The night was a black ocean, and Ethan was drowning in it.
He came back to consciousness the way a drowning man breaks the surface: gasping, choking on nothing, every inch of his body screaming. The rug beneath him was stiff with dried blood. His skull throbbed with a heartbeat that felt like a hammer on an anvil. When he tried to move his head, white-hot lightning shot down his spine and pinned him to the floor again.
He couldn't sit up.
Couldn't even roll onto his side.
The pain was absolute. It erased thought, erased time. Only one thing remained: the memory of his mother stepping over his blood in red lace and six-inch heels, the soft click of the door closing behind her.
Tears leaked from the corners of his swollen eyes, hot and humiliating.
"Please…" The word scraped out of his ruined throat, barely a whisper.
"Please… give me the strength to get up. Just once. Just enough to find them."
He didn't know who he was praying to. God had left this house a long time ago.
The air in the living room changed.
It grew thick, honey-slow, and suddenly scented with something dark and sweet: jasmine, sex, and brimstone. The overhead light flickered once, twice, then steadied into a low crimson glow that had no source.
A woman stood at the foot of the coffee table.
No; not a woman.
She was tall, statuesque, skin the color of fresh cream kissed by firelight. Curved horns swept back from a waterfall of midnight hair. Eyes like molten rubies. A thin, black silk robe hung open over a body built for sin: heavy breasts barely contained, waist narrow enough to span with two hands, hips that flared into thighs that could crush a man's soul. A long, sinuous tail ending in a heart-shaped spade flicked lazily behind her.
She looked down at Ethan the way a cat looks at a broken mouse: curious, amused, hungry.
"Poor little thing," she purred, voice velvet and smoke.
"Left bleeding on the rug while Mommy chases fame and cock. How tragically delicious."
Ethan tried to speak. Only a wet croak came out.
She crouched, robe parting fully, revealing the smooth, hairless mound between her legs, the glint of a jeweled piercing. One clawed finger traced the air above his broken face without touching him.
"I am Lilithara," she said, smiling sharply.
"First of the succubi, architect of wet dreams and shattered marriages. And you, sweet boy, just prayed to the right darkness."
A roll of parchment appeared between her fingers, edges flickering with black flame. Golden script crawled across it like living things.
"Sign this," she whispered, leaning close enough that her nipples brushed the air above his lips.
"And I will give you power. Not mercy; never mercy. Power. The kind that turns prey into predator."
Ethan's cracked lips moved. "…what… price?"
Lilithara laughed, low and delighted.
"Your soul? Please. I already own half the planet's souls. No, darling. I'm bored. I like games. So I made you one."
She flicked her wrist. A translucent blue screen shimmered into existence above him, glowing like something out of a video game.
MILF HUNTER SYSTEM
Host: Ethan Harper
Level: 1
Lust Points: 0 → 100 (Starter Gift – because you look pathetic)
Objective: Break mature women. Make them beg, betray, and reputations turned ashes.
Reward: 1000 Lust Points per MILF fully corrupted.
Spend points in the Shop: strength, speed, cock size, charisma, healing, toys, skills… anything your vengeful little heart desires.
Lilithara's tail slid under his chin, tilting his face up, though it made him whimper in agony.
"Every proud wife, every arrogant principal, every trophy MILF who thinks she's untouchable; break them, record their fall, and grow stronger. When you're ready, you can come for the ones who hurt you tonight. Or," she licked her lips, "you can make them come for you."
The parchment hovered closer, a single line glowing at the bottom waiting for his mark.
Ethan's tears mixed with blood. His broken fingers twitched.
He thought of Marcus laughing.
Of Cole's bored smirk.
Of his mother's heels clicking away over his blood.
With the last of his strength, he lifted one trembling, blood-crusted finger and pressed it to the parchment.
Black fire flared. The contract rolled itself up and vanished into smoke.
Lilithara's smile was radiant.
"Welcome to the game, Hunter."
The screen updated.
Lust Points: 100
Spend now?
Ethan thought yes with everything left in him.
Healing (Full Body Restoration) – 100 LP
Confirm?
He confirmed.
Scarlet light poured from the screen, sinking into his skin like warm oil. Bones knit with soft pops. Swelling vanished. Blood dried and flaked away. In thirty seconds, the boy on the rug looked untouched, except for his eyes. Those were older now. Cold.
Lilithara stood, robe falling closed as if it had never been open.
She said, already beginning to fade, "Have a fuck fest."
She blew him a kiss that tasted like sin and brimstone, then dissolved into red-black smoke that smelled of sex and vengeance.
The room went dark again.
Ethan rose slowly, testing his body. No pain. Only a deep, steady strength humming under his skin like a second heartbeat.
He walked upstairs on silent feet.
In the bathroom, he stripped, stepped under the shower, and let scalding water sluice away the last of the blood. He watched pink rivulets spiral down the drain and felt nothing but purpose.
Fifteen minutes later, he was dressed: black hoodie, black jeans.
He paused at his mother's bedroom door. The red lace teddy lay discarded on the floor like shed skin. Lipstick stains on the pillow. The room reeked of Cole's cologne and her perfume.
Ethan stared for a long moment.
Then he closed the door and walked downstairs.
At the front door, he stopped, looked back at the living room: the bloodstained rug, the overturned table, the ghost of where he'd died and been reborn.
He pulled up his hood.
Ethan smiled for the first time in months. It didn't reach his eyes.
He stepped into the night and pulled the door shut behind him.
The lock clicked.
Game on.