The First Patriarch: Streaming My Cosmic Harem

Chapter 2: Chapter 2: New Body, Who Dis?

"Who the fuck is that?"

Azriel stared at the reflection in the mirror, paralyzed.

Staring back was a young man who couldn’t have been more than nineteen, possessing a face so striking it felt like a personal insult to every professional model Azriel had ever known.

If his old face was a solid ten, this was off the charts, a masterpiece of masculinity defined by a razor-sharp jawline, skin as pale as polished marble, and piercing violet eyes.

His hair was a chaotic, neck-length mane of ink-black silk.

He was shirtless, revealing a physique that looked like the culmination of years of brutal, dedicated craftsmanship.

Every muscle was perfectly etched, every line defined with anatomical precision.

But the most jarring detail sat right at the crown of his head, two sleek, black animal ears.

"What are these?" Azriel muttered, reaching up tentatively. "Is it just a prop—"

His voice sounded foreign, deeper and smoother than the one he’d left behind.

But before he could even touch the fur, the headache hit.

Calling it a headache was like calling the truck that killed him a "mild inconvenience".

This was a violent invasion.

A torrent of alien images, names, memories, and sensations shattered the mental walls of his mind, crashing through his skull like floodwater through a collapsing dam.

Azriel went down hard.

He collapsed onto the bed, hands clamped over his temples as his jaw locked in a silent snarl.

He couldn’t scream, he couldn’t even draw breath.

He could only endure the storm, curled into a ball as the weight of another life was forcibly grafted onto his own.

The onslaught lasted the better part of thirty minutes.

When the mental tide finally receded, he lay motionless, staring up at the ornate ceiling as his breath slowly stabilized.

Then, slowly, the corners of his mouth began to twitch upward.

He sat up, running a hand through the unfamiliar length of his hair and feeling the soft, involuntary twitch of those black ears atop his head.

Looking behind him, he found a long, black, fluffy tail swaying rhythmically.

He reached out and touched it.

The fur was impossibly soft, sending a jolt through him that confirmed it was a highly sensitive extension of his new body.

He flexed, watching the way his new muscles rippled and bulged under the light with predatory grace.

Satisfied with the upper half, he grew curious about the rest of his hardware.

He lowered his pants and let out a long, low whistle.

A monster stared back at him, a solid nine inches, a full inch larger than even the impressive equipment he had carried in his previous life.

Another plus point for me.

"Well," Azriel said softly, a grin spreading across his face.

"Those novels I read for fun... they were true, huh?"

He reached up and brushed his fingers against his ears. A sharp, ticklish sensation shot through him.

"I’ve really transmigrated. And as a Beastman, no less."

Azriel Ross was now the occupant of a new vessel, Azriel Amaros, a Beastman of the Nocthari lineage.

He carried the blood of the Black Panther, and for a fleeting second, he felt the urge to cross his arms and shout a slogan about a hidden kingdom.

But he reigned himself in, knowing that he was in an unfamiliar room.

He was now in Tartarus, a world of multiple races fueled by Aether, an energy that allowed people to conjure flames and shatter stone with their bare hands.

But there was a catch.

This world was a matriarchy. Women had dominated society since the dawn of time, and as a result, men were often dismissed as fragile or subordinate.

While the blatant discrimination had softened over the last millennium, men were still bound by strict moral codes and rigid societal rules.

Then there was the true problem, the slave system.

In Tartarus, owning slaves was perfectly legal.

While a few women found themselves in chains, the vast majority of the enslaved were men.

The memories confirmed his worst fear.

He stared into the mirror, his gaze fixed on the black, chain-like tattoo coiled around his neck, a permanent, ink-deep brand of ownership.

Azriel Amaros was a slave, recently purchased at auction like a piece of livestock.

Under normal circumstances, a playboy like Azriel might have smirked at the idea of being bought as a "sex slave," arrogantly assuming the fringe benefits would be worth the cost of his freedom.

But as the cold reality of this world settled in, he knew his situation was far from erotic.

He had been purchased by Duchess Katarina and handed over to Duchess Rosalind as a mere trophy to settle a bet, a gift for a woman whose reputation was written in the blood of her discarded toys.

Rosalind was infamous for a single, chilling tradition, the immediate execution of any slave she deemed "unworthy" of her company.

Anxiety began to gnaw at his gut, a cold contrast to the plush luxury of the room.

"I mean, seriously?" Azriel muttered, pacing the floor.

"Who the hell executes someone just because they aren’t ’worthy’?"

But just then, a crystalline Ding! resonated within his skull.

Azriel froze, his heart slamming against his ribs like a trapped bird.

"That sound... no way. Is this the legendary ’Golden Finger’?"

A manic, near-hysterical laugh bubbled up in his chest.

"Hell yeah! A new life, a big dick, a world of magic, and now a system? This is absolutely insane!"

As if in response to his surge of adrenaline, a translucent blue interface shimmered into existence, hovering before his eyes like a digital ghost.

[Welcome to the world of Tartarus, Azriel]

[You have been selected by the Primordial Goddess of Lust and Purity, SERAPHINE]

[You have received the blessing of the Primordial Goddess]

[You have awakened an S Rank Class: Divine Charmer]

[You have awakened a Primordial Rank Hidden Class: Primordial Soul Streamer]

[You have awakened your bloodline]

[Ding! Your bloodline is mutating due to the Primordial Goddess’s Blessing]

[Ding!]

[You have awakened the ABYSSAL ARDOR BLOODLINE]

-x-

While Azriel marveled at his new screen, a different scene unfolded light-years away.

In a void where time had no meaning, seven figures stood in a circle of absolute power.

They were beings who existed above the laws of reality, the very vacuum of the void seemed to warp and bend under the sheer weight of their presence.

Among them, a figure wreathed in an aura of shimmering silver-white and seductive pink watched a massive projection reflecting the events in Azriel’s room.

Her voice was a symphony of teasing, flirty notes.

"Hehehe... he’s finally here," Seraphine giggled, her dual-colored aura swirling playfully.

A second figure, draped in Bronze and a Scarlet glow, spoke with a voice like tempered steel, calm, composed, and utterly immovable. She didn’t look away from the screen.

"So, this is the chosen one."

"Yes," Seraphine chirped. "Isn’t he just fascinating?"

"Very interesting," added a third voice, deep and resonant, belonging to a figure radiating Deep Cobalt Blue and fiery Rose.

"I only hope he can provide some worthwhile figh-, I mean, entertainment."

Seraphine laughed, the sound echoing through the emptiness.

"Oh, you and your fighting! He’s going to be doing things much more... intimate than that, I assure you."

The Bronze-Scarlet figure remained stoic, her gaze fixed on the flickering blue light of the screen.

"But can he truly do it? If he fails to fulfill the purpose, the cost will be everything we have. Are you certain he is the one to carry that weight?"

Seraphine’s voice lost its playful edge entirely.

The flirty lilt vanished, replaced by a tone so soft and heavy with sincerity it seemed to vibrate through the void.

"I hope he can," she whispered, her aura dimming into a warm, somber glow. "For all our sakes, I truly hope he can."

The silence that followed was suffocating, thick with the shadow of a dark future they all feared.

But Seraphine was not one to dwell in the dark for long.

She forced a breath, her smirk returning like a mask being snapped back into place.

She leaned back into the infinite shadows, her golden aura flaring once more.

"But let’s be honest," she added, her voice regaining its teasing bite.

"Even if he fails, we’re still going to get one hell of a show before the curtain falls."