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The obsidian throne room of the Demon King stretched vast and cold beneath the lightless mountain peak. Torches of blue fire flickered along the walls, casting long shadows across the polished stone floor. Long You sat upon his throne, his snake tail coiled in slow, deliberate spirals around the base, the inky black scales catching the eerie glow. His human torso leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, fingers steepled beneath his chin. The gold chains draped across his chest and below his waist clinked softly with each subtle shift.

For three thousand years, he had sat here. For three thousand years, he had felt nothing but the hollow weight of absolute power. His guardians, Urthul and Vexia, stood at the far end of the hall, their heads bowed, waiting. They had grown accustomed to his silences, to the long stretches where he simply stared into nothing. But today, something was different.

A smile curled at the corner of his lips.

He rose from the throne, his tail unwinding and sliding forward across the stone. The movement was fluid, almost lazy, but it carried the weight of a predator who had long forgotten the need for haste. Behind him, the grand doors groaned open, and a servant slithered in, carrying a velvet cushion. Upon it rested a collar—simple in appearance, made of polished black steel with a single ruby set at the center. The gem pulsed faintly, as though alive.

Long You reached down and lifted the collar. He turned it over in his palm, feeling the cool metal against his skin. Ten years of labor. Ten years of funneling the wealth of the world into a single, impossible artifact. And now it was complete.

“Send word to the human empire,” he said, his voice low and smooth, carrying across the hall without effort. “Tell them their Guardian Knight, Lin Hai, is invited to the capital. Tell him I wish to speak.”

Urthul raised his head, his massive reptilian eyes flickering with uncertainty. “My king, the humans will not trust such an invitation. They will see it as a trap.”

“Of course they will,” Long You replied, still studying the collar. “But Lin Hai is prideful. He is also intelligent. He will come, because he will want to know why the Demon King has summoned him. And because he believes he can protect himself.”

He turned the collar one last time before fastening it around his own neck. For a moment, the air in the room grew heavy. The ruby ceased its pulsing, and a faint hum vibrated through the stone floor. Long You closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, they gleamed with something close to satisfaction.

“The universal collar is attuned to my will,” he said. “It can lower any wearer’s level to match the weakest among us. But it requires a command. And commands require a voice.”

Vexia stepped forward, her serpentine tail hissing against the floor. “You mean to lower yourself, my king?”

“No,” Long You said, removing the collar and placing it back on the cushion. “I mean to give this to someone worthy. Someone strong enough to challenge me, but not strong enough to win. Someone who, when collared, will become my equal.”

He turned his gaze toward the distant window, where the sun was just beginning to set over the human lands. “Loneliness is a slow poison, Vexia. I have tasted it for longer than you have drawn breath. I want an adversary. I want a fight that costs me something.”

He slithered toward the balcony, his tail dragging behind him. The city of monsters spread below, a sprawling metropolis of towers and spires built from obsidian and bone. His domain. His cage.

Three days later, Lin Hai arrived at the capital.

He came alone, as Long You had anticipated. The human knight wore polished silver armor, a longsword at his hip, and a shield bearing the heraldry of the empire. His face was calm, but his eyes were sharp, scanning every shadow as he walked the long corridor toward the throne room.

The massive doors opened before him, and he stepped inside.

Long You waited on his throne, the universal collar now resting on a pedestal beside him. He watched Lin Hai approach with the unhurried interest of a cat watching a mouse that had walked willingly into its den.

“Guardian Knight,” Long You said, his voice echoing. “You came alone.”

“You knew I would,” Lin Hai replied, stopping twenty paces from the throne. “What do you want, Demon King?”

Long You gestured to the collar. “A gift. The most powerful artifact ever created. It can equalize strength. It can make the weak strong and the strong weak. I want you to have it.”

Lin Hai’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”

“Because I am bored,” Long You said, and for the first time in centuries, his voice carried something other than cold command. It carried longing. “I have ruled for three thousand years. I have crushed every challenger. I have no equal in this world, and that solitude has hollowed me out. I want a rival. I want someone who can make me bleed.”

He rose from the throne, his tail uncoiling as he descended the steps toward Lin Hai. The knight’s hand moved to his sword, but Long You stopped a few feet away and held out the collar.

“Wear this,” Long You said. “It will lower your level to mine. Then we will fight. Not as king and knight, but as equals. If you win, I will step down. If I win, you will serve me. But at least we will both feel alive.”

Lin Hai stared at the collar, then at the Demon King. He saw no deception in those golden eyes, only a weariness that mirrored something deep within his own soul. The human empire had lived under the shadow of monsters for millennia. This was an opportunity no knight had ever been given.

He reached out and took the collar.

“If this is a trick,” Lin Hai said, fastening it around his neck, “I will die trying to kill you.”

“I would expect nothing less,” Long You replied, and for the first time, he smiled without coldness.

Lin Hai stood in the Demon King's private forge chamber, his eyes fixed on the crude weapon schematics spread across the obsidian table. The drawings were meticulous, every curve and dimension calculated with precision. But what they depicted made no sense.

"This is a weapon," Lin Hai said slowly, his finger tracing the outline of what appeared to be a hollow shaft, "that is designed to pleasure its wielder. It has no edge, no striking surface. The magical resonance array you've specified focuses entirely on the wielder's—" he paused, searching for the right word, "—climax."

Long You coiled his massive snake body around the perimeter of the chamber, his human torso erect and proud. Golden chains jingled against his bare chest as he moved. "Correct. Level ten artifacts require extraordinary sensitivity to achieve awakening. The artifact must feel, must experience, must crave. Most smiths think this means building a weapon that senses the environment. They're wrong."

The Demon King slithered closer, his inky black scales whispering against the stone floor. His waist-length hair, midnight black with threads of silver, swayed behind him. "The true purpose of a level ten artifact is to become the most perfect vessel for the wielder's desires. And my desire," he said, his voice dropping to a purr, "is to be that vessel."

Lin Hai's breath caught. "You want to be forged. You want us to turn you into the artifact."

"Into the weapon. Into the toy." Long You smiled, and there was something almost shy in the expression. "My body will be the level ten artifact. My sensitivity will be multiplied ten thousand times. Every touch, every thrust, every single moment of pleasure will be amplified until I cannot help but orgasm. And I will orgasm endlessly, Guardian Knight. The semen of a Demon King, flowing without cease."

The implications crashed over Lin Hai like a tidal wave. The Demon King's essence was pure magical energy. His semen was the most potent alchemical reagent in existence. A single drop could empower a human to level eight. A continuous supply would revolutionize the Human Empire. They could create an army of level nines, perhaps even—

"You would subject yourself to endless orgasm," Lin Hai said, his voice barely above a whisper. "You would become a tool for human advancement."

"I would become the tool for my own pleasure." Long You's tail curled, the tip tapping impatiently. "And yes, you would benefit. But make no mistake, Guardian Knight. I am doing this for myself. I have lived ten thousand years. I have conquered every battlefield, defeated every challenger, tasted every victory. The only thing I have never tasted is surrender. Infinite surrender. The bliss of being utterly consumed by pleasure until I am nothing but a quivering, ejaculating vessel."

The Demon King's hand moved to his lower abdomen, where the scales gave way to smooth human skin. Just below his elongated navel, a vertical slit appeared, parting to reveal the head of his penis. It was magnificent—thick, veined, and already half-erect, the tip glistening with precum.

"I usually keep it retracted," Long You said, his cheeks flushing. "But for this conversation, I thought you should see what you would be working with."

Lin Hai forced himself to look away. "The forging process requires your beheading. We cannot forge a living being into a level ten artifact. The separation of consciousness from body is necessary for the ritual to bind your soul to the physical form. But you are a level ten monster. Nothing in the world can kill you."

Long You laughed, a sound like silk tearing. "You think I haven't prepared for that?" His tail unwound from around the chamber, and he slithered to a chest in the corner. He lifted the lid with casual strength, revealing a collar made of pure obsidian, set with a single ruby that pulsed like a heartbeat.

"The Universal Collar," Lin Hai breathed. "I thought that was a myth."

"It is real. And I have owned it for three thousand years." Long You lifted the collar, turning it in his hands. "It has only one function: to behead whatever wears it, regardless of power level. The mechanism is absolute. It was created by a mad god who wanted to ensure he could always kill himself. I traded the soul of a continent to acquire it."

The Demon King placed the collar around his own neck. The obsidian tightened, conforming to his flesh, his scales, his throat. The ruby flared once, then settled into a steady glow.

"Wait," Lin Hai said. "You're going to do this now?"

"Is there a reason to wait?" Long You grinned, and there was wildness in his eyes. "I have dreamed of this moment for centuries. To be unmade. To be remade. To become pleasure incarnate." He reached down and stroked his now-fully-erect penis, a moan escaping his lips. "Soon, every touch will feel like this. Every moment will be ecstasy. I cannot wait."

"But the ritual—"

"Will be performed on my corpse. You know the process, Guardian Knight. You have the schematics. My body will regenerate from the beheading wound, reformed by the artifact enchantment. I will become the weapon. And then," Long You's voice dropped to a husky whisper, "you will wield me."

Lin Hai's heart pounded. This was madness. But the potential was too great to ignore. He nodded once. "Do it."

Long You's grin widened. He poured his magic power into the Universal Collar—a torrent of energy so vast that the chamber shook, that the torches guttered, that Lin Hai felt his own bones vibrate from the sheer force of Demon King's essence.

The ruby on the collar blazed white.

And the collar activated.

The blade that emerged was not physical. It was a line of absolute nothingness, a cut in reality itself. It passed through Long You's neck without resistance, without sound, without blood. For a single, frozen moment, the Demon King's head hung suspended in the air, supported by nothing.

His face was ecstatic.

His eyes were closed, his lips parted, his cheeks flushed with pre-orgasmic pleasure. His tongue peeked out, just slightly, as if tasting the air. And his hands—both of them—rose slowly, deliberately, and flashed a peace sign.

It was the most absurd, most terrifying, most strangely adorable gesture Lin Hai had ever seen.

Then the cut completed itself. The head separated from the body. The Universal Collar fell to the ground, inert. Blood sprayed in a perfect arc, searing against the stone floor, sizzling with residual magic.

The body did not fall.

The snake torso remained upright, the tail coiled beneath it. The penis was still erect, still glistening. And then, impossibly, the body began to glow.

Power, raw and enormous, erupted from the wound. The blood reversed direction, flowing back into the severed neck. The flesh writhed, reknitting itself. New scales formed, obsidian black with veins of molten gold that pulsed in rhythm with a heartbeat.

But the head did not regrow.

Instead, the neck sealed itself into a smooth, rounded stump. And from that stump, a new organ emerged—not a head, but a socket. A perfectly shaped, perfectly smooth orifice designed to receive.

Designed to be penetrated.

The body fell forward, landing on the obsidian table with a thud. The snake tail wrapped around the table legs, stabilizing it. And then the entire form began to shift, to reshape, to become what it had always been meant to be.

The level ten artifact took form.

It was a weapon. It was a tool. It was a body designed for one purpose: to be used.

"By the gods," Lin Hai whispered.

He approached the artifact, his hand trembling. The surface of the body was warm, almost hot, and it vibrated with a constant hum of pleasure. The skin—what remained of it—was sensitive to the point of pain. Every brush of air against it made the body shudder, made the penis twitch and leak precum.

And the neck socket. The opening pulsed like a living mouth, slick with a fluid that was not quite blood, not quite saliva. It was invitation. It was demand.

Lin Hai looked from the artifact to the schematics on the table. He understood now. He understood everything.

The Demon King had not lied. He had not exaggerated. He had simply shown Lin Hai the truth: that pleasure, like power, could be infinite. And that the strongest being in the world had chosen to become the weakest, the most vulnerable, the most exquisitely sensitive creature in existence.

"Very well," Lin Hai said, his voice firm. "I will order the forging. I will oversee the final ritual. And I will wield you, Demon King." He placed his hand on the artifact's chest, feeling the frantic heartbeat beneath. "Welcome to your eternity of bliss."

The artifact shivered. From somewhere deep within, a moan echoed.

It was the sound of pure, undiluted joy.

The chamber was silent except for the rhythmic hum of residual enchantments. The level-ten magic weapon lay on the polished metal platform, a headless upper-body form carved from obsidian and diamond, its surface veined with glowing blue runes. The torso was lean and muscular, the chest broad, the abdomen ridged with defined muscles. Below the waist, where a human would have legs, the sculpture tapered into a smooth, rounded base—lifeless, yet thrumming with a faint pulse of stored power.

Deep within the artifact, Long You’s consciousness coiled like a snake in winter. He could not move, could not speak, but he could feel everything—the cold metal beneath the form, the faint vibration of the air, the distant voices of the human craftsmen who had left the room. And he could feel the immense magical reservoir packed into the core of this vessel, level-ten power that made his old body seem like a candle to a bonfire.

*Perfect,* he thought. His plan had worked flawlessly. The humans had built a body of pure artifact, and he had hidden his consciousness inside it during the final binding ritual. Now he was the weapon—the ultimate weapon. When some fool picked it up and activated it, they would release him. He would possess them, drain their magic, and walk the world again in a new form, stronger than ever.

The door creaked open.

Lin Hai entered, his armor clinking softly. The Guardian Knight’s face was calm, but his eyes were wary as they fell on the artifact. He approached slowly, circling the platform, studying the runes, the craftsmanship. Long You watched through the artifact’s sensors, feeling the knight’s presence like a warm current.

“So this is the peak of magical engineering,” Lin Hai murmured. He reached out and touched the chest of the torso. Long You felt the contact as if a thousand needles of pleasure pierced his immaterial nerves. He shivered internally. Yes. Yes. Touch me.

Lin Hai frowned, then his hand closed around the artifact’s midpoint, where the penis was sculpted—a massive, veined column of diamond-hard obsidian, dormant but complete. The moment Lin Hai’s fingers wrapped around it, the weapon recognized its wielder. Runes flared along the shaft. The cock sprang to life, swelling, hardening, lifting free from its retracted cavity. Long You gasped—an ethereal breath that did not exist—as the sensation of arousal flooded his consciousness. This was more than touch; it was a direct magical link, a conduit for power.

Lin Hai lifted the artifact from the platform. It was lighter than it looked, balanced perfectly. He held it like a ceremonial sword, the massive phallus pointing upward. Long You’s mind spun. The knight was strong, level seven, a perfect vessel. All he had to do was wait for activation.

But Lin Hai did not sheath the artifact or set it aside. He turned it in his hands, examining the base, the runic arrays, the way the cock throbbed slightly with residual life. His expression shifted from curiosity to something darker—calculation, and then a faint smile.

“Let’s see how it handles a full discharge,” Lin Hai said softly.

He gripped the base with both hands, positioned the length of the obsidian phallus before his groin, and began to thrust against it.

Long You felt the friction as if it were his own flesh rubbing against Lin Hai’s inner thigh, his own cock sliding along the knight’s skin. But it was not skin—it was the artifact’s surface, smooth and unyielding. Yet the link was so deep that every press sent cascades of pleasure through his immaterial form. He could not control it. The runes along the shaft pulsed brighter with each stroke, the magic inside him surging, concentrating.

Lin Hai’s breathing quickened. He moved faster, using the artifact as a masturbation aid, his arousal rubbing against the carved cock of the Demon King’s prison. Long You wanted to scream—in ecstasy, in fury. This was not the plan. He was supposed to be in control. But his consciousness was dissolving into the pleasure, waves of heat washing away his thoughts.

Then came the release.

An orgasm unlike anything Long You had ever known exploded through his non corporeal being. The artifact’s cock ejaculated a torrent of luminous magical fluid—pure concentrated energy—that splashed against Lin Hai’s belly, his thighs, pooling on the floor. Long You’s mind blanked. He was nothing but a nerve of bliss, writhing in an endless peak.

Lin Hai gasped, shuddered, and slumped over the artifact, catching his breath. The cock continued to pulse, shooting jet after jet of magic. Long You’s consciousness slowly returned, languid, heavy with afterglow. *I can do this forever,* he thought. The artifact was level ten. It had oceans of magic. He would never want for pleasure again.

But as the seconds stretched into minutes, and the ejaculate slowed to a dribble, a cold thread of awareness crept into his mind. He felt the magical reservoir—the enormous lake of power that had filled the core of the artifact—and it was lower. Much lower. He could sense the levels dropping, the runes fading, the warmth in the cock dissipating.

*No,* he thought. *No, that was just one use. The reservoir should regenerate. Level-ten artifacts regenerate.*

But this was not a traditional artifact. This was a sex toy crafted with maximum sensitivity and minimum efficiency. The binding runes that held his consciousness also linked his life force to the magic. Every orgasm burned through the store.

Lin Hai straightened up, looking at the now-semi-flaccid phallus. He wiped himself clean with a cloth, then fitted the artifact into a custom harness that hung on the wall. The cock was still slick, still glowing a little, but the runes were dimmer.

“Needs recharging,” Lin Hai muttered. He left the room, the door sealing behind him.

Long You floated in darkness, impotent rage building. He tried to call out, to form words, but his consciousness had no mouth, no voice. He could only feel the emptiness where his magic had been. The pleasure was fading into a gnawing hunger. He needed power. He needed to be touched again—not for pleasure, for survival. If he did not orgasm again, the magic would slowly regenerate on its own. But if someone used him before that…

Days passed. Lin Hai returned. He was not alone. He brought a group of high-level mages and knights, all curious about the new artifact. They examined it, debated its properties. Long You trembled, afraid and furious. He wanted to speak, to beg them to leave him alone, to let him recover. But he was a thing, a tool.

One mage picked it up and laughed. “They say it’s meant for pleasure. Let’s test that.”

He stroked the shaft. The cock responded, swelling, the runes flaring again—using more of the precious reserves. Long You’s consciousness screamed as another orgasm was ripped from him. The pleasure was still there, but it was diluted by despair. He felt the magic drain in a torrent. The mage grunted, satisfied, and put it down.

Another knight took a turn. Then another. Lin Hai watched with cold satisfaction.

By the end of the day, the artifact’s glow was nearly gone. The cock could barely rise, its runes flickering like dying embers. Long You’s consciousness felt thin, stretched, like a candlewick burning to ash.

*Please,* he thought. *Stop. I need power. Someone, give me power.*

But no one heard. They left it hanging on the harness, forgotten.

Twelve days later, the last trace of magic inside the core sputtered and died. The obsidian cock stiffened into an immovable hard mass. The runes went dark. The artifact became a lifeless sculpture, heavier than before, useless for anything but crude penetration.

Long You’s final thought was not of rage or revenge, but of absurd regret. A thousand years of conquest, of being the strongest in the world, ended in a pleasure chamber, drained dry by humans who had no idea who they had used.

His consciousness dissipated like smoke in a wind.

The level-ten artifact remained, mute and inert. In the Strange World, creatures would later find it, repurpose it as a tool, a club, a dildo of unbreakable hardness. The King of Monsters had become a toy for the strange and the twisted, his millennia of life erased by a single, fatal miscalculation.

The Demon King Long You sat upon his obsidian throne, the universal collar gleaming in his palm like a polished mirror. He turned it over, studying the seamless silver ring with an expression of detached curiosity. It was cold to the touch, heavier than it looked, and hummed with a faint, alien vibration against his scales.

He had conquered every kingdom, subdued every beast, and mastered every magic known to the living world. This trinket, however, was a novelty—a relic from a forgotten age, excavated from the deepest vaults beneath the Dragonbone Mountains. The scholars who had brought it to him had described it in trembling voices: a device that could bind any creature's power, reduce any warrior to a commoner, or end any life with a thought.

Long You smiled, baring a hint of fang. "Bring me the lowest of the prisoners," he said, his voice a low, resonant purr. "The level six lizardman from the eastern marshes."

The command echoed through the throne room, and within minutes, two towering demon guards dragged a shackled lizardman before the throne. The creature was covered in mud and scars, its forked tongue flickering in fear. It had been captured during a skirmish on the empire's border—a minor nuisance, nothing more.

Long You rose from his throne, his seven-meter tail uncoiling and sliding across the marble floor with a soft whisper. He approached the lizardman, who cowered and tried to shrink away. "Hold still," the Demon King murmured, almost kindly.

He snapped the universal collar around the lizardman's neck. The metal contracted with a precise click, fitting snugly. The lizardman gasped, its eyes widening. For a moment nothing happened. Then the air around it shimmered, and a visible wave of energy rippled outward. The lizardman's scales, once a vibrant green, dulled to a lifeless gray. Its muscles slackened. Its tail drooped.

Long You sensed the power drain immediately. Where there had been a level six beast, there was now a creature so weak it could barely stand. He reached out with his magic, probing the collar's effect. It was absolute. The lizardman's magical core, its very life force, had been suppressed to nothing.

He touched the collar and whispered a command to release the suppression. The silver ring pulsed, and the lizardman's color returned. It straightened, its muscles swelling back to full strength. The lizardman looked at its own hands in disbelief, then at the Demon King, who smiled again.

"Fascinating," Long You said. "Take it away. Give it food and water. It has earned its life."

The guards dragged the lizardman out, and Long You returned to his throne, the collar still in his hand. He summoned his personal attendant, a towering minotaur of level seven, one of his most trusted lieutenants. The minotaur entered the hall with a deep bow, its horns scraping the ceiling.

"Sire, you called for me?"

"Yes, Gorath." Long You's tail curled around the base of the throne. "I need you to wear this collar for a moment. A test. You will not be harmed."

Gorath did not hesitate. He knelt before the Demon King, and Long You placed the collar around his thick, muscular neck. The same wave of energy rippled, and Gorath's massive frame shuddered. His aura, which had blazed like a bonfire, shrank to a flickering candle. He fell to his knees, gasping, his eyes filled with confusion and fear.

"Stay calm," Long You said, his voice soft. He watched the minotaur's muscles deflate, his horns losing their luster. The level seven strongman had been reduced to a level zero—as weak as a newborn calf.

Long You released the suppression again, and Gorath's power surged back. The minotaur staggered to his feet, breathing heavily. "Sire, I felt… nothing. For a moment I was nothing."

"I know." Long You nodded, satisfied. "You may go."

But after Gorath left, the Demon King's curiosity deepened. He had seen the collar's primary function—level suppression. Now he wished to test its other rumored ability. He glanced at his guards, who stood at attention along the walls. "Bring me another level seven prisoner. The orc chieftain from the northern campaign."

The guards exchanged uneasy glances but obeyed. Soon a bound orc, scarred and proud, was thrust onto the marble floor. He glared at Long You with undimmed hatred.

"Demon," the orc snarled. "You will burn in the abyss."

"Perhaps," Long You said, advancing with the collar in hand. "But not today."

He snapped the collar onto the orc's neck. The orc's power drained instantly, and he collapsed, his limbs trembling. Then Long You activated the second function—the interior blades.

There was a sound like tearing silk. A thin red line appeared around the orc's throat. The orc's eyes went wide, and then his head separated cleanly from his neck, falling to the floor with a wet thud. The body crumpled, blood pooling across the black stone.

Long You stared, his tail going rigid. He had expected resistance. A level seven warrior could survive decapitation for several seconds, could even regenerate if the wound was sealed quickly. But this collar had severed the head with such precision and speed that there had been no chance for survival. The orc was dead before his heart could beat again.

He picked up the universal collar from the pool of blood, wiping it clean with a flick of his fingers. His mind was racing. If a level seven fell so easily, then even a level eight would be vulnerable. What about a level nine? And what about himself, a level ten—the strongest being in the world?

Long You knew he could not test the beheading function on another creature of significant power. That would be a waste of a valuable soldier. And he could not risk losing a loyal subject. No, there was only one way to fully understand the collar's limits.

He would test it on himself.

He dismissed his guards with a wave. "Leave me. I am not to be disturbed until I call."

The guards bowed and retreated, the heavy doors booming shut behind them. Long You was alone in the vast throne room, the only sounds his own breathing and the faint drip of blood from the fallen orc's corpse. He looked at the collar in his hands, then at the distant pillars and the high, vaulted ceiling.

He placed the collar around his own neck.

It felt cold. Unnatural. For a moment, nothing happened. Then he felt it—a deep, wrenching pull from the center of his being, as if a massive hand had reached inside him and clenched around his soul. His power, the vast ocean of mana that had sustained him for millennia, began to drain.

He looked down at his tail. The inky black scales, the color of the deepest abyss and the mark of his level ten supremacy, began to shimmer. They turned a dull, lustrous silver—the color of a level eight monster. His body felt lighter, weaker. His strength had been halved.

Long You drew a sharp breath, his pride stinging. But he did not resist. He wanted to know. He counted the seconds, feeling the suppression settle into place. Then he spoke the release command, and the collar pulsed. The silver scales rippled and darkened, black creeping back from the tip to the base. His power surged, and he was level ten again.

He let out a long, slow exhale. The suppression worked. He had felt it, but he had also felt that he could have broken it if he had truly needed to. It was a cage, but not an unbreakable one—not for him.

Now for the second test.

Long You activated the beheading function. He felt a sudden vibration around his throat, and then a ring of sharp, impossibly thin blades extended from the inner surface of the collar. They pressed against his skin—and stopped. They could not cut him. The blades scraped against his scales, leaving shallow scratches that healed instantly, but they could not draw blood.

He tried again, willing the blades to push harder. The collar hummed, straining, but the result was the same. The Demon King's flesh was simply too dense, his regeneration too fast. The universal collar could not kill him.

But as he stood there, the blades still pressed against his throat, a cold realization crept into his mind. He had only tested one function at a time. If someone were to activate the level suppression and the beheading simultaneously—if they reduced him to a lower level first and then struck—the outcome might be very different.

He imagined it: his power drained to level eight, his neck suddenly slashed by those same blades. He had felt how much weaker level eight was. Would his regeneration keep up? Would his scales hold? He did not know, and that uncertainty burned in his chest like a hot coal.

Long You removed the collar and held it up to the light, his golden eyes narrowing. The silver ring was beautiful, elegant, and utterly lethal. It was a weapon that could bring even the mightiest low. But it was also a warning—a reminder that even the strongest among them was not beyond reach.

He slipped the collar into a velvet pouch at his side. He would keep it close, study it further, and never let it fall into another's hands. For now, it was his secret, his hidden ace, his potential undoing—all coiled together in a shining band of metal.

The body of the orc lay forgotten on the floor. A guard would remove it later. The Demon King turned and walked back to his throne, his tail swishing behind him, his mind already turning to the next experiment. The universe was vast, and power was a game he had mastered. But this collar was a new piece on the board, and he intended to understand every square inch of it before he made his next move.

The thrill that had been absent for over a millennium surged through Long You's veins like molten gold. For too long, the world had bowed before him, groveling at the base of his obsidian throne, offering tributes and prayers that tasted of ash. He craved something else now—something raw, unpredictable, dangerous. He craved the exquisite ache of submission.

With a flick of his wrist, he summoned the universal collar from a dimensional pocket. The band of shimmering metal fit snugly around his throat, and he felt the familiar constriction as his mana was leashed. His power plummeted from an unfathomable peak down to level eight—still formidable, but no longer absolute. His inky black snake tail began to lighten, scales shifting into a shimmering silver that caught the dim light of his private chambers.

He stared at his reflection in the polished obsidian floor. The silver tail coiled lazily behind him, sleek and beautiful, a stark contrast to his usual darkness. He smiled, a predatory curve that softened into something almost playful.

Dressing was an art, and tonight he crafted a masterpiece of debauchery. He left his chest bare, bronze skin gleaming under the torches, pectorals firm and abdomen ridged with muscle. A translucent veil of the finest spider silk draped over his shoulders, offering no modesty, only suggestion. A delicate gold ring pierced each nipple, catching the light with every breath. A chain of tiny sapphires connected them, swaying as he moved. His elongated navel bore a matching piercing—a small star-shaped gem that winked as his abdominal muscles flexed.

Around his waist, a chain of platinum links hung low, grazing the top of his hip bones. Another chain looped around his chest, just below his pectorals, studded with rubies. And deep within, where the world would never see unless he willed it, the splendid anal plug of diamond and obsidian remained seated, its cool pressure a constant reminder of what he sought.

He cast illusion magic over his features, softening the sharp angles of his face, dulling the imperious gleam in his serpentine eyes. Now he was merely a handsome snake-man with a striking silver tail, exuding a dangerous allure rather than absolute dominion.

The journey through the underground black market was a spectacle in itself. Long You slithered through the grimy tunnels, his tail whispering over stone, his bare torso drawing stares. Humans, beastmen, demons, and other races parted before him, their eyes widening at the sight of a level eight monster so provocatively adorned. Whispers trailed behind him like smoke.

"Is that a king-class snake-man? Why is he dressed like a pleasure slave?"

"Where is he going? The arena? The fighting pits?"

"The brothels, maybe? But no, look at him—he's heading toward the slave district."

Long You paid them no mind. His heart hammered with an anticipation he had not felt since the first time he conquered a kingdom, the first time he felt a blade bite into his flesh. This was different. This was surrender.

He stopped before the grand entrance of the Crimson Chain Slave Market, the largest and most reputable establishment of its kind in the black market. Iron gates twisted into elaborate depictions of chained figures and screaming faces. Torches flickered on either side, casting dancing shadows.

The moment he entered, a hush fell over the main hall. The receptionist, a nervous-looking goblin in a starched collar, scrambled to his feet. His eyes darted over Long You's form—the silver tail, the chains, the piercings—and he swallowed hard.

"W-welcome, honored guest," the goblin stammered, bowing low. "We are honored by the presence of a level eight. How may I serve you? What race of slave do you seek? We have orc berserkers, elf maidens, dwarf smiths, even a few rare phoenix-blooded harpies."

Long You's lips curled into a slow, seductive smile. "I seek no slave. I am here to offer myself."

The goblin's jaw dropped. He blinked, shook his head, and blinked again. "I... I beg your pardon, my lord?"

"I am here to be a slave," Long You repeated, his voice smooth as honeyed venom. "I wish to be auctioned."

Panic seized the goblin's face. He turned and fled, his shrill cries echoing through the halls. "Manager! Manager! We have a situation!"

Within moments, a burly minotaur lumbered into view, his horns polished to a gleam, a ledger clutched in his massive hand. He surveyed Long You with narrowed eyes, then let out a low, rumbling laugh.

"A level eight, offering himself as a slave? I've heard of debt, of desperation, but this is new." He stepped closer, sniffing the air. "You're not enchanted, not coerced. What game do you play, snake-man?"

"No game," Long You said, his tail coiling with deliberate grace. "I seek an owner. I wish to be mastered. I will not cause trouble, I will not escape, and I will not harm anyone. You have my word as a demon king—though I appear as a simple level eight."

The minotaur's eyes widened at the phrase "demon king." He studied Long You's calm demeanor, the steady thrum of his mana, the absolute lack of aggression. Finally, he nodded slowly.

"If that is your wish, I will not deny such an extraordinary opportunity." He gestured to a cage made of reinforced magisteel, its bars etched with binding runes. "Please, step inside. We will prepare the auction. You will be the grand finale."

Long You slithered into the cage without hesitation. The door clanged shut, and a heavy lock clicked into place. The minotaur added a second lock, then a third, his brow furrowing at how willingly the snake-man submitted.

The auction began an hour later. Long You watched from the shadows of his cage, hidden behind a velvet curtain. The first few lots were unremarkable: level two goblin laborers, level three orc warriors, a level four elf healer. The bidding was brisk but routine.

Then the announcer's voice rose. "And now, our final and most extraordinary lot! A level eight snake-man of unrivaled beauty, stripped of his freedom by his own choice! He comes with chains of platinum, piercings of gold, and a disposition that promises obedience! Who will start the bidding at one million gold?"

The curtain dropped, and torchlight flooded the cage. Long You posed with languid grace, his silver tail coiling artfully around himself, the translucent veil doing nothing to hide the chiseled lines of his torso. The nipple chains caught the light, and the navel gem glittered like a star. His face, altered by illusion, was handsome but not haughty—inviting, almost vulnerable.

A collective gasp swept through the crowd. Every eye fixed on him. The bidding erupted.

"One million!"

"One point two!"

"One point five!"

Long You's heart raced. He felt the weight of their gazes like a physical touch, and a thrill coiled in his belly. He had conquered nations, but this—this surrender—was intoxicating.

The bids climbed. Two million. Two point eight. Three million. Many seemed interested but hesitated at the high price. Then a hand shot up from the back—a human male, richly dressed, his face obscured by a hood. He raised a gold-marked placard.

"Five million."

Silence. The auctioneer's hammer trembled. "Five million going once... twice... sold! To the human lord in the back!"

The crowd murmured as the human stepped forward, his gait confident, his cloak swirling around him. He approached the cage, and Long You met his eyes—sharp, intelligent, filled with a hunger that mirrored his own.

The human reached through the bars and tilted Long You's chin up, examining him like a prized stallion. "You're beautiful," he murmured. "And you chose this. Why?"

Long You's smile was slow, secretive. "Because I wanted to be taken, my lord. And you have taken me."

The human laughed, a low, rich sound. "Then let's go home."

The wealthy man did not speak as he led Long You through the winding alleys of the slave quarter. The branding iron had cooled by now, but the mark on the Demon King's lower abdomen still throbbed with a faint, residual heat. It was a slave rune, yes, but the design had been twisted into something obscene—a swirling sigil that resembled a lewd pattern, a spiral of thorns and vines that curled toward his groin. Long You's snake tail dragged behind him, the seven meters of inky black scales scraping against the cobblestones with a soft hiss.

The human tugged the chain attached to the universal collar, and Long You followed without resistance. There was no point in fighting yet. He wanted to see where this would lead.

They emerged from the slave market into a wide avenue lined with marble buildings. The air smelled of incense and polished stone. Guards in golden armor snapped to attention as the wealthy man passed, and Long You finally understood: this was no ordinary noble. The human's posture shifted as they walked, becoming more erect, more commanding. The wealth was a disguise. The power was real.

They entered a grand estate through a wrought-iron gate that swung open without a sound. The courtyard was vast, filled with fountains and topiary shaped into mythical beasts. Servants bowed as they passed. The human led Long You into a private chamber at the heart of the mansion, a room with walls of black marble and a ceiling painted with constellations.

The human turned to face him. He removed a ring from his finger, and the illusion of wealth melted away. His robes became simpler but more finely woven, and a circlet of silver appeared on his brow.

"You are the regent of the human empire," Long You said. His voice was flat, without surprise.

"I am," the regent replied. "And you are the Demon King, reduced to a branded slave. The irony is not lost on me."

Long You's tail coiled beneath him, but he made no move to attack. "Irony is a poor seasoning for ambition. What do you want?"

The regent smiled thinly. "Power. The kind of power that cannot be earned or stolen. The kind that must be consumed."

He gestured, and three men entered the chamber. They were huge, each one a head taller than the regent, their bodies thick with muscle. They wore only leather straps across their chests, and their cocks were already half-hard, heavy and veined.

"Kneel," the regent said to Long You.

The Demon King did not move.

The regent's smile did not waver. He touched the branding iron still warm from the market, and a pulse of magic shot through the rune on Long You's lower abdomen. Pain lanced through the Demon King's body, white-hot and insistent. His muscles seized, and his tail thrashed involuntarily. His knees buckled.

He knelt.

"Good," the regent said. "Now we begin."

The three men surrounded Long You. One grabbed his arms and forced them behind his back. Another hooked his hands under Long You's armpits and lifted him slightly, exposing his lower body. The third man knelt behind him and pulled the splendid anal plug from its resting place. The diamond and obsidian ornament glittered as it was set aside, and Long You felt the sudden emptiness, the cool air against his most private entrance.

The man behind him spat onto his own fingers and pressed them against Long You's hole. The Demon King did not flinch. He had felt worse. He had felt better. He felt nothing at all anymore.

The man pushed two fingers inside, then three, stretching him with practiced efficiency. Then he withdrew, and Long You felt the blunt pressure of a thick cock pressing against his entrance. It slid in with a wet sound, and the Demon King's tail tightened involuntarily. The man began to fuck him, slow and deep, while the other two stroked his own cock, coaxing it from its cavity inch by inch.

It emerged fully erect, thirty centimeters of inky black flesh, ridged and throbbing. The men worked it with oiled hands, their calloused palms rough against the sensitive skin. One of them leaned down and took the head into his mouth, sucking hard.

Long You closed his eyes. The sensations were distant, muffled, like echoes from a long-forgotten cavern. The man fucking him picked up speed, his hips slapping against Long You's tail, his grunts filling the room. The one sucking his cock deep-throated him, and the other man stroked the base.

Minutes passed. Then an hour. The men sweated and strained, taking turns fucking him, sucking him, stroking him. But the Demon King's body refused to respond. His cock remained hard, but no seed rose to meet their efforts. His anus clenched and relaxed around each intruder, but he felt no pleasure, no pain, only a vast and ancient indifference.

The regent watched from his chair, his expression growing tighter, more frustrated. He stood and walked over, pushing the men aside. He knelt before Long You and took the Demon King's cock into his mouth himself. He sucked with desperate hunger, his tongue working the ridges, his throat swallowing the entire length. The other men continued to fuck Long You from behind, one after another, their cocks sliding in and out of his well-used hole.

And finally, after what felt like an eternity, a single drop of semen welled at the tip of Long You's cock. Then another. Then a thin, reluctant trickle.

The regent caught every drop in his mouth, his throat working to swallow. It was barely a mouthful, a few milliliters at most, but the moment it touched his tongue, his eyes went wide. Power flooded through him, raw and primal, surging into his very core. His body convulsed, and he felt his cultivation crack open, rising from level three to level four in a single, shattering moment.

He pulled away, gasping, his lips wet with the Demon King's essence. "Chain him in the dungeon," he ordered, his voice hoarse. "Milk him every day. I want every drop."

The men dragged Long You away, but the Demon King offered no resistance. He felt the slave rune pulse again, a dull ache in his lower abdomen. The lewd pattern seemed to glow faintly in the dim light of the corridor.

They threw him into a cell of black iron bars. A collar was fixed to the wall, and they attached it to the universal collar around his neck, leaving him just enough chain to lie down and stand up. His tail coiled beneath him, and he curled into a ball on the cold stone floor.

Days passed. Men came and went, their hands rough, their cocks hard. They fucked him and stroked him and sucked him, but the results were always the same. A few drops. Maybe a thin stream if they worked at him for hours. The regent came himself some days, kneeling before the bars, taking the meager offering into his mouth with closed eyes, as if praying.

But the power he gained was meager now, barely enough to sustain his new level. He needed more. He needed the Demon King to break, to surrender, to spill his seed in a flood.

Long You watched him through half-lidded eyes, his snake tail curling and uncurling in the darkness. He had roamed the world for millennia. He had endured worse than this. And he had learned one immutable truth: time.

Time was always on his side.

Lin Hai’s boots rang against the stone steps as he descended into the dungeon, his heart hammering against his ribs. The regent’s messenger had arrived at the Imperial Palace breathless, stammering about a purchase from the black market—a level eight snake-man. Level eight. The number alone had sent ice through Lin Hai’s veins. No human had ever controlled a level eight monster. The regent, that fool, had no idea what he had brought into the capital.

The dungeon air grew thick with the smell of sweat, hay, and something else—something metallic and musky. Lin Hai’s hand rested on the hilt of his sword as he rounded the final corner. The torchlight flickered, casting long shadows across the cell.

What he saw stopped him cold.

A massive draft horse stood in the center of the cell, its hindquarters braced, its thick, wet cock buried deep inside the creature that lay sprawled beneath it. The snake-man’s human torso was arched backward, his inky black tail coiling and uncoiling against the straw-covered floor. His eyes were half-lidded, his lips parted in a breathy, almost lazy rhythm. The horse’s hips drove forward with brutal force, each thrust making the snake-man’s abdomen bulge obscenely, the outline of the stallion’s cock pressing against his skin from the inside.

And yet, the snake-man’s own penis stood erect, a full thirty centimeters of glistening flesh, his hand wrapped around its base, stroking with deliberate slowness. A thin string of semen dripped from the tip, falling into a small crystal container placed beneath him. He didn’t even flinch as another drop landed. He merely sighed, a sound of mild contentment, as if he were enjoying a warm bath rather than being split open by a beast.

Lin Hai’s breath caught, then released. A wave of relief washed over him. A level eight monster that was this lewd—this easily distracted by pleasure—was a monster that could be managed. Controlled. Used.

He stepped forward, the chains of his armor clinking softly. The horse snorted, but did not stop its rhythm. The snake-man’s eyes drifted toward Lin Hai, and despite the violent fucking, there was no heat in them, no madness. Only a cool, detached curiosity, like a scholar examining an insect.

“I am Lin Hai,” he said, his voice steady, authoritative. “Guardian Knight of the Human Empire. I mean you no harm.”

The snake-man laughed, a low, musical sound. “Harm? You couldn’t harm me if you tried, little knight.” His voice was smooth, unhurried, even as the horse’s cock slammed into him again, making his belly ripple. “I am Long You. King of Monsters. Lord of this world. And you are a speck of dust.”

Lin Hai took another step closer, ignoring the stench and the grunts of the horse. “I have a proposition for you, Your Majesty.” He let the title hang in the air, a subtle acknowledgment of power that might soften the snake-man’s pride. “I can give you pleasure beyond anything you have ever known. Ecstasy that will make this—” he gestured at the horse, “—feel like a dull ache.”

Long You’s hand paused on his cock. He tilted his head, his eyes narrowing with genuine interest. For a moment, the horse’s thrusts seemed to fade into the background. “Go on.”

“Not here,” Lin Hai said. “In the hall, where I have the proper tools. But there is a price.”

Long You’s tail flicked, knocking a bucket aside. He smiled, a slow, dangerous thing. “Everything has a price, little knight. Name yours.”

“Your snake tail,” Lin Hai said flatly. “I want to cut you in half at the waist while you are being fucked. While the pleasure is at its peak.”

The horse chose that moment to drive particularly deep, and Long You’s back arched, a groan escaping his throat, but his eyes never left Lin Hai. He let out a long, shuddering breath. “An interesting proposal. You think that will bring me ecstasy? Being severed?”

“I know it will,” Lin Hai said. “The combination of ultimate penetration and ultimate destruction—your mind will shatter with pleasure. Your eyes will roll back. You will experience a climax beyond anything your kind has ever known.”

Long You’s laughter filled the cell, rich and mocking. “You cannot cut me, little knight. I am level eight. Your puny human sword would break against my scales.”

Lin Hai reached into his coat and drew out a blade. It gleamed with a faint, violet light, runes etched along its length. The air around it hummed with trapped energy. “This is a level seven magic sword,” he said, holding it up. “Forged from the heart of a slain level seven serpent. With my combat power, I can unleash a strike of early level eight force. If you do not defend, if you let it happen… I can indeed cut you in half.”

The mocking smile faded from Long You’s lips. He stared at the sword, his pupils contracting into slits. The horse continued its rhythm, but the snake-man’s body had gone still, his hand frozen on his cock. For a long moment, the only sounds were the wet slap of flesh and the horse’s heavy breathing.

Then Long You nodded. A slow, deliberate dip of his chin. “You are not a complete fool,” he said. “I acknowledge you, Lin Hai. You may have my attention.”

He reached down, gripped the horse’s shaft, and pushed the beast out of him with a wet, sucking sound. Semen and fluid dripped down his scales as he rose, his seven-meter tail coiling beneath him. He looked down at the crystal container, now half-full of his own seed, then back at Lin Hai.

“Take me to your hall,” Long You said. “I want to see if you can deliver what you promise.”

Lin Hai sheathed his sword, his heart pounding with triumph. He had him. The most dangerous creature in the world, and he had him on a leash of pleasure and pain.

“Follow me, Your Majesty,” he said, and turned to lead the way out of the dungeon. Behind him, the snake-man’s tail slithered across the stones, and the horse whinnied in confusion as its pleasure was taken away.

The chamber was silent save for the wet, rhythmic sounds of flesh against flesh. Long You, the Demon King, reclined upon a throne of black stone, his serpentine tail coiled lazily around the dais. His upper body was bare, gold chains glinting against his pale skin, and his face held an expression of haughty boredom—a mask that only recently had cracked into something far more desperate.

Before him stood Lin Hai, the Guardian Knight of the Human Empire. The man’s armor was polished to a mirror sheen, his sword bare and gleaming in his gauntleted hand. Yet he did not advance. He waited, as commanded.

Long You’s hands moved in a slow, deliberate rhythm. In his left hand, he gripped the base of a massive false phallus—black, veined, slick with oil—pushing it inch by inch into the hidden orifice beneath his lower back. The plug of diamond and obsidian had been removed, discarded carelessly on the floor. His right hand wrapped around his own cock, which had emerged from its cavity, fully erect and glistening. A slender glass container, etched with runes, was placed directly beneath the tip.

“Watch, knight,” Long You murmured, his voice a low, silken drawl. “This is the ritual of a god. You are privileged to witness it.”

Lin Hai’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing. The Demon King’s arrogance was legendary, and this display—this profane self-indulgence—was merely another facet of his dominion.

Long You’s movements quickened. The fake cock slid deeper, stretching him, filling him, while his other hand stroked his own length with practiced precision. His breath hitched. His hips began to rock, a serpentine undulation that rippled through his entire tail. A bead of pre-cum formed at the tip of his cock, swelling, trembling, ready to fall.

Then, abruptly, he stopped.

The Demon King’s hands released. The false cock slid out of his anus with a wet, obscene sound, landing on the stone floor with a dull clatter. His own cock twitched, still erect, the droplet of semen quivering at the tip but not yet falling. Long You crossed his arms over his chest, baring every inch of his abdomen—the defined muscles, the elongated navel, the smooth transition from human waist to scaly serpent flesh.

His eyes, half-lidded and lust-drunk, met Lin Hai’s.

“Now,” he breathed. “Strike.”

Lin Hai did not hesitate. He swung his greatsword with all the strength of a Level 7 Guardian Knight, every muscle in his body coiling and unleashing in a single, devastating arc. The blade howled through the air and struck the junction between Long You’s waist and snake tail—the precise point where the human form gave way to the beast.

The impact was wet and clean.

For a heartbeat, nothing happened. Then Long You’s abdomen convulsed twice, violently, and a long, shuddering moan escaped his lips—not a cry of pain, but of rapture. His eyes rolled back. His tongue lolled out, wet and slack. He writhed his waist, his hips jerking in frantic, almost desperate undulations, as if he feared the separation would not be complete, as if he craved it with every fiber of his being.

The upper body toppled backward, severed cleanly. The cut surface was impossibly smooth, a mirror of flesh and bone and glistening tissue. The lower tail, still coiled on the dais, spasmed once and then fell still.

Long You’s severed upper half landed on the floor, his arms still crossed, his face contorted in an expression of ultimate, broken ecstasy. The tongue hung limp. The eyes were white, rolled so far back that only the whites showed.

Lin Hai moved swiftly. From a pouch at his belt, he produced two metal caps, each engraved with warding runes. He pressed one firmly onto the severed end of the upper body, sealing the wound with a soft hiss. Then he walked to the lower half, bent down, and placed the second cap over the stump of the tail.

The glass container still sat beneath the Demon King’s cock, which, though separated from its master, continued to twitch and spasm. The bead of semen that had trembled at the tip now released in a sudden, powerful jet, striking the inside of the container with a wet splash. Another pulse followed, then another, as the disembodied flesh pumped its load into the vessel. The cock strained and jerked, the veins pulsing, the tip glistening, until at last it gave a final, feeble spasm and fell still, the container now half-filled with thick, white fluid.

Lin Hai stared at the scene for a long moment. The Demon King’s face was frozen in that mask of broken pleasure, the tongue still hanging, the eyes still white. The upper body lay motionless, arms still crossed, the abdomen still exposed, the navel still elongated.

He picked up the container, sealed it with a stopper, and placed it carefully into a padded compartment in his bag. Then he turned and walked out of the chamber, leaving the two halves of the Demon King behind, forever separated, forever frozen in that final, rapturous moment.