Tokyo, city. 8:20 PM
The chaos began with a shriek—high, sharp, and sudden—cutting through the hum of the city like a blade. People turned, confused, only to watch a delivery van fold inward like a tin can, its windows bursting outward in a spray of safety glass. There was no explosion. No smoke. Just an unnatural crunch and the wet slap of something heavy against metal.
A woman on the sidewalk screamed as her friend was lifted off his feet by nothing at all. One moment, he was running—next, his body jerked backward, arms flailing. Then came the sound. Rrrip. His chest burst open like a slaughtered pig, ribs torn upward, lungs dragging free in long, twitching strands. His corpse dropped twitching, blood pumping in thick arcs across the sidewalk.
People ran.
Shouts filled the air. Someone dropped their phone. Another shoved past an old man trying to escape. But no one stopped. No one looked back.
A coffee shop's front windows exploded outward as something barreled through them. Chairs flew, a table somersaulted across the floor, and a barista who hadn't even made it out from behind the counter screamed as her midsection vanished in a spray of gore. Her upper body landed half-crushed near the pastry case, guts spilling in wet ropes across the floor. Her lower half slammed into the ceiling before flopping to the ground like a dropped steak.
People kept running. Some slipped on blood. Some didn't get far enough.
An entire sedan twisted in half on the street like it was made of cardboard. A man tried to pull his daughter free from the backseat, but something invisible yanked him back—spun him around—and drove an unseen force through his abdomen. His spine snapped. His stomach caved inward. His entrails slopped out in one massive heave before he was thrown across the intersection, body dragging a long red trail before he went still.
The creatures couldn't be seen—but their effects were unmistakable. They moved like coordinated missiles, fast and merciless, ripping through anything soft and human. Blood slicked the pavement. The air stank of iron and ruptured organs. Sirens blared now—cop cars, maybe, or fire trucks—but it was too late for that. They weren't here to help.
The swarm pressed on, moving like a tidal wave of death toward the towering black skyscraper ahead.
Kōgetsu-an Hotel.
The skyscraper's automatic doors parted just as a businessman in a tailored suit turned the corner, phone in hand. He looked up, confused at the sudden rush of people pouring out of the lobby—then his head snapped sideways, nearly torn clean from his shoulders. A geyser of blood sprayed the nearby glass, and his body collapsed in two directions.
The alarms were already wailing.
Red lights pulsed in the hallway. A calm, automated voice repeated over the intercom: "Please evacuate the building. Security breach in progress. Emergency protocol initiated."
Guests poured into the stairwells. Some cried. Some screamed. Some just ran, eyes wide with terror. But the elevators jammed as systems locked down—and then something came through the main entrance.
The front desk security guard was already pressing the panic button when the air behind him moved. His head imploded—skull crushed inward by invisible pressure—blood misting in all directions. His body collapsed into a heap behind the desk, twitching briefly before going still.
The receptionist got one look—just the sight of people being thrown aside like ragdolls, one woman bent backwards over the counter, her guts unraveling down the front of her dress, red soaking the pristine floor tiles. The receptionist screamed, ducked under her desk—and something dragged her out, nails scratching marble, legs kicking. Her body rose, invisible claws slicing into her belly, splitting her open. Her intestines spilled like wet laundry as she was hurled against the wall, ribs punching through her skin on impact.
Blood painted the white walls.
Room doors burst open. Panicked guests ran into the halls—only to be seized, crushed, ripped apart mid-scream. A man in a bathrobe tried to fight back with a lamp—his torso caved in like paper, his organs bursting from his mouth in a flood of red.
Floor by floor, the creatures climbed.
No gunfire. No warning. Just the alarms and the bodies and the choking scent of hot blood.
They were going up.
Straight toward the top.
Toward the penthouse.
Where Oliver waited—unaware of the hell making its way to his door.
—
Kōgetsu-an Penthouse Suite. 8:12 PM
As their breathing slowly returned to normal and the sweat on their bodies began to cool,
Oliver rolled onto his side—propping himself up on one elbow—to look down at the woman beside him.
She lay there spent—her eyes closed as she tried to catch her breath—but he could see that telltale flush still lingering on her cheeks.
He reached out—a finger tracing the curve of her jawline—before tilting up her chin so their eyes met.
"Look at me," he ordered softly.
Her lids fluttered open—revealing those beautiful brown eyes now clouded with confusion and fear.
But there was something else there too—something that made his heart pound harder against ribs.
Desire.
Raw and unbridled.
Still burning bright despite everything that had just happened between them.
He smiled—a slow predatory grin—and leaned in close enough to whisper against her lips,
"You're mine now," he repeated again.
She trembled beneath him—but didn't pull away this time.
Instead she whispered back,"What do you want from me?"
His smile widened—a dangerous glint in his eyes—and he replied,
"Everything."
Before giving her a chance to respond—he captured those soft lips with his own again.
This time there was no resistance—not even when his tongue pushed past her teeth and explored every inch of that warm mouth.
She moaned softly—her body arching into him once more—as he deepened the kiss.
His hands roamed her curves freely now—touching places they hadn't yet explored together. He could feel her responding to his touch—her breath hitching, skin prickling with goosebumps.
But he wanted more than just physical reactions.
He wanted her complete surrender.
So when one hand found its way between those soft thighs—stroking gently along slick folds—he whispered against their kiss,
"Say it."
She hesitated—her body tensing briefly—but then she gasped out,
"I belong to y-you."
A shiver ran down Oliver's spine at the words. His cock twitched against her thigh—a fresh wave of desire coursing through him.
"That's right," he growled before nipping at her lower lip hard enough to draw blood.
She whimpered—but didn't pull away.
Instead she reached down between them—and wrapped her slender fingers around his throbbing length.
He groaned at the contact—his hips bucking forward instinctively—and watched as she began to stroke him slowly.
Her eyes never left his—not even when he reached down and guided her hand into just the right rhythm.
She was learning fast—their connection growing stronger with each passing moment.
And it wasn't long before they were both ready for more.
He rolled onto his back this time—pulling her on top of him so she straddled his hips.
She looked down at him—her hair falling in waves around shoulders—and bit her lip nervously.
"Ride me," he commanded softly.
She hesitated briefly before lifting herself up just enough for him to guide himself inside once more.
Then slowly... oh so slowly...she began moving against him—their bodies joining together in perfect harmony as they found their rhythm once again.
As she began to move, her silk robe slipped further open—revealing the full glory of her mature body beneath. Her breasts swayed gently with each rock of her hips—their weight and fullness a testament to the years she'd carried life within them.
Her stomach was soft—bearing stretch marks from those same pregnancies—but Oliver found it incredibly sexy. It told a story of motherhood, of nurturing new life—a stark contrast to his own youthful physique.
The robe had slipped down around her arms now—leaving them bare as well. They were toned from years spent caring for a home and family—not overly muscular but strong nonetheless.
And between those thighs...
She was slick with desire—their combined fluids coating her folds as she slid up and down Oliver's length.
He could feel it too—his Yang energy coursing through her veins like wildfire—as he watched those mature curves move above him.
Her eyes were closed—her head thrown back—as she lost herself in the sensation of their bodies joined together.
But Oliver wanted her looking at him—wanted those brown eyes locked onto his while they fucked.
He reached up and grabbed hold of both sides of that open robe—pulling sharply until it tore completely apart.
She gasped—in surprise or maybe even fear—but he didn't care.
He just wanted to see all of her—to watch those full breasts bounce while they fucked.
And she didn't disappoint.
Now completely naked save for remnants clinging loosely around her wrists, She rode him harder—their bodies slapping together loudly with each thrust.
Her breath came in short gasps—as did his—and he could feel that familiar pressure building inside him once more.
But this time...
He wanted them to come together again.
Wanted their bodies convulsing in unison as they found release.
So he reached up—one hand cupping her breast roughly while his thumb found her nipple—and pressing it hard enough to make her cry out.
With other hand...
He found that sensitive bundle of nerves between her legs—which was already swollen from their earlier encounters—and began rubbing firmly.
It wasn't long before she was writhing atop him—that beautiful body contorting with pleasure—as moans filled air around them.
"Oh god... Oh god..." She chanted over again—not quite begging but close enough.
And when he felt himself nearing that edge...
When every muscle tensed ready for release...
Oliver leaned forward—a snarl twisting onto his lips—and bit down hard on one full breast.
She screamed—in pain or pleasure he didn't know—but it sent them both tumbling over that precipice together.
Their bodies convulsed—her nails digging into shoulders as she rode out wave after wave—and when finally spent...they collapsed against each other panting heavily.
But even amidst post-orgasm bliss...
Even amidst sweat-soaked skin pressed tightly together...
There remained a hunger within Oliver—a primal need still unsatis fied.
He wanted more than just her body now.
He wanted all of her.
As their breathing slowed, and her body slumped forward against his chest, Oliver let his fingers trail lazily down the curve of her spine. The room was heavy with the musk of sex and sweat, the silk sheets beneath them damp and twisted. He smirked, his eyes still fixed on her flushed, sated expression—completely unaware of the slaughter steadily approaching the penthouse.
But then, something shifted.
It was faint at first—like a ripple in still water. A cold prickle danced along his nape. His skin tightened. The primal part of him, long dulled by comfort and carnal indulgence, stirred awake. He blinked, lifting his head slightly, nostrils flaring.
That's when he heard it.
A siren. Muffled by distance and steel-reinforced windows—but there, unmistakably. Then another sound—something higher, sharper. Not alarms. Screams.
Human screams.
He sat up straighter. The woman still straddling him paused, glancing toward the window, suddenly alert. Her daughter on the floor looked up, flushed and startled, her lips parting to speak.
That's when the far wall exploded inward.
Glass and steel shredded into the room with a shriek, slicing through curtains and furniture alike. A blast of wind and pressure punched into the suite—and through it, a blur of invisible force rushed toward the bed like a lunging beast.
Oliver moved on instinct.
His hand lashed out, flipping the woman beside him off the bed in a practiced twist—just as a shimmer of white qi erupted across his forearm and chest. The impact slammed into him, but the energy held firm—White Cane's Counter ignited, coating his blocking arm and shoulder in luminous, opalescent strands of defensive qi. The monster rebounded with a screech-like distortion, crashing into a glass panel and scattering splinters.
"Kaori, run!" the mother shouted from the floor, already pulling a loose sheet around her trembling form.
Kaori stumbled backward in a panic, heading toward the door—only for the blur to dart forward again.
Oliver didn't hesitate.
With a snap of his fingers, a needle of qi condensed between them and shot forward like a sniper round. It slammed into the creature mid-lunge, forcing the invisible form to stagger and reel back, its momentum disrupted. Kaori yelped, nearly falling, but stumbled past and out of the kill zone.
Oliver was already in motion.
He vaulted over the ruined bed, landing on blood-slick floorboards beside a twisted heap of viscera. His eyes locked on the glint of metal—the violet scissors, still half-buried in a mangled pile of gore. He yanked them free without a second thought.
Then he turned, blitzing toward Kaori's position in a blur of movement, qi flaring around his legs. His hand dipped into the inner pocket of his blazer and wrapped around the teleportation talisman inside.
One second more and they'd be gone.
But before he could activate it, a burning sensation bloomed on the side of his neck.
He froze.
A faint glow began to spread across his skin—a perfectly shaped lipstick mark, radiant and red.
Then the room erupted.
Confetti burst from the ceiling like a cannon blast. Ribbons exploded from under the bed and coiled across the walls, whipping around in every direction. One thick pink ribbon wrapped around the invisible monster and slammed it into the ceiling, pinning it there like a twitching ghost in a spider's web.
And then—
"Ta-da~!"
A voice rang out like a stage bell.
From behind a spiral of colored smoke and laughter, a girl materialized. She wore a tall magician's hat, a glittering black cloak, and thigh-high boots that clacked against the floor with every delighted step. Her grin was manic, her eyes gleaming with mischief.
"I finally found you, Oli-kun!" she sang, extending her arms wide. "Now the real show can begin!"
Oliver just stood there, still half-dressed, blood on his hands and weapon raised, blinking in stunned disbelief.
Aiko tilted her head with a gentle, almost wicked smile. Her voice was soft, but it carried straight to his core.
"Did you miss me, Oli-kun? I know Miyahara Sakura and I missed you… a lot."