Villain's Breeding System: Evolving 999+ Harem into an SSS-Rank Legion

Chapter 611: Chapter 611 - Baptizing through some Jiggly Ass

Deo coughed.

Blood poured from his mouth. He looked down at the blade in his chest. He looked at Mira.

She was still being fucked. She didn’t look at him. She was moaning. Screaming. Coming.

"Ah—! Yes—! Harder—!"

Deo fell.

His face hit the floor. His eyes were open. The blood pooled around him.

His last thought was rage.

’I will kill you. I will kill all of you. I will become death. I will become—’

Darkness.

The memory shattered.

Raven stood on the battlefield. His hand was still on the leech’s skull. The monster was convulsing. The undead aura was expanding—dark, violent, furious.

The leech screamed.

"I WILL KILL EVERYONE!"

The voice was not human. It was the voice of a soul twisted by rage and betrayal. The leech’s body swelled. It grew. The undead army surged. The adventurers screamed. The black aura crushed their magic.

Raven blinked.

He pulled his hand back.

He looked at the leech. At the thirty-foot monster that was once a man. A cucked man. A broken man.

"The fuck," Raven said, his mouth twitching.

"You are just a simple," he said. "A cucked leech...."

He snapped his fingers.

The leech disintegrated.

"KKKHYUURRRIIEEEKKKKKK—!!!!"

It didn’t explode. It didn’t burn. It simply turned to dust. A cloud of black ash that blew away in the wind. The undead army collapsed. The aura vanished. The battlefield went silent.

Raven wiped his hand on his coat.

He looked at the ash.

"Fuck." His hand went to his temples, rubbing them as those memories made him sigh and at the same time feel a strange kind of pathetic stomach churn. He turned towards everyone else, focused on his two women, and said, "I think I need a baptism to clean my head pretty quick."

The ash settled like black snow across the ruined battlefield.

Raven stood in the center of the crater. The leech was gone. Only dust remained. Black crystals rained down from the disintegrating undead. They clinked against armor. They bounced off shields. They pooled in the mud like obsidian jewels.

Adventurers stared.

They were bleeding. Exhausted. Their swords were notched. Their mana was dry. They looked at the man in the black coat. The man who had snapped his fingers and ended a Death Leech. The man who had read its mind and found nothing but a cuckold’s rage and a pathetic, broken heart.

Jacob fell to one knee.

"Master," he said. His voice was hoarse. "The field is yours."

The others followed.

One by one, they knelt. Warriors. Mages. Rogues. Their heads bowed. Their eyes were wide with the kind of awe that bordered on terror. They had seen ninth-circle magic. They had seen incantation-less casting. They had seen a god walk among them and find the whole affair amusing.

Raven looked at them.

He wiped his hand on his coat again. The memory of the cucked leech still clung to him like a bad smell. The image of that pathetic sorcerer. That whore healer. The betrayal. The house papers. The sword through the chest. It made his stomach churn. He needed a baptism. He needed to wash the pathetic taste of that memory from his mouth with something hot and tight and desperate.

"Collect the materials," a voice said.

Vess.

She was standing at the edge of the crater. Her armor was crooked. Her hair was wild. Her face was streaked with seed and ash and tears. But her voice was still the voice of a commander. The voice of a woman who had led men into death and somehow survived.

The adventurers looked up.

"Commander?" one asked. A young swordsman. His hand was shaking. "What should we do? We— we are still alive?"

"Collect the black crystals," Vess said. Her hand gripped her sword. Her knuckles were white. "Every shard. Every fragment. They are high-grade necromantic reagents. Move. Now. Do not stare."

They moved.

Scrambling. Fumbling. Bags were opened. Crystals were shoveled into pouches. The clinking sound filled the battlefield. Men were laughing. Crying. Looting the corpses of the undead that had nearly killed them. They were desperate to touch something valuable. To feel alive.

Vess turned to Raven.

She trembled.

The insignia above her pussy was still pulsing. She could feel it. A dark, permanent throb that reminded her who owned her. She tried to stand straight. She tried to be the commander. But her legs were weak. The seed in her cunt was leaking. The rope burns on her tits were aching. She had been fucked into a new shape.

"Can we take them?" she asked. Her voice was smaller now. Not commanding. Almost asking permission. "The materials. For the guild. For the party. For the survivors."

Raven chuckled.

He walked toward her. His boots crunched the ash. Each step was casual. Easy. The step of a man who had just ended an army and was now thinking about burying his cock in something warm.

"Of course," he said. His voice was warm. Easy. "You can take all the materials. After all, it is a husband’s duty to give his wife things. To provide."

Vess flinched.

Her sword fell from her hand. It hit the dirt with a dull thud.

"Wife?" she whispered. Her mouth hung open. "You— you call me—"

"Of course," Raven said. He was in front of her now. He reached out. He touched her chin. His thumb smeared the ash and dried seed on her cheek. "Around you, I am your husband. And you are my wife. And a wife should fulfill her duties. Her wifely duties."

Vess’s face went red.

"Wife?" she repeated. The word sounded foreign. Broken. Filthy. "I am not— I never agreed— I am a commander— I am not some—"

He knelt.

Not fully. He lowered himself to a crouch. A frog-like crouch. He looked up at both sisters. His eyes moved from Vess to Lena. His cock was hard under his pants. The bulge was visible. Thick. Heavy. Obscene.

Lena was trembling.

She saw the way Vess looked at him. The new light in her older sister’s eyes. It was not fear. It was not hatred. It was something else. Something hot. Something hungry. Something that made Lena’s stomach twist and her pussy clench with a jealousy so sharp it hurt.

’She wants him. She wants to steal him. She wants to take what is mine. After everything. After she tried to hide him from me. After she got fucked by him. Now she wants to claim him.’

Lena moved.

She stepped between them. Her body blocked Vess’s view. Her hands were clenched. Her face was flushed. Her torn dress was barely covering her bruised tits. Her pussy was still leaking seed from the anal fucking.

"Don’t look at him," Lena said. Her voice was sharp. Possessive. Childish and desperate. "He’s mine. You can’t have him. I chose him. I said I would choose him. He’s mine. My husband. Not yours."

Vess blinked.

Then she laughed.

It was a broken sound. A commander laughing at a child’s tantrum. But there was no humor in it. Only pain. Only the knowledge that her younger sister was right. And wrong. And lost. And that they were both competing for the same demonic cock.

"You idiot," Vess said. She rubbed her forehead. Her bound-marked tits rose and fell. "You are really an idiot."