仙颜屈域：风月困双生草稿

# Chapter 1

The descent from the celestial realm had been seamless, a journey through veils of cloud and starlight that should have deposited two of the most exalted beings in all the heavens onto the mortal plane with grace befitting their station. Instead, fate—that fickle weaver of destinies—had twisted their path, hurling them into a domain so far removed from the cultured lands of Zhongyuan that even the very air tasted foreign and hostile.

Su Moli stood at the crest of a barren hill, his robes—those magnificent, flowing garments woven from moonlight and immortal silk—now caked with dust and the strange, gritty particles that seemed to saturate this cursed land. His fingers, slender and pale as jade, clenched at his sides as he surveyed the landscape stretching before him.

The sky was wrong here. Not the soft, depthless azure of the celestial realm, nor the warm, living blue of the mortal lands he had glimpsed in his rare descents. This sky hung low and bruised, a sickly amber at the horizon bleeding into a deep, oppressive gray overhead. The sun—if one could call that bloated, crimson orb a sun—seemed to pulse with malevolent heat, casting long, distorted shadows that writhed across the cracked earth.

"Luo Yuening." His voice emerged low, controlled, carrying the innate frost that had earned him the title of Ice Sovereign among the immortals. But beneath that crystalline exterior, something raw and unfamiliar churned in his chest. "Tell me this is not what I suspect."

Beside him, Luo Yuening stood with that same perfect, unassailable poise that had made him the object of both adoration and fear across the Three Realms. His profile—delicate yet sharp, with features so exquisitely balanced they seemed carved by the hands of a divine sculptor—betrayed nothing. But Su Moli knew him. Had known him across millennia of shared existence, through cycles of cultivation and transcendence, through battles that had shaken the foundations of heaven itself.

"The Black Domain," Luo Yuening said, each word falling like a chip of ice. "The outermost reaches of the barbarian territories. A realm even the demons avoid."

"Impossible." Su Moli turned to face him fully, and the movement caused his robes to shift against his frame—a frame that had always drawn whispered speculation among the immortals, for though he stood as a man in truth and spirit, his form possessed an ethereal delicacy that blurred the lines of mortal gender. His waist, impossibly narrow, cinched above hips that curved with a subtle, dangerous grace. His shoulders, though carrying the proud carriage of a cultivator, were slender and sloping. And his face—that face that had launched a thousand odes and driven poets mad—was a study in devastating beauty, with skin so pale and luminous it seemed to glow from within, eyes that held the cold fire of distant stars, and lips shaped like petals of white jasmine. "The passage was meant to deliver us to the central provinces. I calculated the coordinates myself."

"Your calculations were flawless." Luo Yuening's dark eyes—obsidian depths that held centuries of wisdom and the weight of authority beyond mortal comprehension—finally met his. Something flickered there, something that might have been the faintest shadow of the same unease coiling in Su Moli's gut. "The disruption came from without. The Heavens themselves redirected our path."

The implication hung between them, heavy and suffocating.

"The tribulation." Su Moli's voice dropped to barely a whisper. "This is our trial."

Luo Yuening said nothing, but his silence was confirmation enough. He raised his hand—a gesture of such casual elegance that it seemed to bend the light around it—and pressed his fingers to the space before him. A ripple passed through the air, visible only to those with senses attuned to the flow of cosmic energy. His lips pressed together, a minute tightening that was the closest thing to distress Su Moli had ever witnessed on that face.

"Sealed," Luo Yuening said. "Nine layers of restriction. The Dao of Heaven binds our cultivation to the mortal realm's capacity. I cannot draw more than a fraction of my power without triggering a backlash that would—" He paused, and the hesitation spoke volumes. "That would destroy this mortal shell."

Su Moli extended his own spiritual sense, probing the pathways of energy that had once been rivers of overwhelming power, now reduced to trickling streams. The sensation was like waking from a dream to find oneself crippled, limbs bound, voice silenced. The sheer, visceral wrongness of it made his stomach clench.

"We are mortal," he breathed, and the words tasted like ash.

"Worse than mortal," Luo Yuening corrected, and there was an edge to his voice now, a blade of cold fury carefully wrapped in silk. "Mortals in a land that despises everything we are."

They moved down from the hill as the crimson sun began its slow, bloated descent toward the horizon. The heat was oppressive, clinging to their skin like a second layer, carrying scents that were foreign and vaguely threatening—smoke from unknown woods, the musky odor of strange animals, and beneath it all, a thick, earthy scent that seemed to emanate from the very soil itself.

The settlement they encountered was nothing like the graceful towns and cities of the central plains. Huts of animal hide and rough-hewn timber clustered together behind a palisade of sharpened logs. Fires burned in iron cages at intervals along the walls, sending pillars of greasy smoke into the amber sky. And the people—Su Moli's steps faltered as he took them in.

They were massive. Every man, woman, and child seemed built on a scale that defied mortal norms, their frames broad and thick, their skin the color of rich, dark earth, their features bold and heavy. The men wore little more than strips of leather or cloth tied around their waists, revealing torsos that bulged with muscle, chests like shields, arms like tree trunks. They moved with a deliberate, ground-eating pace that spoke of raw, unrefined power.

"Keep your head down," Luo Yuening murmured, his voice barely audible. "And do not meet their eyes."

They entered the settlement's periphery, and the reaction was immediate. Heads turned. Conversations died. A hush spread outward from them like ripples in a pond, and every gaze that fell upon them carried the same weight—hostility, suspicion, and something darker, something that made Su Moli's skin crawl despite the oppressive heat.

A woman—her body draped in a single strip of colorful cloth that left her shoulders, arms, and most of her legs bare—spat to the side as they passed. "Southerners," she said, the word dripping with contempt. "What business have you here?"

Su Moli's jaw tightened. In the celestial realm, entire armies had trembled at his approach. Monarchs had prostrated themselves before his palace gates. And now this—this barbarian woman dared to address him with such disrespect.

Luo Yuening's hand found his wrist, the touch light but firm. Warning. Restraint.

"We seek shelter," Luo Yuening said, his voice perfectly level, carrying none of the frost that Su Moli knew lurked beneath. "We mean no offense."

The woman's eyes raked over them, and Su Moli felt the weight of that gaze like a physical touch, invasive and demeaning. It lingered on his face, his waist, the curve of his hips visible even beneath his travel-worn robes. A slow, ugly smile spread across her lips.

"Shelter, is it?" She laughed, a harsh, barking sound. "A pair of pretty little southern boys, dressed like that, wandering into our lands. You'll find no shelter here. Only trouble."

She turned and walked away, but others had gathered now, forming a loose circle around them. Men, mostly, their eyes following the same path as the woman's, lingering on the same places. Su Moli felt heat rise to his cheeks—not from the sun, but from something far more galling.

"They're looking at us as if—" He couldn't finish the sentence. The word stuck in his throat like a bone.

"As if we were women," Luo Yuening finished for him, his voice flat. "As if we were prey."

The information came slowly, pieced together from fragments of overheard conversations, the suspicious glances of merchants who refused to serve them, and the grudging answers they extracted from a toothless old man who seemed less hostile than the others. They sat in the shadow of a rough-hewn tavern, the wood of the building offering a meager shield against the dying sun's heat, and Su Moli felt his world shrinking, closing in around him with every revelation.

The Black Domain was a law unto itself. The tribes that ruled these lands—the men with their dark, gleaming skin and their bodies like mountains of living obsidian—answered to no outside authority. They had their own customs, their own hierarchies, their own brutal code of conduct. And central to that code was a simple, immutable truth: in the Black Domain, a man from the southern lands was worth nothing.

"Not just nothing," the old man had said, his eyes darting nervously as if afraid of being overheard. "Worth less than nothing. A southerner man sets foot here, he's fair game. Capture him, and you've got a slave for life—or a corpse, if you're feeling generous. Only women get to walk free."

"And if a southerner woman chooses to stay?" Su Moli had asked, his voice carefully neutral.

The old man had laughed then, a wet, rasping sound. "Blessed, she'd be. A southerner woman in these parts? Her children would be strong, her bloodline honored. She'd have her pick of warriors to warm her bed."

The words echoed in Su Moli's mind now as he stood in the cramped room they had rented—if "rented" was the right word for exchanging a pouch of spirit coins for the grudging tolerance of the establishment's owner. The room was small, barely large enough for a single sleeping mat and a cracked bronze mirror that hung crookedly on the wall. The air smelled of smoke and unknown spices, and through the thin walls, he could hear the low rumble of voices speaking in that guttural tongue.

"The old man was right." Luo Yuening's voice came from behind him, and Su Moli turned to find his companion examining the contents of a bundle they had acquired during their forced march through the settlement's market. "The women here wear distinctive garments. Light, revealing. It's how they signal their status as protected persons."

Su Moli's blood ran cold. "You cannot be suggesting—"

"We have no cultivation to speak of." Luo Yuening held up a piece of cloth, and Su Moli's eyes widened as he took in its form. It was a dress, if one could call it that—a scrap of fabric that would barely cover a body, cut low at the neckline and high at the thighs, dyed in patterns that seemed designed to draw the eye rather than conceal the form. "We cannot fight. We cannot flee—not far enough, not fast enough. If we are discovered as men, we will be seized. Enslaved. Or worse."

"Worse than slavery?" Su Moli's voice cracked, and he hated himself for it.

Luo Yuening's gaze met his, and in those dark depths, Su Moli saw reflected his own dawning horror. "There are fates that do not end with death."

The first time Su Moli touched the fabric, his fingers recoiled as if burned. The material was rough, cheap, nothing like the celestial silks that had graced his immortal form for millennia. And the garment itself—he held it up, and the full horror of what they were about to do crashed over him like a wave of ice water.

It was obscene. Designed to expose rather than cover, to flaunt rather than conceal. The bodice would barely reach his ribs, leaving his shoulders and collarbone completely bare. The skirt—if the abbreviated length of fabric could be called a skirt—would end well above his knees, exposing the full length of his legs. And the cut was so narrow, so clinging, that it would leave nothing to the imagination.

"I cannot," he whispered. "I am a man. A sovereign of the

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The sun hung high and pitiless over the crude frontier settlement, its rays baking the packed earth of the main thoroughfare. Dust motes danced in the heavy air, mingling with the pungent smells of unfamiliar herbs, smoked meats, and the unwashed bodies of a people far removed from the pristine halls of the Celestial Realm. Two figures moved through the throng, their steps measured, their gazes cool and remote.

They were beautiful in a way that defied the coarse texture of this place. Their robes, though plain and chosen for anonymity, could not hide the subtle, devastating lines of their forms. The first, Su Moli, possessed a face of such icy perfection it seemed a blade honed by the heavens themselves. His eyes, the color of frozen lakes, swept over the crowd with a disdain so pure it was almost a physical presence. Beside him, Luo Yuening was no less striking. His features held a cold, exquisite allure, a blend of sharp, aristocratic beauty and a softness that was deeply, dangerously magnetic.

Beneath their robes, the fine silk clung to bodies that were no longer the androgynous, transcendent frames of immortals. Their shoulders were narrow, their waists impossibly slender and soft. Where there had been only a clean, severe line, there now bloomed a subtle, devastating curve at their hips, a gentle, full swell at their chests that strained against the fabric with each breath. They moved with a grace that was both ethereal and provocatively female, a sway in their steps that drew the eye and held it captive.

“Aiyah, look at these two fine flowers,” a gravelly voice rasped from a nearby stall, where a group of men haggled over animal pelts. “Where did such delicate jade grow in this wasteland?”

A rough laugh followed. “Jade? I see two ripe peaches, ready to be plucked.”

Su Moli’s step did not falter, but a muscle in his jaw tightened. The words were a lash against his skin. I am a Celestial Venerate, he reminded himself, the silent mantra a crumbling fortress. I have commanded stars and vanquished demon lords. These are ants.

Yet the memory the words invoked was a flood. The suffocating, musky scent of heated black skin. The impossible, brutal pressure of a massive body pinning him down. The searing, splitting pain that had torn through him, followed by a wave of pleasure so abject, so humiliating, that his own mind had shattered. He remembered his own voice, a sound he no longer recognized, crying out, begging, *pleading* for more of that monstrous flesh. He remembered the hot, thick flood of the black man’s seed filling him, claiming him, and the *relief* – the shameful, shuddering relief of it.

Luo Yuening’s pale hand, tucked into his sleeve, trembled. He felt the echo of Su Moli’s thoughts, the same ghosts haunting them both. That day. The rough, calloused hands that had roamed his body, cupping the new, sensitive swells of his chest, pinching his nipples until they ached. The feel of that massive, black shaft, slick with their shared desire, pushing past his tight virgin ring. The way his body had betrayed him, arching into that brutal rhythm, his own traitorous voice keening in a rhythm of obscene ecstasy. A phantom heat bloomed in his lower belly, and he felt a faint, mortifying dampness at the cleft of his buttocks. He clenched his muscles, fighting it, hating the familiar, traitorous response.

They walked on, ignoring the whistles and the lewd comments that followed them like a swarm of flies. Their mission was to find those men, the ones who had done this, who had shattered their very identities. They watched, they listened. They noted the insignias on leather vests, the names spoken in guttural tongues. They acted with the caution of prey, their eyes scanning for any sign of the immense, shadowy figures that haunted their nightmares and their waking fantasies.

Days bled into a weary rhythm. The initial, scalding shame began to lose its sharp edge, buried under the mundane necessities of survival. They became a familiar, exotic sight in the town. Men still stared, but the malice faded into a coarse kind of admiration.

“You two are too fine to be wandering alone!” a cheerful, weathered woman called out to them one evening as they passed a communal fire. “Our village is having a harvest feast tonight. Lots of meat, strong drink! You must come. It is not safe to be sad in a strange land.”

Luo Yuening looked at Su Moli. The idea of sharing a table with these barbarians felt like another form of defilement. Yet, the woman’s face held no guile, only a rough kindness. And they needed information. Their pride, already a broken thing, had little left to protect.

A ghost of a nod passed between them. “We are… honored,” Su Moli said, his voice a cool, distant chime that cut through the fire’s crackle.

The feast was a raucous, messy affair. They sat on rough-hewn benches, accepting wooden cups of a sour, potent ale. Men laughed and clapped their backs, their accents thick, their questions simple. Where were they from? Were they twins? Why were they not married?

To their own surprise, they answered. They spun a half-truth about being traveling scholars, their voices low and measured. The tension in their shoulders began to ease. The ale helped. For a few hours, they were not disgraced immortals, but simply two beautiful strangers in a strange land, the warm firelight painting their faces in gold and shadow.

As the night wore on and the crowd began to thin, they excused themselves. They walked back to their inn through the quiet, star-dusted darkness. The village noise faded, leaving only the rustle of their robes and the chirp of insects. The peace was fragile, a thin pane of glass over a well of simmering chaos.

“It was… less unpleasant than I feared,” Luo Yuening admitted, his voice soft in the dark.

“Do not let your guard down,” Su Moli replied, but his own voice lacked its customary edge. A flicker of warmth, of normalcy, had touched them. It was a dangerous kindness.

Back in their shared room, the pretense fell away. The silence between them was heavy, filled with all the things they did not say. The momentary peace evaporated, replaced by a low, insidious hum of energy deep in their bones. It started as a vague unease, a restlessness that made their skin prickle.

Su Moli unlaced his outer robe, letting it fall to the floor. A shiver ran through him that was not from the night’s chill. A wave of heat, thick and cloying, surged from his core, spreading through his limbs, making his nipples bead into tight, sensitive peaks against the thin under-robe. He felt a strange, empty ache in his lower belly, a deep, pulsating hollow that yearned to be filled.

Luo Yuening sat on the edge of the bed, his face pale. He brought a hand to his forehead, but his fingers were shaking. The same heat was melting his insides. It was a phantom lust, a craving born not of the heart, but of the flesh that was being so cruelly, so exquisitely reshaped.

Their eyes met. In them was a shared, silent confession of defeat.

Beneath his robes, Su Moli felt a slick, hot moisture seep from his rear entrance. The memory of the black pillar of flesh was no longer a nightmare, but a taunting image of relief. He could almost feel it, the slow, agonizing stretch, the way it had filled him completely, rubbed against a spot inside him that had made stars explode behind his eyes.

Overwhelmed by a shameful, desperate need, his hand, as if with a will of its own, slid down his belly. He pushed past the waistband of his trousers. His breath hitched. His fingers found the wet, slick entrance, so different from the chaste, forgotten part of his body it had once been. He pressed a single, hesitant finger inside.

A whimper escaped his lips. “Ah… nn…” The tight, wet heat gripped him. It was not the same. It was not enough. It was a mockery.

Beside him, Luo Yuening watched, his own resolve crumbling. He could not look away. He saw the way Su Moli’s back arched, the way his lips parted, the desperation in his half-lidded eyes. His own body screamed in sympathy. He pushed his own robe aside. His chest, once flat, now had a soft, feminine curve. The nipples were a deep, flushing pink, hard and engorged. He cupped one in his palm, the sensation so sharp and alien he gasped. He squeezed, imagining a calloused black hand doing the same, a thumb teasing the peak.

Moans filled the small, dark room. It was a concert of their shared, abject ruin.

“Enough.”

The word was a whip-crack. Su Moli yanked his wet fingers from his own body, his face burning with a shame so deep it was an inferno. Luo Yuening dropped his hands as if burned.

“We are… beasts,” Luo Yuening whispered, his voice thick with disgust. “Beasts in heat.”

Su Moli stared at his own trembling hand, glistening in the faint moonlight. A single, crystalline tear traced a path down his cheek. He was a Celestial Venerate. He had stood above the clouds. Now he was panting, wet, and aching for the cock of a savage. The image of it filled his mind again: the thick, dark length, the swollen purple head, the way it had pulsed and throbbed inside him, finally releasing its hot, potent load that had calmed his very soul.

“We are *not*,” he snarled, the word a desperate denial. But his body did not believe him. His core was a hollow, hungry pit. “Lecherous wretches. Born to be… used.”

Over the next ten days, the change became undeniable. It was not just in their minds. It was carved into their flesh.

They would catch their reflections in a window or a still pool of water and fail to recognize the person staring back. Su Moli’s haughty, cold beauty had softened. His eyes, once purely glacial, now held a dark, smoldering heat. His lips seemed fuller, redder, perpetually parted as if awaiting a kiss. The sharp lines of his jaw and throat had gentled, becoming a slender, elegant column. His hips were a womanly curve now, his waist a soft indentation.

Luo Yuening looked into the same mirror of shame. His aura of noble isolation was gone. In its place was a seductive, yielding aura. His posture, once straight as a spear, had a subtle sway. When he walked, his hips rolled with a natural, unconscious grace. His chest was fuller, straining against his robes, the nipples a visible, shameful bump beneath the silk.

They were turning into the very images of the beautiful, submissive women the barbarians had taken them for. The truth was a slow, agonizing poison. The black man’s seed, his very essence, was a catalyst. It was unlocking something within their pure, immortal bodies, repurposing their very flesh for a destiny of submission.

“Look at me,” Su Moli whispered one morning, his voice hollow as he stared at his reflection. “A strumpet’s body. A whore’s shape.”

Luo Yuening stood beside him, their shoulders touching. “My pride is a ghost. My dignity is a memory.”

A bitter laugh escaped Su Moli. “I thought we were above such base predation. But look… we were merely waiting. Waiting for a cock that was strong enough to break us. To breed us.”

Every memory was a fresh wound and a sharp thrill. The sight of the massive, black body looming over him, the feel of those thick, powerful fingers exploring his inner walls, the taste of his own tears mixed with the other man’s sweat. The moment of surrender, when he had spread his legs and cried out, “Please… please fuck me… fill me with your seed…” The crushing, humiliating, soul-shattering orgasm that had followed, making him ejaculate helplessly like a virgin boy.

His body’s response was instant. His nipples hardened into aching peaks against the silk of his new under-robe. A familiar, hot slickness gathered between his legs. *Again*, his body screamed. *I am on heat again. I need that black cock again.*

He clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. “You wretched, lecherous hole,” he muttered to his own reflection. “Is that all you are now? A vessel for a barbarian’s seed?”

But the question was

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The invitation arrived on a morning that promised nothing more than the gentle warmth of a late spring day. The messenger, a polished young man from one of the local ruling families, delivered the words with genuine courtesy, recalling the pleasant evening they had all shared not so long ago. There was nothing in his demeanor to suggest anything amiss. How could there be? They had been treated as honored guests at that previous gathering—conversation had flowed easily, the food had been exquisite, and their hosts had shown only respect.

Now, standing in the sunlit inner courtyard of their temporary residence with the invitation in hand, Mu Zhishu and Mu Yunshu exchanged glances that held no trace of suspicion.

“They seem eager to renew our acquaintance,” Zhishu said, turning the silk-bound note between his slender fingers. The golden characters of the invitation caught the light, elegant and formal.

Yunshu inclined his head, a faint, genuine smile touching his lips. “I found their company agreeable enough last time. And we could use the distraction, brother.” His gaze flickered briefly toward the distant peaks where their father had last been seen before vanishing into the vast unknown of the Black Wilderness.

There was a tacit understanding between them. Their search for Mu Shuran had yielded nothing so far—every lead had turned to ash, every inquiry met with silence or evasive answers. The monotony of waiting, of hoping against hope, had worn grooves into their spirits. A night of pleasant distraction, of warm wine and civilized conversation with friendly locals, seemed not unwelcome.

And so they dressed with care, donning the flowing robes they had grown accustomed to wearing in this strange land. The local styles favored lighter fabrics, more revealing cuts that bared the shoulders and the delicate slopes of collarbones. They had accepted this as a matter of practicality—the climate demanded it, and they had no wish to stand out more than they already did. Their foreign features, their refined bearings, their unmistakable air of cultivation made them anomalies enough without insisting on the formal attire of their homeland.

As they walked through the streets of the settlement toward the grand residence that played host to the evening’s banquet, Zhishu found his thoughts drifting. There was a lightness in his step that he had not felt in weeks. The weight of their mission, the gnawing worry for their father, the creeping sense of dread that this entire venture had been a fool’s errand—all of it seemed to lift, if only for a moment, carried away by the gentle breeze that played with the hem of his robes.

Yunshu walked beside him, his steps equally unhurried. They had no reason to hurry. Everything was as it should be.

The great hall of the clan residence opened before them, its pillars carved from local stone, its ceilings draped with silk tapestries depicting scenes of conquest and trade. Incense curled through the air, heady and sweet. Musicians in the corner played a languorous melody on stringed instruments unfamiliar to them, the notes winding through the space like smoke.

Their hosts greeted them warmly. The elder of the clan, a man of considerable years with a neatly trimmed beard and the bearing of one accustomed to being obeyed, took their hands in his and expressed his delight at their presence. Behind him, members of his household bowed and smiled. There were perfumed courtesans arranged around the edges of the hall, beautiful women dressed in silks that left little to the imagination, their painted lips curving in practiced welcome.

They were escorted to their seats.

And then they saw them.

Across the hall, rising from low cushions like mountains shrugging off sleep, stood Derek and Larry.

Every muscle in Zhishu’s body locked. The warmth that had suffused him moments earlier drained away as though a cold wind had swept through the room. His hand, still extended to accept a cup of wine, froze in midair.

Beside him, he felt Yunshu stiffen. He did not need to look at his brother to know that the same shock, the same revulsion, had seized him.

They had not forgotten. No matter how many days had passed, no matter how desperately they wished to scrub the memory from their minds, they had not forgotten those enormous dark forms. Those hands. The weight. The heat, the slickness, the sounds of their own helplessness.

The shame rose in Zhishu’s throat like bile.

Derek and Larry showed no such reaction. They were dressed in the manner of local elites now—fine cloth draped over their massive frames, adornments of bone and polished stone hanging from their thick necks. They looked comfortable. They looked as though they belonged.

And they were smiling.

“Ah, our honored guests from the distant lands,” Derek said, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate through the floor itself. “I had hoped we would meet again.”

The words were polite. The tone was genial. But Zhishu heard the undercurrent in them, a predatory satisfaction that turned his blood to ice.

He had to speak. Protocol demanded it. To refuse response would be an insult to their hosts, a breach of the customs they had agreed to observe in this foreign land. They were guests here. They were dependent on the goodwill of these people. They had nowhere else to go.

“We are… pleased to see you again as well,” Zhishu managed, the words scraping past his throat like broken glass.

Yunshu said nothing, but dipped his head in a bow that was as stiff as carved wood.

The clan elder gestured for them to take their seats. And of course—of course—the arrangement of the cushions had been carefully orchestrated. Derek and Larry sat at the head of the low table that would host this evening’s feast, and the two empty places flanked them.

There were no other seats.

For a long, agonizing moment, Zhishu’s feet refused to move. His heart hammered against his ribs, and a voice in his mind screamed at him to turn and walk away. To leave. To flee this hall and never look back.

But he thought of their father. He thought of the mystery of the *Yin Yin Sutra*, of the clues scattered across this wilderness that only these people could help them interpret. He thought of the warning words carved into stone tablets, the symbols that resonated with ancient power, the fragments of truth that lay just beyond their reach.

They could not afford to burn this bridge.

Slowly, as though wading through mud, he moved forward and lowered himself onto the cushion beside Derek.

Yunshu followed, settling into the place beside Larry. His face was carefully blank, but Zhishu caught the fine trembling of his brother’s fingers as they arranged the fabric of his robes.

“We were just speaking of you,” Derek said, reaching for the wine jug. The muscles of his arm bunched and shifted as he poured, the skin gleaming darkly in the lamplight. “I told the elder here that I found your company most invigorating the last time we met.”

The last time they met. The words hung in the air, and Zhishu felt the memory of that night press against his mind like a bruise. The glade. The moonlight. The relentless, crushing weight of Derek’s body.

He accepted the cup that was pressed into his hand and raised it to his lips. The wine was fragrant, almost too sweet, with a strange floral undertone he did not recognize.

“The province speaks highly of your clan,” Zhishu said, forcing his voice to remain steady. “It is an honor to be received so warmly.”

Yunshu picked up his own cup. He did not drink yet, merely held it, his fingers white-knuckled around the rim.

“We are curious about the artifact you were studying,” Larry said, turning to Yunshu with an easy grin that showed his teeth. “The piece with the markings. Did you make any progress in translating the inscriptions?”

Yunshu’s jaw tightened. “Some. The script is old. It requires time.”

“Time,” Larry repeated, as though savoring the word. “Yes. Time is a precious thing. So much can happen in time.”

Zhishu forced himself to take another sip. The wine spread through his chest, warm and cloying. Across the hall, the musicians shifted into a livelier tune, and the courtesans began to move among the guests, draping themselves over the shoulders of the men of power.

Beneath the table, hidden from view, he felt a massive hand settle on his knee.

The touch was casual, almost careless. As though it belonged there.

Zhishu did not react. He did not dare. His eyes remained fixed on Derek’s face, which wore an expression of perfect, innocent interest in the conversation that had turned to local trade routes.

The hand began to move. Slow, exploratory, sliding up the inside of his thigh with a deliberation that spoke of absolute confidence.

Zhishu’s breath caught. He lifted his cup and drank again, deeper this time, letting the liquid burn its way down his throat.

The wine was exceptionally good. He kept drinking.

Beside him, he heard Yunshu give a small, choked sound. He did not turn to look. He knew what he would see.

Another cup was pressed into his hand. Another toast. The elder was speaking, his voice sonorous and cheerful, recounting tales of the region’s history. Derek nodded along, his hand now settled on Zhishu’s hip, thumb stroking the curve of bone with maddening regularity.

The heat was strange. Zhishu’s face felt flushed, the wine’s effect spreading more quickly than he had expected. His pulse thudded in his ears, and there was a looseness creeping into his limbs that made him want to lean sideways, to rest his weight against something solid.

Against someone solid.

He caught himself, horror sparking through the haze. What was he thinking?

He tried to shift away, but Derek’s grip tightened, holding him in place.

“You seem warm,” Derek murmured, his voice barely audible over the music. “Perhaps you should drink more. It cools the blood.”

Zhishu’s hand trembled as he raised the cup again.

The evening wore on. The music changed, became slower, more suggestive. The courtesans had reduced their clothing to little more than wisps of translucent fabric, and they sat now upon the laps of the men around the hall, their laughter soft and knowing.

Yunshu’s face was bright red. His eyes had grown glassy, and he swayed slightly even when seated.

“Something is wrong,” Zhishu heard his brother whisper, his voice thin with strain. “In the wine…”

But before either of them could act on that realization, a hand tangled in Zhishu’s hair and yanked his head back.

He gasped, the cup flying from his grip and spilling its contents across the table. Derek’s face swam above him, dark and vast, lit from below by the lanterns.

“Drink up,” Derek said, and his voice was no longer polite. It was thick, hungry. “We have a long night ahead of us.”

And then he pulled Zhishu into his lap.

It happened so fast, so seamlessly, that Zhishu did not have time to resist. One moment he was perched on his cushion, the next he was sprawled across Derek’s massive chest, the man’s arms wrapping around him like iron bands. The heat of Derek’s body enveloped him, and the smell of him—the musk, the salt, the faint woodsmoke—was so familiar that it sent a shudder of revulsion and something else through Zhishu’s core.

“Let me go,” he hissed, shoving against the wall of muscle. It was like trying to move a mountain. “How dare you—”

“Dare?” Derek chuckled, and the sound rumbled through Zhishu’s bones. “I dare much more than this, little flower. You know this.”

Yunshu was not faring better. Larry had drawn him close, one thick arm around his waist, the other hand working its way under the fabric of his robes. Yunshu’s fists were pressed against Larry’s chest, but they shook with an exhaustion that was not purely physical.

“Please,” Yunshu said, his voice cracking. “We are guests here. This is—this is not—”

“This is exactly what it is,” Larry said, his tone almost kind. “And you’ve known it since the moment you stepped into

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The silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating. Su Muli’s lashes trembled as he caught Luo Yue Ning’s gaze from the corner of his eye—there, in the dim firelight of the barbarian encampment, the other man’s face was a mask of wounded pride and barely concealed shame. He knew his own expression mirrored it. Two Celestial Venerables, masters of the immortal realms, now reduced to this—naked, kneeling, waiting for the black giants to claim them.

Su Muli drew a slow breath, forcing the knot of humiliation down his throat. *This is not the first time,* he reminded himself, the thought bitter as gall on his tongue. *It will not be the last.* He had been breached by these savages before, had felt that monstrous black rod split his insides and stir depths he had never known existed. The memory sent a traitorous heat curling low in his belly, and he hated himself for it. Hated the way his body remembered the fullness, the stretch, the impossible pleasure that had torn agonized moans from his lips.

Luo Yue Ning shifted beside him, the soft rustle of his limbs against the furs drawing Su Muli’s attention. The other Celestial Venerable’s jaw was clenched so tight the tendons stood out like cords, his coldly beautiful features hardened into a mask of stoic endurance. But Su Muli saw the slight tremor in his hands, the way his eyes darted to the two black men looming before them and then away, as if the sight burned.

“Look at them,” Derek rumbled, his voice a low thunder that vibrated through the ground. He stood with arms crossed, his massive body a mountain of black muscle slick with sweat and oil. The firelight played across his skin, catching the deep sheen of his chest, the thick columns of his thighs. His gaze traveled over Su Muli with a possessiveness that made the immortal’s stomach clench. “So shy. But I remember how your hole clenched around me last time, immortal. You screamed loud enough for the whole camp to hear.”

Larry laughed, a rich, rolling sound that held no warmth. He stepped closer to Luo Yue Ning, his shadow swallowing the smaller man whole. “And this one—so cold on the outside, but inside?” He reached down, his thick fingers brushing Luo Yue Ning’s jaw, forcing his chin up. “Inside, he burns. I felt it. That tight little ass of his grabbed my cock like it never wanted to let go.”

Luo Yue Ning’s breath hitched, a flush of red creeping up his pale throat. He tried to turn his head away, but Larry’s grip held firm, forcing him to meet those dark, knowing eyes. The barbarian’s thumb traced across his lower lip, a gesture of mock tenderness that made Luo Yue Ning’s skin crawl.

“Enough,” Su Muli said, the word escaping before he could stop it. His voice came out steadier than he felt, a blade of cold disdain wrapped in silk. But when Derek’s gaze snapped to him, something in that predatory stillness made him falter. The black man’s eyes gleamed, not with anger, but with amusement—the patient amusement of a hunter watching prey think it still has options.

“Enough?” Derek echoed, and the word rolled off his tongue like a caress. He uncrossed his arms and stepped forward, each footfall a deliberate beat that seemed to shake the very air. His hand closed around Su Muli’s wrist, and despite himself, the immortal shivered at the heat of that grip. “You haven’t even begun to take enough, little celestial. But you will.”

He pulled Su Muli forward, guiding him to his knees before the massive black pillar of his arousal. The sight of it made Su Muli’s throat constrict—thick, impossibly long, the dark head glistening with a drop of precum. He had taken this before, had felt it split him open and fill him to a degree that bordered on pain and madness. The memory sent a cold shiver down his spine even as heat pooled in his groin.

“You know what to do,” Derek said, and there was no room for argument in his tone.

Beside him, Luo Yue Ning had already been positioned before Larry, his pale hands resting on the barbarian’s thighs, his face averted. Su Muli watched the other immortal’s shoulders rise and fall with a shuddering breath before he reached up, slender fingers wrapping around the base of Larry’s shaft. The sight sent a strange, bitter pang through Su Muli’s chest—solidarity in their shared degradation.

*We are both fallen,* he thought, and the realization was a cold stone settling in his gut. *There is no climbing back from this.*

He turned his attention back to Derek’s cock, and with a hand that trembled despite his will, he took it in his grasp. The skin was hot and smooth, thrumming with life, and the sheer girth of it made his fingers struggle to close around the shaft. He heard Derek’s low grunt of approval, and that sound—that simple acknowledgment of his submission—made something inside Su Muli curl up and die.

He opened his lips and took the head into his mouth.

The taste was salt and musk, overwhelming and alien. He tried to focus on the mechanics, on the clinical act of pleasing, but his body betrayed him at every turn. His tongue traced the ridge of the glans, his throat relaxed to accept the probing tip, and when Derek’s hand settled on the back of his head, guiding him deeper, Su Muli felt his eyes sting with unshed tears.

He was a Celestial Venerable. He had sat above the clouds and judged the fates of lesser beings. And now he was on his knees, mouth stretched wide around a barbarian’s cock, the taste of him coating his tongue.

Beside him, he heard Luo Yue Ning gag, a wet, choking sound that was quickly muffled. The other immortal had taken Larry’s full length into his throat, his body trembling with the effort of it. Larry’s hands were tangled in his hair, not forcing, but holding, anchoring him in place as he adjusted.

“That’s it,” Larry murmured, his voice a low growl. “Take it all. You remember how, don’t you, cold one?”

Su Muli could not see Luo Yue Ning’s response, but he heard the soft, broken sound that escaped him—an affirmation, or perhaps just a sob. It was the same sound he felt building in his own chest, a wordless cry of defeat that he refused to let free.

Derek’s hand tightened in his hair, pulling him back until only the tip remained in his mouth. “Not yet,” the barbarian said, and his voice was dark with promise. “I want to be inside you when you come. Turn around.”

Su Muli’s blood turned to ice. He knew what came next. The ritual of it—first the mouth, to soften and ready, and then the body, to claim and conquer. His limbs moved of their own accord, positioning himself on all fours, his face pressed into the furs as he felt Derek’s massive hands spread his cheeks. The cool air ghosted across his most intimate place, and he shuddered, a whimper escaping his lips before he could stop it.

“So eager,” Derek said, and the mockery in his voice was a lash across Su Muli’s pride. He felt the blunt pressure of the cock head against his entrance, and despite everything—despite the shame, the fear, the bitter self-loathing—his body responded. The muscles of his hole fluttered, opened, welcomed the intrusion with a heat that made Su Muli want to scream.

“Look at you,” Derek continued, and his voice dropped to a husky, intimate register that made the hairs on Su Muli’s neck stand on end. “Your body remembers me. It’s begging for me.”

It was true. The truth of it was a knife twisting in Su Muli’s chest. He closed his eyes, tried to retreat into the cold, still center of his immortal soul, but the heat of Derek’s hands, the weight of his body, the thick, inexorable pressure of his cock pushing past the outer ring of muscle—all of it dragged him back to the unbearable present.

The pain was sharp, a bright lance of fire that made him cry out. He bit his lip, tasting blood, as Derek continued his slow, relentless advance. Inch by inch, the barbarian sank into him, stretching him in a way that bordered on the obscene, filling a void Su Muli had never known he possessed until the first time he had been taken.

When Derek was fully seated, his balls pressed flush against Su Muli’s thighs, the immortal let out a shuddering breath. He felt impossibly full, impaled, owned. The sensation was overwhelming, a blend of agony and a dark, secret pleasure that made his cock twitch despite his shame.

“Ah…,” the sound escaped him, soft and involuntary, and he heard Derek’s answering groan, deep and satisfied.

Beside him, Luo Yue Ning was experiencing a similar fate. Larry had him bent over a low wooden bench, his pale body stark against the dark wood, his cries muffled by his own arm as the barbarian drove into him with steady, punishing strokes. Su Muli caught a glimpse of Luo Yue Ning’s face, flushed and tear-streaked, his eyes squeezed shut, his lips parted around moans he could no longer contain.

The sight should have brought him comfort—knowing he was not alone in his degradation—but instead it only deepened the hollow ache in his chest. They were both fallen, both broken, both reduced to this. Two Celestial Venerables, the pinnacle of immortal power, now nothing more than playthings for barbarian lords.

“You’re thinking too much,” Derek said, and his voice was a low rumble against Su Muli’s ear. The barbarian had leaned forward, his massive chest pressing against Su Muli’s back, his breath hot against the immortal’s neck. “I can feel it in the way you clench. Your body wants this, but your mind fights it.”

Slowly, Derek began to move. He pulled back almost to the tip, then pushed forward again, a languid, deliberate thrust that dragged a broken cry from Su Muli’s lips. The friction was exquisite, a burning pleasure that warred with the shame in his heart. He tried to hold himself still, to deny the barbarian the satisfaction of his surrender, but his body had its own will.

His hips rocked back to meet the next thrust, a traitorous movement that drew a grunt of approval from Derek.

“There,” the barbarian said, his voice thick with triumph. “There it is. You can’t help it, can you? Your body knows what it needs.”

“Shut up,” Su Muli gasped, the words torn from him against his will. “Just… shut up…”

Derek laughed, low and dark, and his thrusts quickened, each one driving deeper, harder, striking a place inside Su Muli that sent sparks of white-hot pleasure racing through his veins. His own cock, standing rigid and leaking against his belly, was a testament to his hypocrisy. He hated this—hated the barbarian, hated himself for wanting it—but the pleasure was undeniable, a wave that crested higher with each driving stroke.

Across from him, Luo Yue Ning’s cries had devolved into wordless moans, his body arching into Larry’s rhythm. The barbarian’s hand was wrapped around his length, stroking in time with his thrusts, and Su Muli could see the moment Luo Yue Ning’s control shattered. The other immortal’s back bowed, a sharp, keening cry escaping his lips as he spilled into Larry’s palm, his body convulsing around the cock inside him.

Larry groaned, his own release following hot on the heels of Luo Yue Ning’s, and the sound of his satisfaction was like a bell tolling the death of their dignity.

Derek’s rhythm faltered, his breath coming in harsh pants against Su Muli’s ear. “You’re close,” he said, and it was not a question. His hand slid down Su Muli’s flank, fingers curling around his hip, holding him fast as he drove into him with renewed vigor. “Come for me, immortal. Let me feel you break.”

Su Muli wanted to resist. Wanted to hold back, to deny the barbarian this final triumph. But his body had other plans. The pleasure coiled tight in his core, a spring wound to its breaking point, and when Derek’s thumb pressed against the base of his spine, a jolt of sensation shot through him, shattering his resistance.

He came with a cry that was half-sob, half-moan, his release painting the furs beneath him as his body clenched and shuddered around Derek’s invading cock. The barbarian followed moments later, his seed flooding Su Muli’

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The weight of their own bodies pressed down against the thick, pulsing shafts buried deep inside them, and the sensation was an exquisite torment. Su Muli's thighs trembled, the slick walls of his channel clenching and releasing around the giant cock that filled him completely. Across from him, Luo Yueying moved with a desperate, rhythmic grace, his own slender form rising and falling on Larey's monstrous length. The air was thick with the scent of their mingled sweat and the raw, animal musk of the two black giants who held them captive.

A treacherous thought slithered through Su Muli's mind, insidious and unwelcome. *It is only lust. The flesh is weak, but the spirit endures.* He tried to cling to the shreds of his former identity, the lofty image of the Celestial Venerate, untouchable and aloof. Yet with each downward slide, each time he impaled himself fully onto the thick, veined rod, another thought surfaced, more shameful than the last. *This is not the first time. It will not be the last. Why not simply submit and take the pleasure that is offered?* The rationalization was a bitter pill, coated in the honey of physical bliss. He felt his hips begin to move of their own accord, a slow, sensual grind that drew a choked gasp from his lips.

Luo Yueying's internal battle was a mirror image. The cold, proud Sovereign of the Celestial Realm, who had never bowed to anyone, was now perched atop a brute from the Wasteland Black Domain, his body greedily consuming the man's flesh. *This is a degradation,* his mind screamed, a voice of pristine ice cracking under immense heat. *A fall from grace.* But the heat in his core was a wildfire, and the thick shaft stretching him to his limits was the only source of water. *It feels too good. Why must it feel so impossibly good?* He bit his lip, tasting copper, and forced his hips to move faster, chasing that brilliant, consuming spark. The shame was a distant thunder now, drowned out by the roaring storm of pleasure.

Derek and Larey watched the spectacle with predatory gleams in their dark eyes. Derek’s massive hands rested on Su Muli’s hips, not guiding, just feeling the frantic, eager movements of the once-haughty immortal. A deep, rumbling chuckle escaped Derek’s chest. “What a change. A few days ago, you looked at me like I was dirt. Now look at you. Bouncing on my cock like a bitch in heat. Did you ever think, Celestial Lord, that this was your true purpose? To kneel and ride a black cock?”

His words were a lash across Su Muli’s already raw soul. He wanted to retort, to summon the icy disdain he once wielded like a weapon. But all that left his throat was a breathy moan as Derek gave a sudden, sharp upward thrust, hitting a spot that sent stars exploding behind his eyes.

Across the way, Larey’s grin was a flash of white in his dark face. He reached up and roughly pinched one of Luo Yueying’s nipples, the bud hardening instantly under his calloused thumb. “And you, pretty one. So silent. So dignified. But your cunt is weeping for it. You’re fucking me back just as hard as I fuck you. Admit it. You love being filled by a real man, don’t you? Your little immortal cock couldn’t give you this.”

The mockery was a fire that fueled their shame even as it stoked their desire. *True purpose… real man…* The words echoed in Luo Yueying’s mind as he bounced, his breath coming in ragged gasps. *Am I nothing more than this? A vessel for their pleasure?* The thought was so abhorrent, yet his body answered the taunt with a slick, embarrassing gush of fluid from his core, making Larey’s penetration even smoother, wetter.

“Ah… haa… n-no…” Su Muli whimpered, a weak protest that was lost in the wet, slapping sound of their bodies meeting. He hated how his voice sounded – high, thin, desperate. He was a Celestial Venerate! He had commanded storms and silenced seas! Now, his voice was nothing but a broken instrument playing a tune of pure lust.

*You’re so fucking horny. So fucking slutty. Look at you. A Celestial Lord, and you’re nothing but a whore for a black man’s cock.* The internal monologue was vicious, a relentless stream of self-flagellation. *You were born for this. A natural-born bitch for a black dick.* Su Muli’s mind swam in a toxic pool of pleasure and self-loathing. The accusation, the suspicion, felt like a brand on his very soul. *Maybe… maybe they are right.*

Luo Yueying was drowning in the same cesspool of thought. *This is what I am. A tool. A toy. A beautiful, trembling slut who can’t help but cream herself on a black man’s rod.* He felt a sob build in his throat, a mixture of despair and the cresting wave of an orgasm. *Why do I feel so complete when I’m so degraded?*

Derek noticed the subtle change in Su Muli’s rhythm, the way his movements became less coordinated, more frantic. He leaned forward, his chest a wall of hot, hard muscle against Su Muli's sweat-slicked back. He took one of Su Muli’s earlobes between his teeth, biting down just hard enough to make him gasp, before his voice rumbled directly into his ear. “I can feel you getting close, my little palace cat. Your tight hole is fluttering around me like a trapped bird. Are you going to come for me? Are you going to prove that you are nothing more than my willing bitch?”

The words were the final key turning in the lock of Su Muli’s resistance. A wave of pure, unadulterated shame washed over him, followed instantly by a tsunami of pleasure. “Yes…” he breathed, the word a surrender. “Yes, I am… your… bitch…”

Derek’s low, triumphant laugh was the only warning before Su Muli’s back arched, a scream tearing from his throat as his climax ripped through him. His inner walls convulsed violently around the invading cock, milking it with a desperate, animal need.

Simultaneously, Larey’s hands found Luo Yueying’s hips, his grip like iron vices. He took control, slamming the lithe immortal down onto his cock with brutal, punishing strokes. “That’s it, you ice queen. Melt for me. Let me feel you shatter.” The command was a roar, and Luo Yueying obeyed without thought. A high, keening wail escaped him as his own release crashed over him, a violent, shuddering ecstasy that left him limp and gasping in Larey’s grip.

The room was a cacophony of wet, slapping sounds, guttural groans, and high, reedy cries of completion. For a long moment, there was only the ragged panting of four beings, intertwined in the aftermath of a storm. The air was thick, heavy, and charged.

Then, the pleasure began to recede, leaving behind a strange, hollow calm. The frantic energy subsided, and in its wake came a creeping, heavy tide of… nothing. A vast emptiness. Su Muli’s limbs were like water, his body boneless and utterly relaxed against Derek’s massive frame. Every muscle was spent, a soft, warm jelly that had no desire to move. But inside, where the fire of lust had raged, a cold wind now blew.

*What have I done?* The question was a whisper, then a roar in the silent cathedral of his mind. The physical satisfaction was a blanket, warm and heavy, but underneath it lay a bedrock of pure, unadulterated misery. *I begged for it. I… enjoyed it.* He stared at the cracked stone floor, his vision blurring. The more his body hummed with the residual bliss of his orgasm, the more a single, crystalline thought pierced the haze: *I am completely and utterly pathetic.*

Luo Yueying was similarly adrift. He lay collapsed in Larey’s lap, his chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. The post-coital languor was a seductive poison, urging him to stay still, to savor the feeling of being full and used. But his mind, cruel and clear, began to replay the events. The words he had moaned. The way he had bucked and writhed. The eager, wanton surrender. Each memory was a fresh cut, shallow but bleeding profusely. *I am a ruin. A beautiful, sullied ruin.* A single, hot tear escaped the corner of his eye, tracing a silent path down his cheek before disappearing into his sweat-damp hair. The emptiness inside him was a vast, silent plain. He had fallen from a height he could never climb back to, and the landing had shattered him.

As if guided by some unseen force, Su Muli slowly raised his head. His gaze, still heavy-lidded and languid, drifted across the small space and met another pair of eyes. Luo Yueying was looking back at him.

The world stopped.

In that single, crashing moment of eye contact, every unspoken truth was laid bare. Su Muli saw in Luo Yueying’s gaze not the cold, untouchable Sovereign, but a reflection of his own shattered self. He saw the lingering haze of pleasure, the raw, raw vulnerability that he himself felt. A blush, deep and painful, surged up Su Muli’s neck, flooding his exquisite face with color. He saw that Luo Yueying knew. He knew just how deeply Su Muli had sunk, how completely he had surrendered. And Su Muli, in turn, knew the same of him. The shame was a tangible force, pressing down on them both.

Their eyes held for one agonizing, eternal second. Two broken deities, recognizing their shared fall from grace. The intimacy of the connection was more terrifying than any beating or curse word. It was a mirror held up to his own soul, revealing every flaw, every crack.

Unable to bear it, Su Muli flinched as if struck. He tore his gaze away, his eyes flying to the far wall, anywhere but that all-too-knowing stare. At the same instant, Luo Yueying did the same, his head turning sharply to the side, his eyes squeezing shut as if to block out the memory they had just shared. The fragile, awful moment shattered, leaving them both alone with their separate, but equal, burdens of shame.

Silence descended, thick and suffocating. The heavy, rhythmic breathing of the black men as they recovered was the only sound. Neither of the two immortals spoke. There were no words for this. The air between them was a chasm of shared humiliation. The pleasure was a ghost, already fading, and in its place was the stark, cold reality of their position. The vulnerability they had shared, the degradation they had both willingly embraced, hung in the air like a bitter fog.

Su Muli felt a tremor run through his frame, not from cold, but from the sheer weight of the emotion pressing down on his heart. Every inch of him ached. His thighs burned, his back was sore, his entrance throbbed with a dull, persistent pulse of being stretched. But the physical pain was nothing compared to the hollow, cavernous ache in his spirit. He felt a sob building in his throat, a raw, animal sound of pure grief, but he swallowed it down, tasting the salt of tears he refused to shed.

Luo Yueying pulled his knees up to his chest, a futile, pathetic gesture of protection. He wrapped his arms around them, making himself as small as possible. He was a fallen angel, his wings clipped, his light extinguished. The delicious, heavy lassitude in his limbs was a traitor, reminding him of his body's betrayal. The more his body relaxed, seeking the comfort of the afterglow, the more his mind screamed in protest, pointing out the sheer absurdity and tragedy of his situation. He was a Sovereign, curled into a ball, naked and used, on a dirty floor.

He had nowhere to go. No strength to fight. No will to resist. All that was left was the quiet, gnawing acceptance of his fall. He was nothing. Just a beautiful, broken thing, waiting for the next command. He rested his forehead on his knees, the silent tears finally coming, soaking into his skin. The world outside this room, the world of power and prestige, was a distant, impossible fantasy. This was his reality now. And deep in the shattered remnants of his pride, he knew, with terrifying certainty, that he did not have the strength to leave it.

# Chapter 14

The torchlight flickered across the chamber, casting dancing shadows upon the stone walls as Derek and Larry stood over the two fallen cultivators. Their laughter rumbled through the space like distant thunder, deep and mocking.

"So this is what happens to mighty immortals when they taste real power," Derek said, his voice a low growl that seemed to vibrate through the very air. His massive black frame loomed over Su Moli, who lay trembling on the furs below.

Larry circled Luo Yue Ning, his heavy footsteps echoing with each deliberate step. "They come to the Black Wastes thinking they're untouchable. Yet here they kneel, softer than any woman we've taken."

Luo Yue Ning's fingers dug into the animal hides beneath him, his knuckles white with tension. Every word from these barbarians cut deeper than any blade. His face burned, ears aflame with a heat that spread down his neck. He dared not look up, for he knew what he would see—those dark eyes filled with cruel amusement, that massive form that seemed to swallow the very light.

Beside him, Su Moli's breath came in ragged gasps. "We... we should never have come here," he whispered, barely audible.

"Silence," Derek commanded, reaching down to grasp Su Moli by the hair. The immortal let out a sharp cry as he was lifted, his body dangling helplessly in the giant's grip. "You speak only when given permission."

Luo Yue Ning watched in horror as his companion was lifted, then felt Larry's iron grip close around his own arm. "And you," the barbarian said, his breath hot against Luo Yue Ning's ear, "will learn your place."

There was no strength left to resist. Their cultivation meant nothing here. Their pride had been stripped away, piece by piece, in this savage land. As Larry lifted him, Luo Yue Ning felt something inside him shatter—that last remnant of defiance crumbling to dust.

The inner chamber was darker, lit only by a single brazier that cast long shadows across the furs and cushions strewn about. Derek set Su Moli down roughly, while Larry deposited Luo Yue Ning beside him. The two immortals landed on their knees, foreheads pressed to the ground, too broken to raise their eyes.

"On your knees," Derek ordered. "Like the sluts you've become."

Su Moli's hands trembled as they moved to the ties of his robe. The silk slipped from his shoulders, pooling around his waist. Beside him, Luo Yue Ning followed suit, his movements mechanical, as if his soul had detached from his body to watch from afar.

"Face each other," Larry commanded, his voice carrying that same mocking edge. "I want to watch you undress one another."

Their eyes met—two fallen gods drowning in shared humiliation. Su Moli's hand reached out, fingers brushing against Luo Yue Ning's collar. The touch sent a shudder through both of them. Slowly, methodically, they undressed each other, each piece of fabric falling away like another layer of their former selves.

When they knelt again, completely bare, the cool air of the chamber raised goosebumps across their pale skin. Their bodies gleamed in the firelight—creatures of jade and moonlight, now reduced to trembling offerings before beasts of shadow and flame.

"Lower," Derek said, his voice dropping to a dangerous purr. "Prostrate yourselves."

They obeyed, pressing their chests to the furs, arching their backs in a manner that presented their bodies in the most vulnerable way possible. Their buttocks rose slightly, the remnants of their earlier use still visible in the sheen of moisture that clung to their skin.

Larry approached first, his massive form eclipsing the firelight. "Look at them," he said to Derek, his voice thick with contempt. "So eager. Their cunts still dripping from before."

Luo Yue Ning squeezed his eyes shut, but the words burrowed into his mind like parasites. *Cunt*. They called him that. They called both of them that. What had once been a man, an immortal honored across the heavens, was now nothing more than a hole to be filled.

Derek's hand found Su Moli's hair again, pulling his head back. "Open your mouth."

The immortal's lips parted automatically, a soft whimper escaping his throat. Derek positioned himself before him, his enormous member already half-hard, dark against the firelight. "Show me how hungry you are."

Su Moli's tongue darted out, licking his own lips in a gesture that felt foreign, obscene. Yet his body responded before his mind could catch up, leaning forward, mouth opening wider to receive.

"No," Derek said, pulling back. "Not yet. First, you beg."

The words hit Su Moli like a physical blow. *Beg*. Beg to taste that which had defiled him. Beg to serve the body that had broken his. His vision blurred with tears he refused to shed.

"Please," he whispered, the word scraping up his throat like broken glass.

"Please what?" Derek's voice was honeyed cruelty.

"Please... let me serve you."

Beside him, Luo Yue Ning watched, his own shame mirrored in Su Moli's trembling form. Larry had positioned himself similarly, waiting with that same expectant cruelty.

"Please," Luo Yue Ning heard himself say, the words tasting of ash. "Let me taste you."

Derek and Larry exchanged glances, their laughter low and satisfied. "See?" Derek said. "They learn. Eventually, they all learn."

The massive man stepped forward, pressing the tip of his shaft against Su Moli's lips. The immortal took it without hesitation, his mouth stretching to accommodate the girth. Behind him, Luo Yue Ning did the same, his lips closing around Larry's length.

The taste was overwhelming—salt and musk and something wild that spoke of untamed lands. Su Moli's mind reeled, caught between revulsion and an inexplicable, shameful hunger. His tongue moved of its own accord, tracing the veins, learning the shape of what filled his mouth.

*This is wrong,* his mind screamed. *You are a man. You are an immortal. This is not who you are.*

But his body had its own language now. His jaw relaxed, his throat opened, and he took Derek deeper, his nose pressing against coarse black hair. The scent filled his lungs—masculine, primal, intoxicating.

Beside him, Luo Yue Ning had fallen into a similar rhythm, his cheeks hollowing as he drew Larry in, his hands gripping the man's thighs for balance. Their eyes met, and in that shared glance they saw the same thing—the death of who they had been, and the horrifying birth of what they were becoming.

"Pathetic," Derek muttered, though his voice carried no real contempt. If anything, there was satisfaction. "Look at them. Two days ago they were clouds above the heavens. Now they can't get enough."

Luo Yue Ning pulled back, a strand of saliva connecting his lips to Larry's tip. "I'm not—" he started, but the words died in his throat.

"Not what?" Larry asked, grabbing a handful of Luo Yue Ning's hair and forcing his head back. "Not enjoying yourself? Then why is your cunt so wet? Why do you swallow so eagerly?"

"I hate it," Luo Yue Ning whispered, the lie bitter on his tongue.

"Your mouth says one thing," Derek said, stroking Su Moli's cheek with mock tenderness, "but your body speaks another. Look at you, drooling for it. You've barely had us twice, and already you're ruined."

Su Moli tried to pull away, but Derek held him fast, forcing him to maintain eye contact. "You want to deny it? Then tell me—what does my cock taste like?"

The question hung in the air, cruel and inescapable. Su Moli's mouth opened, closed, opened again. "It... it tastes..."

"Yes? Go on."

"Masculine," Su Moli breathed, the word escaping before he could stop it. "Like... like strength."

Derek's smile was a slash of white in the darkness. "And do you like it?"

*No. Yes. I don't know.* The thoughts tangled in Su Moli's mind, snaring themselves in knots of contradiction. "I..." His voice cracked. "I don't want to."

"That's not what I asked."

Luo Yue Ning watched the exchange, his own torment mirrored in Su Moli's struggle. When Larry turned his attention back to him, the question in his eyes was clear.

"And you? What do you think of the taste?"

"I hate it," Luo Yue Ning said immediately, the words like a shield.

Larry laughed, a sound that held no humor. "Your body says differently." He pressed forward, dragging his length across Luo Yue Ning's lips. "Open. Show me how much you hate it."

Luo Yue Ning's lips parted, and Larry slid inside, filling his mouth once more. The immortal's hands clenched into fists at his sides, but his tongue—that traitor organ—began to work immediately, swirling around the head, tracing the ridge, dipping into the slit to taste the pre-cum that gathered there.

*What am I doing?* The thought surfaced through the haze of sensation. *This is madness. This is degradation.*

But even as he thought it, his mouth moved with an eagerness that shamed him. He took Larry deeper, relaxing his throat, letting the massive member slide down until his nose pressed against the man's pelvis. The stretch, the fullness, the way Larry's groan vibrated through him—it was obscene. It was wrong.

And yet, some part of him—some dark, hidden part—reveled in it.

Derek had Su Moli in a similar position now, his hands cradling the immortal's head as he thrust slowly, deliberately, into that willing mouth. "That's it," he murmured. "Take it all. Let me feel that pretty throat."

Su Moli's eyes watered, tears streaming down his cheeks, but he didn't pull away. Couldn't pull away. His body had made a decision that his mind was only beginning to accept.

When they finally released them, the two immortals remained kneeling, chests heaving, lips swollen and glistening. Derek and Larry stepped back, giving them room to breathe, but their gazes never wavered.

"On your hands and knees," Derek commanded. "Present yourselves."

They turned, facing away from each other, lowering their upper bodies until their foreheads touched the furs and their hips remained raised. The position exposed everything—their vulnerable openings, still slick from earlier, the evidence of their arousal betraying them utterly.

Derek approached Luo Yue Ning, running a hand over the curve of his backside. "You say you hate it," he said, his voice low. "But look at you. Wet. Open. Ready."

Luo Yue Ning shuddered, his fingers curling into the furs. "I don't—"

"Shh." Derek's finger traced down his spine, dipping into the cleft between his cheeks. Luo Yue Ning gasped, his body jerking involuntarily. "Your body knows the truth, even if your mind won't accept it. You were made for this. For us."

"No," Luo Yue Ning whispered, but the word lacked conviction.

"There's no shame in it," Derek continued, his voice almost gentle. "In the Black Wastes, we understand the natural order. The strong take. The weak yield. It's not punishment—it's purpose."

He positioned himself, the head of his shaft pressing against Luo Yue Ning's entrance. "And your purpose is to be filled."

The penetration was slow, deliberate, each inch a conquest. Luo Yue Ning's mouth opened in a silent cry, his hands clawing at the furs as Derek pushed deeper. The stretch was exquisite agony, the fullness both painful and electrifying.

Across from him, Su Moli was experiencing the same invasion, Larry's massive form covering him, guiding himself home with brutal efficiency. Their eyes met—two souls drowning in the same dark sea, reaching for each other through the abyss.

"Take it," Derek grunted, beginning to move. "Take all of it."

Luo Yue Ning's thoughts scattered like leaves in a storm. There was only sensation now—the heat of Derek's body against his, the rhythm of the thrusts, the way his own body responded of its own accord, pushing back to meet each stroke.

*This is wrong,* a distant part of his mind whispered. *This is degradation.*

But another voice, growing louder with each passing moment, answered: *This is truth. This is where you belong.*

The pleasure built slowly, inexorably, a rising tide that threatened to drown him. Luo Yue Ning b

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The firelight flickered across the tent's taut animal hide walls, casting long dancing shadows that seemed to mock the two figures kneeling on the coarse furs. Su Muri's slender fingers trembled as they wrapped around the massive black shaft before him, the heat of it searing against his palm. Beside him, Luo Yue Ning's breath came in short, ragged gasps as he too took hold of Derek's immense erection, his meticulously cultivated composure shattered into a thousand shameful pieces.

They had been so lost in the act, so utterly consumed by the perverse pleasure of serving these black giants, that they had momentarily forgotten themselves. For a brief, horrifying instant, there had been something close to pride in the way they had eagerly taken those gigantic cocks into their mouths. But when Derek's deep, rumbling chuckle cut through the haze of lust, Su Muri's eyes flew open and met the barbarian's knowing, mocking gaze.

"What's this?" Derek's voice was a low growl laced with cruel amusement, his thick lips curling into a sneer as he loomed over Su Muri's slight form. "Is the little immortal *proud* of how well he sucks cock? As if it's some noble accomplishment to choke on black dick?"

Beside him, Larry let out a booming laugh, his hand coming down to grip Luo Yue Ning's silken hair, yanking his head back. "Look at this one," he jeered, his dark eyes glittering with savage delight, "His face is all red, like a whore who just got praised for a good blowjob. You *like* being a good little cock-sucker, don't you? Getting all *proud* of it?"

The words landed like physical blows, each syllable a lash against their already raw nerves. Su Muri felt the blood rush to his cheeks, staining his porcelain skin a deep, mortified crimson. How had he—how could he have felt *pleased* about such a debased act? He was a Celestial Venerable, a being who commanded the heavens, and he had just been silently gloating over his ability to deep-throat a barbarian's cock. The shame was a living thing, coiling in his gut like a venomous serpent.

He hung his head, his long, dark lashes sweeping down to hide the treacherous gleam of lingering lust in his eyes. His lips parted, and he once again took the head of Derek's massive cock into his mouth, his tongue swirling around the smooth, hot crown. He tried to focus only on the act, to lose himself in the mechanical motion of sucking and licking, but the echo of those mocking words burned in his mind.

Luo Yue Ning, his face a mirror of Su Muri's shameful blush, did the same. He bent his elegant neck, his lips stretching around Larry's girth, his jaw aching as he forced himself to take it deeper. The taste of salt and male musk filled his senses, and despite the humiliation, a treacherous warmth pooled in his lower belly.

Then, as if some demon of perversity had possessed their tongues, they both heard themselves speak.

"Y-yes," Su Muri whispered, his voice barely audible even in the hush of the tent. The word slipped out before he could stop it, a vile confession torn from the depths of his corrupted soul. "This lowly one... is proud to serve Master's cock."

Beside him, Luo Yue Ning's voice was even softer, more shame-filled, yet laced with a perverse sincerity. "This one... also... takes pleasure in pleasing Master."

The words hung in the air, obscene and damning. Su Muri's eyes widened in horror at his own admission, and he immediately buried his face against Derek's groin, taking the entire length into his throat in a desperate attempt to silence himself. *What am I saying?* his mind screamed, a frantic, panicked voice that was drowned out by the throb of his own arousal. *Have I truly become this?*

Luo Yue Ning's heart pounded against his ribs, a frantic drumbeat of shame and something else—something dark and hungry that coiled in his chest. He had just *admitted* it. He had confessed to this barbarian that he *enjoyed* being a vessel for his lust. The thought was so degrading, so utterly beneath his former self, that a wave of vertigo washed over him.

And yet, as he sucked and laved at the massive cock filling his mouth, he felt a perverse rightness to it. The thick, heavy weight on his tongue, the taste of another man's desire, the complete and utter submission—it was as if a long-dormant part of him had finally been awakened. *I am truly a born slut,* he thought, the words not his own, but rising from some newly discovered depth within him. *Born to suck cock... born to be used.*

The thought should have horrified him. Instead, it sent a fresh wave of heat through his veins, making his nipples ache and his unused, virgin hole clench with want. He sucked harder, his cheeks hollowing as he took Larry deeper, his eyes fluttering closed as he surrendered to the consuming act.

Derek and Larry exchanged a look of satisfied amusement over the bent heads of the two beauties. The immortals were breaking beautifully, their pride crumbling into dust as their bodies learned to crave the very thing that degraded them.

"Look at them," Larry said, his voice thick with contemptuous pleasure. "Two little celestials, fighting over who can choke on black dick better. Pathetic. *Beautifully* pathetic."

Su Muri's body burned at the words. A shiver ran down his spine, raising goosebumps on his flawless, pale skin. He could feel his own arousal pressing against the coarse fur beneath his knees, a hard, needy ache that he could no longer deny. His hole, still slick and sensitive from their earlier coupling, pulsed with a desperate emptiness.

The heat in his core was becoming unbearable. With every mocking insult that fell from Derek's lips, a fresh wave of shame washed over him, and with that shame, a deeper, more consuming arousal. He hated it—hated *himself* for responding this way. But the humiliation had become a chain, binding him to his Master's will, and the more he struggled against it, the tighter it pulled him into submission.

"Keep sucking, little immortal," Derek commanded, his hand moving to rest on the back of Su Muri's head, not pushing, just resting there, a heavy weight of ownership. "Show us how much you love being a whore for black cock."

Su Muri whimpered around the shaft in his throat, a sound of pure, debased surrender. He *did* love it. He hated that he loved it, but the truth burned in his chest, undeniable and inescapable. He set to work with renewed fervor, his tongue tracing the thick veins, his lips sliding up and down the hot, steely length.

Luo Yue Ning matched his pace, the two of them moving in silent, shameful synchronization, their mouths and throats dedicated to the sole purpose of pleasing their masters. Their earlier rivalry, their jockeying for position, had melted away into a shared degradation. They were equals now—two fallen gods who had found their purpose between the thighs of barbarians.

After what felt like an eternity of devoted service, Derek's hand tightened in Su Muri's hair, stilling his movements. "Enough," the deep voice rumbled. "On your knees. Show us what you are."

The command sent a jolt of pure, electric anticipation through Su Muri's body. He knew what was expected. With a grace that shamed him, he pulled his mouth free from Derek's cock with a wet, obscene pop, his lips swollen and glistening. He did not meet his master's eyes. Instead, he lowered his gaze to the furs and slowly, deliberately, turned around.

He got on his hands and knees, his slender arms trembling as they bore his weight. He pressed his chest down until his cheek rested against the rough animal hide, and then, with a mortification that stole his breath, he arched his back, pushing his hips high into the air. His pale, round buttocks rose like twin moons, presented in perfect, shameless offering.

Beside him, Luo Yue Ning's movements were a mirror of his own. The Celestial Supreme, the greatest power in the heavens, now knelt in the dirt of a barbarian tent, his elegant form bowed in the posture of a common whore. His own buttocks, just as pale and perfect, rose to meet the air, the pink, puckered hole between them still glistening with evidence of his earlier use.

For a single, agonizing moment, their eyes met. The brief glance was a maelstrom of shared emotion—shame, despair, and a profound, undeniable acknowledgment of their fall. They saw in each other's eyes the reflection of their own degradation, the knowledge that they had willingly, eagerly, become this. Then, as if burned by the contact, they both looked away, their lashes sweeping down to hide the tears that threatened to spill.

"Look at them," Derek's voice drawled from behind them, rich with mocking satisfaction. "Two heavenly bitches, putting their asses in the air like the born sluts they are. Waiting for black cock to fill them again."

Luo Yue Ning's shoulders shook with a silent sob, his fingers curling into the fur beneath him. The words were designed to wound, to break the last shards of his pride, and they did their job perfectly. The humiliation was a physical weight, pressing him down into the dirt, and yet, his body betrayed him completely. His already slick hole clenched, a desperate invitation.

Larry laughed, the sound deep and cruel. "They're not even pretending anymore. Look at those holes twitch. They're practically *begging* for it."

Su Muri's face was hidden against the furs, but his entire body flushed a deep, burning red. He *was* begging. With every fiber of his corrupted being, he was begging to be filled, to be conquered, to be reminded of his place. The thought disgusted him, and yet, his hips gave a tiny, involuntary wiggle, a movement that screamed his desperate need.

The sound of a heavy hand connecting with flesh was sharp and sudden, and the impact against Su Muri's right buttock sent a shockwave through his entire body. Pain flared, bright and immediate, but it was instantly followed by a wave of pleasure so intense it made him gasp. His flesh rippled, a snow-white wave that undulated across his plump cheek, and he heard himself let out a high, wanton moan.

Then came another slap, this one landing on his left cheek, and a third, and a fourth. Derek's heavy hand fell in a rhythmic, punishing cadence, each blow sending fire racing through Su Muri's nerves. The furs beneath him grew damp as a trickle of lubricant and his own arousal leaked from his desperate hole.

"Ah... nnnh..." the sounds escaped his lips unbidden, a symphony of pleasure and pain. His hips began to move on their own, a slow, sensual sway that pushed his burning buttocks back against each new slap, seeking the sting.

Beside him, Luo Yue Ning was receiving the same treatment from Larry. The barbarian's massive handprint bloomed across his pale skin like a crimson flower, and with each sharp impact, a guttural moan was wrenched from his throat. He was shaking, his arms barely holding him upright, but he did not try to escape. Instead, like Su Muri, he pushed back into the blows, his hips rolling in a lewd, desperate dance.

"A-ah... please..." the words tumbled from Luo Yue Ning's lips, desperate and pleading. "Please... no more... ah!"

But neither of them truly wanted the beating to stop. The pain was a conduit, a channel that focused all their scattered shame and desire into a single, burning point. It was a reminder of their submission, a physical manifestation of their fall, and it drove them deeper into the blissful darkness of surrender.

The slaps continued until both their buttocks were a uniform, glowing red, the skin tender and hot to the touch. Only then did the black men pause, their hands resting on the heated flesh, claiming their territory.

"And now," Derek growled, his voice thick with predatory intent, "the real lesson begins."

Su Muri felt the blunt, massive head of Derek's cock press against his entrance. The heat of it was incredible, a searing brand that promised both agony and ecstasy. He braced himself, his breath held in his chest,

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The weight of the black shaft inside him shifted, and the thick crown dragged across that buried spot of nerve-deep pleasure. Su Muri’s entire body seized, a shudder ripping through his spine as molten sensation flooded outward from his core. His mouth fell open, and a sound escaped him—high, thin, utterly shameless—before he could rake it back. “Ah…!”

Beside him, Luo Yue Ning convulsed as well, his hips jerking forward as though trying to flee, then pressing back as though chasing. The same obscene cry tore from his lips, a fractured “Ah…” that hung in the damp air between them. Their bodies moved without permission, waist and pelvis rolling in a rhythm they had not chosen, as though some ancient instinct had awakened in their marrow.

Su Muri’s fingers dug into the furs beneath him, his knuckles white. He could feel the tremor in his own thighs, the helpless undulation of his spine. Every small rock of his hips brought the intruding flesh deeper against that aching cluster of nerves, and each time it touched, his vision swam. He was no longer a being of jade halls and immortal light. He was a creature of heat and slickness and need, arching and writhing like a common beast in heat.

Beside him, Luo Yue Ning’s pale body mirrored the motion. His waist swayed in a sinuous, unconscious curve, his buttocks clenching and releasing in counterpoint to the thrusts that filled him. A line of drool slipped from the corner of his mouth, and he did not notice. His eyes had gone glassy, fixed on nothing, seeing only the blinding pleasure that pulsed behind his lids.

They were beautiful. They were grotesque. They were—both of them—impossible to look away from.

A hot wave of shame crashed through Su Muri. His cheeks burned. He turned his head sharply, breaking the line of sight before he could see the same wrecked expression on Luo Yue Ning’s face. But the movement only caused the black cock inside him to shift, grinding against that spot again, and a choked moan spilled from his throat.

Luo Yue Ning had done the same. He had averted his gaze, his lashes wet, his jaw tight. He stared at the woven edge of the mat beneath him as though it held the secrets of the cosmos, anything to avoid the reflection of his own degradation in Su Muri’s eyes. But he could still hear—the wet sound of flesh meeting flesh, the thick breath of the men behind them, the tiny, broken sounds that fell from his own lips.

His chest heaved. The soft mounds of his pectorals, smooth and full as a maiden’s breasts, swayed with each shallow breath. They trembled as he moved, pale and tender, and the sight of them—the way they bounced, the way his nipples dragged against the furs—made his stomach clench. He looked like a bitch in heat. He *was* a bitch in heat.

And somewhere beneath the shame, beneath the roaring pulse of humiliation, there was a thread of something else. Something that made his hips roll harder.

“Ha… hah… yes…” The words slipped out before he could stop them. Luo Yue Ning bit his lip, but the sound kept coming, muffled and wet. “Ah… nn…”

Derek’s hand landed on his left buttock with a sharp crack. The sting spread across the sensitive skin, and Luo Yue Ning jolted, a fresh flood of slick heat rushing down his thighs. Derek grunted, his thick fingers digging into the flesh, kneading it roughly before he slapped again.

“That’s it,” Derek said, his voice a low rumble. “You like that, don’t you, little immortal? You like being filled like a whore.”

Luo Yue Ning’s answer was a broken, gasping moan. He could not form words. His mind had dissolved into sensation. He only knew the weight inside him, the hand on his flesh, the voice that stripped him of every shred of dignity.

Beside him, Larry was less patient. He grabbed a fistful of Su Muri’s hair and yanked his head back, forcing the arch of his throat into a taut line. “Look at you,” Larry said, his grin wide and cruel. “So high and mighty. And now you’re just a hole. A pretty little hole for a black cock.”

Su Muri’s eyes rolled. He tried to summon a retort, a scrap of defiance, but all that came out was a trembling “Ah… please…”

He did not know what he was pleading for. More? Less? To be released from this torment? To be drowned in it forever? The line had blurred beyond recognition.

Larry’s thrusts deepened, each one bottoming out against Su Muri’s core. The slap of his heavy balls against Su Muri’s perineum was obscenely loud, a wet, rhythmic percussion that seemed to echo in the quiet prairie night. Su Muri’s fingers clawed at the furs, his back bowing, his mouth open in a silent scream of pleasure.

Derek and Larry exchanged a glance. Then, in unison, they slowed. They did not stop, but the pace became languid, deliberate, each stroke a teasing drag across that swollen spot.

“Look at him,” Derek said, nodding toward Luo Yue Ning. “Look at your friend. See how pretty he looks with his legs spread.”

Luo Yue Ning’s blood ran cold. He knew what was coming. He tried to close his eyes, to hide, but Derek’s hand shot out and gripped his jaw, forcing his head around.

“No,” Larry ordered, his voice dropping to a growl. “You look. Both of you. Look at each other.”

Su Muri’s head was turned as well, fingers tangled in his hair, forcing his gaze across the narrow space that separated them.

Their eyes met.

And the world fell away.

Su Muri saw Luo Yue Ning—Luo Yue Ning, the peerless immortal lord, the cold-faced sovereign of the heavens—sprawled on his belly, his pale thighs glistening with sweat and seed, his lips parted and wet, his eyes glazed with lust. The black shaft of Derek’s cock slid in and out of him in a slow, deliberate rhythm, stretching the pink rim of his entrance with each retreat, plunging it deep with each advance. Luo Yue Ning’s cock, once proud, now lay half-hard and leaking against his stomach, forgotten.

Luo Yue Ning saw Su Muri—Su Muri, the lofty immortal venerate, the untouchable beauty of the celestial court—on his hands and knees, his back dipped in a perfect curve, his pale ass presented to the air like an offering. The black cock inside him moved with languid cruelty, and his entire body quivered with each stroke. His face was slack, his eyes unfocused, his mouth moving silently around sounds too broken to form.

They saw each other.

And something inside them—some last wall, some final bastion of pride—crumbled to dust.

Su Muri’s eyes filled with tears. Not of pain, not of shame, but of release. The last tether snapped, and he let himself fall. He let himself become nothing but a body, a vessel, a soft, willing sheath for the power that filled him. He looked at Luo Yue Ning’s face, saw the same surrender blooming there, and a tiny, broken smile touched his lips.

Luo Yue Ning saw that smile. And he answered it with a shuddering sigh.

They were the same. They were both—finally, completely—the same.

“Yes,” Luo Yue Ning whispered, his voice raw. “Yes… I see you…”

He did not know if he was speaking to Su Muri or to the dark god who filled him. It did not matter.

Derek grunted in satisfaction. He released Luo Yue Ning’s jaw and began to fuck him in earnest, each stroke hard and deep, aimed with brutal precision at that spot that made his whole body sing. Luo Yue Ning’s cries rose in pitch, his hips lifting to meet each thrust, his hands gripping the furs as though he might fly apart without the anchor.

Larry matched the pace, driving into Su Muri with the same relentless force. Su Muri’s head dropped, his forehead pressing against the ground, his ass rising higher in silent invitation. He moaned without shame now, his voice carrying on the night wind.

“Ah… harder… please… fuck me… please…”

The words tumbled out, filthy and desperate, and he did not recognize his own voice. It belonged to the creature he had become—the bitch, the whore, the broken and beautiful thing that existed only to be filled.

They were turned, repositioned, their bodies manipulated like dolls. Derek pulled out of Luo Yue Ning and, with a grunt of effort, flipped him onto his back. Luo Yue Ning’s legs were pushed up, his knees nearly touching his shoulders, his pink entrance exposed and gaping. Derek aligned his cock and drove home in one smooth motion, and Luo Yue Ning screamed—a high, keening sound of pure, unadulterated bliss.

Su Muri was pulled into a similar pose, his back pressed against Larry’s chest, his legs spread wide over Larry’s thighs. Larry’s cock found his hole without guidance, sinking deep, and Su Muri’s body went rigid, then limp, as the sensation consumed him.

They were lifted, carried, repositioned again. And then they were face to face, their bodies aligned in a mirror of degradation.

Su Muri’s mouth hovered inches from Luo Yue Ning’s groin. Luo Yue Ning’s gaze fell upon Su Muri’s cock, pale and slender, beaded with pre-cum. And behind each of them, a black man’s hips began to move.

“Suck,” Derek ordered, his hand pressing Luo Yue Ning’s head downward.

Luo Yue Ning did not hesitate. He opened his mouth and took Su Muri’s cock inside, his tongue swirling around the tip, his eyes fluttering closed. He tasted salt and musk and the faint, sweet essence of the man he had once called rival.

Su Muri gasped as wet heat enveloped him. And then he felt the pressure of Larry’s hand on the back of his head, guiding him down. He parted his lips and accepted Luo Yue Ning’s cock, the weight of it heavy on his tongue, the taste of it flooding his senses.

They sucked each other, slowly at first, then with growing urgency. Their hips rocked in counterpoint to the thrusts that filled their asses, a four-part rhythm of give and take, of pleasure and more pleasure. The black cocks slid in and out of their bodies, stretching them, claiming them, and they moaned around each other’s flesh.

Su Muri opened his eyes. Through the haze of lust, he saw Luo Yue Ning’s face, his cheeks hollowed, his lips stretched around his cock. He saw the flush on Luo Yue Ning’s cheeks, the glaze of surrender in his eyes. And he saw, beyond, the obscene sight of Derek’s black shaft disappearing into Luo Yue Ning’s pink hole, the way the flesh gripped and released, the wet gleam of it in the firelight.

He thought, then, with a clarity that surprised him: *This is where I belong. This is what I was made for. My pale body, his black cock. It is the most natural thing in the world.*

Luo Yue Ning had the same thought. He felt the thick length of the black cock inside him, felt the perfect fit of it, the way it completed him, and a wave of peace washed over him. *Yes,* he thought. *Yes. This is right. This is all that matters.*

They did not speak. They did not need to. Their bodies said everything.

The pace increased. Derek and Larry grunted, their massive frames working with mechanical precision, driving toward climax. The two immortals beneath them bucked and writhed, their mouths full, their asses full, their minds empty of everything but the approaching crest.

“Take it,” Derek growled, his hips slamming forward. “Take every drop.”

Luo Yue Ning’s throat worked as he swallowed around Su Muri’s cock. His own climax was building, a pressure coiling at the base of his spine. He suckled harder, faster, desperate to bring Su Muri with him.

Su Muri felt it too—the rising tide, the unbearable sweetness. He suckled Luo Yue Ning’s cock, his tongue pressing against the underside, his lips tight and hungry. The black cock inside him swelled, and he knew the end was near.

They came together.

Su Muri’s release flooded Luo Yue Ning’s mouth. Luo Yue Ning’s release flooded Su Muri’s mouth. They swallowed, choked, swallowed again, their bodies shuddering as the black men filled them from behind, hot seed spilling deep into their waiting bodies.

The world went white.

And then, slowly, it faded to black.

They lay tangled together, breathless, spent, their bodies slick with sweat and seed. The fire crackled. The wind whispered. And somewhere in the distance, a wolf

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