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

Chapter 677: Chapter 677- Incubus’ Ascension

SLURP—SLURP—SLURP—

The wet, rhythmic sounds of three mouths on one cock filled the room like a chorus of debauchery. The copper tub had been abandoned. The floor had been abandoned. They were on the bed—the single bed that was never meant for four bodies but that held them anyway, a tangle of limbs and flesh and sweat and the thick, cloying scent of sandalwood oil and pheromones so dense that the air itself felt drunk.

Raven lay on his back.

His coat was beneath him—spread on the sheets like a dark sheet of silk. His shirt was gone. His trousers were open. His legs were spread—wide, casual, the posture of a man who has been serviced by three women and who is now being serviced by three more mouths and who finds the entire arrangement as natural as breathing.

His cock was thick.

Long.

Twelve inches of dark, veined, post-orgasm flesh resting across his stomach like a sleeping serpent. It was not hard—not fully. It was in that state between—thick, heavy, the head still swollen, the shaft still engorged, the veins still visible beneath the dark skin. It leaked. A slow, steady trickle of pre-cum that pooled at the base, running down the shaft, mixing with the seed and the oil and the saliva of three women who had been worshipping it for the past twenty minutes.

The three women were between his legs.

Vess was on the right. Her red hair was loose—damp, tangled, spread across his thigh like wine spilled on silk. Her green eyes were half-closed. Her lips were swollen—red, puffy, the corners glistening with spit and pre-cum. Her enormous breasts were pressed against his inner thigh—the nipples stiff, dragging against his skin with each movement of her head. Her tongue was on his shaft. She licked—long, slow strokes, from the base to the middle, her tongue flat and wide, tasting the mixture of fluids that coated his cock. Her hand was on his balls—cupping them, rolling them, her fingers gentle but firm.

SLURP—

"Mmm... hahh..." she moaned. The sound was muffled. Wet. The sound of a woman who has been sucking cock for twenty minutes and who has lost the ability to form words.

Juhi was on the left. Her black hair fell in a curtain across his other thigh. Her dark eyes were closed. Her mouth was on his balls—her lips sealed around one of the heavy, egg-like orbs, her tongue rolling it, her cheeks hollowing as she sucked. Her hand was on the shaft—stroking, slow, her fingers not meeting around the thickness, the skin sliding beneath her palm, the pre-cum acting as lubricant.

SLURP—SLURP—

"Hahh... mmm... so good... so thick..." she murmured. Her voice was a whisper. A breath. The voice of a woman talking to a cock the way a lover talks to a partner in the dark.

The thick woman—the mother—was in the center. Her round face was between his legs. Her dark hair was wet—hanging in ropes around her face, dripping onto his thighs. Her large breasts were flattened against the mattress—pressed beneath her body, the nipples stiff against the sheets. Her mouth was on the head. Her lips were sealed around the crown—her tongue working the slit, licking the pre-cum that oozed from it, swallowing it, her throat moving with each swallow. Her hand was on the lower shaft—pumping, slow, her fingers tight, the grip firm.

SLURP—SCHLUK—SLURP—

"Mmm... hahh... Master... your cock is still leaking... mmm... it tastes like the Queen... hahh... like her pussy... mmm..."

All three of them were leaking.

Their anuses were leaking. The seed was there—thick, white, slow. It ran from each of them—down the crack of their asses, over their swollen, freshly-fucked anal rings, pooling on the sheets beneath them. The thick woman’s anal was the most visible—her ass was raised, her cheeks spread, the opening gaping, the dark ring stretched and swollen, the seed leaking from it in a thick, slow stream that caught the firelight. Vess’s was the same—her red hair stuck to the sweat on her back, her ass in the air, the seed leaking from her anal and running down to her pussy, mixing with her own juice, dripping onto the sheets. Juhi’s was the quietest—her anal was smaller, tighter, but the seed was there too, leaking slowly, the white fluid contrasting with her brown skin.

They had all been fucked. In the pussy. In the anal. In the mouth. Multiple times. By a cock that did not tire and a man who did not stop. And now they were on his cock—three mouths, three tongues, three pairs of lips—worshipping. Cleaning. Tasting. Savoring.

Raven was not watching.

His eyes were open. But they were not on the women. They were not on the red hair or the black hair or the wet dark hair of the three mouths on his cock. They were not on the enormous breasts pressed against his thighs or the stiff nipples dragging on his skin or the swollen, leaking anuses raised in the air.

He was looking at something else.

Something that no one else could see.

A window.

Floating in the air before his eyes—invisible to everyone but him, translucent, glowing with a faint blue light that pulsed like a heartbeat. Letters and numbers moved across it. Bars and graphs and columns of data scrolled upward. The text was sharp. Clear. Written in a language that was not any human tongue but that he understood instinctively, the way one understands the language of dreams.

[ SYSTEM INTERFACE ]

USER: RAVEN

CURRENT LEVEL: 175

IP (INTEGRATION POINTS): 24,7000

He observed.

His black eyes—violet beneath the surface, hidden but present—tracked the numbers. They moved. Slowly. Steadily. The IP counter was climbing. +12. +15. +18. +22. The points were being farmed—generated by the pheromones he was releasing, by the sexual energy in the room, by the three women who were sucking his cock and who were, without knowing it, generating IP for him with every moan, every lick, every swallow.

IP farming.

The term was clinical. Detached. The language of a system that treated human arousal as a resource and sexual energy as currency. But that was what it was. Every moan was a point. Every orgasm was a multiplier. Every woman who responded to his pheromones—every nipple that stiffened, every pussy that wetted, every anal that relaxed—was a generator. A battery. A source.

He had been farming since he arrived in this world.

Since the first woman. Since the first touch. Since the first moan. Every interaction—every massage, every fuck, every kiss—had been generating IP. Slowly at first. Then faster. As his pheromone output increased. As his charisma increased. As his body became more efficient at converting human lust into system energy.

And now he had 24,7000 points.

He looked at the numbers. He looked at the stats. He looked at the level—175. High. Higher than any human should be. Higher than the 9th Circle mage Calodios, whose level, if the system measured it, would be perhaps 120. Perhaps 130. Raven did not know. He had never checked. But he knew his own. And he knew that 175 was not enough.

He thought.

The system responded to thought. It did not require speech. It did not require gesture. It required intent. Pure, focused, undiluted intent. The same intent that erased shoulders and removed legs. The same intent that killed knights without moving.

[ COMMAND RECEIVED ]

REINVEST ALL AVAILABLE IP INTO BASE STATS ]

CONFIRM?

He confirmed.

[ CONFIRMED ]

REINVESTING 24,700 IP...

PROCESSING...

LEVEL UP!

LEVEL 175 → 200