression was as always—emotionless, hardened, like someone who had long stopped caring.
Kai’Sa cleared her throat, nudging Lux forward.
Talon glanced over, one brow lifting with mild annoyance. “What now?”
“She needs a room,” Kai’Sa said flatly. “You never assigned one.”
Talon blinked slowly, like the entire matter was beneath him. “Oh. Right. Forgot.” He turned and flipped some pages on a book resting on the desk, flipping through room numbers. “Thirteenth’s free. She can take it.”
Kai’Sa scoffed. “Thirteenth has a hole in the ceiling. The last girl who slept there caught pneumonia.”
Talon didn’t even look up. “Then let her sleep with you.”
“What?” Kai’Sa’s eyes widened. “No. Absolutely not.”
He finally looked at her. “You said it yourself, the thirteenth is trash. We’re full. So unless she wants to curl up with the rats, she’s in your bed tonight. Keeps her warm, too.” Then, with a hint of warning in his tone, he added, “Just keep your hands off the merchandise. Swain wants her untouched until the debut.”
Kai’Sa clenched her jaw. “I’m not sleeping with her.”
Talon shrugged, already turning away. “Not my problem. Pick a room or let her collapse in the hall. As long as I’m not waking up to her whining, I don’t give a damn.”
Lux, still behind Kai’Sa, looked up at her with wide, tear-brimmed eyes. The kind of look that screamed helplessness, the kind that begged silently.
Kai’Sa caught the look… and groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Don’t you dare look at me like that.”
Lux didn’t say a word.
Kai’Sa sighed again, defeated. “Fine. But if you snore, I’ll throw you out the window. Understood?”
Lux nodded quickly, relief washing over her features.
Talon was already gone, not even sparing them another glance.
Kai’Sa muttered under her breath. “This is why I don’t do charity…”
The door creaked shut behind them, sealing Lux in a cramped room that reeked of sweat and lavender air freshener. Kai’Sa didn’t pause—she reached behind her neck, unhooked her latex monokini, and let it slither to the floor. Her bare ass gleamed in the flickering light of the Hexvisor as she yanked an oversized wool sweater over her head, fabric snagging on the scars crisscrossing her shoulders.
Lux’s face burned. She stared at the cracked ceiling, the stained rug, anywhere but the naked woman rummaging through a drawer for socks. “Aren’t you… going to put on pants?”
Kai’Sa snorted, flopping onto the sagging bed. The Hexvisor buzzed to life, flooding the room with tinny moans. A grainy close-up of a woman gagging on a cock filled the screen. “Pants cost extra,” she said, gesturing to the moth-eaten quilt. “Sit. Unless you wanna stand there looking like a virgin at a gangbang.”
Lux inched forward, perching on the mattress’s edge. Her thighs clenched as the porn actress yowled, her acrylic nails clawing at some faceless man’s back.
“Relax,” Kai’Sa muttered, tossing her a half-eaten bag of synth-peanuts. “It’s just noise. Skip past the fucking, and it’s basically a comedy. Watch—” She pointed as the scene cut to a man slipping on a banana peel mid-thrust. “See? Gold.”
Lux didn’t laugh. Her fingers dug into the quilt, knuckles white. “Why do we have to watch this?”
“Because Swain’s a cheapskate,” Kai’Sa said, crunching a peanut. “He says it’s ‘market research.’” She smirked at Lux’s horrified glance. “Yeah. You’ll be doing that soon too. Minus the banana peel. Probably.”
The screen cut to a close-up of a woman’s ass being spanked. Lux flinched.
Kai’Sa’s voice hardened. “Quit squirming. You think clients care if you blush? They’ll pay extra to watch you cry. So get used to it. Get used to this.” She stretched her legs out, bare foot brushing Lux’s thigh.
Lux recoiled like she’d been burned. “Don’t—!”
“Or what?” Kai’Sa challenged, toe tracing higher. “You’ll report me to the man who sold you here?”
Tears welled in Lux’s eyes. “Stop it.”
“No. You don’t get to be shy anymore.” Kai’Sa grabbed her wrist, forcing her palm flat against her own chest. Lux felt the rise and fall of Kai’Sa’s breath, the softness under rough fabric. “See? Not dead. Not even a little. Now you.”
Lux tried to yank free, but Kai’Sa held firm, guiding her hand lower—
“No!” Lux wrenched away, scrambling backward until her spine hit the wall. “I-I can’t—!”
Kai’Sa studied her, unreadable. “…They’ll make you do worse,” she said finally. “To me. To Zeri. To anyone. Swain’ll auction your cunt to the highest bidder and make you thank him after.” She flipped the channel to a muted soccer game. “Stay on the floor if you want. But get used to the smell of sweat. And cum. And fear.”
Lux curled into herself, silent sobs shaking her shoulders.
The Hexvisor’s glow painted Kai’Sa’s face in streaks of blue. “You don’t have to like it,” she said quietly. “Just stop fighting. Or it’ll break you.”
Lux didn’t move. But when Kai’Sa tossed her a pillow, she caught it—and didn’t flinch when their fingers brushed.
The silence between them stretched, broken only by the faint hum of the Hexvisor. Lux sat curled on the floor, hugging the pillow to her chest, eyes glistening in the dim light. Finally, in a small voice, she spoke.
“I… I don’t want to sleep down here.”
Kai’Sa didn’t move.
“I’m sorry,” Lux added quickly, her voice trembling. “I didn’t mean to be difficult. Everything’s just… a lot.”
A long breath escaped Kai’Sa’s lips. She didn’t turn around. “You shouldn’t be allowed back up here,” she muttered. “Might teach you some humility.”
But after a beat, she shifted slightly, leaving space.
Lux climbed back onto the edge of the bed, moving carefully as if afraid it would vanish beneath her. She lay there, stiff and silent, facing the opposite wall.
Kai’Sa turned her back to her. “Get some sleep,” she said, voice low. “I’m tired. And you’re exhausting.”
They lay like that for a while, quiet but not at peace. Then, slowly, Lux inched closer. She reached out, her arm brushing Kai’Sa’s side in a tentative gesture.
Kai’Sa flinched. “Don’t,” she warned.
“I’m sorry,” Lux whispered. “I just… I feel really alone. Back home, when I felt like this, I’d hug my teddy bear. He was huge. Bigger than me.”
Kai’Sa huffed a dry, humorless laugh. “Well, I’m not a teddy bear.”
“I know,” Lux whispered, voice small. “But you’re warm.”
Kai’Sa didn’t respond. She stayed still, her breathing steady, her eyes closed. Lux didn’t move any closer—but she didn’t move away, either.
Kai'Sa's voice cut through the quiet room, her tone flat but carrying a weight of something deep inside. Lux, still curled up on the edge of the bed, stared at her, waiting for an answer to the question she had asked.
“How was it for you?” Lux whispered. “Was it hard when you started?”
Kai’Sa let out a bitter chuckle, the sound hollow. “No. I didn’t cry, didn’t rage. Honestly, I enjoyed almost everything. The only thing I hated was the constant... sex part.” She paused for a moment, reflecting. “But it hasn’t been all that bad either.”
Lux’s eyes widened in disbelief. “How can you say that? You don’t miss your freedom? You don’t miss… being free?”
Kai’Sa shifted slightly, her expression unreadable in the dim light. “I spent most of my childhood and teenage years in the Void,” she said, her voice growing colder. “Compared to that? This life is a damn breeze.”
She leaned back, eyes distant, as if seeing something far beyond the room. “Here, I have a home. I have meals, water, and company. In the Void? It was nothing but darkness, cold, and whatever creature I could scrounge up for food. And those things… they didn’t just want a piece of me—they wanted to eat me whole. Literally.”
Lux flinched, the imagery painting a horrifying picture. Kai’Sa’s voice softened, but there was a hardened edge to it that didn’t waver.
“When you live in eternal night, and every moment is a fight for survival, you don’t care about things like freedom. You just care about staying alive. You’re too busy keeping one step ahead of whatever’s out there, trying to eat you.”
Her gaze shifted toward Lux, and for a brief second, something vulnerable flickered in her eyes before it was replaced by the familiar coldness. “I’d say I’ve improved my survival chances since then.”
Lux was silent for a moment, digesting what she’d just heard. The weight of it hit her all at once, and she realized that Kai’Sa’s survival instinct wasn’t just a product of her current circumstances—it was something she had honed, a part of her very being forged in the darkness of the Void.
Lux hesitated before speaking again, her voice small. “I can’t even imagine… what that must’ve been like.”
Kai’Sa didn’t respond immediately. She simply stared ahead, her thoughts distant, her face unreadable.
Finally, she spoke, her words almost a whisper. “You don’t have to.”
Lux sat in silence for a long while before speaking again, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’m scared, Kai’Sa. Someone’s going to pay Swain… and that’ll be it. I won’t get to choose. I won’t even get to say no.” Her breath hitched as fresh tears rolled down her cheeks. “I’ll lose something I was supposed to give to someone I loved.”
Kai’Sa let out a slow, tired breath, staring at the flickering screen of the Hexvisor. “Crying won’t change what’s coming,” she said, her tone firm, almost weary. “It won’t solve anything. The best thing you can do is pretend it already happened… then forget about it.”
“That’s not helping,” Lux said, voice rising with frustration. “It’s not fair! How do you expect me to be calm? To just accept this like it’s normal? I’m not made for this. I can’t be happy about it. I can’t pretend it’s fine!”
“You’ve cried enough for one night,” Kai’Sa muttered, turning away. “Maybe save a few tears for when it actually happens.”
Silence fell between them, thick and heavy. The only sound was the faint buzz from the Hexvisor and the occasional rustle of the sheets.
Then, after a long pause, Lux spoke again, hesitant and fragile. “If… if I asked you to take it instead… would you?”
Kai’Sa didn’t move at first. Then she replied, flatly, without emotion, “Swain would kill me if I ruined his investment.”
The silence returned, deeper than before.
Lux inched closer, moving with shy, hesitant motions until her body pressed lightly against Kai’Sa’s back. She wrapped her arms around her, resting her forehead between Kai’Sa’s shoulder blades, heart pounding. “I mean it,” she whispered. “If you want to take it… I’d rather it be with you. I’d rather give it than have someone take it.”
Kai’Sa didn’t flinch, but her silence was sharp. After a moment, she muttered, “Your virginity is worth actual gold right now. Swain’s auctioning it off like it’s treasure. You’d be wasting it on me.”
Lux hugged her tighter, the oversized sweater rough against her bare arms. “It’s not an investment to me,” she said. “It’s a chance. A chance to choose. A chance to be free, just for one moment.”
Kai’Sa sighed, eyes fixed on the ceiling. “We’re strangers. We’ve known each other for, what, maybe eight hours? How is that any different than anyone else in here?”
Lux’s voice trembled, but her grip didn’t loosen. “Because you’re not looking at me like meat. You’re not lusting after me. You’re not trying to make me cry or smile for someone else’s amusement.” She swallowed hard. “You’ve been kind to me. Or… as kind as anyone can be in this place.”
Kai’Sa closed her eyes, her expression unreadable. “You don’t know me, Lux.”
“Maybe not,” Lux whispered, “but I’d rather not feel alone. Not tonight.”
Lux’s fingers trembled as she straddled Kai’Sa’s hips. The Void warrior froze, eyes narrowing to slits. “Get. Off.”
“I need to learn,” Lux breathed, leaning in—too fast, too eager—crushing their mouths together. Kai’Sa’s lips stayed stiff, unyielding, until Lux nipped her bottom lip, desperate. “Teach me how to… how to do this. Please.”
Kai’Sa snarled, flipping them with a growl, pinning Lux to the mattress. “You don’t learn in a brothel. You endure.”
But Lux squirmed, hands slipping under Kai’Sa’s sweater, palming the sweat-slick muscle of her stomach. “Then let me practice enduring,” she whispered, dragging the sweater up. Kai’Sa’s tits spilled free—small, scarred, peaked with tight nipples. Lux’s thumbs brushed them, hesitating.
“Fuck,” Kai’Sa hissed, recoiling. “You’re playing with fire—”
“Aren’t you used to fire?” Lux shot back, yanking the sweater higher, exposing Kai’Sa’s bare cunt, glistening despite herself.
Kai’Sa’s thigh jerked, but Lux was already grinding her cotton-clad pussy down against the warrior’s naked slit. The friction made them both gasp—Lux from the sudden heat, Kai’Sa from the too-soft, too-stupid innocence of it.
“Stop,” Kai’Sa gritted out, hands clamping Lux’s hips. “You’re bad at this. At least ditch the fucking panties.”
Lux flushed but obeyed, wriggling the damp fabric down her legs. “Better?”
“No.” Kai’Sa rolled her eyes—but didn’t stop Lux from resuming the grind, bare skin slicking together now. “Swain’ll smell me on you tomorrow.”
“Let him,” Lux moaned, riding harder, her clit bumping Kai’Sa’s with every thrust. “I want… I want someone to know I chose this.”
Kai’Sa’s resolve cracked—just a fraction—her hips lifting to meet Lux’s, their wetness mingling. “You’re not choosing,” she panted, nails biting Lux’s waist. “You’re… fuck… you’re just scared.”
Lux came first, shuddering, her cunt spasming against Kai’Sa’s. The warrior followed moments later, a stifled groan escaping as she clenched around nothing.
“See?” Lux murmured, collapsing onto her. “I learned.”
Kai’Sa shoved her off, yanking her sweater back down. “You learned nothing. Now sleep. Or I’ll gag you with those panties.”
But when Lux curled against her back, Kai’Sa didn’t move away.
The brothel creaked—Swain’s ravens crooning in the rafters, Evelynn’s purr seeping through the walls.
Lux traced a scar on Kai’Sa’s shoulder. “Thank y—”
“Shut. Up.”
They didn’t speak again.
In the dim, crumbling chapel they'd claimed as their hideout, Ahri leaned over the dusty altar, unrolling a map of the Black Crow brothel. Candlelight flickered across her face, casting sharp shadows over the sly grin tugging at her lips. Jarvan stood nearby, arms crossed and jaw tight. Behind them, Briar crouched on a broken pew, humming to herself, absently cracking her knuckles like she was playing with bones.
“I’ve got a plan,” Ahri said, voice low and confident. “Jarvan, you’re going to enter the auction.”
Jarvan arched a brow. “What.”
“You heard me.” She looked up, tail flicking with amusement. “We dress you up, make you look the part—rich, powerful, perverted. You’ll bid and win Lux.”
Briar tilted her head. “We’re buying her?”
“Temporarily,” Ahri said, gesturing with a circle of her finger. “You, me, and our little monster here sneak in under disguise. When the hammer falls and Lux is in Jarvan’s hands, Briar causes a scene. Blood, screams, panic. Enough for the security to scatter.”
“And while everyone’s distracted…” Jarvan murmured.
Ahri smirked. “We extract Lux and vanish into the night. Easy peasy.”
Briar grinned, fangs showing. “I get to play?”
“Unleash hell,” Ahri confirmed. “Just wait for the signal.”
Jarvan frowned, studying the map. “And if Swain’s there? He’ll recognize me.”
“He won’t see your face under the mask I’m giving you,” Ahri assured him. “And if he gets close…” She traced her claws over the auction room layout. “That’s where Briar comes in.”
Briar let out a giggle and bit her thumb hard enough to draw blood.
“We get Lux,” Ahri continued. “We make it look like a mess, like someone else hit the Crow. By the time they sort through the chaos, we’ll be long gone… and LeBlanc will get her real prize back.”
Jarvan exhaled, slowly. “You’re insane.”
Ahri smiled sweetly. “That’s why it’ll work.”
The grand hall of the Château was silent, save for the faint clinking of jewelry and the soft rustle of silk and lace. The girls stood in perfect formation, faces painted and bodies preened—ready for display. Even Irelia, though bruised and stiff from LeBlanc’s recent attentions, stood with back straight and eyes downcast, among them.
The heavy double doors creaked open, cold night air spilling into the velvet-draped interior.
And then he entered.
A tall, regal figure in a crimson-lined coat, skin pale as bone, hair a silvery waterfall over his shoulders. Vladimir’s presence alone seemed to drain the warmth from the room. The scent of old blood and perfume followed him like a ghost. Every girl, even the arrogant, unruly ones, bowed in silent, instinctive reverence.
Even Irelia lowered her head, though her fingers clenched behind her back.
Above them all, like a shadow given grace, LeBlanc materialized at the top of the grand staircase, her heels clicking with slow, deliberate rhythm. A teasing smile curved her painted lips.
“My dear Vladimir,” she purred. “As always, your timing is impeccable.”
Vladimir smiled faintly, baring no fangs yet still somehow looking like he might devour the room.
“We have much to discuss,” he said, voice smooth and cold as the grave. “Starting with news of your adorable pet fox.”
At the mention, Irelia twitched. Her breath caught. LeBlanc’s smile didn’t waver, but her eyes glittered with interest as she took a slow step down the stairs.
“How interesting,” she murmured, turning on her heel and descending toward him. “Come. We’ll speak in the basement. Privately.”
As the two vanished through the hidden passage behind the hall’s wine rack, the girls stirred again, whispering nervously. Irelia kept her face still, but inside, her heart thundered. What news? What about Ahri?
The basement was a world apart from the decadent filth of the Château above. A pristine, white chamber—a magical quarantine where no sound, scent, or spell could escape. Clean, clinical, unnatural. It reeked of LeBlanc’s ego and paranoia.
But even here, the presence of the chained creature in the corner spoiled the purity.
Atakhan, the lurching demon, tugged endlessly at the black, thorned chains that held him pinned to the arcane floor. Each movement was a grotesque flex of muscle and shadow, and each snarl rattled with ancient hatred. LeBlanc barely glanced his way anymore—just enough to make sure he remained bound.
She stood across from Vladimir, her expression amused but coiled.
“So,” he said softly, brushing invisible dust from his immaculate sleeve, “was Ahri’s little fool errand part of your grand plan?”
LeBlanc tilted her head. “Ahri does love her surprises. But predictable ones. I sent her for Luxanna… and she will bring her to me. One way or another.”
Vladimir’s lips twitched into a smirk. “You're correct in your end goal… but not in the means.”
That made LeBlanc’s expression tighten.
“She is compromising a valid asset. A possible host. A vessel you and I both spent time preparing.”
His eyes gleamed like rubies.
“Your stupid son.”
LeBlanc froze.
“Fuck,” she muttered, the word like venom in her mouth.
Vladimir began to circle the space slowly, hands clasped behind his back. Atakhan let out a piercing, otherworldly groan behind him.
“I lent her my pet,” Vladimir said lazily. “Briar may be… sufficient. But if my suspicions are correct, then the little fox’s plan is more desperate than you anticipated.”
LeBlanc’s gaze narrowed. “What do you believe she’s planning?”
He turned to her, eyes glowing.
“A direct strike. She plans to approach Swain within the Black Crow itself. No soldiers. No army. Just chaos. She’ll use your gold to buy the girl… and when the exchange is made, unleash hell.”
LeBlanc laughed once, sharp. “That’s idiotic. She has no numbers. No leverage.”
“She has Jarvan,” Vladimir said simply.
LeBlanc’s laughter stopped.
“If Swain recognizes him… if he kills him…”
Vladimir’s smile faded entirely.
“Ten centuries of work. A millennium of sacrifice, of lies, of binding bloodlines to shadow and shape…”
“…Destroyed,” LeBlanc whispered.
They both stood in silence as Atakhan roared again—louder this time, as if it had heard them.
Vladimir paced slowly across the pristine white floor, arms tucked neatly behind his back, boots silent even in the unnatural stillness. The demon behind him wailed again, but neither ancient sorcerer spared it a glance this time.
“I suppose,” Vladimir said idly, “you have someone on the inside.”
LeBlanc smirked. “Naturally. But implicating them in this operation would mean risking their cover.”
Vladimir turned, raising a crimson brow. “Then what do you suggest? Do you have a better idea?”
A soft, delighted chuckle escaped her lips.
“Tell me, Vladimir,” she purred, folding her arms, “has it ever occurred to you… to be Luxanna’s first time?”
That gave him pause. Then a slow, sly smile stretched his pale lips.
“I have been quite vocal against the current head of the Trifarix,” he murmured. “Would he even invite me to the party?”
LeBlanc’s smile widened. “He will.”
Vladimir tilted his head. “And why, dearest?”
LeBlanc’s eyes gleamed. “Because he won’t be able to resist.”
“…Why not?”
She stepped forward, speaking as if reciting a prophecy, voice rich with contempt and pleasure.
“Because you will offer support. And gold. For the Ionian campaign.”
They stared at one another. No words. Just silent understanding—two ancient monsters in perfect agreement, as if they were watching the slow crawl of fate like a trap snapping shut.
Behind them, Atakhan howled.
Neither flinched.
Just a slight nod from each. Then another.
And another.
It was happening.
Swain leaned back in his chair, one hand resting on his cane, the other flipping lazily through the guest dossiers spread out on the dark wood of the war table. Talon stood beside him, silent and sharp-eyed as always.
"Medarda expects a seat," Swain muttered. "She bankrolled the credits that let us snatch Lux from Ahri’s claws. Political return for economic investment. We owe her visibility, at least."
Talon nodded. "She’ll use the prestige to elevate herself further among the Zhaunite elite."
Swain moved on. "Gangplank. A festering pirate, but his coffers overflow. He’ll pretend to be a monster so we don’t see the whimpering coward beneath. Still... Bilgewater’s buccaneers in our pocket could seal western trade routes."
"And Sett?" Talon asked.
"A brute," Swain said with a half-smirk. "But clever. Ionia’s underworld listens to him. If he comes, he legitimizes our warfront. The boy thinks like a mob boss—tempt him with status, and he might beg to bleed for us."
Just then, a knock.
Talon was at the door in an instant. When he opened it, Akali stood there, arms folded, an unreadable look on her face.
"Two letters for you," she said, handing over the sealed envelopes without ceremony. "Both urgent."
Swain broke the seals in silence.
He skimmed the first. His brows twitched ever so slightly.
"A new mercenary lord," he said aloud. "Claims to have gold, warriors, and ambition. Recommending himself as a guest for the auction." His tone was neutral, measured—but Talon saw the glint of calculation behind his eyes. "It reeks of Ahri’s perfume, but... not LeBlanc's style. Too blunt. Also our latest report said Ahri was sent to the Freljord"
Talon crossed his arms. "Should we refuse?"
Swain shook his head. "No. If he wins, we take his gold. If he fails, he entertains the others. Either way, I benefit."
He opened the second letter. A red wax seal broken to reveal elegant handwriting steeped in centuries of practiced charm.
"Vladimir," Swain said.
Talon tensed, just a little.
Swain read it in silence. When he was done, he tossed it on the desk.
"He’s interested. Sees the auction as an opportunity for understanding. Wants to open a channel for... mutually beneficial agreements."
Talon frowned. "You trust him?"
"No." Swain grinned. "But if the devil wants a seat at the table... let him sit. Just not at the head."
He looked up. "Send them both invites. Let the wolves come. We'll see who walks away sated."
Talon nodded.
Akali lingered.
Swain raised an eyebrow. "Something else, Akali?"
She shrugged. "Just wondering which one you’ll feed to Evelynn first."
Swain chuckled low. "Whichever bleeds better."
The next day, Lux slowly stirs awake, the dim light from the hex-lamps above filtering through the blinds. Her body aches slightly, but not from pain—more from unfamiliar sensations, the kind that made her blush the moment she remembered the night before. What she and Kai’Sa did… it hadn’t gone all the way—technically, she was still a virgin—but it had been enough to leave her head spinning and her heart full of mixed, confused emotions.
She rolls over and looks at Kai’Sa, still sprawled under the sheets like a lump of iron, her breathing steady and face hidden under her arm.
Lux nudges her gently. “Hey… it’s late. Almost noon.”
Kai’Sa groans, her voice muffled. “Too early. You’re the one with energy, not me.”
Lux smiles faintly, sitting up, wrapping the sheet around her as she stands. Her eyes fall on the gaudy Star Guardian outfit tossed across the floor—the only thing she technically owns in this place—and she grimaces.
“Ugh… no way I’m wearing that.”
She tiptoes toward Kai’Sa’s small wardrobe, hesitating a little, then cracks it open. Among the form-fitting latex and stage outfits, she finds a pair of black joggers, baggy on her frame but wearable, and a simple grey cropped top, somewhere between a sports bra and undershirt. It’s far from glamorous, but it’s a thousand times better than the lingerie they gave her upon arrival.
Once dressed, Lux casts one last glance at Kai’Sa’s sleeping form.
“I’ll get us something to eat,” she murmurs quietly, almost like a promise.
Kai’Sa doesn’t respond—just lets out a soft breath and buries herself deeper in the blankets.
Lux slips out of the room, her bare feet quiet on the hallway floor, wearing borrowed clothes, a rumbling stomach, and the lingering warmth of a night she’ll never forget.
The kitchenette smelled faintly of cinnamon and something burnt. The clatter of metal against pot echoed as Tahm Kench, with his broad, greasy frame hunched over a tiny stove, stirred lazily. He looked over his shoulder, tongue flicking out to taste the air as Lux entered.
“Only got oatmeal today, sugar,” he rumbled without turning. “Take it or leave it.”
Lux nodded quietly. “Oatmeal’s fine.”
She moved toward the counter, trying to keep her head low and not draw attention—a futile hope.
Sitting at the small dining table were Evelynn and Miss Fortune, both already halfway through their bowls. Evelynn’s gaze snapped to Lux like a predator spotting something interesting, her lips curling into a wicked grin.
“Well, well,” Evelynn purred, setting her spoon down. “Isn’t that Kai’Sa’s top? And those aren’t your hips I remember from yesterday. Are you two sharing everything now, Lux? Clothes… fluids?”
Lux froze mid-step, face reddening instantly.
Miss Fortune glanced up, giving Lux a once-over, her tone cool and unimpressed. “Guess this place really does change people fast. Didn’t take long for our little golden girl to hook up with a glorified whore”
Evelynn laughed darkly. “So pure, so scared yesterday. And now she’s cuddling with Kai’Sa like she’s her emotional support voidling.”
Lux clenched her fists, too embarrassed to speak, when the door creaked open behind her.
Akali stepped in, looking like she hadn’t slept at all—black shorts, a slightly wrinkled white tank top, and slippers slapping against the tile floor. Her eyes landed on Lux.
She didn’t say anything. Didn’t need to.
The way her gaze narrowed on Lux’s outfit, her lips tightening slightly—it was obvious. She noticed. And she didn’t like it.
Lux, caught between embarrassment and awkwardness, lowered her head and moved to grab a bowl.
Tahm Kench grunted as he ladled out oatmeal. “Don’t mind them girls. They just like stirrin’ the pot more than I do.”
Lux offered a weak smile, then quietly asked for a second bowl. “One for… Kai’Sa.”
Akali’s stare didn’t waver.
Akali, still standing near the doorway, let out a sharp little breath—half amusement, half scorn.
“Bringing her breakfast now?” she said, arms crossing. “What are you, her pet? Or just auditioning to be the next one?”
Evelynn snorted into her oatmeal. Miss Fortune smirked behind her spoon.
Lux held both bowls tighter, her knuckles white, but she didn’t say anything. Her eyes flicked down to the grey top she wore, suddenly very aware of how oversized the joggers were, how tight the sports bra clung to her chest.
Akali’s tone was colder now. “Did she collar you yet, or is that later?”
Lux swallowed hard. “I’m just being nice.”
“Yeah,” Akali said. “That’s how it always starts.”
She moved past Lux without another word, grabbing her own bowl like it was a battlefield ration and slumping into a chair, but her eyes never left the blonde.
Lux quietly pushed the door open with her shoulder, balancing the two bowls in her hands. The room was still dim, Kai’Sa curled up under the thin blanket.
"Breakfast," Lux said softly.
Kai’Sa groaned, stretching like a lazy cat. “What time is it?”
“Almost noon.”
That got her attention. She sat up, bleary-eyed but alert, and accepted the bowl Lux offered. “Took you long enough.”
Lux sat on the edge of the bed, eating in silence for a moment until Kai’Sa’s gaze sharpened. Her eyes trailed over Lux’s outfit—her joggers, her top.
Kai’Sa froze mid-bite. “Wait... Did you actually go out there wearing my clothes?”
Lux stiffened. “I wasn’t going to wear that fucking costume. I’m not working yet.”
Kai’Sa snorted. “Using my clothes makes you look more like a slut than that outfit. Did anyone see you?”
Lux didn’t answer immediately, and that hesitation said everything.
Kai’Sa narrowed her eyes. “Lux.”
“…Evelynn.”
Kai’Sa's jaw tightened.
“…And Miss Fortune.”
She stopped chewing.
“…And Akali.”
Kai’Sa choked on her oatmeal, coughing violently and pounding her chest. “You let Akali see you wearing my clothes?”
Lux winced. “It’s not like I planned it—”
Kai’Sa growled, tossing her spoon into the bowl. “She’s going to run her mouth all day about this. Fucking hell, Lux…”
Lux looked down at her bowl, stirring the oatmeal without eating. “I’m… sorry,” she said, voice small. “I didn’t think it would matter that much.”
Kai’Sa sighed, rubbing her face.
Lux hesitated, then glanced over. “Why do you and Akali hate each other so much?”
Kai’Sa blinked. “We don’t hate each other.”
Lux frowned. “Really? Because from what I’ve seen, you’re always at each other’s throats. Watching each other, waiting for the perfect moment to throw a jab.”
Kai’Sa arched a brow, setting her bowl aside. “What part of that implies hate?”
Lux stared at her, baffled. “All of it?”
Kai’Sa smirked faintly, almost to herself. “That’s not hate, princess. That’s... complicated.”
Lux tilted her head. “Complicated like... rivalry? Or complicated like ‘you two used to date’?”
Kai’Sa grabbed her pillow and threw it at her. “Eat your damn oatmeal.”
Lux leaned her head gently against Kai’Sa’s shoulder, letting out a soft breath. “You know... I liked last night.”
Kai’Sa tensed immediately. “Don’t get confused,” she said, her voice sharp. “I just had pity for you. And you’re hot. That’s all.”
Lux didn’t move. “Still counts.”
Kai’Sa looked away. “I just took the chance to get a taste before Swain sells what’s left of your innocence to the highest bidder. Don’t start thinking I’m your girlfriend. There’s no such thing here.”
Lux lifted her head slightly. “Akali does it for Zeri. That looks like something.”
Kai’Sa scoffed. “Akali’s a dumb bitch. She let that clingy sparkplug latch onto her like a barnacle, and now she’s stuck.”
Lux smiled softly. “That’s what she says. Not what she feels. Just like you don’t hate Akali.”
Kai’Sa turned to glare at her. “Shut up.”
But Lux only smirked a little, reaching up and lightly running a finger along Kai’Sa’s collarbone. “I’m just saying... I really enjoyed last night. Maybe we could practice more…”
Kai’Sa pushed away from the bed like it burned her. “No.”
She headed to the door, grabbing her jacket. “I’m gonna find Talon. That idiot better fix the hole in Room 13 because you’re not sleeping here again tonight.”
She slammed the door behind her.
Lux stayed seated on the edge of the bed for a while, staring at the empty bowl of oatmeal and the shut door. The silence in the room felt heavier now. She looked around, but there was nothing to do—no books, no games, not even a real window to stare out of.
She glanced at the hexvision in the corner. The screen was frozen on the menu of old, low-quality pornographic films, their titles all tasteless and degrading. She rolled her eyes and looked away. Definitely not.
She sighed, got up, and stretched a little. Her body still ached faintly from the night before, but it wasn’t unpleasant. Still, she wasn’t about to stay locked up all day in Kai’Sa’s gloomy room. If she was going to survive this place, she needed to understand it better.
Lux opened the door carefully and peeked into the hallway.
The Black Crow looked different under daylight—or at least, what passed for daylight here. The artificial lights were warmer, and the place had a strangely domestic quiet to it. Some muffled sounds of girls chatting or moving around came from behind doors.
She stepped out, still barefoot, still wearing Kai’Sa’s too-big joggers and cropped top. Her steps were hesitant, but her eyes were curious. She started walking, unsure of where to go, but determined to take in whatever she could. Maybe there was a garden. A library. Or at least someone who didn’t want to claw her eyes out.
Lux turned a corner and nearly walked straight into someone—Miss Fortune, her red hair slick and wet, a towel wrapped tightly around her curves, still glistening from her recent shower. The older woman leaned casually against the wall, eyebrow arched, smirking.
“Well, well,” Miss Fortune drawled, eyes scanning Lux from head to toe. “Did you lose your owner again, puppy?”
Lux crossed her arms, refusing to take the bait. “Where can I take a shower?”
Miss Fortune raised an eyebrow, amused. “Oh? So the princess is ready to get her hands wet? How scandalous.”
Lux’s tone stayed even. “Where can I get a towel… and maybe some clothes that aren’t made of lace and shame?”
The pirate gave a soft chuckle, pushing off the wall. “Showers are down that hall, second door on the left. Towels are in the locker just outside, but if you’re late, they’ll all be gone. And as for clothes…” she gave Lux a wicked grin, “good luck. Swain doesn’t exactly provide a wardrobe, darling. Most girls beg, borrow, or steal. Sometimes trade.”
Lux frowned. “Trade?”
Miss Fortune winked. “You’ll figure it out.”
She sauntered past Lux without another word, leaving behind a trail of moisture on the cold tiles. Lux took a breath, muttering under it, “Great. Guess I better get used to fighting for a towel now too.”
She made her way toward the showers.
Lux turned the corner toward the showers, only to come face-to-face with Evelynn. The demoness leaned lazily against the wall, her violet eyes gleaming with amusement.
“Well, if it isn’t the little lamb,” Evelynn purred. “Did you enjoy your first night in our lovely home?”
Lux swallowed but kept her voice calm. “It was… alright.”
Evelynn stepped forward, her movement fluid and predatory. “Mmm, I can always tell, you know,” she whispered, trailing a long-nailed finger along Lux’s collarbone. “In a place like this, the air is thick with pain and pleasure. I feel it—taste it—like perfume.”
Before Lux could step back, Evelynn’s arms were already around her, holding her in an embrace that sent a shiver up her spine—not from cold, but discomfort.
“Last night,” Evelynn said, her breath brushing Lux’s ear, “I felt something… sweet. Intense. Radiating right from Kai’Sa’s room. So much pleasure… almost like someone got broken in.” Her lips curled into a smile. “Tell me, Lux. What do you think Swain would do if he found out his prized mare has already been saddled?”
Lux stiffened. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Evelynn’s smile widened. “You better come up with something better than that, sweetheart,” she whispered. “Swain doesn’t like damaged goods. And he definitely doesn’t like surprises.”
She finally let go, brushing Lux’s shoulder lightly as she passed. “Good luck, little lamb,” she called behind her. “Better start thinking fast.”
Lux stood frozen for a moment, her heart pounding in her chest.
Lux hurried through the corridors, Evelynn’s voice still echoing in her ears like a curse. Her heart thudded with guilt and fear—what had she done? She hadn’t meant to drag Kai’Sa into anything. But now… now Swain might find out. And Kai’Sa would be the one to pay.
She pushed open the door to the shower room and stepped inside, letting the steam fog her thoughts. The sharp smell of soap and hot water filled the space, but it didn’t soothe her. Not yet.
Grabbing a towel from the rack, she quickly undressed, folding Kai’Sa’s borrowed clothes neatly on the nearby bench. She stood under the warm stream, tilting her face up as the water poured over her hair and shoulders.
Her body relaxed slightly, but her mind refused to calm. Kai’Sa’s going to be furious. She’ll avoid me. Or worse—she’ll hate me.
Lux pressed her palms against the wall, breathing in deep. She had to fix this. Somehow.
But first… she had to stop shaking.
Lux tensed as she heard the door creak open behind her, shoulders tight and breath held—Please not Evelynn, please not Miss Fortune...
But then came a different voice. “Oh. It’s you.”
Lux peeked over her shoulder, instantly recognizing the short green hair and casual attitude—Zeri. Relief rushed in… but it was short-lived.
Zeri was clearly irritated. She tossed her towel onto a hook and stepped under a showerhead two spots down from Lux. “Word of advice?” she said as she turned on the water, “you better get your act together fast.”
Lux blinked, confused. “What…?”
“I mean it,” Zeri muttered, running a hand through her dampening hair. “Everyone’s been whispering about you since last night. Asking when you’ll start, what your theme will be, how much it’ll cost to book your ‘first time.’ They’re excited about the shiny new girl. And you know what that means, right?”
Lux stayed silent.
Zeri shot her a look across the open space. “It means the rest of us are getting less attention. Less bookings. Less credits. You’re the new flavor, and we’re suddenly… not.”
Lux turned her gaze down, unsure of what to say.
Zeri shook her head. “I don’t care if you’re scared. Just don’t make it harder for the rest of us.”
The water between them kept running, but it didn’t wash away the tension.
Chapter 13: The Auction part 4: Bid wars
Chapter by SeekerPS
Summary:
This is a long chapter, sorry i guess for those who only want the smut. but it has plenty of it so, it's also good news (?)
Chapter Text
In the dim, crumbling chapel they'd claimed as their hideout, Ahri leaned over the dusty altar, unrolling a map of the Black Crow brothel. Candlelight flickered across her face, casting sharp shadows over the sly grin tugging at her lips. Jarvan stood nearby, arms crossed and jaw tight. Behind them, Briar crouched on a broken pew, humming to herself, absently cracking her knuckles like she was playing with bones.
“I’ve got a plan,” Ahri said, voice low and confident. “Jarvan, you’re going to enter the auction.”
Jarvan arched a brow. “What.”
“You heard me.” She looked up, tail flicking with amusement. “We dress you up, make you look the part—rich, powerful, perverted. You’ll bid and win Lux.”
Briar tilted her head. “We’re buying her?”
“Temporarily,” Ahri said, gesturing with a circle of her finger. “You, me, and our little monster here sneak in under disguise. When the hammer falls and Lux is in Jarvan’s hands, Briar causes a scene. Blood, screams, panic. Enough for the security to scatter.”
“And while everyone’s distracted…” Jarvan murmured.
Ahri smirked. “We extract Lux and vanish into the night. Easy peasy.”
Briar grinned, fangs showing. “I get to play?”
“Unleash hell,” Ahri confirmed. “Just wait for the signal.”
Jarvan frowned, studying the map. “And if Swain’s there? He’ll recognize me.”
“He won’t see your face under the mask I’m giving you,” Ahri assured him. “And if he gets close…” She traced her claws over the auction room layout. “That’s where Briar comes in.”
Briar let out a giggle and bit her thumb hard enough to draw blood.
“We get Lux,” Ahri continued. “We make it look like a mess, like someone else hit the Crow. By the time they sort through the chaos, we’ll be long gone… and LeBlanc will get her real prize back.”
Jarvan exhaled, slowly. “You’re insane.”
Ahri smiled sweetly. “That’s why it’ll work.”
Swain leaned back in his chair, one hand resting on his cane, the other flipping lazily through the guest dossiers spread out on the dark wood of the war table. Talon stood beside him, silent and sharp-eyed as always.
"Medarda expects a seat," Swain muttered. "She bankrolled the credits that let us snatch Lux from Ahri’s claws. Political return for economic investment. We owe her visibility, at least."
Talon nodded. "She’ll use the prestige to elevate herself further among the Zhaunite elite."
Swain moved on. "Gangplank. A festering pirate, but his coffers overflow. He’ll pretend to be a monster so we don’t see the whimpering coward beneath. Still... Bilgewater’s buccaneers in our pocket could seal western trade routes."
"And Sett?" Talon asked.
"A brute," Swain said with a half-smirk. "But clever. Ionia’s underworld listens to him. If he comes, he legitimizes our warfront. The boy thinks like a mob boss—tempt him with status, and he might beg to bleed for us."
Just then, a knock.
Talon was at the door in an instant. When he opened it, Akali stood there, arms folded, an unreadable look on her face.
"Two letters for you," she said, handing over the sealed envelopes without ceremony. "Both urgent."
Swain broke the seals in silence.
He skimmed the first. His brows twitched ever so slightly.
"A new mercenary lord," he said aloud. "Claims to have gold, warriors, and ambition. Recommending himself as a guest for the auction." His tone was neutral, measured—but Talon saw the glint of calculation behind his eyes. "It reeks of Ahri’s perfume, but... not her style. Too blunt. Maybe LeBlanc sent him."
Talon crossed his arms. "Should we refuse?"
Swain shook his head. "No. If he wins, we take his gold. If he fails, he entertains the others. Either way, I benefit."
He opened the second letter. A red wax seal broken to reveal elegant handwriting steeped in centuries of practiced charm.
"Vladimir," Swain said.
Talon tensed, just a little.
Swain read it in silence. When he was done, he tossed it on the desk.
"He’s interested. Sees the auction as an opportunity for understanding. Wants to open a channel for... mutually beneficial agreements."
Talon frowned. "You trust him?"
"No." Swain grinned. "But if the devil wants a seat at the table... let him sit. Just not at the head."
He looked up. "Send them both invites. Let the wolves come. We'll see who walks away sated."
Talon nodded.
Akali lingered.
Swain raised an eyebrow. "Something else, Akali?"
She shrugged. "Just wondering which one you’ll feed to Evelynn first."
Swain chuckled low. "Whichever bleeds better."
Ahri's heel clicked softly against the marble floor as she entered the third floor chamber, her magic-woven disguise flawless: golden curls, a veil of jeweled silk, and a faint Noxian accent to mask her voice. She glided in like a noblewoman, hiding the tension behind every step.
Jarvan entered after her, hunched, scruffy, and unrecognizable in a tattered cape and rusted armor—he looked like a drunk sellsword who’d stumbled into fortune. No one gave him a second glance.
And then came Briar, silent and imposing, wrapped from head to toe in black steel, helm concealing her face entirely. To most, she looked like a mute bodyguard. No one questioned it.
Each guest was led into separate opulent chambers surrounding the central stage, the dark glass walls between them allowing full view of the platform but hiding the expressions of their fellow bidders. Everything was designed to feed the illusion of privacy—and suspicion.
Ahri took her seat, forcing her breathing steady, fangs gritted behind her false lips.
And then he arrived.
Vladimir stepped through the velvet-draped doorway like a ghost with purpose. Crimson and gold robes flowed behind him, his pale skin luminescent in the low light. His eyes swept the room until they landed on her.
And he winked.
A slow, knowing, amused wink.
Ahri’s claws dug into the armrest of her chair beneath the disguise. She didn’t acknowledge him, but the heat of her fury betrayed her. He wasn’t supposed to be here.
If he won the auction—if he bought Lux—then all of this, everything she had planned, would collapse. She couldn’t attack him. She couldn’t outbid him forever. And she definitely couldn’t take Lux from him without risking LeBlanc’s wrath.
The worst part? Vladimir hadn’t come to win. He came to interfere. That wink wasn’t just smug—it was a threat.
She turned toward Jarvan in the next room, barely visible through the enchanted glass. She tapped twice on her ring, a signal they’d agreed upon.
Plan remains.
Faster.
She didn’t have time for games. Lux was theirs.
And Vladimir would not leave with her.
Akali slipped into Jarvan’s chamber with her usual lazy grace, her hips swaying under a tight corset that did nothing to hide her curves. Her lips curled into a teasing smirk as she looked him over.
“Well, well… rough day, old man? Want a drink to loosen up before the show?”
Jarvan glanced at her, wary. “No, I—”
“House courtesy,” she interrupted, placing her hand lightly on the back of his chair, “You have to drink something. It’s tradition.”
A slight flicker of her eye told him she knew he was stalling. Somewhere, she sensed the truth. But her voice stayed sweet.
He sighed. “Something strong. Beer.”
In the adjacent chamber, Ahri shifted in her seat as the dark glass let her see everything but not hear. Her eyes followed Akali as she stepped out of Jarvan’s room and entered hers next.
“Something to drink?” Akali asked smoothly.
“No,” Ahri replied quickly.
“House courtesy,” Akali repeated with a smirk. “Even pretty little things like you deserve something smooth to burn.”
Ahri narrowed her eyes, then relented. “Bourbon.”
Akali gave a shallow bow and left. Minutes later, she returned with both drinks. She handed Jarvan his mug first, then slid the glass of bourbon onto the table before Ahri. She winked and turned away, vanishing through the red curtains like a shadow.
Ahri stared at her drink suspiciously, then picked it up and angled the glass, eyes narrowing as something pale shifted inside.
A small scrap of paper, soaked and barely legible.
She used her nail to hook it out, unfolding it carefully.
Let HIM win.
– Evaine
Her blood ran cold.
She crushed the note in her palm, every instinct screaming defiance, but her mind racing.
Evaine—LeBlanc—was here. Watching. Controlling.
And she wanted Vladimir to win.
Ahri’s ears twitched under the glamour. She stared across the platform, locking eyes with the crimson noble in the far chamber.
He was waiting. Smiling.
She whispered beneath her breath, “What the hell are you planning, witch…”
The corridor outside the central platform was heavy with silence, broken only by the distant clinking of glasses and murmurs behind the chamber doors. Kai’Sa walked beside Lux, her expression unreadable, but her steps slow—as if dragging her feet would delay the inevitable.
Lux’s arms trembled as she clutched the delicate silk wrap that barely covered her body. Her golden hair was pinned up, her lips painted a soft red, but her eyes shimmered with the threat of tears.
Kai’Sa glanced at her. “Don’t cry,” she said, softly. “Not for something that’s already been lost.”
Lux gave her a fragile smile and gently pressed a finger to Kai’Sa’s lips. “Shh… Don’t say that. If Swain hears, he’ll kill us.”
Kai’Sa looked away, jaw tight. “I can’t go with you beyond this point. You’ll be alone up there.”
“I know,” Lux whispered. She took a shaky breath. “I just hope Gangplank isn’t the winner. Anyone but him.”
Kai’Sa hesitated, then forced a nod. “He won’t be.”- It was a lie, and they both knew it.
Heavy footsteps echoed behind them. Swain’s imposing form approached, his cloak rustling, one gloved hand adjusting the collar of his crimson uniform. His expression was twisted in mild disgust, as though the whole affair offended his military sensibilities.
“Enough chatter,” he growled. “Let’s finish this sickly business. I’ll never understand what pleasure LeBlanc gets from these games…”
His eyes narrowed on Lux, and she instinctively straightened her back, lifting her chin despite her trembling heart.
Swain sneered. “Smile, girl. You’re about to make someone very, very rich.”
Kai’Sa said nothing. She didn’t dare meet Lux’s eyes as the doors to the chamber creaked open, and the lights above the platform flared to life.
A slow chime echoed through the chambers—subtle, ceremonial. The lights above the platform flared into brilliance, illuminating the glass chamber in the center of the third floor like a holy altar.
Lux stood alone beneath it, her silhouette painted in gold and white. A pale, soft glow highlighted her delicate features, her bare shoulders, the way her fingers clenched at her sides despite the serene expression she wore.
She did not bow. She did not speak.
She simply stood—like an offering.
Swain stepped forward, his voice booming from unseen speakers, reaching every dark glass chamber surrounding the platform.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he began, his tone dry, measured, and unapologetically disdainful. “Tonight, you are witnessing something rare. A light that’s never been touched—pure, unspoiled, and bred from noble Demacian blood. The golden girl of the old world.”
He gestured toward Lux without even looking at her. “A symbol of innocence. Of chastity. Of our power to reshape the world, and the women in it.”
Behind the dark glass, the guests watched silently:
Ambessa Medarda, arms crossed, lips curled into a slight smirk.
Gangplank, hunched in his seat, his eyes devouring the girl like meat.
Sett, leaning back, unimpressed—but calculating.
Vladimir, hands elegantly folded, eyes gleaming with amusement.
Jarvan, disguised and tense, fists clenched behind his back.
Ahri, veiled and rigid, watching everything, heart pounding.
Briar, silent and still in her armor—coiled and waiting.
Swain’s voice cut through again.
“We will begin the bidding at twenty thousand black rose crowns.”
The room went quiet—until a slow, raspy voice broke it.
“Twenty-five.” Gangplank, predictably eager.
“Thirty.” Medarda, calm and bored, but committed to her part.
“Thirty-five.” Sett, his tone like he was bluffing at cards.
A pause.
Then Vladimir: “Fifty.”
Several chambers stirred. Even Swain raised a brow at the sudden leap.
But before the next bid could be placed, Jarvan leaned forward and said, clearly:
“Seventy-five thousand.”
Silence.
Ahri didn’t breathe.
Vladimir smiled.
Swain’s lips twitched.
Then Akali knocked gently and stepped into Vladimir’s chamber. “Another drink, my lord?”
Vladimir merely raised a hand. “Not now.”
Swain turned to face the dark glass, smirking slightly. “Well. It seems our guest from the Outer Kingdoms is serious. Anyone care to challenge him?”
Lux, on the platform, heard none of the words—but she felt the tension. The rising energy. The eyes crawling on her skin.
A low chuckle rippled from Vladimir’s chamber, carried through the speakers like a whisper wrapped in silk and blood.
“Eighty-five thousand,” he purred.
Ahri’s heart skipped a beat.
Jarvan froze.
Even Swain seemed to pause a second longer than usual before replying, “A bold increase. Are we to assume Lord Vladimir sees something... personally valuable in the girl?”
Vladimir responded smoothly, “Oh, I do. She is radiant, after all. And it has been so long since I’ve tasted light.”
Lux shuddered on the platform, though she couldn’t hear the exact words—just the sensation of being watched by a predator in crimson velvet.
Jarvan leaned in, whispering under his breath. “Do I counter?”
Ahri stared at the soaked paper again.
Let HIM win.
— Evaine.
Her tail coiled tight around her thigh as if trying to hold her in place.
But across the glass chamber, Lux stood—trembling, radiant, alone.
And Vladimir smiled.
Ahri exhaled through her nose. Slowly. Controlled.
“No,” she whispered. “Not this time.” She nods to Jarvan, signaling to keep the bidding
Jarvan tensed, but didn’t question. He leaned forward.
“Eighty-six thousand.”
The room shifted. Murmurs rippled behind the opaque glass.
Vladimir’s eyes narrowed. The faint smile never left his lips, but his fingers stilled mid-steeple.
Has the fox gone mad? he thought, eyes drifting lazily to the veiled woman behind the glass.
LeBlanc told her to let me win. I saw it in her face the moment she read that note. She was about to yield. And now… this?
He almost laughed.
Ah. Of course.
If I win… she walks away with nothing. No prize. No triumph to lay at Evaine’s feet. No favor, no validation, no reward.
She reeks of desperation. A mutt starved for approval.
“Eighty-eight,” Vladimir replied, lazily.
“Ninety,” Jarvan shot back.
Vladimir grinned. “Ninety-five.”
The tension swelled again. Swain leaned forward, fingers interlocked, eyes gleaming behind the glow of the central platform.
“Shall we call it there?” he asked, voice low and theatrical. “Or will our mysterious noble from the Kingdoms give us a truly obscene number?”
Jarvan didn’t hesitate. “One hundred and ten.”
The silence was heavier this time. The guests shifted in their chambers.
Vladimir exhaled slowly and theatrically, letting the moment stretch. Then:
“One hundred and fifteen.”
Ahri’s fingers dug into her lap beneath her shimmering veil. Her breath trembled. Her heart raced.
Jarvan turned to her through the glass. Waiting.
She gave a tiny nod.
“One hundred and twenty.”
Vladimir’s eyes gleamed with something darker now—amusement edged with cruelty.
She was serious. She was going to keep fighting.
How delightful.
Swain leaned back with a soft sigh. “Perhaps we should offer our honored guests a brief respite before the final stretch.”
He clapped his hands once. Attendants entered with drinks, silks, and sweet perfumes.
The bidding would resume after the guests "refreshed themselves."
Vladimir didn’t move.
He turned slightly toward Ahri’s chamber. Their eyes locked through the distortion of the tinted glass.
She looked at him.
Not with rage. Not with challenge. With a plea.
A soft, desperate look. One that begged him to stop. To let her have this. To walk away, just this once.
Vladimir’s smile widened slowly, a cruel crescent drawn in blood.
Why would I let you have the prize, he mused, when watching you reach for it and fail is so much sweeter?
He leaned back in his chair, lifted his glass in silent mockery, and drank deeply—never breaking eye contact.
The preamble room was usually austhere, but tonight it was decorated, Swain’s girls glided between the auction guests like butterflies of war—tempting, laughing, touching. Gold exchanged hands in quiet corners. Moans teased the edges of conversation.
Ahri stepped carefully through the haze, her disguise still flawless, but her pulse hammering beneath her skin. She spotted him near a column of obsidian glass—Vladimir, lounging like a king of rot, a golden goblet in hand, two girls at his knees.
He noticed her the moment she entered. Of course he did.
When she drew close, his eyes never left hers. He leaned back, dismissing the courtesans with a flick of his fingers.
“Is it wise,” he asked, voice like velvet soaked in blood, “to walk so close to your rival in the middle of a war?”
Ahri stopped before him, standing straight, chin lifted. “Let me win.”
Vladimir chuckled. “Mm. Straight to the bleeding heart. Very unlike you, darling.”
“You don’t want Lux,” she said. “Not really. You don’t need her. You don’t even want the prize.”
“Wrong,” Vladimir replied, swirling his wine. “I want two things.”
He stood now, graceful and predatory, and stepped close until their noses nearly touched.
“One,” he whispered, “I get to stop you from doing something staggeringly stupid.”
His breath was cold and smelled faintly of iron.
“And two… I get to watch you break.”
Ahri didn’t move. But her tail twitched behind her once. Tense. Wounded.
Vladimir's lips curled upward. “You see, failure, my lovely fox, is only unbearable the first time. After that… well…”
He leaned closer, his voice a hiss of silk.
“After that, you don’t fail again—because you’ll never be given another chance to.”
He tilted his head, eyes glowing faintly red.
“LeBlanc will keep you. Not as her second. Not as her shadow. Not as her pawn. But as her pet. Her plaything. Her little songbird who once dreamed of making choices. You’ll never need to worry again about power, about risk, about right or wrong.”
He reached up and gently tapped her chin.
“Your only decisions will be… how loud to moan her name at night.”
Ahri’s jaw clenched. Her breath came shallow. Her glamour shimmered faintly, her rage threatening to fracture it.
But she didn’t look away.
Not yet.
Ahri didn’t flinch. Not from his touch. Not from his words. But her voice was strained when she finally spoke.
“Stop,” she said quietly, sharply. “You and I both know we’re not just here for the spectacle.”
Vladimir arched an amused brow.
She continued, her voice steadier now. “We’re both here under LeBlanc’s gaze. For her interests. And we both have our own beneath that.”
Vladimir tilted his head.
“If you let me win,” Ahri said, stepping closer, “I’ll owe you a favor.”
He didn’t laugh this time. He didn’t even blink.
“A favor from you,” he murmured. “That’s not meaningless.”
Ahri nodded. “You know I’m valuable. And you know I’m right. You don’t trust her fully. You have your own agenda—your own way of surviving her games.”
The pale noble’s smile returned, slower now. More curious than cruel.
“And you,” he said softly, “love her so much… that you’d rather betray her than lose her?”
Ahri’s jaw tensed.
“I’m not betraying her,” she lied.
Vladimir leaned in, his voice velvet-smooth and razor-sharp. “Aren’t you? She told you to let me win. And yet here you are, bartering with devils to disobey her. So tell me, little fox—are you prepared to trade your devotion for desperation?”
Ahri said nothing. But her eyes didn’t waver.
Vladimir exhaled a slow, amused breath.
“And how,” he asked, finally, “could I possibly trust you to honor your end of the bargain? What’s to stop you from vanishing into the dark the moment you get what you want? Hmm?”
He circled her now, slow and deliberate, as if examining a creature caught in his snare.
“Your loyalty is… inconveniently fluid, it seems. You call her your mistress. Your queen. Your love. But your actions?”
He came to stand behind her, whispering now, almost kindly:
“Your actions say you fear losing her more than you fear defying her. That’s not love, little fox.”
He leaned in. “That’s addiction.”
Ahri closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them, they were filled with fire—and something else. Resolve.
The scent of rum and sweat clung to the preamble room like rot beneath perfume. Soft music floated through the air, barely masking the tension behind every glance and touch.
Kai’Sa moved with careful grace, silver tray in hand, two fluted glasses gleaming with a golden burn. She wore a corset of black and violet silk, tight enough to sculpt but loose enough to breathe—barely. Her eyes flicked across the room, locking onto the massive shape of Gangplank, seated like a swamp god, his boots up, one hand already halfway down the bodice of a girl who looked too frightened to speak.
Kai’Sa veered toward him.
Behind her, Miss Fortune emerged from the bar, tray balanced with predatory elegance, aiming herself toward Sett—who lounged against a marble pillar like a lion watching a cockfight.
Miss Fortune caught Kai’Sa’s eye as they passed each other.
“For once,” she muttered under her breath, “I’m glad you volunteered. If I’d been stuck with that moldy bastard, I’d have kicked his balls up into his throat with my nine-inch heels.”
Kai’Sa smirked faintly, brushing past without a word.
She approached Gangplank just as the pirate let out a wet, gurgling laugh that turned a few nearby heads.
One of his crew swaggered up, grinning like a jackal.
“Cap’n,” the pirate said, “you’re back in the race. We plundered a fresh cargo—Varnish trade ship from Zaun. Whole vault of crowns. You want ‘er?” He jerked a thumb toward the platform, where Lux had stood only minutes earlier. “She’s yours.”
Gangplank’s laughter was horrible, deep and choking. He pounded the table once with a meaty fist.
“If that’s true,” he slurred, “I’ll share what’s left of that blonde cunt with the crew—after I enjoy the first course.”
Miss Fortune, from across the room, gave a sharp laugh—cold, almost cruel.
“Well, Kai’Sa,” she called with mock sweetness, “looks like your little ‘drunken sabotage’ plan’s shot to hell.”
Kai’Sa said nothing. She only smiled.
Then she approached Gangplank, hips swaying subtly, tray balanced delicately in her palm.
She leaned in close, bending slightly so the curve of her back caught the light.
“I couldn’t help overhearing,” she purred, setting the drink in front of him, “that you’ll be very rich tonight.”
Gangplank snorted, licking his lips. “Rich and happy, girl. Rich and happy.”
Kai’Sa placed a hand lightly on his shoulder, nails trailing down his stained coat. “Would you mind sharing some of that fortune… with a girl who knows how to make it last?”
He raised a brow, the predator in him momentarily distracted.
She dipped her head, letting her breath ghost across his ear. “I’ve been very good lately. You’d be surprised what I can do with a little gold and the right… motivation.”
Gangplank’s eyes gleamed. The grip on his tankard loosened.
Kai’Sa could feel his attention shifting—desire overrunning intent.
Double or nothing, she thought. If I can't poison him with drink, I'll drown him in lust instead.
Because if he made it to that stage with a full purse…
Lux was gone.
From the far corner of the preamble room, near a velvet-draped alcove, Ahri froze mid-sip as Gangplank’s vile laughter echoed through the space. Her ears—glamoured but still twitching under the illusion—caught every slurred word, every grotesque syllable about spoils and sharing what was left of Lux.
Then the words hit her like a blade:
“We plundered a fresh cargo—whole vault of crowns.”
Her fingers clenched around the glass. Her tail, hidden under enchanted veils, coiled with tension.
No. No, no, no... If he has the coin… he can outbid me... I won’t even make it to the final round.
She blinked fast, forcing composure, but her breaths came shallow. Gangplank was disgusting, violent—but rich now. Capable. And with Lux on the line…
She was slipping.
The plan was slipping.
LeBlanc’s note burned in her memory.
Let him win.
She’d already ignored that once.
And now she was about to lose everything.
Beside her, Vladimir had been watching with lazy detachment, but now… now he laughed.
A low, elegant chuckle that curled around her panic like chains tightening.
“My dear fox,” he said, turning slightly to look at her over his shoulder, “do you ever stop losing?”
Ahri’s jaw tightened. Her breath hitched, but she didn’t speak.
Vladimir stepped closer, his voice soft enough to be intimate—but cutting like a whispering dagger.
“Tell me… do you need to be saved again?” he asked. “Do you want another man to clean up your mess, to spare you from the consequences of your latest impulse?”
Ahri said nothing. She couldn’t. Not with the shame rising in her throat.
“You’re nothing but failure after failure,” Vladimir went on, tone now bored, amused. “And still you claw toward something you’ll never reach.”
He leaned forward slightly, smiling.
“You’d be so much better, darling, if you just accepted it.”
Ahri turned toward him sharply, her eyes narrowing—but Vladimir pressed on.
“Let LeBlanc feed you. Dress you. Use you. Let her leash you like the little pet you were always meant to be. Stop pretending you’re a strategist. You’re a trophy with teeth—nothing more.”
He stepped around her, slow, precise.
“Step aside. Let someone competent take your place. You might even enjoy it—no more pressure. Just warm silk and the sound of your own voice crying her name.”
Ahri flinched. But she didn’t speak. Not yet.
Because the worst part was: He was close to right.
But not completely.
Not if she acted.
The bathroom was dim, walled in marble cracked by age and neglect, its opulence rotting beneath the surface. Ahri stumbled inside, one hand gripping the edge of the sink, her chest rising and falling with shallow, uneven breaths. Her reflection in the mirror shimmered—then cracked.
Her glamour flickered, then shattered entirely.
Golden curls dissolved into silken black. Her eyes bled into violet. Her tails unfurled behind her like a frayed banner of defeat.
Her face twisted. She clenched the porcelain basin.
Damn it. Damn it, pull it together. Pull it—
The door creaked.
She turned—just in time to see Kai’Sa standing at the entrance, still dressed in serving silks, a tray of emptied glasses in one hand, her eyes going wide.
Recognition struck fast.
“Kai’Sa,” Ahri breathed, voice sharp with alarm.
Kai’Sa dropped the tray. It clattered to the floor, but she didn’t flinch.
“You,” she hissed. “I knew something stank.”
Her stance dropped into something tight and combative, legs braced.
“One scream and Swain’s dogs are on you.”
Ahri’s eyes flashed—and Kai’Sa’s body froze for a breathless second, caught in the soft, glowing pull of a Charm. Her tension softened. Her hands slackened.
Ahri stepped forward, slowly, gently brushing Kai’Sa’s cheek. Their lips met—not in passion, but in theft.
And in that moment, Ahri saw everything.
Lux’s hands trembling in Kai’Sa’s. Soft whispers in the dark. The fragile tenderness shared in silence—hidden behind duty and fear. Affection. Comfort. Guilt. Lust. Protection.
And hope.
When Kai’Sa shoved her back, it was like slamming into fire.
“What the fuck did you just do,” Kai’Sa growled, wiping her mouth like it burned.
Ahri grinned, breathless, voice dripping with mock sweetness.
“Oh, I just learned so much,” she said. “Lux and you… How intimate.”
Kai’Sa’s face twisted in rage, but Ahri raised a hand.
“If you call Swain,” she said coolly, “I’ll tell him everything. Every secret touch. Every whispered vow. That his precious virgin prize has been compromised.”
She leaned in, voice dropping to a whisper. “His investment? Ruined.”
Kai’Sa’s fist clenched. Her whole body trembled.
“Of course,” Ahri added, stepping back, “we could help each other instead.”
In response, Kai’Sa spat directly into her face.
“I know what LeBlanc did to Jinx,” she said. “I saw the aftermath. I won’t let her do that to Lux.”
Ahri wiped her cheek calmly, venom behind her eyes.
“And you think letting Gangplank and his crew rape her is better?” she snapped. “Because that’s exactly where this is heading. You saw it. You felt it. Do you really think your quiet resistance is enough?”
Kai’Sa stared at her, shaking with fury, silence clinging like blood to the air.
Ahri took a slow step forward. Her voice was low now—not seductive. Not cruel.
Just exhausted.
“We don’t have to like each other,” she said. “But we’re the only ones who can stop what’s coming. You want to save Lux?”
She looked Kai’Sa in the eyes, unflinching.
“Then help me win.”
Lux’s breaths came in shallow, uneven gasps as the door clicked shut behind her. The hush of the empty room where she was kept as a prize pressed in from all sides, and for a moment, she fought the tremor in her limbs—tried to steady herself against the walls of stone.
But then her thoughts drifted back to Kai’Sa.
She couldn’t deny how breathtaking the Void warrior was—how the steel of her stare melted into something soft when she thought Lux wasn't watching; how her fingers danced lightly over Lux’s skin like a promise. Lux’s mind replayed the feel of Kai’Sa’s hand on her hip, the gentle heat of Kai’Sa’s breath against her neck when she whispered about the dangers ahead.
The room—or perhaps Lux’s own blood—seemed to grow suddenly warm. She wrapped her arms tighter around herself, trying to quell the heat that pooled low in her belly. But her hands had a will of their own. They slid down the length of her arms to settle on her thighs, pressing fingertips into the soft skin there.
Her pulse hammered when her hand found its way between her legs. She froze, heart thundering as she realized what she was doing. How could she be touching herself now, in this sterile cage, only moments before she would be sold like an object? Her rational mind flared in protest—this was wrong, she had to be wrong—but the heat stole her words.
Her fingertips grazed her dampness, and a soft moan caught in her throat. She closed her eyes, head lolling back against the cool wall as she summoned Kai’Sa’s image: the way Kai’Sa’s eyes darkened with fury and protectiveness, the echo of her challenge to save her, to fight for her.
With each feather-light stroke, Lux felt her resolve crumble. Shame flared hot in her cheeks, but beneath it was something sweeter—hunger, desire, a fierce, desperate ache that only Kai’Sa’s memory could quell. She trembled, letting her hand move in slow, determined circles, marveling at how her body betrayed her fears.
How can I do this now? she thought, breathless. I should be terrified.
But terror and longing had fused into something far more consuming. As her pelvis lifted into her hand’s rhythm, she bit her lip, determined to hold onto that one flicker of warmth—Kai’Sa’s warmth—no matter how fleeting the comfort.
Lux sat slumped against the wall, her chest rising and falling in rapid, uneven bursts. The last tremor of release rippled through her thighs, a wave of heat giving way to a creeping cold. Her hand—trembling and slick with her own arousal—hung limply in her lap.
She stared at it.
Damp. Wet. Shining in the dim amber light like a guilty secret made flesh.
Her breath caught in her throat.
What… what have I become?
This wasn’t her. It wasn’t supposed to be.
She was Luxanna Crownguard, heir of noble Demacian blood, raised on sermons of duty and purity, once a beacon of light in a broken world. And yet here she was, curled up in a locked chamber like livestock waiting to be branded, touching herself to thoughts of the one person who had shown her softness inside a system built to devour girls like her.
She clenched her hand suddenly, as if by gripping tight she could erase what had just happened. But the slickness between her fingers refused to disappear.
Shame twisted inside her like a blade.
She hadn’t cried when they dressed her like a prize. She hadn’t cried when Kai’Sa told her the truth. But now, staring at her hand, at this part of herself she hadn’t meant to give in to—
Now, the tears came.
Silent. Slow. Hot.
Because for a fleeting moment, in that touch, she had chosen something. She had taken control. She had imagined love where there was only chaos. Comfort where there was only waiting.
And now it felt like that choice, like everything else, had been stolen before she could even decide what it meant.
She pulled her knees to her chest and wiped her hand on the fabric of her dress, her fingers trembling, her voice barely a whisper:
“…What are they turning me into?”
And worse— What if I’m letting them?
The stone walls pressed in, cold and unyielding, as Lux’s back slid down the rough surface until her hips hit the floor. Her thighs spread instinctively, knees trembling upward like split pillars, the damp fabric of her slave dress—Swain’s mockery of her Demacian attire—hiked shamelessly around her waist. Her fingers dug into her cunt before she could stop them, hard, knuckles flexing as she stabbed two digits deep into her sopping slit. A wet squelch tore from her as she fucked herself with crude, jagged thrusts, her other hand groping her breast through the flimsy dress, pinching her nipple until it ached.
“K-Kai’Sa—” The name spilled from her lips like a curse, a prayer. She pictured the warrior’s scarred hands replacing hers, Kai’Sa’s voice growling in her ear, “You need this, don’t you? Begging to be ruined.” The fantasy burned clearer than reality—Kai’Sa’s teeth on her throat, Kai’Sa’s knee forcing her legs wider, the phantom grip of the warrior’s thighs clamping around her waist as Lux imagined herself being mounted, owned. Her clit throbbed under her thumb’s rough circles, her cunt sucking greedily at her own fingers. She jackhammered them deeper, the heel of her palm grinding against her swollen nub as spit pooled in her mouth.
“Fuck—fuck—” She arched, hips snapping upward, dress tearing as sweat glued the fabric to her skin. Her nipples peeked through the ruined cloth, pebble-hard and raw from her pinching. The lewd smack of her fingers pistoning into her dripping hole echoed off the walls. She came with a shrill whine, back bowing as her cunt spasmed, juices gushing over her wrist. But she didn’t stop—couldn’t—her thumb abusing her clit through the aftershocks until her vision whited out.
When she finally wilted, spent and shuddering, her hand was a filthy wreck. Clear slick glazed her knuckles, threads of her arousal stretching between her fingertips as she lifted them to her face. The stench hit her first—feral, musky, nothing like the floral perfumes of Demacia—and then her tongue darted out, hungry, lapping at the mess she’d made. Salt and bitterness coated her mouth, her stomach churning as she swallowed.
The taste of her own degradation.
She gagged, knees slamming together as if she could hide the evidence. But her cunt still pulsed, still ached, still needed. Her reflection in a puddle of her own juices showed a stranger: hair matted, lips swollen, face streaked with tears and spit.
“Whore” she whispered to the shadowed room.
But her trembling fingers crept back between her legs anyway.
The charm crystal shimmered faintly between Kai’Sa’s fingers, pulsing like a living heartbeat. She glanced once more at Gangplank, his attention momentarily turned as he roared something to a crewmate across the chamber. Without a sound, she dropped the stone into his drink.
It dissolved instantly with a soft fizz, leaving no trace behind but a faint pink sheen that quickly faded.
She held her breath.
He grabbed the tankard without hesitation, drinking deep.
For a moment, nothing changed.
Then his bloodshot eyes blinked once… slowly.
His posture loosened. The cruel edge in his grin dulled just enough to turn the sneer into something more boyish. His leering eyes found Kai’Sa again—but now with hunger tinted by infatuation.
“Well now…” he growled, voice lower, smoother. “You’re lookin’ better every minute, girl.”
She forced a smile, swallowing the bile rising in her throat.
Gangplank reached out and yanked her down onto his lap with a forceful, possessive grip. His body was hot, drenched in sweat and rum, stinking of salt and blood.
Kai’Sa bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from recoiling.
Play along. Play along or Lux is his.
She let her arms slip around his shoulders, her voice soft and sultry despite the revulsion churning in her stomach.
“I’ve always admired strong sailors,” she purred, fingers tracing the grime-slick fabric at his collar. “They say you’re tireless… unbreakable at sea… unstoppable in bed.”
Gangplank chuckled thickly, teeth flashing. “Aye, they say a lotta things ‘bout me.”
Kai’Sa leaned closer, lips brushing his ear.
“Maybe you could show me if the tales are true,” she whispered. “Right now. Somewhere private.”
He laughed again—louder, dumber. The charm was working. His pupils were dilated, his breath shallow, the last threads of control dissolving under the magic's grip.
“Got a lil' room upstairs,” he slurred, pawing at her thigh. “You’re a feisty one, eh? Didn’t think ye liked the rough ones.”
Kai’Sa smirked, resting her hand on his chest.
“I like winning, Gangplank,” she whispered. “And you? You reek of victory.”
He beamed, drunk on charm and ego alike.
She smiled wider, the mask perfect.
But inside, she hated every second.
If this worked, he’d be too distracted to bid. Too tangled in his own desire to remember gold or girls or auctions.
Kai’Sa’s fingers curled around the thick heat of him, her grip firm and practiced. Gangplank stiffened, a ragged groan grinding up his throat as she began to stroke—slow, deliberate, her thumb smearing a bead of precum over his swollen tip.
“Th’ auction—” he managed, though his hips bucked upward into her fist. “Need t’ be there when the Crownguard bitch’s up f’r bid—”
Her lips brushed the stubbled crook of his neck, her free hand slipping beneath his belt to dig nails into his hip. “What’s a crown to a king of the sea?” she murmured, teeth grazing his pulse. She tightened her grip, thumb circling his frenulum until his breath hitched. “Let the other dogs fight over scraps. You’re already wealthy. Powerful. Why share?”
He growled, fingers knotting in her hair as she twisted her wrist on the upstroke. His cock throbbed in her hand, flushed and leaking. The charm’s magic coiled through his veins, fogging his greed with darker, baser hunger.
“Kai’Sa—” Her name rumbled out of him, warped with lust and rum.
She pressed harder against him, her own body rigid with revulsion. “Imagine it.” Her tongue flicked the shell of his ear. “No pants. No gold. Just your cock buried in me until you forget there’s a world beyond these walls.”
The door to the auction floor creaked open down the hall. Distant voices swelled—bidding’s begun.
Gangplank tensed, grip tightening. “The Crownguard girl—she’s a prize. Worth millions—”
Kai’Sa dropped to her knees so fast the impact rattled her teeth. Her hands fumbled with his belt, yanking pants and smallclothes down just enough to free him. She didn’t wait for permission, didn’t let him think. She took him into her mouth—deep, gagging as the musky tang of salt and sour precum flooded her tongue.
His curse was half snarl, half praise.
She hollowed her cheeks, eyes watering as she bobbed, sloppy and loud. Her hand worked his base in tandem, spit-slick strokes punctuated by choked gurgles. Disgusting. Cruel. Necessary.
When she pulled back with a wet pop, his cock glistened under her palm. “Cheaper than the auction,” she panted, lips swollen and glazed. “And I’ll take every inch. Isn’t that worth more than some noble’s used cunt?”
He stared down at her, chest heaving.
For a heartbeat, she feared she’d failed.
Then he yanked her upright, slamming her against the wall, bottles rattling on nearby shelves. His mouth crashed onto hers—rancid, possessive—as he fumbled with his belt.
“Room. Now. Move.”
She let him shove her toward the stairwell, his palm hot and rough on the small of her back.
Lux, she thought, stomach churning, you’re safe.
But the taste of him lingered, a poison she’d swallow a thousand times if it meant sparing her this hell.
Ahri stepped out of the bathroom, her stride slower, heavier, but with renewed purpose. The veil of perfume and velvet fog returned as she moved through the preamble lounge, bypassing the lounging guests and silken girls like a shadow. Her glamour flickered faintly—but she didn’t care.
She found Vladimir standing near the far wall again, bathed in crimson light, watching the room with bored detachment. A half-empty glass of dark wine balanced between two fingers. When he saw her, his expression darkened immediately.
“Did I not make myself clear,” he said, voice low, sharp. “Stay away from me. I don’t need Swain sniffing around thinking I’m in bed with LeBlanc—figuratively or literally.”
Ahri didn't flinch. She walked straight up to him, eyes burning now with a different fire.
“Shut up,” she snapped, her voice quiet but ice-edged. “I’ve dealt with Gangplank.”
Vladimir raised an eyebrow, mildly amused by the bite in her voice.
Ahri continued, “Now the only obstacle between me and Lux… is you.”
She stepped closer, lowering her voice so that only he could hear.
“So I’m offering you something you can’t refuse.”
Vladimir didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. His silence was invitation and judgment all at once.
“You’ll have me,” Ahri said. “Tonight. Right now. No games. No tricks. No charm. No lies.”
She stood tall, letting her words weigh the room.
“I’ve belonged to LeBlanc since I became her right hand. I haven’t been touched by anyone else. Thousands would kill for the chance to fuck me. And I’m giving you that chance.”
Her lips curled slightly. “You don’t even have to bid.”
Vladimir stared at her for a long moment.
Still. Quiet. Calculating.
She knew he was watching her body for weakness. Watching her tremble, though she stood as still as possible. Watching her sacrifice herself for a goal he could still tear apart with a word.
“And while you’re… busy,” she continued, “Jarvan will bid for Lux. With Gangplank neutralized, and you not competing… he’ll win by default.”
She swallowed hard, barely audible. “Everyone gets what they want.”
There was a long, aching silence.
Then Vladimir took a slow sip from his wine.
Lowered the glass.
Smiled.
But his eyes were cold.
“Ahri,” he said, “the last time you offered yourself to someone, wasn’t it for power?”
He stepped forward, brushing a strand of her hair behind her ear with surgical precision.
“And now? You're offering yourself for a scrap of mercy.”
He leaned in, whispering: “Charming,” he said, his voice as smooth as ever. “Truly charming. Watching you overestimate yourself like that.”
Ahri’s expression didn’t falter, but something behind her eyes twitched.
He stepped in closer, not with lust—but something far colder. Inevitable. Eternal.
“You would be right,” he continued, “if you were speaking to any common simpleton in this room. A pirate. A noble. Even a scheming little brat like Swain.”
He leaned down, lips close to her ear now, his tone like a whisper through a crypt.
“But not me.”
Ahri went still. Her breath caught.
“You see,” Vladimir said, pulling back just enough to look into her eyes, “you’ve never been LeBlanc’s right hand.”
He smiled. There was no warmth in it.
“I am.”
The words hit her like ice.
“I helped her found the Black Rose,” he said calmly. “I stood at her side when Noxus was nothing but blood and bone. We shaped it. Molded it. Ruled it—through kings, through demons, through gods. It was her ambition and my blood that seeded the Sixth Rune War… and we won it. Together.”
Ahri’s throat tightened. Her claws curled slightly at her sides.
“You?” Vladimir scoffed. “You’re her distraction. Her amusement. Her personal sex toy, if we’re being generous. A glorified assistant with a talent for seduction and a pitiful longing for validation.”
He tilted his head, amused now. “And if I had wanted to fuck you, little fox, I’d have done it already. Do you honestly believe LeBlanc would have denied me? Me?”
His smile deepened.
“She desires my power, not whatever fleeting moans you manage to coax from her. You’re the performance. I’m the audience. And she’s the stage.”
He stepped back now, brushing imaginary dust from his coat.
“So no,” he said lightly. “I don’t accept.”
Ahri stood frozen, her mouth parted slightly—stunned. Not by rejection, but by the weight of truth pressing into her bones.
Vladimir gave her one last, sharp look.
“If you want to keep pretending you're important,” he added, “I won’t stop you. But do hurry.”
He turned, already walking away.
“Your window is closing.”
Vladimir had turned away, already dismissing her—already leaving her behind like a whisper too faint to be remembered.
But Ahri’s voice cut through the velvet air, low and shaking, not with fear—but with fury.
“If you won’t help me,” she said, “then you’re against me.”
Vladimir paused mid-step.
Ahri took a step forward, her claws flexing, her glamour unraveling in flickers around her wrists and eyes. Her fangs showed beneath her trembling lip. The predator beneath the courtesan now stood bare.
“I won’t stop,” she hissed. “Even if I have to kill you.”
She saw the slight tilt of his head, amused. Testing.
“Maybe I won’t succeed,” she admitted. “Maybe you’ll kill me first. Maybe you’ll reduce me to dust before I can even breathe.”
She stepped closer still, until her voice was low and cold in his ear.
“But if you do—then you get to explain to LeBlanc why you murdered her pet.”
Vladimir’s eyes slid toward her, red glinting beneath the soft golden glow of the chandeliers.
Ahri’s chest rose and fell sharply.
“I will sacrifice anyone to be with her again. Jarvan. Briar. Lux. Every girl in the Château. I’ll rip this brothel to pieces and offer their corpses like flowers if that’s what it takes.”
She trembled—not with fear, but with the sheer force of her conviction.
“I will set this place on fire and crawl through the ashes for a single night in her arms.”
Her claws gleamed in the light. Her tails coiled behind her like serpents ready to strike.
“So either you step out of the way…”
She raised her chin, eyes locked with his now—burning, crazed, alive.
“…or you face me. And I will use whatever I need. Whatever power, whatever trick, whatever lie, to fight you.”
The smile had long since faded from Vladimir’s face.
For once, his expression was unreadable.
But Ahri didn’t wait for a reply.
She turned, the force of her heartbeat carrying her into the crowd—toward Jarvan, toward the bidding floor, toward whatever came next.
She didn’t look back.
The door creaked open.
Lux froze, fingers still buried in her cunt, breath hitching as Swain’s shadow spilled over her. His cane tapped once—deliberate, unhurried—as he stepped inside. His gaze raked over her: thighs splayed, dress torn, her glistening fingers tangled in the dark blond thatch of hair between her legs. She choked back a whimper, yanking her hand free with a wet schlck, but the damage was done. The air reeked of sex and salt.
Swain’s nostrils flared. A flicker of something—disgust? Amusement?—crossed his face before his expression smoothed into its usual steel. “Clean yourself,” he said, voice like a blade wrapped in velvet. “The auction resumes in two minutes.” He didn’t look away as he spoke, his crimson raven perched on his shoulder staring with glassy, unblinking eyes.
Lux scrambled to her feet, legs slippery with sweat and shame. She wiped her hand down the front of her dress, smearing her own arousal like a child caught doodling on the walls.
“The bathroom,” Swain clarified, almost gently, as if addressing a feral animal. “Unless you’d like to greet your buyers like this?”
She stumbled past him, hips knocking against the doorframe. In the flickering lamplight of the hallway, she heard him click his tongue—tsk—low and disapproving.
“Demacian royalty,” he muttered to his raven, “reduced to a cunt dripping on my floors. Poetic.”
The bile rose in her throat as she scrubbed her hands raw under icy water. But no amount of lye soap could erase the phantom pressure of his gaze—or the traitorous warmth that curled in her gut when she remembered his eyes on her, his voice dissecting her ruin.
She retched into the sink.
When she returned, Swain was waiting. He didn’t comment on her swollen eyes or the way her damp dress clung to her shivering body. He simply gestured to the auction block with his cane, already turning away.
“Next time,” he said, not looking back, “save the theatrics for the clients. They pay extra for tears.”
Lux swayed, her stomach a hollow pit.
She’d never felt smaller.
The door hadn’t fully shut before Gangplank shoved her facedown onto the room’s threadbare cot. His weight crushed her lungs as he yanked her hips upward, her knees scraping splintered wood. No preamble—no pretense of tenderness. He barked a laugh, calloused hands tearing at her clothes. Fabric ripped. Cold air hit her skin, followed by the sweat-thick heat of his body.
“Y’think I didn’t see your game?” he snarled, breath reeking of rum and rot. His teeth sank into her shoulder—hard—as his fingers clawed between her legs. “Tryin’ t’ play me? You’re the fool.”
Kai’Sa choked back a scream. The bite burned like acid, his saliva mingling with blood as he gnashed deeper. She scrambled for purchase, fingers clawing the mattress, but he pinned her wrists behind her back with one meaty hand. Her thighs trembled as he forced them apart.
No lube. No mercy.
He drove into her dry.
Pain lit her nerves like wildfire. Her vision blurred, body arching involuntarily as he sheathed himself to the hilt. A guttural noise ripped from her throat—half sob, half roar—as he began to thrust. Each jagged movement tore at her, friction scalding raw flesh. She bit her lip until copper flooded her mouth, refusing to give him the satisfaction of her screams.
“Tighter’n a virgin,” he grunted, hips hammering. His free hand fisted her hair, slamming her cheek into the cot. “Guess that cunt’s colder ‘n the Void.”
She shut her eyes.
Think of Lux. Think of steeling her against worse.
But her mind splintered. Memories surged—dark tunnels, chittering horrors, the click-click-click of carapace on stone. The Void had been merciless, but it hadn’t mocked her. Hadn’t laughed as it violated her.
Gangplank’s teeth found her shoulder again. She felt skin split, heard his wet growl vibrate through her bones.
“Fightin’ it?” He chuckled, snapping his hips harder. “Good. I like when they squirm.”
Her muscles betrayed her, clamping around him in agony, and he groaned.
“There y’are. Knew you wanted it rough.”
She locked her jaw. Focus. Survive. Breathe through the searing drag of him, the metallic tang of blood on her tongue.
Through the haze, voices echoed in the hall—auction bids climbing, LeBlanc’s name hissed like a curse.
Almost time, she told herself. Lux will be safe. Just endure.
He yanked her head back, spine bowing unnaturally. “Look at me, bitch.”
She didn’t.
His fist cracked against her temple.
Stars burst behind her eyelids.
The room swam.
But she held onto the voices.
Hold on.
Hold on.
Gangplank’s hips stuttered, his rhythm fracturing into jagged, erratic thrusts. A guttural roar tore from his throat as he slammed into her one final time, his cock pulsing hot and thick inside her. Kai’Sa shuddered, bile rising as she felt the wet spill of him—claiming her, marking her—his seed searing like poison in her ravaged cunt.
He collapsed atop her, breath heaving, but didn’t withdraw. Instead, his hand slid down the sweat-slick curve of her back, fingers digging into her hip as he rocked lazily against her.
“Not… done with ye yet,” he slurred, voice thick with arousal and rum. His cock, still rigid, twitched inside her as he pulled out with a wet schlck.
Kai’Sa’s muscles tensed instinctively, but he hauled her upright by the hair, forcing her onto her hands and knees. The cot creaked under their weight as he knelt behind her, his calloused palm spreading her asscheeks. The cold air bit at her exposed flesh.
“Always wanted t’ break a Void-bitch in both holes,” he rasped, spitting onto his hand before smearing the scant moisture over his cock. It glistened, slick with her blood and his cum.
Her stomach lurched.
He pressed the swollen tip to her asshole—dry, ruthless—and leaned forward, his breath hot on her neck. “Scream,” he ordered. “I wanna hear it.”
She didn’t.
He shoved inward.
The pain was blinding. White-hot. Her vision fractured into static, her throat raw from silent screams as he forced himself past the ring of muscle. Tears blurred her eyes, but she refused to sob. Refused to let him win.
“Fuckin’ toy,” he snarled, bottoming out with a grunt. His hands clamped around her waist, fingers bruising as he began to piston into her. Each thrust tore a ragged gasp from her lips, her body buckling under the dual agony of his cock splitting her ass and the fresh bite marks oozing down her shoulder.
Somewhere beyond the room, the auctioneer’s voice crescendoed—“Going once! Going twice!”
Lux, she thought, clinging to the name like a lifeline. Hold on. Hold on.
But Gangplank’s laughter followed her into the dark.
The hush that fell over the auction floor was almost reverent, like a cathedral moments before a funeral.
The glass chamber in the center of the room flickered to life, its enchanted lights casting a golden glow onto the polished floor. Behind her thin veil, Lux stepped forward like a doll in a dream, her legs numb, her stomach churning.
She blinked under the brightness and tried not to shake.
From her glass enclosure, she could see them—the bidders—silhouetted behind their privacy screens. Sett. Ambessa. Vladimir. And Jarvan, she prayed. She couldn’t be sure.
But one of them was missing.
Two of them.
Gangplank’s chamber was empty.
And so was Kai’Sa’s.
Lux’s heart dropped. Her breath caught like a hook in her throat.
No.
The weight of it hit her all at once—heavier than shame, heavier than Swain’s gaze or the eyes crawling along her skin.
She had been on her knees, hand buried between her thighs, chasing heat in the dark like a coward, while Kai’Sa—braver, colder, stronger—had thrown herself into the lion’s den.
For her.
She saw it now. She understood.
Kai’Sa had gone with Gangplank. To keep him away. To stop him from winning.
From using her.
And in doing so, she had handed her body over to a monster.
To spare Lux.
Her stomach twisted violently, and for a moment she thought she might vomit again. But the lights were already up. The glass was transparent. The buyers were watching.
There was no dignity left to lose.
Still, she straightened.
Because now it wasn’t just her body on the line.
It was Kai’Sa’s sacrifice.
You idiot, she told herself. You selfish, soft, stupid thing.
She hadn’t saved herself. She had just looked away.
Kai’Sa was the one bleeding in silence, the one feeding herself to the beast so Lux wouldn’t have to scream in front of an audience.
And all Lux could do was stand here, lip trembling, the scent of her own shame still clinging to her skin.
She did this for me.
The tears tried to come again—but she forced them back. Not now. Not on display.
Her only hope now was that Gangplank stayed drunk, distracted, tangled in the spell of a girl with a stronger will than anyone gave her credit for.
And if he didn’t—
Then Lux would owe Kai’Sa more than she could ever repay.
The room held its breath as the auction resumed. The enchanted lights bathed Lux in a halo of gold and white. Her shoulders were square, her chin raised, but her eyes—wet and hollow—told the truth. She was still trembling.
Swain’s voice rang out again, bored and cold. “We’ll resume at one hundred and twenty thousand crowns. Do I hear more?”
Silence.
Then, from a familiar chamber—Jarvan’s voice, firm and steady:
“One hundred and twenty-five.”
A pause.
The tension in the room knotted like wire.
Then came the slow, velvety voice—Vladimir, casual and confident, as though he were bidding on a piece of art instead of a girl:
“One hundred and fifty.”
Behind her veil, Lux flinched.
Ahri’s nails dug into her thigh as she stared through the glass at the stage. Her heart thundered. Gangplank still hadn’t returned. Kai’Sa had bought them time—but it wasn’t enough.
Jarvan’s voice came again. “One sixty.”
And again—Vladimir, unbothered:
“One eighty.”
Jarvan paused, waiting.
Ahri tapped her ring twice.
But her voice didn’t come.
Instead, she whispered to herself, “He’s going to bleed us dry…”
Vladimir’s laughter was audible even without the speakers.
Swain raised an eyebrow, almost amused. “Final offers, then?”
Jarvan turned toward Ahri behind their mirrored partition. His voice was low, bitter. “What now?”
Ahri stared at the rising numbers like they were knives carving open her chest. Then her eyes narrowed. A slow, dangerous smirk curved across her lips. “We still have Briar.”
Jarvan blinked. “You mean—”
“It’s time,” Ahri said, rising from her chair. “Let her have some fun.”
Back on the stage, Swain began to raise his cane to finalize the auction. “Sold,” he declared, “to the Pale Noble. Congratulations, Lord Vladimir.”
Chapter 14: Yunara's Blossoming Part 1
Chapter by SeekerPS
Notes:
This chapter turned to be pretty longer than i expected, so i will divide it in 2 parts. sorry bout that. Hope you like it
Chapter Text
The torches flickered low in the Black Rose’s deepest basement, the air damp with ancient rot and the bitter tang of warding glyphs etched into the stone. In the center of the room, bound by arcane chains and runes that pulsed with barely restrained menace, Atakhan—a mass of slumbering fury—twitched in his torpor.
LeBlanc stood before him, arms folded behind her back, her silhouette lit faintly by the red glow of containment sigils. Behind her, Vladimir descended the steps with quiet grace, his boots clicking on the stone like falling nails.
“You summoned me,” he said coolly, eyeing the chained demon with distaste. “Still trying to make it purr?”
LeBlanc didn’t look back. “Not quite. I’ve received word that Xin Zhao—one of Jarvan’s exiles—has resurfaced in Ionia. He uncovered something.”
Vladimir raised an eyebrow.
She turned, eyes gleaming. “An entrance to the Spirit World.”
That made Vladimir pause.
“…To the Weapon?”
LeBlanc gave a single, slow nod.
Vladimir approached, rubbing his chin. “And what do you expect to find? Even if the weapon exists, it will be guarded. You and I both know these relics were buried for a reason.”
“And our current host is wounded,” he added dryly. “I suppose you expect me to volunteer?”
She tilted her head. “You’ve danced with Daarkin power before, haven’t you? Mastered it, even.”
Vladimir smiled, sharp and bitter. “Which is precisely why I won’t do it again. I don’t place my soul on the line for your ambitions. You forget—only one being has mastered their weapon in the last millennium.”
LeBlanc’s expression didn’t falter. Instead, her lips curved into a knowing smile.
“Afraid, Vladimir?”
He narrowed his eyes. “Cautious.”
She stepped closer, voice low and velvet-smooth. “If we recover the weapon… we could heal Jarvan.”
She looked away then—almost an afterthought. “And Ahri.”
Vladimir’s smile vanished.
“I’m growing tired of your obsession with that fox.”
“She is still useful.”
“She is a liability,” Vladimir snapped. “And if you think the weapon will simply fall into our hands, you’re a fool. The legend says it is guarded… by a warrior with ties to both the spirit realm and the Daarkin. One that has not broken.”
LeBlanc turned to face him fully now, her eyes sharp as a blade behind satin.
“Tell me, Vladimir,” she said, voice deceptively light, “who works for us now?”
Vladimir’s smirk returned, almost nostalgic. “Warriors. Many of them. Scarred. Dead-eyed. Hungry.”
She smiled wider. “No. They’re just survivors.”
She stepped back toward the glowing chains of Atakhan, watching the faint tremors beneath its surface.
“Ionians,” she continued, “always resist the longest. But they’re also the softest inside. They’ve tasted harmony, purpose, belief.”
Her gaze burned now, calculating, hungering.
“I find them to be the ones with the sweetest scent, and the prettiest tears when they break.”
Her voice dropped to a purr:
“It’s time we added a new flower to the Château.”
Vladimir raised an eyebrow.
The air in the dungeon shifted as LeBlanc’s fingers traced a sigil in the air, the symbol glowing a soft, ethereal violet before vanishing with a quiet chime. Footsteps echoed moments later, heels clicking with ritual grace.
Karma entered the chamber—her expression composed, but her aura flickering faintly with unease. She’d never been summoned to the White Liminal Vault, and certainly never in the presence of whatever was chained at the center.
Then she saw Atakhan.
The demon’s massive, malformed body twitched within the glowing runes, its many eyes opening in unnatural sequence to lock on her. The chains binding him flared, groaning under the strain as he lunged toward her—
CLANG.
The chains held. Barely.
Karma gasped, staggering back a step, instinctively reaching for a burst of spirit light—but LeBlanc raised a hand, stopping her.
“He cannot reach you,” she said calmly. “Not yet.”
Atakhan let out a guttural snarl, then retreated into his own shadows, restrained. For now.
LeBlanc turned her attention to Karma, tone clipped and cold.
“You, Karma, carry the soul of Ionia. Countless incarnations. Countless lifetimes. That makes you more than just another broken monk.”
Karma’s eyes narrowed, guarded. “It also means I remember your atrocities.”
LeBlanc smiled faintly. “Yes, well. Repetition is the path to mastery, as you say.”
She stepped closer, her shadow stretching across the white stone floor.
“There is a weapon, buried deep in the Spirit Realm—one that once belonged to a Daarkin warlord.” She glanced toward Atakhan, then back. “We believe it’s been uncovered. And it will be guarded.”
She stopped directly in front of Karma.
“I want to know by whom.”
Karma hesitated.
“Even if I remembered,” she said cautiously, “not all truths from the past can be accessed willingly. Some are locked until the moment fate demands them.”
LeBlanc’s tone darkened. “Then consider this that moment.”
Karma looked to Atakhan again. The chains pulsed like veins—alive, unnatural. She swallowed.
Closing her eyes, she drew a breath, summoning the calm taught to her over lifetimes. The souls within her stirred—flickers of monks, warriors, mothers, rebels, children. A thousand voices murmured in distant harmony, too distant to grasp.
And then—like a bell in deep water—one name surfaced.
“…Yunara.”
Karma stood very still, her palms pressed together, as if the old prayer gesture could shield her from the sorceress’s attention.
LeBlanc watched her, golden eyes half-lidded in calculation.
“…Yunara,” she repeated softly, as if savoring the name. “A martyr. A legend. A living relic.”
She paced in a slow circle around Karma, the hem of her dark gown whispering across the cold stone.
“And you…” LeBlanc continued, her voice honey-smooth, “have always taken such pride in tending to relics.”
Karma didn’t answer, her throat working.
LeBlanc stopped behind her, so close Karma could feel the chill of her magic.
“So,” she murmured, “will you guide us to her?”
Karma’s hands clenched tighter.
“I would never betray—”
But LeBlanc was already smiling.
“Oh, don’t say ‘betray.’” Her tone turned almost playful, though her shadow stretched long and crooked across the floor. “Perhaps you’re thinking about it the wrong way.”
She stepped around to face Karma again, raising a pale finger to tap her lightly under the chin.
“Imagine it, Karma: reuniting with an old friend. Reminding her of your shared purpose.”
Her eyes glinted.
“You could explain to her the…benefits of joining us.”
Karma swallowed, silent.
LeBlanc’s smile grew.
“A steady supply of food.” She tilted her head. “A beautiful place to live. Freedom from Noxian invasion—because I own Noxus, and I can simply…withhold their attention.”
Her finger slid to trace Karma’s jaw, deceptively gentle.
“All she would need to surrender…is herself.”
Karma’s lips parted, her voice low with loathing. “You would break her.”
LeBlanc leaned close, her breath cold as winter.
“I would refine her.”
Then she straightened, smooth and unhurried, as if nothing had been said at all.
“And if your reunion doesn’t convince her…”
Her smile vanished, replaced by that unblinking, inhuman calm.
“…then I will show her why challenging me is unwise.”
She turned her back, already dismissing Karma like a tool she’d set aside.
“Prepare yourself. You’ll be coming with me.”
Karma closed her eyes, feeling the weight of countless lifetimes—all of them screaming the same truth:
This is how tyrants rise.
The stone steps rose into nothingness, spiraling into an open wound in the sky.
Karma’s sandals tapped softly on the carved path, each step bringing her closer to the breach between worlds. Below her: a world wounded by war. Above her: mist, memory, and spirits drifting like forgotten prayers. The portal shimmered like a still lake suspended in midair, rippling softly as she passed through.
The Spirit Realm.
Soft wind curled through flowering trees. Petals danced on the air like dream-fragments. The temple stood ahead—ancient, radiant with serenity, untouched by time. Lanterns swayed gently, their paper shapes glowing faintly with inner fire.
In the center, tending to the garden with serene precision, stood Yunara.
Dressed in ceremonial robes, her face was as tranquil as it had been the day she vanished into legend. Her dark hair was braided with ribbons of sky-blue. She looked up as Karma approached—surprise lighting her eyes, followed by joy.
“Karma,” she breathed, stepping forward. “You’ve returned.”
Karma bowed, hands clasped before her. “Yunara.”
They embraced, briefly—but the moment lingered with the weight of centuries.
“I… heard whispers,” Yunara said, leading her beneath the shade of an old camellia tree. “The spirits speak of changes, echoes. Something in Ionia has shifted.” Her brow furrowed. “What happened?”
Karma looked away.
“The Sixth Rune War scorched the continent,” she said softly. “But the Noxians… they took pleasure in plunging their blades into our soil. Into us.”
Yunara’s face darkened. “I heard fragments of that… but the First Lands still stand. Ionia lives. She must have fought back.”
Karma nodded slowly. “We did. Irelia and I.” Her voice trembled, not from fear—but from exhaustion. “We brought peace. It was hard won. Fragile. Paid for in bodies and silence.”
Yunara smiled faintly, eyes shining with pride. “Such a battle must have been glorious. Our enemies must have fallen in droves. Fled in shame. I only wish I had stood beside you.”
Karma tried to smile. “The battle hasn’t ended.”
Yunara blinked. “It hasn’t?”
“No,” Karma said. “We fight it still. Each day.”
Yunara tilted her head in confusion. “Then let me return. Let me help you slay the enemies of Ionia. Name them, and I will—”
But Karma’s smile faded. She looked away, her voice low.
“You’ll be brought to that battle,” she said softly.
“But not in the way you think.”
Yunara’s brow furrowed. She opened her mouth to ask— But something in Karma’s face stopped her.
Karma stood very still, the garden’s lanterns swaying around her, their pale light glinting on the unshed tears in her eyes.
“The Black Rose,” she began, voice soft but steady, “is not merely a hidden cabal. It is a coven—forged between two sorcerers of unimaginable ambition. They engineered the Sixth Rune War to break the spine of every kingdom and stake dominion over this continent.”
Her gaze drifted past Yunara, as though seeing the ghosts of that cataclysm etched into the Spirit Realm itself.
“They wielded magic older than most nations… and the full might of a military empire bred for nothing but conquest. Not even Ionia—our oldest sanctuaries, our proudest clans—could resist them forever.”
Yunara’s lips parted, her brow creasing.
Karma went on, her voice dull as she recited the litany of defeat:
“We fought. We bled. And we were defeated.”
She swallowed, her throat working around the memory.
“Then she came to me. To us.”
Her eyes closed briefly.
“One of the two founders. A dark sorceress of unrivaled power. She offered us a choice. To me… and to Irelia.”
Karma’s hands lifted—fingers trembling.
“To submit. To kneel. To become her instruments. And in doing so, to purchase freedom and peace for Ionia.”
Her voice dropped, brittle:
“Or to refuse—and see our land erased.”
Yunara took a half-step back, her breath unsteady.
“…That was never a choice,” she whispered.
Karma’s lips curved in something too sad to be a smile.
“No,” she said. “It was an ultimatum. But we took it. Because it was the only way to spare our people.”
The wind stirred again, cold through the garden. Yunara’s robes rippled softly around her.
Yunara lifted her chin, her voice small.
“Then… if you submitted—if you surrendered everything—how are you here? Why are you still fighting?”
Karma’s shoulders sagged, her eyes shimmering with something like pity.
“Because the war didn’t end.”
She looked up, meeting Yunara’s gaze squarely.
“It simply changed battlefields.”
Karma drew a long, shaky breath, her voice falling to a raw whisper.
“Every day since that surrender, Irelia and I have fought again. We have paid for each day of freedom this land has enjoyed.”
She paused. Swallowed.
“We paid with sex. With our bodies. With our humiliation. We were used, over and over, in the darkness of that Château. For every child born safe in these islands… for every clan that still dares to call itself Ionian… we have paid the price.”
Yunara’s eyes filled, horror blooming across her face.
“They forced you—”
“They forced nothing,” Karma said flatly, though her voice quivered. “They simply required it. If we refused, they would kill what we loved.”
She stepped closer, the camellia petals drifting around them like dying hopes.
“That is the battlefield now, Yunara.”
Her voice was gentle, but unyielding:
“That is the war. And you… have arrived at it.”
Karma’s throat worked once, then she finished, softly:
“The only choice left to you… is whether you will participate willingly…”
Her eyes shimmered.
“…or unwillingly.”
For a long moment, the two women stood in the hush of the Spirit Realm garden—only the rustle of lotus blossoms filling the air between them.
Then Yunara spoke, her voice low and ragged with disbelief:
“…No.”
Her hands curled into tight fists at her sides.
“No—I will never bow. Never surrender.”
She stepped back, her eyes bright with a gathering fire.
“I don’t care what they did to you. I don’t care how many armies they command. I have my power—and my purpose—and I will never be their chattel.”
Karma did not flinch.
Yunara’s breath came faster.
“And I am not alone.” She lifted her chin, a warrior’s defiance sharpening every word. “I have my friend—the glaive—and together, we will kill that sorceress.”
A flicker of something almost like pity passed over Karma’s face. She looked at the petals drifting between them and exhaled.
“You don’t have to rush your choice,” she murmured, voice soft. “You have twenty-four hours.”
Yunara’s lip curled in disgust.
“I don’t need twenty-four hours to decide never to become a whore for tyrants.”
Karma’s gaze met hers, steady.
“Surrendering peacefully,” she said, “will make it less amusing for LeBlanc.”
Her expression was almost gentle as she continued:
“Tomorrow, I will return. With her. And then you will understand.”
Yunara’s jaw clenched.
“I already understand enough,” she spat. “You have betrayed everything Ionia stood for.”
Karma didn’t deny it.
She only looked at her with the quiet, terrible sadness of someone who had already buried too many ideals.
Then she turned away.
And left Yunara alone beneath the falling blossoms, where the Spirit Realm no longer felt safe.
The air in the Spirit Realm was heavier than the day before. The stillness held its breath.
Karma returned, just as she had promised—her expression calm, her steps measured as she crossed the temple threshold.
But she was not alone.
Behind her, draped in black and violet silk that rippled like oil in the wind, LeBlanc followed with elegant, predatory grace. Her golden eyes scanned the temple as if appraising it—less a sacred site, more a structure she was already deciding how best to reshape.
Yunara was waiting.
She stood in the temple courtyard, glaive resting calmly in one hand, her expression unreadable. The breeze tugged at her robes, her stance relaxed but braced for blood.
“I told you yesterday,” she said, voice cutting across the space like a blade, “I’m going to kill you.”
LeBlanc only smiled, unbothered, stepping past Karma. “Now, now. Such aggression. You haven’t even seen the building yet—the gardens are exquisite, and the other girls are lovely once you get to know them. Well… at least the majority—”
CRACK.
A burning orb of spirit energy shot through the air and struck LeBlanc directly in the chest, piercing clean through with a hiss of vapor and magic.
Her smile vanished.
She staggered, eyes wide, blood blooming through silk as she collapsed onto the temple stones with theatrical slowness.
She gasped.
“I… I can’t believe it…”
She slumped motionless.
Yunara lowered her hand, smoke still rising from her fingers. She stared at the fallen sorceress with cool finality.
“That,” she said, “wasn’t so hard.”
She turned toward Karma, ready to speak again—
But Karma was smiling.
Not with relief. Not with sorrow.
With amusement.
The illusion melted, sliding off her skin like water shedding from glass.
It was LeBlanc.
The woman who had been struck down twitched, her form dissolving into smoke and shattered glamor, the real body never there at all.
LeBlanc’s smile deepened.
“Oh, Yunara,” she said sweetly. “I can’t believe you fell for such a simple trick.”
Yunara’s eyes widened—not in fear, but rage.
The game had begun. LeBlanc stepped forward, her illusion fully shed now—long legs gliding across the stones, bloodless hands clasped behind her back. Her golden eyes shimmered with quiet delight, as if the entire charade had been little more than a warm-up.
Yunara gripped her glaive tighter, fury building behind her composed facade.
LeBlanc tilted her head.
“I suppose that’s your opening move, then?” she asked, nodding to the scorch mark left by the spirit orb that had pierced her clone. “Impressive. But… short-sighted.”
Yunara’s voice was a low growl. “I meant every word. I will kill you.”
LeBlanc smiled wider, stopping a few paces away, close enough for her perfume to drift like venom in bloom.
“Then let’s play,” she whispered, her voice playful, almost inviting. “But let me offer you a truth before we begin.” Her tone dipped, subtle power threading through every syllable. “This is a game. And for you, the only winning move… is not to play.”
“I don’t fear you.”
LeBlanc chuckled softly. “You will.”
She raised one finger, lightly tapping her lips in mock thought. “But you don’t have to. Surrender now, and I’ll make sure the only thing that gets bruised is your pride.”
She took a slow step closer, shadows curling at her heels like obedient dogs.
“No broken bones. No scars. No cages. Just silk sheets, warm food, and girls who will teach you how to cry with pleasure instead of pain.”
She leaned in, her voice velvet now.
“Doesn’t that sound easier?”
Yunara didn’t respond. Her answer came in the swing of her glaive, a flawless, explosive arc of spirit-charged steel.
LeBlanc barely moved—just a subtle tilt of the head, a single step back—and the blade passed through her throat.
With a flash of pale light, her body crumbled into smoke.
Yunara didn’t pause.
Another LeBlanc stood behind her, smiling coyly.
Yunara twisted and lunged—another clean strike through the sorceress’ midsection—
Another illusion.
Gone in a puff of arcane haze.
A third LeBlanc stepped out from the garden’s shadowed arch.
And a fourth from behind a swaying paper lantern.
And a fifth stepped softly from Karma’s footprints.
Each one identical. Each one smirking with that knowing, cruel elegance.
Yunara’s chest heaved. She dashed between them, glaive spinning, slashing through illusion after illusion—
Each one died.
And each death birthed another.
It was like fighting a hydra of mirrors, each LeBlanc collapsing only to be replaced by three more. The air filled with fragments of laughter, of perfume, of false blood and meaningless gasps.
One LeBlanc placed a hand on Yunara’s shoulder from behind. “You’re very quick.”
Yunara turned with a snarl and drove her weapon straight through her gut.
The sorceress giggled as she vanished.
Another whispered from a treetop, “But not quick enough.”
Yunara leapt, slammed her glaive down—stone shattered beneath the weight.
Nothing.
The illusions began to speak in unison now, voices echoing through the temple like a choir of devils.
“You’re fighting ghosts.”
“You’re dancing in circles.”
“You look so very beautiful when you’re angry.”
The sky above twisted slightly—the spirit realm itself beginning to bend under LeBlanc’s presence.
Yunara fell into a crouch, panting, her glaive dripping with nothing.
The temple was full of LeBlancs now.
Some leaned lazily against columns.
Others watched with quiet amusement, lips curled in anticipation.
One stepped forward, as real as the rest—and yet, somehow more.
“If you’re finished,” she said, her voice coated in honey, “we can begin the next lesson.”
All around Yunara, the illusions burst, each body splitting open with a soft pop of magic. But instead of dissolving harmlessly—
—chains erupted.
Woven from black and violet sigils, they lashed outward like living serpents, hissing and crackling with suppressive power.
Yunara’s eyes widened. She hurled herself aside as the first length snapped past her face, cracking the stone behind her like a whip.
She rolled over her shoulder and sprang back to her feet—just in time to deflect a second chain that tried to coil around her ankle.
A third burst from a fallen clone and looped for her wrist—she twisted free by a hair’s breadth, the links grazing her skin with a cold that bit straight into her soul.
The LeBlancs watched her dance, each clone serenely unconcerned by the chaos.
Some simply observed, arms folded. Others tilted their heads in idle curiosity.
But one walked in a slow circle just beyond the swirl of chains, her voice rising sweetly above the din:
“You’re quite agile.”
Another chain lunged for Yunara’s thigh—she vaulted over it, glaive lashing down to smash the illusion it had burst from.
“And so very pretty when you’re desperate.”
Two more chains shot up from the shattered flagstones, striking like fanged jaws. Yunara twisted away again—just barely—but she could feel her stamina thinning, her precision fraying.
LeBlanc’s voice floated closer—calm, conversational, almost gentle.
“Tell me, Yunara…”
A chain snagged her sleeve—she ripped free with a savage pull, heart hammering.
“…How much experience do you have in sex?”
Yunara’s breath hitched—she dared not look for which clone was speaking, too focused on surviving.
“Oh, I suppose it must be none at all,” LeBlanc continued lightly. “After all… so many centuries alone in this little shrine.”
Another chain cracked across her path—she ducked and rolled, feeling the gust of displaced air tug at her hair.
“Untouched.”
Another clone leaned in, smiling almost kindly as the chains circled closer.
“Which means…”
The last word lingered, velvet and poisonous.
“…you’ll be as tight as a virgin.”
Yunara choked on fury—she brought her glaive up in both hands, spinning desperately to sever another pair of approaching chains. Sparks erupted in a blinding arc as spirit energy clashed with LeBlanc’s cruel magic.
But more chains kept rising, inexorable, weaving a net that would eventually close.
And LeBlanc’s voice purred all around her—impossible to escape.
“Such a special little flower,” she murmured. “Shall I be the first to teach you how to bloom?”
The chains grew thicker, their clattering links echoing like a hundred jailers around Yunara. No matter how she dodged, no matter how many illusions she cut down, more spawned in their place—each one watching her struggle with unblinking amusement.
Yunara’s breath tore ragged from her throat. Her limbs burned with exhaustion. Still, she kept her glaive between her and the nearest chain, refusing to let it coil around her limbs.
LeBlanc’s voice drifted between the columns, impossibly calm.
“Have you ever pleased a man, Yunara?”
Yunara bared her teeth, refusing to answer.
A chain lashed across her path—she threw herself aside, rolling across cracked stone. As she sprang up, she felt the graze of a cold link brush the curve of her hip.
LeBlanc tsked softly.
“No?” she continued, as if Yunara hadn’t nearly escaped her grasp again. “I suppose not.”
One clone drifted nearer, a fingertip trailing across the rim of a broken lantern. Another chain snapped past Yunara’s cheek, close enough that the wind stung her skin.
“So much discipline.”
A third LeBlanc appeared, her lips curving.
“So much purity.”
Yunara raised her glaive in defiance, her body trembling. “I’d sooner die than be your toy.”
The nearest clone smiled—serene, unbothered.
“Oh, you will learn that it isn’t a choice.”
Two more chains coiled, this time striking together. Yunara barely pivoted away, but her balance broke—she fell to one knee, breathing ragged.
LeBlanc tilted her head, studying her as one might a fascinating insect.
“Don’t look so upset,” she murmured. “You will soon master other skills.”
Yunara’s eyes flashed, but her arms shook with fatigue as she tried to lift her weapon again.
LeBlanc’s smile deepened, her tone almost pitying:
“You will learn to please. To beg. To make those sweet, helpless sounds.”
Her voice fell to a purr.
“And by the time I am done with you, you will be far, far better at that…”
Chains rose all around Yunara now, weaving their inevitable trap.
“…than you ever were at fighting.”
Yunara’s glaive trembled in her grip, her arms shaking with exhaustion. The chains rattled around her in a circle of closing inevitability. She forced herself to her feet one more time, her breath harsh in her throat.
Then—
Clink.
A single chain darted low, coiling around her left ankle.
Yunara gasped, a ragged, unbidden sound escaping her lips as the cold links cinched tight against her skin. The shock of contact was like ice sinking straight to her bones.
She tried to wrench free—another chain snapped around her right ankle, pinning her in place.
Her knees buckled. She fell forward onto one hand, her glaive clattering across the stones out of reach.
LeBlanc stepped closer, the illusions around her dissolving one by one, as if even they had tired of the pretense. Only the "real" sorceress remained—and she was smiling.
Yunara’s breath trembled. She tried to push herself upright, but the chains anchored her like iron roots.
LeBlanc looked down at her, golden eyes gleaming.
“Such a sweet sound,” she murmured, her voice dark silk. “That little gasp…”
She knelt gracefully, one knee settling inches from Yunara’s bound leg, and lifted Yunara’s chin with two fingers.
“…You’ll be making more of them soon.”
Her smile turned intimate. Cruel.
“And when you do…”
Her thumb brushed Yunara’s bottom lip, feeling the faint tremor of her breath.
“…you’ll do it at my command.”
Yunara shut her eyes, her chest heaving in helpless fury and dread as the chains continued their slow, inexorable climb up her thighs.
Yunara awoke slowly.
At first, there was only a drifting sense of weightlessness, her mind struggling to rise from the depths of some drugged sleep. Her limbs felt too heavy, her throat raw from unshed screams.
Then sensation returned in waves—warmth on her skin, the faint pull of silk against her arms, the metallic bite of restraints.
Her eyes fluttered open.
She was lying on a canopied bed, draped in soft white gauze that rippled faintly in a hidden breeze. Moonlight spilled across polished floors of dark marble, glinting off gilt inlays and tall mirrors framed in carved obsidian.
A beautiful room.
Too beautiful.
Yunara shifted—and the cold bite of enchanted cuffs cinched around her wrists and ankles reminded her she was still a prisoner. Each chain was worked in delicate filigree, etched with faint runes that pulsed in time with her heartbeat. They had the aesthetic of jewelry, but she knew instinctively they were unbreakable.
She tested them anyway. The shackles gave no more than if she’d been bound to the foundations of the earth itself.
Her breath came faster, and she pressed her back against the headboard, forcing herself to take in every detail:
—No windows she could reach.
—No weapons in sight.
—A single door of black wood, its latch gleaming gold.
And in the corner, a low table laid with a silver tray: a decanter of pale liquor, a cut-glass goblet, a single plate of fresh fruit.
It was all too clean. Too quiet.
Yunara shut her eyes, feeling the humiliating heat of memory—the chains in the temple, LeBlanc’s voice, the soft touch beneath her chin.
You’ll do it at my command.
She swallowed hard, her jaw clenching.
The door creaked open without ceremony.
Karma stepped inside, her bare feet whispering against the marble floor. Her robes had changed—simplified, silken, colored in muted tones of amethyst and ivory. Her hair was pinned up with elegant restraint, but her face… her face was tired. Hollowed. Still graceful, still poised—but less flame, and more smoke.
Yunara tensed against the headboard, wrists still caught in the delicate chains.
Karma gave a faint, apologetic smile as her eyes settled on her.
“I’m sorry you’re awake,” she said softly. “But no one can sleep forever—not here. Not in the Château.”
She walked toward the bed with slow, unhurried steps. A small key, carved from spiritglass, hung from a cord around her neck.
Yunara looked up at her, wild defiance still alive behind her eyes. “Free me.”
Karma tilted her head.
“I am,” she said, and bent forward to unlock the restraints.
One by one, the chains released with a quiet click, falling away like jewelry discarded after a long ceremony.
But even as Yunara rubbed her raw wrists, she heard the next words like a blade pressing against her soul.
“…But what do you think you can do now?”
Karma stepped back, folding her hands in front of her.
“You were defeated outside LeBlanc’s domain. Out there, her power was vast. Here?” Her voice dropped lower. “Here, it is absolute.”
Yunara stood shakily, arms tense.
“I will destroy this place,” she said. Her voice trembled, not with fear—but with fury.
Karma didn’t flinch.
“For every teaspoon you bend,” she said calmly, “she will kill a hundred Ionians.”
Yunara’s breath hitched.
“For every piece of furniture you shatter, five hundred.”
Yunara clenched her fists.
“And if you dare lay a hand on another girl, even in defiance—a thousand.”
Yunara’s knees nearly buckled. “You’re lying.”
“I’ve seen it,” Karma whispered. “And you should’ve seen what she did to the last one who dared to damage the Château.”
She looked at Yunara sadly.
“In fact, I can bring Jinx here and make her narrate all the... experience”
Yunara sank to the bed again, shaking.
Karma stepped closer, sitting beside her this time.
“It’s wiser,” she said gently, “not to play LeBlanc’s game.”
Her hand rested lightly on Yunara’s.
“That’s the only winning move.”
Yunara sat on the edge of the bed, her wrists red where the shackles had been. Her voice came out hoarse, but steady.
“…The glaive,” she whispered. “What happened to it? Who has it now?”
Karma looked away, a shadow flickering over her composed features.
“LeBlanc,” she said finally. “I imagine she is already trying to twist it to her own ends.”
Yunara clenched her jaw.
Karma’s gaze softened, almost pitying. “You should be grateful for that distraction. As long as she is occupied, she will leave you…relatively untested.”
Yunara lifted her eyes to hers, a note of suspicion in her voice.
“What do you want from me?”
Karma didn’t hesitate.
“Peace.” Her tone was heartbreakingly simple. “Peace for Ionia. That’s why I am here. That’s why I stay.”
She touched Yunara’s shoulder gently.
“I am begging you—surrender now. Fighting her will only bring more slaughter to the islands. You cannot fathom the devastation she can unleash.”
Yunara’s mouth tightened.
“I still have time,” she said. “Time to find her. Time to end her.”
Karma closed her eyes and shook her head, her braids sliding against her cheek.
“Time?” Her voice was soft, disbelieving. “What time do you think you have?”
She stood and faced the dark-paneled wall as though seeing something far away.
“She has gathered more power here than you can imagine,” Karma whispered. “Beneath this manor lie things that rival the Daarkin. Forces that have no name in any Ionian tongue.”
Her hand curled around the edge of the canopy bed, knuckles paling.
“We had no time. No chance. Not against an enemy a thousand years ahead of us.”
Yunara straightened her spine, fierce again despite her chains and fatigue.
“Then we gather the others,” she said. “You, me, every Ionian she’s taken—together, we can plan. We can kill her.”
For the first time, Karma laughed—a short, raw sound.
“In this fortress?” she said, turning back toward Yunara, her smile brittle as shattered glass. “The mistress sees all.”
Her eyes glimmered with something almost like fear.
“Her gaze pierces clothes, shadows, walls…flesh.”
Yunara’s voice faltered. “…How do you know?”
Karma’s throat worked.
“Because,” she whispered, “I have seen it happen already.”
Her voice broke on the last word.
The silence that followed was like the hush before a blade fell.
Karma’s gaze turned distant, her voice almost reverent, as though she were reciting scripture:
“The hour is later than you think.”
She stepped away from the bed, her bare feet whispering across the polished floor.
“LeBlanc’s plans are in motion already. The foundations have been laid for centuries. Against the power of the Black Rose… there can be no victory.”
She turned back to Yunara, her eyes wide, almost shining with conviction.
“We must join with her, Yunara. Surrendering—giving ourselves—is the only way to protect the land. It is the wise course, old friend.”
Yunara stared up at her in disbelief.
“…Karma.” Her voice was soft, incredulous.
She rose slowly to her feet, chains clinking at her ankles as she looked her friend in the eyes.
“Tell me, old friend—when did Karma the wise abandon reason for madness?”
Karma’s expression didn’t change. If anything, it softened further—like a mother watching a stubborn child.
“When did you decide that surrender was wisdom?” Yunara pressed, her voice rising. “That slavery was safety? That whoring for your conqueror was somehow noble?”
Karma’s mouth trembled, but she said nothing.
Yunara drew in a shaking breath, her heart thundering.
“Was it when you let her put her hands on you?” she demanded. “Or when you realized you liked it?”
For a moment, Karma’s composure flickered. Just a crack in the mask. But then it was gone—and her silence was the only answer.
Yunara’s eyes burned. “Then you are lost.”
She lunged, her hands wreathed in spirit energy—fingers curled to seize Karma’s throat.
But Karma moved faster.
A flick of her wrist, a glimmer of translucent blue—
Warding sigils blossomed in the air.
Yunara’s strike met the shield with a crack like shattering glass—
—and rebounded straight into her own chest.
The force hurled her backwards across the room. She struck the bed with a ragged gasp, the frame creaking under the impact as her breath tore free.
Karma advanced with measured steps, the ethereal ward still glowing around her hand.
“I gave you the chance,” she said calmly, “to serve LeBlanc willingly.”
She lifted her other hand.
A coil of hard light condensed in her palm, then elongated into a dart of gleaming energy.
“But—”
She flicked her fingers. The dart slammed into Yunara’s exposed belly with a sound like a muffled thunderclap. Yunara cried out, folding around the pain as bruises spread beneath her skin.
Karma’s voice turned quiet, implacable: “—you have elected the way of pain.”
Yunara clenched the sheets in shaking hands, her eyes wet with fury. And for the first time since waking in the Château, she felt herself begin to break.
The door swung open without ceremony.
Irelia stepped inside, her bare feet silent on the polished floor. She wore a simple wrap of pale silk knotted at her hip, her hair loose down her back. There were faint bruises on her throat and hips—marks of ownership she no longer bothered to hide.
Her eyes flicked from Karma to Yunara, who was still doubled over on the bed, breathing raggedly.
“I heard the noise,” Irelia said, her voice flat. “I assume your negotiations have not yielded any results.”
Karma didn’t look away from Yunara.
“No.” Her tone was quiet, tired. “She has proven to be…less wise than I had hoped. Perhaps time will correct that.”
She paused, her expression tightening.
“But I fear that time will be measured in Ionian lives.”
Irelia sighed—an almost weary sound.
She took a step closer to the bed, her gaze leveling on Yunara with cold pragmatism.
“Listen to me,” she said, her voice even. “I don’t care what you think of us.”
Yunara tried to lift her head, but the pain in her belly made her arms tremble.
Irelia went on, unflinching.
“Karma and I have been fucked more times than you can count, by every manner of brute, to secure what little safety Ionia still has. We have endured it all—so our people could live.”
Her mouth hardened.
“We will not allow some brat to endanger those lives—to make our sacrifice meaningless—just for her stupid pride.”
Yunara’s hands fisted in the sheets, but she couldn’t speak past the ache in her ribs.
Karma turned her gaze to Irelia, her voice soft.
“LeBlanc is occupied with other matters. She has given us this time to convince Yunara to surrender peacefully.”
She let out a long breath.
“But if reason cannot reach her…”
Her eyes flickered to the bruised girl on the bed.
“…perhaps you can be more persuasive.”
Irelia’s mouth curved into a small, humorless smirk.
Her eyes never left Yunara as she tilted her head in mock thought.
“Tell me, Karma…” she murmured, her tone deceptively light.
“Did LeBlanc say anything about whether Yunara’s virginity needed to be preserved?”
Karma didn’t answer right away.
She looked at Irelia—really looked at her—and for a moment, something old and exhausted flickered in her eyes.
Once, they had fought together, blade and spirit bound by the same unbreakable cause.
Now they stood in a gilded prison, deciding how best to break another woman’s will.
Yunara’s breathing hitched. She pressed herself back against the headboard as if it might swallow her whole.
Karma’s gaze fell to the floor.
“No,” she said at last, voice low. “No…she gave no such instructions.”
Irelia’s smirk didn’t deepen, but it settled, like a decision made.
“Then it’s simple.”
She walked closer to the bed, her steps unhurried.
“LeBlanc wants you tamed,” she said evenly. “That is all.”
Her eyes met Yunara’s, flat and empty of pity.
“And I have no intention of failing her.”
Yunara’s hands shook as she braced herself upright, her voice raw.
“You’re monsters,” she whispered. “Both of you.”
Irelia didn’t flinch.
“Maybe,” she said softly.
Her fingers reached for the knot in her sash, loosening it as she spoke.
“But so were the Noxians who burned our fields. So were the Daarkin when they took our homes. So is the woman who holds all our throats in her hand.”
She let the silk fall to the floor, standing over Yunara with nothing between them but air and dread.
Karma’s eyes glistened, but her face stayed composed.
“You think we do this because we want to,” she said, voice trembling. “But it is fear that made us victims…and fear that makes us—”
She couldn’t finish. She swallowed, looking away.
Irelia put a knee on the mattress, her shadow falling across Yunara’s bare legs.
“Hold her arms,” she told Karma quietly.
For a moment, neither moved.
Then Karma stepped forward, her hands rising—delicate, resigned—to seize Yunara’s wrists.
Yunara twisted, trying to wrench her arms free.
But Karma’s grip closed around her wrists, surprisingly strong despite the tremor in her fingers.
“Don’t,” Karma whispered, her voice raw. “Don’t fight me.”
Yunara glared at her through a film of tears. “You disgust me.”
“I know,” Karma said, her eyes glistening. “I disgust myself.”
Irelia climbed onto the bed fully, knees braced on either side of Yunara’s hips. She moved with the cold, practiced focus of a woman who had learned that hesitation only made it worse.
Yunara’s breath hitched as Irelia’s hands slid to her thighs, firm and unflinching.
“Stop,” Yunara said, her voice breaking. “Please.”
Irelia didn’t answer. She forced Yunara’s legs apart, her face unreadable.
Karma squeezed Yunara’s wrists harder as she tried to thrash.
“It will be worse if you fight,” Karma whispered, but her own tears slid down her cheeks.
Yunara sobbed once, a ragged sound that cracked the air.
“Is this what you’ve become?” she choked. “Traitors—slaves—rapists—”
Irelia’s jaw clenched.
“You think I don’t hear that voice in my head every night?” she said flatly. “You think I don’t remember who I used to be?”
Her hands shifted higher, pressing Yunara’s hips down into the bed.
“I remember.”
Her eyes flicked up, dull and resigned.
“And remembering doesn’t change anything.”
Karma’s grip trembled as she pinned Yunara’s wrists to the pillow.
“Forgive me,” she whispered. “Forgive us.”
And in the hush that followed, Yunara realized with a hollow certainty that her only shield had always been her own defiance—
—and it was no shield at all.
Yunara bucked again, her wrists twisting in Karma’s hands, but there was no leverage—no chance. The chains at her ankles were gone, but the invisible shackles were stronger: fear, hopelessness, the knowledge that no matter how she struggled, there was no one left to save her.
Karma squeezed her eyes shut, as if she could pretend she wasn’t there. She held Yunara pinned, her breath coming in ragged shudders.
Irelia’s hands moved slowly over Yunara’s hips, her fingers tracing the delicate skin she was about to defile. There was no gloating in her face, no heat—only the dull, mechanical purpose of a woman carrying out an order she hated.
Yunara tried to turn her head, to look anywhere but at them. But Irelia’s voice stopped her.
“Look at me,” she said hoarsely.
Yunara clenched her jaw.
“I said—look at me.”
Reluctantly, hating herself for obeying, Yunara met her eyes.
Irelia’s face was so close. She looked tired. Older. Her lips pressed into a thin line.
“If you want to curse me,” she whispered, “do it to my face. I’d rather hear it than pretend this is something else.”
Yunara’s voice cracked.
“I hate you.”
A single tear slipped from Irelia’s eye.
“I know.”
“Stop!” Yunara begged, her voice raw with desperation. “Please, I’ll do anything—just don’t—”
Irelia’s hand stilled, her fingers resting against the soft skin of Yunara’s inner thigh. She looked down at Yunara, her face unreadable, her lips pressed into a thin line.
“Are you going to cooperate?” Irelia asked, her voice flat. “Are you going to tell LeBlanc what she wants to hear?”
Yunara nodded frantically, her breath coming in shallow gasps. “Yes—yes, I’ll do it. I’ll tell her. Just—please—”
Irelia hesitated, her hand still resting on Yunara’s thigh. For a moment, it seemed like she might pull back, like she might stop. But then her jaw tightened, and she leaned forward, her face inches from Yunara’s.
“This isn’t about you,” Irelia murmured, her voice low and hoarse. “This is about survival. Ours. Yours. I’m sorry.”
Her hand moved again, and Yunara let out a choked sob, her body trembling as Irelia’s fingers pressed against her. The touch was firm, unyielding, and Yunara clenched her eyes shut, her breath hitching as tears streamed down her face.
Irelia’s movements were slow, deliberate, as if she were trying to minimize the pain but knew it was inevitable. She leaned forward, her body pressing against Yunara’s, and Yunara let out a strangled cry, her back arching as Irelia pushed into her.
The room was filled with the sound of Yunara’s ragged sobs, her body trembling as Irelia moved above her. Irelia’s face was a mask of cold detachment, her eyes hollow, her breaths coming in shallow gasps. Karma stood by the bed, her hands still holding Yunara’s wrists, her face pale and tear-streaked. She turned her head away, unable to watch, her body trembling with guilt and shame. Her grip on Yunara’s wrists tightened, her fingers digging into the soft skin, but she didn’t let go.
Yunara’s body convulsed with each movement, her breath coming in broken sobs. She tried to pull away, to escape, but there was no escape. Karma’s hands held her in place, and Irelia’s body pressed her down, trapping her in a nightmare she couldn’t wake up from.
Irelia's thumb brushed against a sensitive spot inside Yunara, sending a jolt of pleasure through her. Yunara's body convulsed, her hips bucking in response. Irelia's hand pressed down, holding her in place, her fingers never ceasing their steady rhythm.
And then, without warning, Irelia's fingers were carried her over the edge. Yunara let out a ragged cry, her body clenching on those fingers, her hips moving of their own accord, seeking the lost sensation.
Karma released her wrists, her hands trembling as she stepped back. She looked down at Yunara, her face pale, her eyes filled with guilt and sorrow. She wanted to say something, to apologize, but the words caught in her throat.
Irelia stood by the door, her back to them, her shoulders stiff. She didn’t turn around, didn’t look at them, as she reached for the silk sash she had discarded earlier. She tied it around her waist with practiced ease, her movements slow and deliberate.
The room was silent now, the air thick with the weight of what had just happened. Yunara lay on the bed, her body curled into a tight ball, her face buried in the pillow. She wanted to scream, to cry, to break something—but she didn’t have the strength. All she could do was lie there, her mind replaying the events over and over again, each memory a fresh wound.
The three women walked slowly down the corridor, Yunara’s wrists still shackled in front of her. She limped with every step, her body aching from the bruises and the rough hands that had pinned her down.
Karma and Irelia walked ahead, speaking in low voices as though nothing had happened at all.
They turned into a broad chamber lit by lanterns—the dressing room.
It was almost absurd in its excess: thousands of delicate garments, silks and lace in every color, piled in neat compartments and hanging from carved racks. Perfume wafted in heavy waves through the warm air. Gilded mirrors lined the walls, reflecting back the haggard faces of women in various states of undress.
Yunara stared around her, numb, as Karma picked up a diaphanous lavender slip to inspect the stitching.
Irelia flipped through a rack of pale lingerie, her expression tired. “She’ll probably want us to do the tea ceremony again,” she said, almost conversational. “Especially now that we have a new girl.”
Karma sighed, letting the slip fall back into place. “Of course. The Noxians always ask for it. They think it’s charming—some twisted little homage to culture they helped destroy.”
Yunara clenched her teeth.
“You talk like it’s normal,” she snapped, voice raw.
Neither of them looked at her.
Karma reached for another garment, her tone flat. “It is, here.”
Irelia picked up a set of white lace with thin golden embroidery. “You’ll wear something like this,” she said without turning around.
Yunara’s hands balled into fists. “What is the tea ceremony?”
That made Irelia pause. She glanced over her shoulder, her face utterly devoid of embarrassment.
“It’s a mockery of our traditional tea party,” she said, her voice tired but clear. “We perform it in front of clients. Dressed like this—” She held up the lingerie between two fingers, letting the lace sway. “Twisted versions of our formal Ionian robes, cut to show everything.”
Karma’s eyes were downcast as she selected a hair ornament.
“And when the ceremony begins,” Irelia continued, her tone clinical, “we make the ‘tea’ on stage.”
Yunara frowned. “Make it…?”
Irelia met her gaze, flat and resigned.
“It isn’t tea,” she said. “It’s our own…squirt.”
Yunara’s stomach turned. her lips curling in revulsion. “That’s—disgusting.”
Neither woman argued.
“I won’t do it,” Yunara snapped, her voice rising. “I won’t stand in front of strangers and—debase myself like some freak!”
Irelia didn’t bother turning around. She laid the white lace on a low stool, smoothing the fabric with both palms.
“You will,” she said softly.
Karma lifted her eyes, tired and sad. “You’ll do it because she commands it.”
Yunara shook her head, her voice breaking. “No—”
“She’ll watch you,” Irelia continued in the same quiet tone, “and if you refuse, she’ll remind you that every Ionian life outside this place is a hostage to your defiance.”
Karma set aside the hair ornament and finally faced her.
“And if that isn’t enough,” she added gently, “she’ll have us restrain you on the stage. She’ll make you do it anyway.”
Yunara’s breath came in ragged gasps.
Irelia met her eyes at last, and for a moment, something like pity flickered there. “We all said we couldn’t,” she said, her voice almost a whisper. “The first time.” She turned back to the racks of lingerie, her shoulders stiff. “But you can. And you will.”
The door swung open with a soft hiss, as if the Château itself knew to be silent in her presence.
LeBlanc stepped in.
Not a word. Not a glance wasted. The room itself seemed to tense under her gaze.
Yunara, still unclothed, wrapped her arms around her chest in reflex. Her body was already bruised, her spirit cracking. But the sorceress looked at her as one might inspect a flawed sculpture.
“Why,” LeBlanc said slowly, voice like velvet sharpened on a dagger’s edge, “is no one ever ready when I arrive?”
Irelia bowed her head. Karma stepped back. Neither spoke.
LeBlanc's eyes drifted across the piles of lingerie, silks, ribbons, ceremonial trinkets.
“Mm,” she murmured, lifting a sheer violet sash from the rack and letting it fall through her fingers like mist. “No. That’s too innocent.”
She turned sharply toward Karma.
“Pearl straps,” she said. “Mid-thigh. And I want the silver-tipped harness. Not the tarnished one, the one I had imported from Demacia.”
Karma nodded quickly and began to search.
“Irelia.” LeBlanc’s tone changed — not louder, but colder. “Did you really choose that neckline?”
Irelia held up the piece she had laid out, suddenly unsure. “I thought the lace—”
“You didn’t,” LeBlanc interrupted, already moving past her. “If you had thought at all, you’d realize that Yunara’s shoulders aren’t strong enough to carry that cut. You’re dressing her like she’s you.”
She plucked a near-invisible slip from a high shelf, holding it up to the light. “This, at least, understands balance.”
Yunara found her voice, rough and bitter. “I’m not your doll.”
LeBlanc turned — slowly.
“Oh, sweet thing.” Her smile was small, cruel, and almost amused. “That would imply you’re precious. You’re not a doll. Not yet. Dolls are dressed, taught to behave, and eventually… adored.”
She stepped closer, lifting the chosen garment to Yunara’s bruised form. “Right now, you’re just raw material. Unguided. Unshaped. Screaming about dignity in a room where everyone surrendered it long ago.”
Yunara flinched as LeBlanc draped the sheer fabric over her shoulder — like a designer appraising a mannequin.
“Tell me, do you think this is about you?”
She stepped back, snapping her fingers. Irelia handed her a jeweled anklet. Karma returned with the pearl straps.
LeBlanc continued, assembling the outfit piece by piece with graceful, merciless precision.
“You came here thinking this world was still one of blades and battlefields. That I would duel you for honor. That resistance was enough to save you from becoming this.”
She traced a finger across the neckline of the bodice, then adjusted the fall of the sash.
“But here, the war is already over. And you lost it before you even woke up.”
LeBlanc stood back to admire her work. Yunara now wore a delicate assemblage of sheer silk and silver accents—barely clothing at all, more suggestion than substance. Every piece clung in exactly the right place to draw the eye, not hide from it.
She turned, snapping her fingers once.
“Irelia,” she said, not looking. “Have you instructed our new flower on the... ceremony?”
Irelia straightened. “Yes, mistress. She knows what’s expected.”
LeBlanc’s eyes moved back to Yunara—who glared at her through a veil of defiance and shame.
“Good,” LeBlanc said simply. “Then I expect a performance.”
She stepped forward again, adjusting a fold at Yunara’s waist with precise, almost affectionate care.
“Tonight’s audience is important. Not just Noxians.” She leaned in, voice lowering. “Some of your Ionian kin will be watching too.”
Yunara’s heart twisted.
LeBlanc smiled faintly, her words as soft as silk, as cold as a knife.
“So give them a show worth surviving for.”
She turned on her heel, her heels tapping softly as she moved toward the door. Just before stepping out, she paused—without looking back.
“For Ionia’s sake,” she said.
Then she was gone.
And the room felt smaller without her—but no less suffocating.
The backstage chamber was dimly lit, lined with rich curtains and soft cushions. The scent of perfume clung to the air like mist, sweet and smothering. The murmurs of the audience beyond the velvet curtain buzzed like insects in Yunara’s ears.
She sat rigid on the cushioned bench, still trembling in her ornate silks, her hands clenched in her lap.
“This is madness,” she whispered. “I won’t do it. I won’t… degrade myself.”
Karma sat beside her, silent. Irelia leaned against the wall, arms crossed, her face unreadable.
But before either of them could reply, two voices cut in—sarcastic, amused, venomous.
“Oh, another rebellion?” Katarina’s voice drawled from the shadows. “Cute.”
She and Sivir stepped into the soft lantern light, already dressed for the stage. Katarina in blood-red lace that hugged her curves like armor, Sivir in sheer bronze silks that shimmered with every lazy step.
Katarina gave Yunara an exaggerated once-over.
“LeBlanc’s really got a thing for Ionian girls, huh?” she smirked. “Graceful. Exotic. Obedient.”
Sivir chuckled. “They break easier. You just have to bruise their pride a little and they fold like silk. Look at Ahri.”
Her tone was mock-sweet, but her eyes glinted cold.
“She used to be a killer. Now she begs for LeBlanc’s attention like a house pet.”
She gestured toward Irelia with her chin.
“And this one’s not far behind. Stoic warrior turned loyal lapdog. And Karma—” she tilted her head at the third Ionian, “—well, she just convinced herself it was wise.”
Karma stiffened, but didn’t respond.
Yunara’s lip curled in disgust. “You’re insane. You’re all sick.”
Sivir only laughed.
“Oh, don’t be dramatic. You’re just new. Give it a week.” She leaned in closer, smiling. “Maybe you’re just making all this fuss because you want LeBlanc’s attention all to yourself.”
Katarina barked a short laugh. “Ha! Just like Ahri. Crazy little fox, obsessed with Mistress like a schoolgirl. Seems like all you Ionian bitches get the same itch for pale bitch cock eventually.”
Yunara surged to her feet, trembling with rage.
Karma caught her wrist, gently but firmly. “Don’t,” she whispered.
Sivir’s smirk widened.
“See? Just like we said. Soft hearts, softer minds. No wonder they surrendered. No wonder LeBlanc likes them best.”
A bell chimed once. The curtain stirred.
Beyond, the crowd waited.
Irelia exhaled slowly, stepping away from the wall.
“She’s calling us.”
Katarina winked at Yunara as she passed. “Break a leg, little flower.”
Yunara stood frozen, heart hammering in her chest—surrounded by enemies, and barely recognizing the allies beside her.
And the curtain began to rise.
The golden chimes sounded again—once, twice, then silence.
From beyond the curtain came the rising murmur of voices, footsteps, laughter. The show was moments away.
Yunara stood frozen, her breath shallow, the ornate silk costume clinging to her skin like shame. The fragile lace across her chest itched like poison.
“I’m not going out there,” she whispered, voice shaking. “I won’t.”
Irelia glanced at her, her expression dark with warning. Karma, beside her, gave a faint shake of her head—but Yunara went on.
“This is not Ionia. This is not culture. This is—”
“—Survival,” Irelia cut in coldly. “It stopped being about pride the moment we lost the war.”
Yunara stepped back, shaking her head. “You can’t make me.”
Karma’s hand shot out and gripped her wrist—firm but not violent.
“If we let you disobey now,” Karma said, quietly but urgently, “LeBlanc will find a village on the coast. One that’s still standing. One where the children laugh in peace.”
Her voice tightened.
“And she will raze it. Burn it to ash. Make every mother scream for your name.”
Yunara’s throat closed. “You’re bluffing.”
Irelia stepped forward and grabbed her other arm. There was no hesitation in her grip—only the hard steadiness of someone who had made this choice long ago.
“She’s not.” Irelia’s voice dropped to a whisper. “You think this is just about you. But we’ve already lost so much to keep this balance.”
She looked Yunara dead in the eye.
“We will not let your stubbornness undo it all.”
Yunara’s legs trembled. She fought them for half a second—then stopped. Her feet felt like stone, her stomach a pit of cold.
And together, Karma and Irelia pulled her toward the rising curtain.
The room was dim, lit only by the soft orange glow of enchanted candles. The scent of crushed lotus petals and healing salves hung heavy in the air. Ahri lay propped against a mound of silk pillows, her body wrapped in bandages, her once-glowing skin pale with strain. Every breath still hurt.
Ashe knelt beside the bed, gently re-wrapping the gauze around Ahri’s shoulder. On the other side, Sona sat quietly, her fingers dabbing a cooling salve across the bruises that lined Ahri’s ribs.
“Are you sure you don’t want to come see the show?” Ashe asked gently. “It’s the tea ceremony.”
Ahri gave a hollow, tired smile.
“How could I forget?” she murmured. “It was… my idea.”
Ashe raised a brow. “Really?”
Ahri nodded slowly. “LeBlanc wanted something crueler. Something that would involve the girls directly with the clients. I convinced her that the anticipation—the performance without touching—was more refined. More humiliating in its own way. More hers.”
Ashe frowned. “Huh. Irelia and Karma always thought you did it just to spite them.”
Ahri chuckled weakly. “I didn’t. But… I didn’t exactly correct them either.”
Sona looked at her, head tilting. Then she spoke for the first time in her soft, melodic telepathy, her voice echoing gently in their minds.
“That doesn't sound like the Ahri who lives to please LeBlanc.”
Ahri’s eyes dimmed a little.
“It isn’t. Not exactly. You see…” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Even LeBlanc has to be contained sometimes. Reined in. She doesn’t always know when a performance becomes… destruction.”
She winced as she adjusted her position. Ashe offered her water, but Ahri waved it off.
Sona touched her arm lightly.
“Then will you watch it?” she asked. “It’s your legacy, in a way.”
Ahri closed her eyes for a moment, considering.
Then: “No.”
Ashe looked confused. “Why not?”
Ahri opened her eyes again, and for the first time that day, the foxfire behind them burned faintly.
“Because if I show myself like this—weak, wounded—LeBlanc will never let it go.”
She leaned back again, staring at the ceiling. “Better to let the show go on without me. I already wrote the script.”
The great hall was hushed.
Velvet drapes concealed the vaulted ceiling. Crystal chandeliers glowed with magical flame, casting flickers of gold across the polished obsidian floor. Cushioned seats lined the perimeter, each one occupied by nobles, officers, warlocks, and monsters cloaked in wealth. Noxian aristocrats. Demacian defectors. Distant clients and loyalists of the Black Rose.
They had all gathered for the show.
And when the curtains parted— They gasped.
Three figures stood center stage.
Karma, poised and solemn in shimmering green silk, the high collar mimicking Ionian courtly robes—if one ignored the bare legs beneath and the translucent panels over her chest. Irelia, in crimson and gold lace, blades absent, her expression tight with practiced submission. And between them…
Yunara.
Wrapped in silver and white, her body was veiled just enough to entice, not conceal. Her wrists still bore the faintest bruises from the chains, now hidden by jeweled bangles. Her eyes, though—her eyes burned.
She refused to bow. Even when the music began. Even when Karma offered the first movement, the first practiced pour into an empty ceramic cup.
Behind the stage, ornate basins of enchanted water shimmered. Steam curled upward, perfumed with exotic herbs. The “tea.”
Karma dipped her fingers first. She moved with grace, rehearsed and solemn. She lifted droplets to her lips and moaned—quietly, reverently, like a priestess invoking spirits. The crowd watched, riveted.
Irelia followed, her hand trailing through the basin before letting a slow stream drip into the shallow cup at the center of the platform. She locked eyes with the audience. She smiled. Not seductively—defiantly.
Then came Yunara.
She did not kneel.
Karma gave her a look. Not just a warning—a reminder.
And slowly, stiffly, Yunara knelt beside them.
She dipped her hand in the basin. The water was warm. Too warm. Too clean.
She remembered what they had said. What it would become. What she would be expected to produce. The music swelled gently as the three women rose and began to move, slowly circling the central bowl. A dance. A pantomime of tradition, desecrated and twisted. The audience began to lean forward. Some whispered. Some laughed. And far above, from her private balcony, LeBlanc watched with wine in hand, a faint smile playing at her lips. The first phase had begun.
The music shifted—soft flutes giving way to a gentle rhythm of drums, mimicking the heartbeat of something ancient and ceremonial.
A servant approached the stage from the side, carrying a shallow silver bowl etched with Ionian symbols. The “tea set.” He placed it at the feet of the performers, then bowed low before vanishing into the curtains again.
Karma moved first.
With elegant precision, she lowered herself onto her knees beside the bowl, it was heated by magic. Her face remained composed as she slid her fingers beneath the sheer folds of her costume—downward, inward. She closed her eyes. Her movements were hypnotic—a slow swirl of fingertips over her nipples, circling lower, lower, until she dipped into her own slick. She sighed, a sound meant to mimic serenity, but her thighs quaked as she labored to draw out the act.
“For harmony,” she whispered, voice fraying, “the soul must… overflow.”
Her back arched, her hips grinding against her palm as she massaged her clit in tight, desperate circles. The samovar hissed again as she added her offering—a translucent trickle that pooled and steamed. The audience hushed.
Her breath caught—once. A soft gasp. She rocked her hips in time with the drumbeat, drawing her pleasure slowly, deliberately. A few drops, clear and glistening, spilled down her inner thigh.
Irelia followed. Her fingers ghosted over the samovar’s surface, tracing phantom sigils. The room held its breath as she parted her kimono, baring her pale stomach and the dark thatch of hair below. She pressed a hand between her legs, her face a mask of dispassion.
“For clarity of mind,” she intoned, the words rote, rehearsed, “the body must be… purified.”
Her fingers dove inward, two plunging deep with the slick schtck of overuse. The audience moaned as one—a hungry, collective sound. Irelia’s jaw tightened, her wrist working in sharp, efficient pumps. She didn’t close her eyes. Didn’t look away.
Yunara gagged as the wet squelch echoed through the hall.
“Focus,” Karma murmured, her own hands drifting beneath her robe to cup her breasts. “It’s just another performance.”
But Yunara’s nails dug into her thighs as Irelia’s breathing hitched—a telltale stutter. A pearl of moisture dripped onto the dais; then another. “The… second infusion,” Irelia rasped. Withdrawing her glistening fingers, she let a thick strand of arousal drizzle into the samovar. The liquid sizzled as it hit the heated brass, curling into vapor that reeked of jasmine and salt.
A few nobles in the front row whispered approvingly. One clapped slowly.
Yunara sat frozen.
Her hands curled into fists at her sides. Her legs clenched tightly together, her body rigid with disgust.
She didn’t move; not until Karma’s hand touched her wrist—gently, like the brush of falling silk.
“Now,” Karma whispered.
Yunara’s head snapped toward her. Her lips trembled. “I can’t.”
“You must,” Karma said. “Or the punishment will come after the applause. For all of us.”
Yunara looked out at the faceless crowd beyond the stage lights. Her heart pounded.
She wanted to run. Scream. Fight. But Irelia was already watching her—expression blank, but shoulders tense. She was alone.
Slowly, her hand drifted to her thigh. Her breath hitched.
The drums were louder now. The heat of the lights above pressed into her skin. She pressed her fingers lower.
Yunara’s fingers brushed her own folds—damp, betraying her. The Château’s cursed magic thrummed beneath her skin, transforming revulsion into a throbbing need. She stifled a whimper as her traitorous body responded, clit swelling under her touch.
“For… f-for renewal,” she choked, tears spilling down her cheeks, “the spirit must… pour forth.”
Her strokes were clumsy, frantic. She couldn’t stop the gasp that escaped as two fingers slipped inside—too easily, her cunt already slick and pliant. The crowd jeered, someone shouting, “Faster, slut!”
The samovar screamed as Yunara’s release splashed into the brass. Her orgasm ripped through her, vicious and unbidden, her back slamming against the dais as she convulsed. The audience roared.
Her eyes filled with tears, but she didn’t sob.
She bit down hard, until her lip bled, and forced herself to slide deeper inside her pussy.
The audience leaned in, like vultures circling a trembling beast.
When the first drop hit the bowl, LeBlanc smiled. It was done. The ceremony had begun with ritual. It ended with surrender. And Yunara… had just crossed the line she swore she never would.
The drumbeat slowed.
Karma withdrew her hand first. She wiped her fingers delicately on a strip of gauze sewn into her costume. Her breathing was measured, her face smoothed into serene composure—as if nothing shameful had happened at all.
Irelia followed. Her lashes fluttered as she fought to mask her disgust. She looked at Yunara once, something sad flickering in her eyes, then looked away.
The silver bowl sat between them, shimmering with the mingled fluids of all three women. The “tea.”
A servant reappeared, silent as a ghost. He lifted the bowl carefully, placing it on a lacquered tray. A second servant handed each woman a delicate ceramic cup.
The audience was utterly silent. Waiting. Watching.
Karma took her cup first and dipped it in the bowl. The liquid caught the light—clear and thin, glistening like a jewel. She lifted it with both hands, the way a priestess might lift an offering, and pressed it to her lips.
She drank without a sound.
Irelia did the same. A single tremor passed through her as she swallowed, but she did not lower her eyes.
All around them, men and women leaned forward in fascination. Some clapped softly. Others simply stared, savoring the spectacle.
Yunara’s hands shook so badly she could barely lift the cup.
Irelia’s voice came low and steady.
“Now.”
Yunara clenched her teeth. She felt her stomach rebel, bile rising.
But she could feel LeBlanc’s gaze from above—like a cold fingertip running down her spine. She knew this was the test.
She dipped her cup. The liquid lapped against the rim. It smelled faintly sweet, with a darker undertone she couldn’t place.
Her throat closed.
No.
Her body screamed to throw it down. To run. To spit in their faces.
But her hands didn’t move.
Slowly, Yunara lifted the cup.
She looked into Karma’s eyes, desperate for any sign of absolution, of shared horror. But Karma only nodded—once, imperceptibly.
Yunara pressed the cup to her lips.
The liquid was warm, salty, humiliating in its familiarity.
She drank.
A few drops slid down her chin, splashing onto her breast. She forced herself not to gag, not to let them see her break.
When she lowered the cup, her hands were trembling so badly she almost dropped it.
The audience erupted in polite applause—low, refined, almost approving. Yunara didn’t hear it. She only felt her heart hammering, her shame roaring in her ears. The ceremony was complete. And something inside her had cracked beyond repair.
Yunara’s arms gave out as the last echoes of applause died and the curtains closed. She slumped forward, her cheek pressing against the cool marble of the dais.
Her stomach lurched—once, twice—and she scrambled to the edge, retching violently over the side. Strings of viscous drool and bile splattered the floor below, mixing with the crushed petals scattered there for “ambience.”
Her body burned—twice violated, once by her own shuddering climax, again by the taste still slick on her tongue. Her thighs twitched, traitorous muscles spasming with every memory of how she’d bucked under her own hand.
She tried to wipe her mouth but only smeared tears across her lips.
Beside her, Irelia wiped her own face with the back of her hand. Her voice was flat, brittle as glass.
“It gets easier.”
Yunara lifted her head, hair plastered to her tearstained cheeks, and stared at her in disbelief.
Irelia didn’t meet her eyes.
“Eventually,” she went on, “you’ll… crave the drink, the sex, the humilliation. Your body will ache for it. It's LeBlanc's magic, it's all over this place”
A fresh wave of nausea heaved Yunara’s gut.
Karma remained silent. She didn’t even look up. She just sat, hands folded neatly in her lap, tears dripping onto the dregs in her empty cup. Each drop broke the sheen of liquid, scattering little rings of shame across the surface.
High above, the shadows shifted. LeBlanc reclined in her private balcony, a single leg draped elegantly over the arm of her chair. She lifted a delicate saucer to her lips, sipping true tea—amber, perfumed, untouched by any debasement.
Her smile was the most terrible thing Yunara had ever seen.
Then came Sivir, her footfalls jaunty and careless. She sauntered across the dais in her shimmering gold wrap, a predator in silk.
She looked down at Yunara, who still trembled on hands and knees, and let out a little snort.
“Gods, look at you,” Sivir drawled. “What was all that righteous screaming about? ‘I’ll never kneel,’ ‘I’ll never degrade myself.’”
She crouched, one elbow resting casually on her knee, her grin mocking.
“And here you are, drooling your little cunt cocktail all over the stage.”
Yunara’s hands balled into fists, but her arms were too weak to lift her.
Sivir reached out, wiping a tear from Yunara’s cheek with her thumb.
“I almost feel sorry for you,” she said, voice soft and cruel. “Almost.”
From the edge of the dais, Nilah drifted closer—barefoot, draped in gauze, pupils wide as moons. Her expression was dreamy, her smile bright with the haze of whatever smoke she’d inhaled before the show.
She tilted her head, studying Yunara as if she were an intriguing insect.
“Why did you do that?” Nilah asked, her voice gentle, almost curious. “If you didn’t want to?”
Yunara could only gasp, unable to answer.
Nilah leaned in, her hair brushing Yunara’s shoulder.
“I think…” she sighed, her voice blithe, “I would have liked to taste it. It smelled nice.”
The applause faded, replaced by a hum of eager conversation as LeBlanc rose to her feet on the balcony. She set aside her teacup, her gloved hands resting lightly on the polished railing.
Her voice carried effortlessly across the hall.
“Now that our ceremony has so beautifully concluded,” she purred, “it is time to honor tradition—and commerce.”
A ripple of anticipation shivered through the crowd. Below, behind the curtains, Yunara forced herself upright, her body still trembling. She clutched a scrap of her sheer costume around her breasts, but it hid nothing. She looked through the curtains, her eyes darted from face to face, searching desperately for a shred of mercy.
There was none.
LeBlanc gestured languidly toward the dais.
“Tonight, you will bid for the first… mouth service of our new blossom. A chance to savor her before the others.”
Yunara’s stomach turned to lead.
A hush fell as the first bidder stood—a bloated man in a wine-stained tabard, ruddy cheeks gleaming with sweat. Gragas. He belched, scratching at his gut, and raised a pudgy hand.
“Seven hundred gold,” he slurred. “An’ she better swallow.”
Laughter rippled through the hall. Yunara’s vision blurred with sudden tears.
Before she could process the horror of Gragas leering at her, a thin, reedy voice piped up from further back.
“I’ll offer… two thousand gold pieces.”
A yordle in a formal waistcoat—Heimerdinger, spectacles glinting, his ears twitching in curiosity. He adjusted his monocle as he scribbled the bid in a small ledger.
Gragas scowled, his jowls wobbling. “Two thousand?! If I’d known there’d be new pussy up for sale, I’d have brought the whole damn brewery!”
Before the crowd’s laughter could settle, another voice—smooth as oil—spoke from the shadows.
“Four thousand.”
Heads turned. A tall figure in an ornate mask rose, gloved fingers poised delicately in the air. Jhin.
“Four…” he repeated, the corner of his mouth curling beneath the mask, “such an elegant number.”
Yunara’s breath stuttered. She wanted to vanish, to dissolve into nothing.
But worse still—worse than the masked killer’s cold interest—came the next bidder.
A small, soft hand lifted from the front row.
“Kennen,” she whispered, her heart collapsing in her chest.
The tiny yordle’s voice was polite, almost shy.
“Ten thousand gold.”
A stunned hush blanketed the room.
Gragas sputtered. Heimerdinger dropped his quill. Even Jhin inclined his head, conceding the bid with theatrical grace.
And Yunara—she felt the floor tilt beneath her.
You were my friend.
She tried to speak, but her throat closed around the words. All she could do was stare, betrayed and hollow, as Kennen gave her a small, almost apologetic nod—like it was nothing more than a transaction.
In the gallery, Katarina let out a delighted bark of laughter.
“Well, well—Seraphine better watch herself. Looks like the yordles have a new favorite toy.”
Seraphine—sitting pale and stiff beside her—lifted a trembling finger to her lips.
“Shh,” she whispered. But everyone saw the way she swallowed, the way her hands twisted in her skirts.
LeBlanc’s voice rang out, serene and final.
“Sold,” she declared. “To the gentleman in the front row.”
The auction bell tolled.
And Yunara’s heart broke in silence.
Chapter 15: Yunara's Blossoming Part 2
Chapter by SeekerPS
Chapter Text
The bell’s chime still echoed in Yunara’s head as they led her from the stage — wrists bound, feet unsteady on the polished floor. The crowd’s chatter faded behind her, replaced by the muffled hush of the Château’s corridors.
Kennen padded along at her side, his small gloved hands folded neatly behind his back, his masked eyes level with her hip. He said nothing. Didn’t gloat. Didn’t leer. Somehow, that made it worse.
They reached one of the Château’s private rooms — smaller than the auction hall, but no less decadent. Silk drapes. A bed draped in violet satin. Low lanterns throwing honeyed light over everything.
Kennen climbed onto the bed without looking at her. He crossed his legs, resting his tiny paws on his knees.
“On your knees,” he said quietly.
Yunara froze.
When she didn’t move, two attendants stepped forward — women she didn’t know, masked, their hands firm on her shoulders as they pushed her down.
“You’ll do it,” Kennen said, his tone still polite, almost teacherly. “You’ll use your mouth until I say otherwise.”
Her stomach twisted. She thought of the audience, of LeBlanc’s faint smile as she sold her. Her breath came fast.
The attendants guided her forward until she was between Kennen’s legs. His scent — clean linen and faint musk — filled her nose.
She opened her mouth.
Her lips barely touched him before the heat in her chest turned to fire. Hatred surged up her throat, burning hotter than the cursed magic that pulsed through the Château’s air. She pulled back sharply, her eyes narrowing.
“No,” she hissed.
Kennen tilted his head, unruffled. “You’re refusing?”
She lunged.
It wasn’t graceful. Her wrists were bound, her balance wrecked, but she threw her weight forward, knocking the yordle backward into the pillows. The attendants shouted — one grabbed at her arm, the other at her hair — but Yunara twisted free, her knee pressing into Kennen’s chest.
She raised her bound hands to strike—
The room froze.
Not because she stopped, but because she couldn’t move. The air thickened, heavy as molten glass. A perfume of orchids and steel slid into her lungs.
LeBlanc stood in the doorway.
Her golden eyes swept the scene — the toppled pillows, Kennen’s ruffled fur, the attendants’ pale faces — before settling on Yunara.
“That,” she said softly, “was a mistake.”
Yunara’s muscles released all at once, and the attendants dragged her upright. She thrashed against their grip, her voice ragged. “I’ll kill you before I—”
LeBlanc’s fingers brushed the air, and Yunara’s words died in her throat.
“You think,” the sorceress murmured, stepping forward, “that you can strike a paying guest in my house… and walk away unscathed?”
Her tone never rose. It didn’t have to.
Kennen straightened his mask and smoothed his gloves, as if the whole thing had been nothing more than a passing inconvenience. “I’m not hurt,” he said simply.
“That isn’t the point,” LeBlanc replied without looking at him.
She reached Yunara, cupping her chin with cool, ringed fingers. “You have embarrassed my guest. You have wasted his time. And worst of all…” She leaned closer, her voice velvet and venom. “…you have reminded the others that defiance is possible.”
Her grip tightened.
She stepped closer to Yunara, resting a hand on her shoulder — not to comfort, but to anchor her in place.
“Irelia and Karma were tasked with teaching this little blossom her place. Clearly, they… neglected certain lessons.” Her smile thinned. “An error I will correct.”
The crowd chuckled knowingly.
LeBlanc turned back to the audience, lifting her voice so all could hear.
“It appears we must interrupt the auction for a short time. Discipline, after all, is an art, and one must never display unfinished work.”
A murmur of disappointment rolled through the hall, but she held up a single hand — a conductor silencing an orchestra.
“Kennen, my apologies. You came for your prize, and instead you were met with thorns.” She tilted her head, the apology as smooth as honey. “I assure you, when you receive her, she will be perfectly… pliant.”
Kennen inclined his head politely. “I trust your judgment, mistress.”
Her smile brightened — and then sharpened.
“As a token of gratitude for your understanding, you will not leave empty-pawed tonight.” She turned her gaze toward the wings. “Bring them.”
Two attendants stepped forward, guiding Irelia and Karma into the light. Both were already dressed for presentation — silk cut to show skin, their faces unreadable.
“You will take them instead, Kennen,” LeBlanc said, her voice rich with satisfaction. “Both of them. As long as you like. Consider it my way of thanking you for your… patience.”
The crowd erupted in cheers and laughter, some applauding Kennen’s sudden good fortune.
LeBlanc leaned toward Yunara, lowering her voice so only she could hear.
“As for you… your lesson will be more special.”
Her fingers curled into the fabric at Yunara’s arm, pulling her from the stage with a strength that didn’t require force.
The applause and laughter of the hall faded into silence as LeBlanc led her deeper into the Château — past gilded corridors and perfumed chambers, past the rooms that smelled of silk and wine, down a spiral of black marble steps that grew colder with each turn.
They stopped before a pair of heavy, rune-carved doors. A faint vibration hummed through the stone, like the low growl of something too large to be fully contained.
LeBlanc pushed them open.
The air inside was damp, heavy with the copper tang of old blood and the strange, electric scent of wards. Torches burned with a pale violet flame, casting long shadows against the vaulted walls.
And in the center, bound in a web of luminous chains, Atakhan stirred.
A dozen eyes blinked open in slow, unnatural sequence. The chains groaned as the demon shifted, his massive form shuddering in anticipation.
LeBlanc stepped inside as if greeting an old friend. “Poor thing,” she murmured. “You must be starving.”
Yunara took a step back, her bound wrists tightening reflexively. “What is this?”
LeBlanc looked over her shoulder, smiling as though explaining something to a child. “This,” she said, “is an opportunity. For you to learn obedience… and for my dear Atakhan to have a little taste.”
The demon’s breath rattled through the chamber, hot and foul.
LeBlanc walked Yunara forward, her nails digging lightly into the small of her back. “Don’t look so frightened. He won’t eat all of you.” Her smile widened. “Just enough to make sure the lesson stays with you.”
He rose on limbs far too long and thin, his upper body twisted and inhuman, the trailing end of him tapering into a serpentine coil that melted into shadow. From beneath a mane of drifting, smoke-like tendrils, a face emerged — sharp, mask-like, with burning eyes ringed in searing red runes. His claws clicked against the stone as he bent forward, studying Yunara with the stillness of a predator deciding if it was worth pouncing.
The chains groaned. His head tilted, almost avian, and the hair-like shadow above him shifted restlessly, forming grasping shapes before dispersing.
LeBlanc’s hands slipped to Yunara’s hips. With one smooth, deliberate motion, she tore away the last scraps of silk that clung to her — the thin lingerie that had survived the auction’s handling ripping apart like paper.
The sound seemed to stir Atakhan. His body shifted forward, his head tilting, and the shadows that formed his hair writhed with sudden animation.
LeBlanc guided Yunara one step closer to him, until the humid heat of the demon’s breath was on her face.
“You see, little flower,” LeBlanc murmured into her ear, “discipline can be taught in many ways. Words. Chains. Or…” Her gaze flicked to the beast. “…something far older.”
She shoved Yunara forward.
Her bare feet slapped the slick stone, and she caught herself just short of stumbling into Atakhan’s reach — but his claw was already stretching toward her, talons glinting faintly in the violet torchlight.
LeBlanc turned away without another glance. “She’s yours,” she said to the demon, her voice calm, almost generous. “Have your fun. Just leave enough for me to work with.”
Atakhan’s many eyes flared brighter, and a low, layered growl rolled through the chamber.
LeBlanc stepped back through the great rune-etched doors. The hinges groaned, the torchlight dimmed — and the last thing Yunara saw of her was that perfect, satisfied smile.
Then the doors shut with a heavy, echoing boom.
The sound of the lock sliding home was followed by silence — and then, the scrape of claws drawing nearer. The vault seemed to shrink around her as Atakhan’s shadowy mane spread outward, the edges of it already curling around her ankles.
She was alone. Alone with him.
The vault was too quiet.
Even the sound of her own breathing seemed swallowed by the thick, shadow-heavy air.
A claw scraped. Then another.
Atakhan moved like liquid given shape, his long arms bending in ways no creature should bend. The mane of shadow that rose from his back swirled and curled, never still, forming shapes that dissolved before her eyes could fully recognize them — talons, jaws, grasping fingers.
Yunara stepped back instinctively, her bare shoulders pressing into the cold stone wall.
The demon’s head tilted, the glowing runes along the head chain flaring brighter for a heartbeat before dimming to a slow, hypnotic pulse. His many eyes blinked in rippling succession, each fixing on a different part of her — her hands, her throat, the line of her spine.
A low sound rolled from deep within him. Not quite a growl. Not quite speech. It vibrated through the floor, into her bones.
The shadows at his feet stretched toward her, moving with a predator’s patience. They licked along the floor, coiling around her ankles before she realized they’d touched her.
She jerked, trying to pull back, but the tendrils tightened — painfully, just to remind her that she couldn’t run.
Atakhan leaned in. His face — if it could be called that — was close enough now that she could see the faint, vein-like threads of red beneath the surface of his mask-like skin. Heat rolled off him, carrying with it the faint scent of scorched metal and old blood.
One claw rose, impossibly long, and hovered just before her chest. The tip traced down slowly, not breaking the skin, but leaving a faint, burning trail in its wake.
A ripple passed through the demon’s mane. The shadows behind him expanded, filling the corners of the vault until there was nowhere left to look that wasn’t him.
Yunara’s heart pounded. She could feel the vibration of his breath against her skin — steady, measured, like he was savoring the moment before the strike.
The chains binding him rattled once, as though testing their limits.
And then the tendrils at her ankles began to climb.
The tendrils slid higher.
They weren’t solid in the way rope or chains were — they shifted under her skin like smoke made tangible, cool one moment and fever-hot the next. Each coil moved with an unsettling intelligence, curling around her calves, her thighs, holding her without strain but with an unshakable certainty that she was caught.
Atakhan’s head dipped lower. The rune-chain burned brighter, casting sharp, red lines across the pale curve of her body. His many eyes blinked in slow sequence, drinking in every tremor of her muscles, every ragged breath.
The claw at her chest traced upward now, along her collarbone, the tip hovering at the base of her throat. A single push, she realized, could pierce her windpipe — but he didn’t push. He lingered, as if the fear itself was what he wanted to taste.
A sound rose from him, low and layered, like several voices humming at once in discordant tones. The shadows in his mane responded, whipping outward, brushing the stone walls and ceiling before curling back toward her.
One tendril lifted her chin. Another curled around her wrists, pulling her arms upward until her back arched against the wall.
Yunara’s pulse was hammering, her breath short.
The demon leaned closer, until the sharp, mask-like points of his face nearly touched hers. She could see the faint flicker of red deep within his throat — a glow that pulsed in time with the rune-light around his head.
His breath hit her, hot and wrong, carrying with it the scent of blood and something far older — like the air from a tomb never meant to be opened.
When he spoke, it wasn’t in words she could understand. The sound was thick and alien, a mix of chittering and deep bass vibrations, resonating in her chest as much as in her ears. But the intent… the intent was unmistakable.
The tendrils around her legs tightened, drawing her a fraction closer.
The chains above groaned. One slackened — not much, but enough that the demon’s torso shifted forward. His long arms bent around her, caging her against the wall, his body blotting out the torchlight until there was nothing in her vision but shadow and those burning eyes.
The tendrils climbed higher with deliberate slowness, as though savoring every inch of territory they claimed. Their texture shifted constantly — one moment they were slick and smooth, like polished glass, the next they seemed fibrous and alive, a faint vibration thrumming through them as they coiled tighter around her. Each movement was impossibly precise, as if the demon’s will extended into every strand of shadow.
Her back pressed harder against the wall as another coil looped behind her knees, pulling her legs slightly apart. The air around her grew thicker, hotter, as Atakhan’s massive frame leaned closer. His many eyes narrowed, the crimson runes along his crown flaring brighter, casting jagged red lines across her bare skin.
A tendril brushed between her thighs, feather-light at first, almost testing her southern lips. Yunara jerked in its grip, but there was nowhere to go — the shadows around her wrists and ankles held her in perfect suspension. Slowly, inexorably, that probing tendril pressed further, its cool touch becoming warmer as it slid inside her pussy.
Her breath caught, her chest rising and falling in shallow bursts. The rune-light around them pulsed in time with her heartbeat, as though the chamber itself was reacting to her fear.
It wasn’t rough — the intrusion was slow, almost languid — but the sensation was alien, invasive in a way her body could not mistake. It wasn’t simply occupying space; it was searching, winding itself in tight, spiraling patterns, adjusting its shape to her with unnerving precision. A second tendril followed, thinner but more restless, curling alongside the first, moving deeper with a writhing insistence that made her knees weaken.
Atakhan’s low, layered hum deepened, resonating in her ribcage. His clawed hands didn’t touch her, but they hovered close, framing her as though he were admiring the effect. His shadowed mane writhed in agitation, sending smaller strands to trace over her belly, her breasts, her throat, marking her with phantom touches that never stayed still long enough to be predictable.
The tendrils within her began to move in counterpoint — one curling deeper, the other retracting slightly before plunging forward again, a rhythm that wasn’t human but perfectly controlled. She gasped, and the sound seemed to please him; the runes along his crown flared so brightly they almost hurt to look at.
Another tendril, slick and impossibly flexible, traced along the seam of her mouth's lips, parting them and slipping past her teeth. The taste was metallic and faintly sweet, like blood mixed with something unnatural. It pulsed faintly in her mouth, not choking her but filling her completely, leaving her voice reduced to muffled, desperate sounds.
She could feel him everywhere — in her mouth, in her core, wrapping her limbs, brushing her skin. Each movement was measured, precise, as though the demon was mapping her entirely, learning every reaction, every flinch, every shiver.
The chains binding Atakhan rattled, not from strain, but from his satisfaction. The growl in his chest shifted into something like a purr, though it was deeper and far more dangerous.
The tendrils inside her twisted together suddenly, sending a sharp jolt through her body that made her back arch against the wall. Her wrists strained in their bindings, but the shadows only tightened, keeping her in place as the demon continued his slow, relentless invasion.
Yunara’s mind reeled. She was no longer simply restrained — she was claimed. Every inch of her was under his control, every movement a deliberate reminder that she was here at his mercy, that LeBlanc had left her not for a simple punishment, but for something that would stain her memory forever.
Atakhan’s many eyes locked on hers, unblinking, as if to make certain she understood.
And then the tendrils began to move faster. A third tendril slid down from the shifting black mane above Atakhan’s shoulders, thicker than the others, moving with a slow, almost predatory certainty. It brushed across the curve of her lower back first, cold and slick against the heat of her skin, lingering there as if savoring the moment before claiming more.
The other two tendrils inside her continued their relentless rhythm — one coiling deeper with a spiraling grip, the other retracting and thrusting forward in a measured cadence — but now that looming third presence made her tense. It traced along the cleft of her hips, circling, testing the resistance of muscle and flesh.
She jerked instinctively, a muffled protest escaping around the tendril in her mouth. The shadows binding her wrists only tightened, drawing her arms higher, stretching her body so her back arched involuntarily. Atakhan’s clawed hand drifted near her cheek, not touching, but close enough that the heat of it felt like a brand. His many eyes narrowed with visible interest at her reaction.
The third tendril pressed forward. This one did not ease in slowly — it pushed past the initial barrier with a sharp, burning intrusion that forced a raw gasp from her throat. The pain was sudden, blooming deep, and she twisted against the wall in reflex, but there was no escape. The two tendrils already inside her shifted in response, holding her steady from within as the new one forced its way deeper.
Atakhan’s hum deepened, the sound reverberating through the chamber like the slow roll of thunder. The glow of the runes along his crown pulsed in time with the thrust of the tendrils, illuminating the slick sheen on her skin, the tension in her muscles. The demon’s mane of shadow flared outward, brushing the walls as if the entire vault shared in his hunger.
The third tendril’s movements were not gentle. It drove itself in with force, retreating only enough to push harder the next time, each motion deliberate, meant to overwhelm as much as to dominate. The pressure built until her entire body was straining against the bindings — her breath coming in sharp, muffled bursts around the tendril filling her mouth.
Inside, the other two adjusted their rhythm to match the brutal cadence of the third. Every movement was coordinated, calculated, as though Atakhan was orchestrating a symphony of control over her body. Her legs trembled in their restraints, the slick coils around her thighs tightening to keep her from collapsing under the onslaught.
Pain and heat blurred together until she could no longer tell where one ended and the other began. The vibrations of Atakhan’s voice seemed to crawl through her spine, each deep note pressing her further under his will. His unblinking gaze held hers, pinning her in place as effectively as the shadows, a silent command that she submit.
The third tendril drove deeper still, the force of it sending a shock through her that left her vision swimming. The other two writhed in concert, their combined assault leaving no space within her untouched, no movement her own.
All around, the vault’s air grew heavier, hotter, as if the very chamber fed on the act — a sealed space built for moments like this, where nothing but the will of the demon could exist. Atakhan’s hum rose into a layered growl of satisfaction, his many eyes flaring brighter as he pressed his complete control over her, body and mind alike.
The third tendril drove itself in with a steady, punishing rhythm, every thrust sending a jolt through her body that left her breath ragged around the coil in her mouth. The other two inside her adapted to its pace, curling and uncoiling with precision, twisting together at moments before separating to stroke and press from different angles. It was not chaotic — it was coordinated, each movement a deliberate act of possession.
Atakhan loomed over her, his massive frame blotting out the violet torchlight until the vault felt as though it existed in his shadow alone. The rune-crown atop his head burned brighter, casting jagged red patterns over her arched form, marking her like sigils branded in light. His mane of living darkness lashed and swirled, brushing the walls and ceiling, sending smaller tendrils to trace over her ribs, her stomach, the hollow of her throat.
The bindings at her wrists and ankles flexed and shifted, not loosening but tightening in subtle, pulsing beats that matched the movements within her. The sensation made her feel as if the vault itself was breathing with her — no, for her — dictating every inhalation, every gasp.
The third tendril didn’t relent. It pushed deeper than before, forcing her hips forward with each thrust, her toes curling against the cold stone floor. The two within her front tightened their spirals, pressing against sensitive walls in a way that made her muscles seize, holding her in that arched, helpless shape for seconds at a time before moving again.
Her mind reeled, every instinct screaming to fight, to pull away — but the pain, the heat, and the relentless control pressed over her senses like a suffocating shroud. Atakhan’s growl rolled through the chamber, vibrating the walls, and she felt it in her bones, in the air, in the coils that wrapped around her insides.
He bent lower, his mask-like face inches from hers. Dozens of eyes blinked in sequence, some fixed on her expression, others roving over the rest of her body. His breath was hot and metallic, each exhale washing over her lips and cheeks in sync with the deep, driving thrusts of the third tendril.
Another tendril — thin, searching — slid from his mane to curl under her chin, forcing her to lift her head and meet his gaze. It wasn’t gentle; it was a silent demand, an assertion that she look at him, know who held her, who decided what happened to her body.
The pace increased. The third tendril slammed into her with greater force, the others following suit, twisting and stroking in ways that made her entire form tighten against the restraints. Her shoulders pressed hard into the wall, her heels lifting from the floor, her back bowed as though the demon was shaping her posture to his liking.
The vault grew hotter still, the air thick and damp, carrying the scent of blood and something far older. The chains that held Atakhan rattled in satisfaction, their luminous runes flashing briefly with each deep plunge.
There was no rhythm now meant for her comfort — this was his, entirely. Every movement was a statement: you will remember this.
And in the glow of his burning eyes, Yunara understood that this was only the beginning of her “lesson.”
The pressure built to a breaking point.
The third tendril drove in with brutal force, the two within her front twisting tight around each other, locking her open from the inside. The vibrations running through them intensified, rising from a steady hum to a sharp, thrumming pulse that made her nerves flare white-hot. The demon’s mane lashed wildly, the torchlight flickering against the slick, living shadows that caged her.
Then—suddenly—they erupted.
From deep inside her, the tendrils discharged in a violent, pulsing release, heat flooding her core and spreading outward in waves that made her legs quake. The force of it seemed to ripple through every coil that held her, the shadows tightening once in a shudder before loosening their grip. Her arms sagged in the bindings, her head falling forward as her body tried to draw in ragged, desperate breaths.
For a moment, the vault was silent but for the faint hiss of Atakhan’s breath and the fading echo of the chains above him. The three main tendrils slowly slid free, wet and heavy, leaving her trembling and unsteady. She felt the emptiness immediately, a hollow ache where their relentless pressure had been.
Yunara swallowed hard, her chest heaving. The absence of motion felt almost merciful. Maybe—just maybe—it was over.
She sagged against the wall, the shadow-coils around her wrists loosening enough for her shoulders to drop. Her eyes fluttered closed, the burning in her muscles making her think the demon had finished feeding, that LeBlanc’s “lesson” had been satisfied.
But then she heard it.
A low, layered rumble from deep within Atakhan’s chest — not the growl of satisfaction she had hoped for, but the rolling thunder of renewed hunger. The air in the vault thickened again, the rune-light on his crown flaring so brightly it painted the walls in red fire.
The shadows at her ankles stirred first, cool tendrils coiling once more around her legs, climbing higher with deliberate inevitability. She felt them probe along the inside of her thighs, and before she could react, more shapes slithered down from his mane — thicker than before, their surfaces ridged and alive with a faint, pulsing heat.
Her eyes snapped open just in time to see his many lids blink in sequence, the expression behind them unreadable except for one truth: he was not done.
The bindings on her wrists pulled taut again, lifting her arms overhead until her back arched away from the wall, presenting her fully. One tendril coiled around her waist, pinning her in place while another circled her throat lightly, enough to make every breath a measured effort.
Then, with a sudden, coordinated lunge, they were inside her again — all at once. The sensation was even more overwhelming than before; the tendrils were hotter now, moving faster, their rhythm no longer careful but urgent, as if the first assault had been mere preparation for the true feast.
Atakhan’s hum rose to a deep, resonant roar that shook the vault, the chains rattling violently overhead. The shadows around her moved like living waves, each thrust and twist punctuated by the flash of runes and the oppressive heat of the chamber.
Yunara’s hope that it had ended shattered instantly. This was not the end.
Atakhan’s massive frame shifted forward, the shadows parting just enough to reveal the full reach of his body. The four oversized limbs — two sprouting from his shoulders, two from the midpoint of his serpentine torso — unfolded like the legs of some monstrous insect, each tipped with claws long enough to pierce stone.
They moved with an eerie precision, surrounding her without touching at first, as though savoring the anticipation. Then, one set came in low, bracing at her hips, the talons hooking just enough to hold her steady without drawing blood. The grip was powerful, inescapable — she could feel the faint tremor of his strength through the points where he held her, as if he were resisting the urge to crush her outright.
The upper limbs descended toward her chest. Each claw was careful, the curved tips grazing the skin just enough to raise gooseflesh. His motions were deliberate, almost methodical, tracing the curve of her ribs before cupping her breasts from beneath, lifting them as if weighing and testing. The claws flexed slowly, squeezing just enough to make her breath hitch, then easing, then tightening again in a slow rhythm that matched the pulse of the runes burning on his crown.
Her hips jerked involuntarily against his lower grip as the talons there shifted, one claw dragging upward along the curve of her flank while the other hooked lower, forcing her body forward into the tendrils still working relentlessly inside her. Every movement of those limbs was calculated to keep her exposed, to control her posture entirely.
The upper limbs began to alternate between firm, kneading pressure and slow, circling drags of claw-tips that skirted the line between pain and sensation. The lower limbs adjusted their hold, one claw bracing just above the swell of her hip while the other pressed lower, tilting her pelvis to give the tendrils within a deeper angle.
Atakhan’s many eyes flicked between her reactions — the tension in her shoulders, the way her breath came unevenly, the way her legs strained against the coils at her thighs. His grip never faltered. The claws at her hips tightened fractionally whenever she tried to shift away, reminding her she was fixed exactly where he wanted her.
The four limbs moved together now, a synchronized cage of touch and restraint. The upper pair worked her chest with slow, deliberate pressure, pinching lightly before releasing, while the lower pair manipulated her hips, rolling and tilting them in ways that let the tendrils inside her change their patterns without losing speed.
It was control from every direction — her body pinned, lifted, tilted, and handled in perfect coordination, as though Atakhan had rehearsed this dance countless times before. His hum deepened again, the sound vibrating through the claws gripping her, until she could feel his hunger not just in the tendrils invading her, but in every oversized limb that now claimed a piece of her.
The upper limbs shifted position with slow, deliberate intent, the claws withdrawing from her sides only to hover over her chest again. Atakhan’s many eyes blinked in a rippling sequence, and the rune-light along his crown flared brighter, casting her skin in a searing crimson glow.
His claws extended with delicate precision, the curved tips angling inward until they pinched around her nipples — not a casual touch, but a firm, exacting grip. The sharp points didn’t pierce skin, yet the pressure was enough to make her gasp against the tendril filling her mouth.
Then, with a slow, inexorable lift, he pulled her upward by them.
The shadows at her wrists slackened just enough for her arms to drop slightly, but her body remained taut, suspended by the cruel pinch of his claws. Her toes barely grazed the stone floor now, her weight forcing a sharp ache through her chest as the upper limbs held her aloft. Every slight twitch of his claws sent a new flare of sensation — a mixture of pain and electric heat — lancing through her.
Her back arched involuntarily under the strain, pushing her hips forward into the lower limbs’ grasp. Those lower claws tightened on her flanks and pelvis, keeping her steady, ensuring she couldn’t sway or wriggle free. The tendrils inside her seemed to respond to the new position, angling and twisting deeper, exploiting the forced lift of her body to reach further within.
Atakhan’s hum deepened into something closer to a growl, the sound resonating through the claws that gripped her. His head dipped lower, close enough for the heat of his breath to wash over her face, the scent metallic and oppressive. His mane of living shadow curled and writhed overhead, like smoke caught in a storm, casting writhing silhouettes across the vault walls.
The claws pinching her nipples adjusted minutely — a roll forward, a brief tightening — testing her reactions, pulling her higher so that her toes no longer touched the floor at all. She hung there fully suspended, every bit of her weight borne by those two merciless points of contact.
Below, the lower limbs worked her hips with subtle, guiding motions, rocking her in time with the tendrils’ rhythm, forcing each invasive thrust to land deeper and harder. The vault’s air grew thicker, hotter, until every breath felt stolen from her.
In Atakhan’s unblinking gaze, this was no mere restraint. It was a statement — that even her most fragile points could be turned into perfect anchors for his control.
Yunara’s head bobbed frantically, strands of sweat-damp hair clinging to her flushed face. Her eyes pleaded, wide and shimmering, the tendril in her mouth turning her sounds into muffled, broken whimpers.
LeBlanc’s gaze lingered on her for a long moment, unreadable. Then, slowly, that cold, feline smirk curved her lips.
“Oh… you say you understand,” she murmured, circling Yunara like a predator appraising wounded prey. Her heels clicked against the stone, echoing in the vault, each step deliberate. “But I’m not convinced.”
She stopped at Yunara’s side, her perfume cutting faintly through the heat and the metallic tang of the chamber. She reached up and, with an almost tender touch, brushed a stray lock of hair from Yunara’s cheek. “Understanding,” she continued, her voice soft but edged like a blade, “isn’t just in words… or even in a desperate nod.”
Atakhan’s claws flexed slightly at her signal, the sharp pinch on her nipples tightening just enough to send a flash of pain through her chest. The lower limbs shifted her hips in their grasp, angling her cruelly so the tendrils inside could drive deeper with unyielding force.
LeBlanc’s eyes glimmered with satisfaction at Yunara’s shudder. “No,” she said, drawing the word out, “true understanding is shown in the body. In obedience without hesitation. In the absence of defiance.”
She stepped closer still, one manicured finger trailing down Yunara’s stomach to rest just above the shadow-wrapped coils at her hips. “And right now… I think there’s still a little fight left in you.”
Her smirk widened. “Fortunately, Atakhan and I have all the time in the world to strip it away.”
LeBlanc’s eyes never left Yunara’s as she raised one elegant hand. The gesture was small, almost lazy, but the rune-light in the chamber flared in response.
Atakhan gave a low, guttural rumble of displeasure, his many eyes narrowing. His claws flexed once more on Yunara’s tender skin — a final reminder of his claim — before, with visible reluctance, the demon’s limbs loosened. The tendrils slid free in wet, slow spirals, retreating back into the shifting black mass of his mane.
Yunara collapsed forward, her arms trembling as the shadow-bindings vanished. Her legs barely held her, the ache of the demon’s hold still burning through her chest, hips, and the deep muscles he had invaded. She staggered, breathing hard, her gaze flicking between LeBlanc and the monstrous silhouette behind her.
LeBlanc took one unhurried step closer, and with that same casual authority, lifted her other hand. The heavy folds of her violet-and-black robes shimmered and dissolved into curling motes of glamour, vanishing into the air.
Beneath, her form was bare but for the glimmer of magic clinging to her skin — and from the space between her hips, a spectral phallus shimmered into existence, formed of silvery-violet arcane light. It pulsed faintly, already glistening as if slick with enchantment, the air around it humming with restrained power.
Her smirk deepened as she glanced down at it, then back up at Yunara, who stood frozen, her breath caught in her throat.
“Let’s see,” LeBlanc purred, her voice a low, velvet thread that carried easily through the vault, “what you’ve learned.”
The magic shaft throbbed once, sending a ripple of light up LeBlanc’s toned abdomen. She stepped forward, close enough that Yunara could feel the aura rolling off her — warm, intoxicating, and threaded with the same oppressive dominance that filled the Château itself.
LeBlanc’s fingers curled under Yunara’s chin, tilting her face up until their eyes locked. “No more nods. No more empty gestures,” she murmured. “You’re going to show me.”
Behind them, Atakhan loomed in the shadows, silent but watchful, the faint vibration of his growl promising that he would be ready again… should she fail.
Yunara’s breath trembled as LeBlanc held her gaze, the phantom warmth of the spectral shaft radiating between them like a living thing. The magic pulsed in time with her heartbeat, every throb making her skin prickle.
LeBlanc’s grip under her chin tightened just enough to make it clear there would be no looking away. “Kneel,” she said. Not loud, not forceful — but heavy with an enchantment that made the word sink into Yunara’s bones.
Her legs folded almost before she realized it, the ache from Atakhan’s assault making the movement unsteady. She knelt at LeBlanc’s feet, her eyes now level with the gleaming, ghostly length that hovered just inches away. The light refracted off the slick surface of the conjured shape, the magic coiling around it in faint ribbons that hissed softly, like whispers too quiet to understand.
LeBlanc rested one hand on her hip, the other still lightly holding Yunara’s face in place. “You’ve been in the hands of a demon,” she said, her voice low and smooth, “but demons only take. I…” — her smirk sharpened — “…shape.”
She released Yunara’s chin only to guide her with two fingers under the jaw, pulling her forward until her lips almost brushed the spectral tip. The heat was immediate, a charged, intoxicating hum that made the air feel heavy in her lungs.
“Open,” LeBlanc commanded.
Yunara hesitated for the briefest second — enough for LeBlanc’s eyes to narrow — before parting her lips. The magical shape pressed forward, not with brutal force like Atakhan’s tendrils, but with a slow, inevitable push. The slick, enchanted surface glided past her lips, filling her mouth with a taste that was part sweet, part electric, and wholly unnatural.
LeBlanc’s hand slid to the back of her head, guiding her deeper inch by inch. “Good,” she murmured. “Now… take it. All of it.”
The phantom length swelled slightly inside her mouth, shifting its shape just enough to stretch her jaw, the glow along its surface brightening in response to her muffled sounds. Every pulse sent a faint tingle through her tongue and throat, the magic seeping into her like liquid heat.
Behind her, Yunara felt the familiar, oppressive presence of Atakhan edging closer, his many eyes fixed on her as if judging her performance. The rumble of his breath against the back of her neck reminded her with absolute clarity what would happen if LeBlanc was displeased.
LeBlanc’s thumb brushed over Yunara’s cheek, feeling the stretch in her jaw. “Show me you’ve learned,” she said again, her voice a silken thread wrapped tight with steel. “Or I will let him finish the lesson.”
LeBlanc’s grip in Yunara’s hair tightened, her fingers weaving into the damp strands at the base of her skull, holding her in place. The spectral shaft pulsed in her mouth, its glow intensifying, the magical hum vibrating along her teeth and down her throat.
“That’s it…” LeBlanc murmured, drawing her hips forward so the full length pressed in, the tip sliding just past the point where Yunara’s throat tried to resist. Her free hand settled lightly under Yunara’s chin, tilting her head in the perfect angle for deeper entry. “No pulling away. No hesitation.”
Yunara’s body tensed as her breath caught, her chest rising sharply against the strain of holding still. The magic was invasive in a way different from Atakhan — smooth, unyielding, and laced with a heat that spread through her veins like liquid fire. Every pulse of the phantom length carried a faint surge of energy into her, making her limbs feel both heavier and weaker at once.
LeBlanc began to set a rhythm — not rushed, but deliberate, each withdrawal slow enough to let her feel every contour of the conjured shape before pushing forward again with measured force. The air between them smelled faintly of ozone and perfume, a heady mix that made it hard to think past the immediate act.
“That’s better,” LeBlanc said, her voice lowering until it was almost a purr. “Already you’re more obedient than when I found you in the auction hall.” Her eyes flicked briefly toward the looming shadow of Atakhan in the background. “But obedience is only real when it survives fear.”
Atakhan’s claws scraped lightly against the stone floor, the sound carrying an unmistakable warning. Yunara felt his presence closing in from behind, his breath warm against her bare back, as if ready to reclaim her at the first sign of defiance.
LeBlanc’s spectral length throbbed inside her mouth, the glow along its surface flaring brighter. She guided Yunara’s head with steady, precise motions, forcing her to take more with each push, until her lips pressed against the smooth, cold skin of LeBlanc’s lower stomach.
“Hold it,” LeBlanc commanded softly.
The magic seemed to respond to her words, swelling fractionally and locking in place, filling Yunara’s throat completely. Her lungs burned, her body trembling with the effort, and still LeBlanc kept her there, one elegant hand stroking her hair as though she were a favored pet being tested.
Only when Yunara’s vision began to swim did LeBlanc draw back, letting her gasp for air — but she didn’t give her long. With a sharp tug on her hair, she pressed forward again, the phantom shaft sliding back into the warmth of her mouth in one fluid motion.
“Again,” LeBlanc said. “And this time… show me you want to keep your place.”
LeBlanc slowed her motions, letting the spectral length slide free from Yunara’s lips with a faint shimmer of dissipating magic before snapping her fingers once. The command was silent, but it thrummed through the air, heavy with enchantment.
“Turn.”
Her voice was velvet and iron all at once, and Yunara’s body obeyed before her mind had caught up. LeBlanc’s grip on her hair guided the movement, forcing her to shift onto her knees and rotate until she faced away from the sorceress.
The soft brush of silk and the faint click of heels told Yunara that LeBlanc was closing in behind her. The magic in the room thickened, the spectral shaft still pulsing faintly in the corner of Yunara’s vision — except now it hovered lower, perfectly aligned with the curve of her hips.
“Hands on the floor,” LeBlanc ordered.
Yunara hesitated only for a breath, then complied, lowering herself onto all fours. Her arms trembled under her own weight, the ache in her body from Atakhan’s earlier assault making the posture almost unbearable.
LeBlanc stepped in close, one hand sliding down the line of Yunara’s spine with deliberate slowness, her nails tracing over every vertebra until they reached the small of her back. The touch was followed by a firm push downward, forcing Yunara to arch — presenting herself fully, her hips tilted upward in a position that was both vulnerable and inescapable.
“Better,” LeBlanc murmured. “This is a posture you’ll remember.”
The phantom length brushed against her pussy now, the heat of it almost startling after the cool air of the vault. It traced along her, teasing, letting her feel every inch of its smooth, otherworldly shape without yet pressing in. Behind them, Atakhan shifted, his rumbling growl low and approving, the faint scrape of his claws on the stone like the beat of a slow drum.
LeBlanc’s free hand slid around Yunara’s hip, fingers digging in just enough to anchor her. “Now, you’re going to take from me… without the demon’s claws holding you still,” she said softly, almost as if confiding a secret. “And you’ll stay exactly where I put you.”
Without another word, she pushed forward, the spectral shaft gliding into Yunara in one smooth, deep motion, the magic sparking where it met flesh. The pulse of it was stronger now, each throb radiating heat that spread up Yunara’s spine and down her thighs.
LeBlanc leaned over her, her lips close enough to Yunara’s ear that each word brushed against her skin. “Let’s see,” she whispered, “if you can keep from running… when it’s only me.”
LeBlanc’s hips met Yunara’s with an unrelenting rhythm, the spectral length driving deep with each thrust, its magic rippling through her like liquid lightning. Every push seemed to reach further, the enchanted shape adjusting itself to press against every nerve that could make her gasp or shudder.
Her grip on Yunara’s hip tightened, nails biting into skin, anchoring her in place. The other hand slid up her back again, curling into her hair and yanking her head up so she couldn’t collapse forward.
“You think,” LeBlanc began, her voice steady despite the force of her movements, “that this is just about you? That your little outburst in the auction hall was only your mistake to bear?” She laughed softly — a sharp, cold sound.
She slammed forward harder, making Yunara’s arms tremble against the stone. “No, darling… when you humiliate me, when you spit on my hospitality, you stain the Black Rose’s name.” Another thrust, slow and deep, until Yunara could feel the magic pulsing at the very core of her. “And when you do that, the punishment… is never confined to one body.”
Her voice lowered, curling like smoke around Yunara’s ear. “Ionia will feel this lesson as surely as you do now. Your temples will burn. Your rivers will run red. The little villages? I will turn them into markets of girls. Every priestess, every warrior, every proud little guardian…” She pulled back just enough to slam into her again, harder, the wet sound echoing in the vault. “…they will serve my guests until they learn gratitude.”
Her pace quickened, the magical shaft growing hotter inside her, the rhythm merciless. “And when the last one breaks, when they crawl to me in chains begging to serve…” LeBlanc’s smirk was audible in her voice, “I’ll tell them they can thank you.”
Behind them, Atakhan’s growl deepened, the sound vibrating through the stone as if in approval of her words.
LeBlanc leaned in closer still, her breath hot on Yunara’s neck. “So,” she murmured between thrusts, “how much of Ionia are you willing to lose… before you learn to kneel the moment I command it?”
LeBlanc’s pace became savage, each thrust punctuating her words, the spectral shaft flaring with a heat that made Yunara’s muscles clench involuntarily around it. The sound of their bodies meeting echoed in the stone chamber, mixing with the low, predatory hum of Atakhan in the shadows.
Her grip on Yunara’s hair tightened until it pulled her head fully back, forcing her to stare up at the vaulted ceiling streaked with runes that pulsed in time with the magic inside her. “You feel that?” LeBlanc whispered, her voice a silken knife. “That’s power. That’s inevitability. And when I’m done, that’s all Ionia will feel.”
Her free hand slid from Yunara’s hip around to her stomach, pressing firmly just above her pelvis so she could feel the movement of the phantom length from the inside. The cruel smirk on her lips widened when Yunara’s breath caught at the sensation.
“I will send ships to your shores,” she went on, her voice a steady, venomous purr even as her hips slammed into Yunara’s with bruising force. “Not armies—brothels. And they will open their doors before your temples and palaces have even fallen.”
She gave another deep, punishing thrust, holding herself fully inside for a heartbeat so the heat of the magic could pulse through Yunara’s core. “Your sacred groves will become gardens for my guests. Your proud warriors will kneel in silks, painted and perfumed, learning to smile when strangers use them.”
LeBlanc’s lips brushed the shell of Yunara’s ear, her words dripping with mockery. “And when those Ionian girls weep… I’ll tell them exactly whose rebellion brought them to me.”
She resumed her pace without mercy, her hips slamming forward with perfect, ruthless control. “Every gasp from your mouth right now, every shiver—this is you writing their fate.”
Atakhan’s shadow shifted closer, his rumbling growl a constant, oppressive reminder in the background, like the toll of a war drum that would not stop until the lesson was complete.
LeBlanc didn’t relent, her movements growing sharper, the magical shaft now glowing with each thrust, flooding Yunara with a mixture of unbearable heat and raw, magical pressure. “So, my sweet Yunara,” she said, her voice as calm as her body was brutal, “shall I end Ionia in months… or shall I take my time?”
LeBlanc slowed, her hips stilling, the spectral shaft throbbing hot inside Yunara for one last pulse before she withdrew in one smooth motion. The magic left a faint shimmer in its wake, the cool air of the vault rushing in where the enchanted heat had been.
Yunara sagged forward onto her hands, her chest rising and falling in quick, shallow breaths. Her thighs trembled, the ache from the relentless pace still burning deep inside her.
LeBlanc stood behind her, the faint hum of the conjured shaft still present, her posture relaxed but her eyes sharp and assessing. She tilted her head, brushing a lock of hair from her face as she spoke.
“Well, my little defiant pet,” she said softly, the ghost of a smirk curling her lips, “will you obey now… or do I need to give you a bigger incentive?”
Her tone made it clear that “bigger” was not a bluff — and from the corner of Yunara’s eye, she saw Atakhan shift, the rune-crown flaring faintly as if eager to be invited back into the lesson.
But before LeBlanc could even step closer, Yunara moved.
Her hand shot back between her legs, fingers curling around the base of the spectral cock, the heat of it pulsing against her palm. Without hesitation — and without looking back — she angled it toward herself and pushed back hard, impaling herself in one fluid, desperate motion.
The magical heat roared back into her, filling her completely, and she gasped through clenched teeth. Her head dropped, hair falling forward to hide her face, but her voice was low and certain.
“I understand.”
LeBlanc’s smirk deepened, her hand coming to rest lightly on Yunara’s lower back, pressing her down just enough to feel her submission. The sorceress didn’t speak right away — she simply looked down at the girl, her body willingly wrapped around the magic, and let the silence stretch, the faint growl of Atakhan the only sound in the vault.
When she finally spoke, her voice was silk over steel. “Good,” she murmured. “Because now… you’ll prove it.”
Yunara’s hands gripped LeBlanc’s thighs with a kind of frantic reverence, her nails biting into the sorceress’s smooth skin as she moved her hips with a desperate, rhythmic urgency. The spectral shaft flared brighter inside her, every pulse feeding a deep, liquid heat into her core. She rolled her hips in tight, hungry circles, then pushed back hard, burying the magic to the hilt before grinding against it with a trembling moan.
“Please… mistress…” she gasped, her voice breaking between thrusts, “I–I’ll obey… just… please… have mercy…”
LeBlanc watched her with cool, predatory detachment, her arms folded loosely under her chest, the faintest smirk touching her lips. The spectral cock pulsed in time with her heartbeat, but she gave no sign of being swayed yet, letting Yunara’s effort become a test in itself.
“Mercy?” she repeated, her tone lilting, almost amused. “You think mercy is earned with begging alone?”
Yunara shook her head quickly, sweat-slick hair sticking to her cheeks, and increased her pace. She twisted her hips, angled herself, trying to find the movements that would make LeBlanc react — rocking forward until her clit brushed against the root of the magic, then grinding hard before snapping back again. Her thighs burned, her knees scraped against the cold stone, but she didn’t stop.
“Please… I can make you… just—” Her words broke into a soft cry as she took the length deep again, her body quivering from the effort. “I’ll be good… I’ll be yours… just let me prove it…”
LeBlanc tilted her head, her gaze drifting to where Yunara’s slick body worked furiously around the glowing shape. “Prove it,” she said softly, a faint edge in her voice, “by making me finish before you collapse. Fail…” Her smirk deepened, and she glanced toward the looming shape of Atakhan, whose eyes burned hungrily in the shadows. “…and he’ll take my place.”
The pressure in the air seemed to thicken as Yunara redoubled her efforts, her hips snapping back with a wet, audible rhythm, her voice dropping to breathless whimpers and gasps. “Please… please, mistress… let me make you cum… I need to… I need to—”
The spectral shaft responded to her urgency, its pulses growing quicker, hotter, feeding her desperation as much as her body. All the while, LeBlanc remained still, letting Yunara chase her release like prey pursuing a predator — knowing that if she faltered for even a heartbeat, the shadows behind her would close in.
Yunara’s hips moved in a frantic, unbroken rhythm, every thrust driving the spectral shaft deep inside her. The heat of it pulsed through her belly, pushing her body toward the edge, but she focused on LeBlanc — on coaxing some reaction from the sorceress’s calm, assessing gaze. Her thighs burned, her knees scraped against the stone, but she kept going, grinding forward to press her clit against the base before snapping back to take the length in full.
Then, from the darkness at her sides, the air shifted. A deep rumble vibrated through the floor, and two massive, clawed hands slid into view — Atakhan’s.
They moved with deliberate slowness, the black tendrils that made up their flesh writhing faintly as they approached. One cupped her right breast, the sharp curve of the claws framing it without piercing, the heat of his palm almost searing. The other claimed her left, fingers curling underneath before flexing to lift and squeeze with possessive strength.
Yunara gasped sharply, her rhythm faltering for only a moment before LeBlanc’s hand in her hair tightened. “Don’t stop,” the sorceress murmured, her tone both warning and challenge.
Atakhan’s claws began to knead, his inhuman touch alternating between firm squeezes and slow, deliberate rolls of her nipples between the hardened edges of his fingers. Each shift sent a spike of sensation through her chest that shot down to where she moved against LeBlanc, making her hips jerk in sharper, needier motions.
The demon’s thumbs brushed over the peaks, then pinched lightly — a cruel mimicry of the way he’d suspended her earlier — and Yunara let out a breathless cry, half-pleasure, half-overstimulation.
LeBlanc’s smirk deepened as she watched, her voice a silken coil wrapping around Yunara’s fraying composure. “That’s it… ride me like you’re grateful I didn’t leave you to him. Show me why I should keep you.”
Atakhan’s hands continued their work, squeezing and lifting her breasts in slow counterpoint to the quick, desperate bounce of her hips, until the sensations tangled into something overwhelming — her body struggling to keep pace with her own desperation to make LeBlanc cum before her strength gave out.
All the while, the demon’s low growl filled the vault, vibrating against her skin like a dark reminder of what waited if she failed.
LeBlanc’s fingers tightened in Yunara’s hair, pulling her head back so the girl’s throat arched, her chest still trapped in Atakhan’s relentless grip. The spectral shaft inside her flared hotter, the pulses turning into a deep, throbbing vibration that spread through her hips and into her spine.
Yunara’s rhythm had become wild, her body chasing LeBlanc’s release with a frantic, almost delirious urgency. Each bounce drove her down to the hilt, the magical heat building with every motion until the very air around them seemed to hum.
LeBlanc’s breathing remained controlled, but her smirk had shifted — sharper, edged with the faintest hint of strain. Her hips began to meet Yunara’s movements, each thrust perfectly timed to drive the magic deep, the sound of their bodies meeting echoing in the stone chamber.
Then, with a low, satisfied hum, the sorceress let herself go.
The spectral cock pulsed once, twice — then erupted in a flood of molten, enchanted essence. It wasn’t liquid in the mortal sense; it was a rush of magic made tangible, searing hot, spilling into Yunara’s pussy and filling her completely. The force of it made her gasp and lock her hips down against LeBlanc, her entire body shuddering as the arcane heat spread through her womb like a living flame.
The magic lingered inside her, swirling and thrumming as if marking her from within, every beat of her heart syncing to its rhythm. Atakhan’s claws flexed over her breasts, holding her still while the last surges of the sorceress’s climax poured into her.
LeBlanc leaned forward, her lips brushing Yunara’s ear, her voice a velvet thread dripping with finality. “Now,” she whispered, “you carry my magic… and my claim. There’s no part of you left that isn’t mine.”
The phantom shaft slowly withdrew, still glowing faintly, leaving Yunara trembling on her knees — full, sore, and utterly claimed. Behind her, Atakhan’s growl rumbled low, almost approving, as if acknowledging that her body now bore a different kind of mark than his own.
LeBlanc stepped back, the shimmer of the spectral shaft dissolving into curling wisps of violet light before vanishing entirely. Her breathing had already slowed, her composure restored as if nothing had happened. From a nearby stone ledge, she picked up a crumpled scrap of cloth — worn, rough, and stained from some forgotten use — and tossed it at Yunara’s knees.
It landed in her lap with a damp slap.
“Clean yourself,” LeBlanc said, her tone casual but threaded with that same iron authority that brooked no refusal. “We wouldn’t want you dripping all over my floors… or worse, onto my client’s shoes.”
Yunara swallowed hard, the taste of her own exhaustion thick in her mouth, and looked down at the filthy rag. The hot weight of LeBlanc’s magic still lingered inside her, a slow, pulsing reminder of what she had just endured.
The sorceress turned toward the iron-bound door, her silhouette framed by the faint light seeping in from the stairwell above. She glanced over her shoulder with that cutting smirk, her words dropping like the flick of a blade.
“Kennen is waiting upstairs for you.”
Yunara’s stomach knotted at the name, the image of the yordle’s polite, almost shy bid at the auction flashing unbidden in her mind.
LeBlanc’s eyes narrowed slightly, amusement and command blending in her expression. “Do try to be… cooperative this time. I’ve gone to great lengths to prepare you for him.”
With that, she swept out, the click of her heels fading into the distance, leaving Yunara in the dim vault — sore, marked, and with only the filthy scrap of cloth to wipe away the last traces of the lesson before facing what awaited her above.
The stairwell felt like the longest climb of Yunara’s life. Each step was cold under her bare feet, the stone rough and unforgiving, her thighs still sore and trembling from what had just been done to her. The filthy scrap of cloth LeBlanc had thrown her was already discarded — she hadn’t dared to keep it — and so she emerged into the upper hall completely naked, her skin flushed, hair a tangled mess, the heat of the sorceress’s magic still faintly pulsing deep inside her.
The moment she stepped into view, the room seemed to turn toward her like flowers to the sun — except there was no warmth here, only the sharp, predatory amusement of onlookers. Clients in fine robes and masked faces leaned back in their seats with indulgent smirks, while the Château’s girls paused in their duties to take in the sight.
Katarina was the first to speak, lounging against a marble column, one leg crossed lazily over the other. Her green eyes gleamed as she let out a low, mocking whistle. “Well, well… look at you,” she drawled. “So? Already fallen in love with LeBlanc’s cock?” She tilted her head, the corner of her mouth curling in wicked amusement. “Can’t blame you. That enchantment leaves a mark, doesn’t it?”
Before Yunara could respond, Samira strolled past with a tray of jeweled goblets balanced easily in one hand. She gave Yunara an exaggerated once-over, her smirk widening. “Ahri is going to be so jealous,” she said with a laugh. “New girl waltzes in and gets the sorceress’s ‘special attention’ on day one? Tch. That fox is going to tear the drapes down in a fit.”
From one of the velvet sofas, Gwen rose with a graceful bounce, her pale hair gleaming under the lantern light. She drifted to Yunara’s side, her smile sweet and almost comforting — almost. “Don’t look so grim,” she murmured, looping her arm lightly through Yunara’s as if they were friends. “You’ll see. This place is so much fun when you learn how to play… and how to obey.” Her voice dipped on the last word, the softness carrying an edge that made Yunara’s skin prickle.
“Fun?” Sivir’s laugh rang out from the other side of the room. She was sprawled across a chaise, boots kicked up, a cup of wine dangling from her fingers. “Oh, I can picture it already — you and Ahri clawing each other’s eyes out in the middle of the night, just to see who gets to be the sorceress’s cumdumpster until morning.” She grinned wide, teeth flashing. “My money’s on the fox. She bites.”
The laughter that followed was cut with a sharper voice. Qiyana stood near the bar, sipping from a gold-rimmed cup, her eyes glinting with something closer to cruelty than humor. “Please,” she said, her tone dismissive. “Let her enjoy her little moment. She still has an entire line of yordles waiting to breed her before the night is over. Not even LeBlanc will want to touch her after that.”
The words hit harder than the laughter, and Yunara felt every gaze on her body grow heavier. Gwen’s gentle grip on her arm seemed suddenly more like a leash as she steered Yunara toward the main floor, where the crowd shifted expectantly — and somewhere ahead, Kennen was waiting.
LeBlanc’s gloved fingers hooked under Yunara’s collar, yanking her forward without a shred of gentleness. The crowd parted like a tide as the sorceress marched her across the dais, every heel-click ringing against the marble. Yunara stumbled more than once, her knees raw from the punishment with Atakhan, but LeBlanc never slowed. The eyes of nobles, mercenaries, and masked degenerates tracked their every step, a low murmur of curiosity following them like smoke.
With a sudden motion, LeBlanc shoved her forward, and Yunara landed hard on her knees before the small but unmistakable figure standing at the dais’ edge. The chains clinked against the stone as she lifted her gaze—only to lock eyes with someone she never thought she’d face here.
“Kennen…” she breathed, the name halfway between disbelief and venom. Her voice trembled—not from fear, but from the deep, gut-twisting betrayal that was beginning to eclipse even her shame. “I thought you were a friend. A Kinkou who fought for Ionia… for honor. Karma at least—” she spat the name like it burned her tongue, “—she gets fucked to protect our people. Irelia, the same. But you? You’re just a monster. You see me here, humiliated, chained, and all you want is to take advantage. You better believe, no matter how many chains this witch uses to restrain me, I will kill you one day.”
The Yordle didn’t flinch. His eyes, once bright with a sense of duty, looked dulled—like something had burned out long ago. “Ionia is a joke now,” he said flatly, voice carrying easily over the crowd’s hush. “We exist only because LeBlanc allows it. There’s no honor in serving that kind of world. Not anymore.”
He let the words sink in before glancing at her, and for just a flicker of a second, there was something that might have been pity in his gaze. “I’m sorry you came back,” he continued, “but that’s not my fault.” His tone shifted, sharpened, like a blade being drawn. “You want to see how far the Kinkou have fallen? Go look at the last Fist of Shadow... She works cocks better than she ever handled her kunai. Not here, though. She’s cheaper stock. The Black Crow.”
Yunara’s breath caught, fury and disbelief coiling in her stomach like a viper ready to strike. Kennen didn’t stop.
“Maybe you’re the lucky one,” he said coldly. “The Château is more… dignified, if that word even means anything anymore. You’ll adapt. They all do.” His tail flicked once, the only break in his stillness, before his voice dropped to a near growl. “And if you really want to kill me—go ahead. I’ve got no love left for this world. But you’ll do it only if your new master allows it.”
LeBlanc let out a theatrical sigh, the kind that carried over the noise of the hall, her lips curving into something equal parts amused and cruel. “Such a tragic little scene,” she mused, tilting her head as though genuinely lamenting the sight of two ‘friends’ turned bitter enemies. “But as I always say…” Her voice dropped into a silken purr that nonetheless carried to the back rows, “…sex should strengthen friendships, not destroy them.”
Before Yunara could snarl a reply, LeBlanc’s fingers threaded into her hair. The grip was deceptively delicate at first, her long nails just grazing the girl’s scalp, but in the next instant she tightened it, dragging Yunara’s face forward until she was kneeling barely a breath away from Kennen’s crotch. The crowd leaned forward as one, eager to see the proud Ionian warrior brought low again.
The sorceress’ magic seeped from her hand like a slow poison, a creeping warmth that sank through Yunara’s skull and coiled down her spine. It wasn’t a violent force—it was subtler, more insidious. The sharp edge of Yunara’s defiance dulled, her thoughts beginning to feel… heavy, clouded. The humiliation, the rage—they were still there, but tangled now with something far more dangerous: a slow, creeping heat pooling low in her belly.
Her body betrayed her, the flush rising on her cheeks not entirely from shame. Every brush of LeBlanc’s fingers sent tiny sparks through her nerves, making it harder to remember why she should pull back. Her breathing quickened, not just from the closeness of the Yordle in front of her, but from the thrumming pulse of enchantment winding around her will.
Kennen watched silently, expression unreadable, but his tail gave the faintest twitch as LeBlanc leaned in to murmur—just loud enough for Yunara to hear—“Be a good girl for your… old friend. It will make things so much easier.”
The sorceress’ hand guided her that last inch forward, her touch equal parts command and caress, the magic thickening in Yunara’s mind until obedience felt almost like her own idea. And around them, the dais seemed to shrink, the crowd’s hungry gazes pressing in, waiting for the inevitable.
Yunara’s breath trembled as the weight of LeBlanc’s magic pulsed through her veins, heavy and intoxicating. Her jaw tensed in resistance for a moment—one final, fleeting echo of her pride—but the sorceress’ hand in her hair gave a slow, deliberate push, and the enchantment wrapped tighter around her will.
Her lips parted almost on their own, the movement feeling alien yet inevitable, like a door swinging open under a strong wind. She leaned in, taking Kennen into her mouth—not because she wanted him, not because she cared to ease his lust, but because somewhere in the depths of her mind, the only thought burning bright was obey… please her.
LeBlanc’s fingers never left her scalp, the subtle pressure a constant reminder of who truly commanded her now. Yunara’s eyes flicked upward—not to meet Kennen’s gaze, but to glance toward the sorceress, as if searching for approval with every motion. Her rhythm was careful, almost ceremonial, each movement executed as though she were performing for LeBlanc alone.
She barely registered the Yordle’s reactions; his shallow breaths and the faint tension in his stance were meaningless. All that mattered was the silent conversation between her and the woman standing above her: LeBlanc’s gaze, sharp as a dagger, the faint curve of her lips when Yunara’s pace pleased her, the almost imperceptible tightening of her grip when she wanted more.
It wasn’t Kennen’s satisfaction that drove Yunara’s actions—it was the desperate, magic-fed need to prove herself worthy of LeBlanc’s touch, her attention, her approval. Every movement of her mouth, every flick of her tongue, was an offering laid at the feet of the sorceress, even as the humiliation burned beneath the enchantment’s haze.
And the more she obeyed, the more that haze thickened, until it was hard to remember why she had ever resisted at all.
Kennen’s climax came sudden and forceful, filling her mouth before Yunara could even fully brace herself. The thick taste hit her tongue, and instinct told her to recoil—but LeBlanc’s magic coiled tighter around her mind, drowning that instinct in a warm, syrupy haze that urged her to swallow, to accept, to obey. Her throat worked in small, mechanical gulps, each one accompanied by the faintest pull at her hair from LeBlanc’s fingers, guiding her pace.
When it was over and Kennen stepped back, Yunara’s lips parted in a trembling exhale. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, but the physical act was nothing compared to the deeper, more insidious sensation creeping through her. She could feel the magic’s roots now—buried deep, entwined with her own thoughts. She hadn’t just been guided in that moment; she had wanted to obey, wanted to earn that flicker of approval in LeBlanc’s eyes. And realizing that left her stomach twisting with dread.
LeBlanc’s voice, silken and cruel, cut through her disorientation. —Due to your… reluctance, dear Yunara, our little auction will not be proceeding. A shame, really. But you’ve been compromised. Still… I am nothing if not generous.
She tilted her head toward Kennen, her smile sharpened like the edge of a blade. —To compensate our dear friend here for his trouble, I’ll offer him the chance to purchase your… remaining two holes. At a discounted rate, of course.
Yunara’s eyes widened, her mouth opening in shock, but LeBlanc’s grip on her hair kept her in place, the sorceress’ nails ghosting over her scalp in a mockery of gentleness. Kennen didn’t even hesitate; his smirk was answer enough. —I’ll take the offer, he said simply, his voice low with satisfaction.
LeBlanc’s gaze returned to Yunara, her tone dripping with command. —Then take him to a private room. Make me proud, my little flower.
The magic pulsed again at those words, and Yunara’s legs moved before her mind could protest. Each step toward the private chambers felt heavier, the dread clawing at her chest, yet the enchantment whispered compliance into her thoughts, drowning her in that dangerous blend of humiliation, fear, and the intoxicating need to please.
That night Yunara stumbled into her new assigned room without so much as glancing at the door to lock it. The dim lamplight painted the walls in warm shadows, but she barely noticed — every step felt like it carried the weight of the sorceress’s touch still clinging to her skin.
She reached her bed and collapsed onto it, the mattress sighing beneath her. The torn remains of her lingerie clung awkwardly to her damp skin, straps twisted, lace sticking where sweat had dried. She didn’t bother to fix it, didn’t even consider peeling it off. It felt pointless — LeBlanc had already seen and taken everything that mattered.
For a long moment she just lay there, chest rising and falling, her mind drifting in a daze. But then her thighs shifted open on their own, parting without thought, the faint ache between them sparking into a slow, crawling heat. Her hand slid down almost idly at first, brushing over the damp fabric, feeling the slickness still seeping through.
The touch made her gasp — not from surprise, but from the instant flood of sensation it brought back. The pressure of LeBlanc’s body against hers. The way her voice had curled like silk around each mocking word. The unbearable fullness that had made her toes curl and her breath shatter.
Her fingers pushed the torn fabric aside, seeking bare skin, and found her folds already warm and wet. She hated how eager her body felt, how ready. Her other hand gripped the sheets, knuckles whitening, as she began to move — slow circles, then firmer strokes, chasing the phantom rhythm she could still feel from earlier.
Her breath quickened, each flicker of pleasure tangled with the shame of knowing exactly whose touch she was remembering. She tried to tell herself it was just release, just a way to quiet the ache so she could sleep… but the image of LeBlanc’s smirk stayed sharp in her mind, as if the sorceress were still here, watching, enjoying the sight of her working herself to climax in the dark.
Yunara’s breath came faster now, her thighs flexing as the heat built between them. Without thinking, her fingers slid lower, pressing past the slick folds until two slipped inside with ease. The stretch made her gasp, her hips tilting to take them deeper, the wet sounds loud in the quiet of the room.
Her other hand wandered upward, brushing over her stomach before finding the soft swell of her breast. She cupped it firmly, kneading the tender flesh as her thumb grazed the sensitive peak through the torn scrap of lace. The dual sensations — the filling pressure inside her and the rougher grip on her chest — sent a shiver running the length of her spine.
Her mind betrayed her, overlaying the movements with memories that weren’t her own — the weight of LeBlanc’s body, the sorceress’s hands pinning her, the way those phantom hips had driven forward with inescapable precision. Each push of her fingers mimicked that rhythm, faster now, curling just enough to make her back arch off the bed.
Her palm squeezed harder around her breast, thumb circling her nipple until it was stiff beneath the worn lace. She bit her lip, stifling the sound that tried to escape, but her body refused to relent. Every motion inside her only made her wetter, the need pulling tighter, sharper.
She could feel her walls clenching around her fingers, her own touch dragging her closer to the edge. The shame was there, curling in her gut, but it was powerless against the overwhelming rush of sensation — and the way her mind kept whispering that this was exactly how LeBlanc would want her to fall asleep.
The moment hit her like a breaking wave. Yunara’s back arched hard against the bed, her heels digging into the sheets as her fingers plunged deep and curled, milking the heat that had been building inside her until it finally tore loose.
Her cry was muffled against her own bitten lip, her body trembling in sharp, uncontrollable bursts. Then the gush came — sudden, unstoppable — a hot, clear flood spilling from her, splattering over her inner thighs, pooling beneath her, soaking the sheets. The wetness surged again and again with each pulse of her release, turning her hand slick and slippery, coating her fingers and palm until she could barely keep her grip inside herself.
It dripped in long, warm trails down the backs of her thighs, beading at the curve where they met her hips before running further, seeping into the mattress. Her breathing came in ragged gasps, every inhale catching on the tail end of the pleasure still rippling through her.
That heat — that sticky, intimate embrace — felt almost familiar now. She realized with a hollow twist in her chest that it had become nearly constant since the moment LeBlanc had first claimed her. Whether it was from the sorceress’s touch or the thoughts she planted in her mind, it lingered… like a mark no eyes could see, but one her body never let her forget.
Her fingers slipped free at last, glistening, and she let her arm fall limp to the side. The soaked scraps of her lingerie clung heavy to her skin, and the cooling wetness spread across her thighs like a second skin.
In the dim quiet of her room, she stared at the ceiling, chest still heaving, the scent of her release filling the air. And she hated — more than the ache, more than the exhaustion — how deep down she already knew she would dream of LeBlanc tonight… and wake wet all over again.
Muraragi on Chapter 1 Fri 25 Oct 2024 02:55AM UTC
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SeekerPS on Chapter 1 Fri 25 Oct 2024 02:59AM UTC
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Muraragi on Chapter 2 Fri 25 Oct 2024 01:40PM UTC
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JakobKane2025 on Chapter 3 Tue 29 Oct 2024 01:16PM UTC
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SeekerPS on Chapter 3 Tue 29 Oct 2024 10:54PM UTC
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VatoLoko69 on Chapter 9 Sat 08 Feb 2025 02:59AM UTC
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SeekerPS on Chapter 9 Sat 08 Feb 2025 11:11AM UTC
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Alpagaa on Chapter 11 Wed 09 Apr 2025 09:45PM UTC
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