The red dots on my World Map pulsed like a heartbeat, taunting me. People. Or at least, something close enough to pass for it. Humans? Elves? Catgirls? The thought sent a jolt of excitement through me, sharp and electric. This world wasn't just a prison—it was a playground, and I was the only one who knew the rules.
I decided to move in the direction of those red dots and selected the area with my mind. It pinpointed the location, and the map showed how many kilometers it was away. It was 12 km away from my location. I couldn't help but curse.
"You want me to walk 12 km? I am going to die..." I didn't want to walk that much.
But then I looked at my clothes and thought of the Magical Tool. I wondered if this thing could be changed into a vehicle. I decided to try it, and suddenly, the tool changed into a mountain bike in an instant. I realized this was truly a magical tool, just limited by my imagination.
I didn't know who or what those people were, in the form of red dots, whether they were humans or some other race, or if they were friendly or not. So I made the engine electric to make it silent and rode it in that direction.
The jungle was dense in between, and it was difficult to ride, even with the mountain bike. But somehow, I reached there and wore the Magical Tool by converting it into a t-shirt and shorts.
I looked at the scene, and it looked like a village, a tribe with huts made of mud and straw. I was still 500 meters away, and I had to walk as it was a slope down from here.
I decided to take a look at the people here and lie down on the slope so I wouldn't be spotted or noticed. I again used the Magical Tool and converted it into binoculars, looking through them.
I saw people who were humans wearing leaf clothes, and women wearing them barely covered their nipples and pussies. But you could spot their pubic hair easily through that. I saw some males, and they had spears made of wooden sticks with a sharpened stone attached at the end.
"Don't fucking tell me that I came to the past, like 10000 B.C., or maybe even the Stone Age. If that's the case, then I am fucking screwed. How will I live with these savages?" I couldn't help but curse.
Suddenly, a prompting voice echoed in my mind...
[Congratulations, Host! You have successfully identified your current era as the Stone Age. As a reward for this discovery, you have been awarded 100 Pervert Points.]
"Motherfucker..." The word escaped my lips in a low, disbelieving growl, my fingers digging into the damp earth beneath me. The system hadn't just transported me—it had thrown me into the past.
Or maybe not even the past. Maybe some parallel world, some twisted mirror of history where the rules were different, where I was different.
I exhaled sharply, my mind racing. "The Stone Age. Actual fucking Stone Age." No cities. No technology. No laws. Just raw survival, and me—Welheim Tonali, immortal pervert—dropped into the middle of it like some kind of sick joke.
I looked at the reward: 100 Pervert Points, a small consolation in this strange new world. I couldn't help but curse the system for sending me here, but I also couldn't deny the fact that it had saved my life.
I was now an Immortal being in the Stone Age era, a thought that sent a shiver of excitement through me. The implications were vast, the potential both exhilarating and terrifying.
I could be a GOD to these primitive people, ruling over this untouched world.
With 100 Pervert Points at my disposal, I quickly decided to make a purchase. I bought a water bottle, spending a mere 2 Pervert Points.
It materialized in my hand, cold and beaded with condensation. I drank deeply, the liquid sliding down my throat. A simple pleasure, but in this world? It was luxury.
Looking at the empty water bottle in my hand, I thought of something. I looked at the system storage, a virtual space that seemed to defy the laws of physics.
I wondered if I could also put things back there. With a thought, I willed the empty water bottle into the system storage, and it disappeared from my hand. I chuckled, thinking it was awesome. With unlimited storage, many things were possible.
But I couldn't help but sigh at my situation. I was getting happy over a fucking water bottle.
Thinking of all the luxuries I had in my life, now gone, the cars, the power in society, everything just vanished. But looking at the Store, I knew I could recreate all kinds of luxury, and maybe even go beyond that.
However, to do so, I needed to earn more Pervert Points, and for that, I needed women. I decided to focus on women in the tribes to see how they actually were.
As I lay there, the binoculars in hand, I couldn't help but feel a sense of desire wash over me. The women in the village were a sight to behold, their bodies a testament to the physical labor they endured daily.
The first woman I saw was sitting at the front of her hut, her face a mix of beauty and strength. Her skin tone was a hot Mexican beauty, not quite brown or white, but a unique blend that was undeniably sexy. Her tits were massive, full and round, with dark, erect nipples that begged to be sucked and teased.
Her waist was slim, tapering down to wide hips that swayed seductively as she moved. Her long, raven hair cascaded down her back, framing her face and accentuating her high cheekbones and full lips.
The other women were no different, their bodies slim and curvaceous, their skin tones varying from creamy white to shades of caramel brown. They all had long hair, cascading down to their waists, a stark contrast to the primitive world around them. Their breasts were full and firm, their nipples hard and inviting.
Their thighs were thick and muscular, a testament to the physical labor they endured daily. And on their thighs, they bore intricate tattoos, swirling patterns that seemed to dance and writhe as they moved. The tattoos were a blend of black and red, a stark contrast to their skin tones, and they seemed to tell a story, a tale of their lives and experiences.
Their necklaces were made of bones, which would be considered disgusting in my previous world, but here, the necklaces were a thing of beauty, a testament to their strength and resilience.
The bones were polished and smooth, a stark contrast to the rough and tumble world around them. And between their breasts, the bones seemed to nestle, feeling the warmth of their tits.
Dawn bled across the valley like fresh blood on stone.
I stood at the mouth of my high cave, wind tearing at the vine curtain, the vast prehistoric world sprawling below in savage glory. The rune wall behind me had revealed the nearest cluster of beating heart-marks—three suns' march eastward, down the ridge and across the river plains.
Close enough to taste.
Far enough to kill an unprepared man.
Hunger gnawed at my belly, but a darker hunger stirred lower.
It was time.
I focused on the Living Artifact coiled around my wrist.
"Make me something that eats this terrain."
The black liquid surged, flowing down my arm and pooling on the ledge. In heartbeats it solidified into a rugged, primal cycle—thick frame of dark bone reinforced with obsidian-like plating, wheels wrapped in tough beast-hide, silent and unbreakable.
No engine. No noise. Just raw power shaped by thought.
I rolled it to the edge, found the ancient game trail carved into the cliff by centuries of massive beasts, and began the descent.
The ride was brutal and beautiful.
Vines whipped my arms like lashes. Roots bucked the wheels. Waterfalls roared nearby, spraying cold mist that soaked my hide vest and loincloth. The Artifact gripped impossible angles, absorbing shocks that would have shattered lesser machines.
Hours bled away. The sun climbed high, baking the valley in relentless heat.
Sweat traced paths down my chest. My mouth grew dry despite the waterskin.
But I pushed on.
Finally, the jungle thinned into open savanna dotted with massive herds.
I stashed the cycle behind a fallen titan-tree, reshaped the Artifact into simple hide wraps, and crept forward on foot across rocky ground.
The terrain sloped downward into a wide river valley.
And there—nestled in a sunlit clearing beside a broad, lazy river—was the source of the heart-marks.
A village.
Circular huts of mud-daubed walls and thick thatched roofs clustered around a central fire pit already smoking with morning cookfires. The faint thump of hide drums and low voices carried on the warm wind.
I dropped prone on a jagged rock outcrop high above the settlement—perfect cover, perfect view.
The Artifact flowed at my thought, reshaping into a compact far-seeing scope of polished obsidian framed in bone.
I raised it to my eyes.
And the world below sharpened into raw, breathtaking detail.
People.
Humans.
But forged by this savage era into something primal and perfect.
The men were lean and scarred, moving with predator grace, carrying crude spears tipped with flint or obsidian. Long hair braided with feathers and small bones. Simple hide loincloths.
The women…
My breath caught hard.
They moved through the village like living embodiments of fertility and strength—bodies sculpted by endless labor yet lush, ripe, built for survival and savage pleasure.
Skin tones ranged from deep sun-kissed bronze to warm caramel earth-brown. Long hair—raven black or dark auburn—cascaded down bare backs, some braided with colorful feathers, others loose and wild in the breeze.
Their clothing was barely concealment—skirts woven from broad leaves or tough grasses tied low on wide, childbearing hips. Narrow bands across their chests struggled to contain massive, full breasts that swayed heavily with every step. Dark nipples pressed visibly against the thin material, erect from movement or morning chill.
Pubic hair peeked teasingly through gaps in the grass skirts—dark, untamed triangles drawing the eye downward to thick, muscular thighs.
Those thighs bore intricate tattoos—swirling patterns in black and red pigment, sacred blood-ink markings that seemed to writhe as muscles flexed. Stories of hunts, births, matings etched permanently into flesh.
Bone necklaces hung between heavy breasts—polished white beads and small predator teeth nestling deep in warm cleavage, rising and falling with every breath, brushing sensitive skin.
One woman near the central fire knelt to stoke the flames. Tall, bronze-skinned, hair like midnight silk. Her grass skirt rode high as she leaned forward, offering a clear view of rounded ass cheeks and the dark, inviting shadow between powerful thighs.
My cock hardened painfully against the rock.
Then—without warning—glowing numbers flared across her body.
Eyes of Perversion ignited.
150 pulsed over each massive breast.
200 across wide, fertile hips.
300 glowed boldly over her barely concealed mound.
Smaller numbers danced on thick thighs, full lips, slender neck.
Another woman passed nearby—caramel skin, breasts even heavier, bone necklace swinging between them like a pendulum. Numbers flared higher: 180… 220… 350.
Every female in sight became a living treasure map of Lust Points waiting to be claimed.
The sultry voice returned, rich with dark amusement.
You have seen the truth of this era—the Dawn of Stone. Primitive. Pure. Ripe for conquest. For this insight, take 100 Lust Points as tribute.
The rune panel in my mind updated.
Lust Points: 100
I exhaled slow and ragged, grip tightening on the scope.
A god among mortals.
I could walk down there and take whatever I wanted.
Be worshipped.
Feared.
Desired.
First—practicality.
I focused on the Spirit Market and purchased a simple ever-full gourd for 2 Points.
It materialized in my hand—cool carved ivory, beaded with fresh condensation. I drank deep, water crisp and perfect.
Then I willed it into storage.
Gone.
Willed it back.
There.
Unlimited inventory.
A low, hungry chuckle escaped me.
In my old life, I'd celebrated million-dollar deals.
Now I was grinning over infinite water.
But the Market held everything—cars, guns, palaces, god-powers.
All waiting for points.
And points were down there, wrapped in leaf skirts and bone jewelry, bodies glistening with morning sweat as they moved through the village.
No laws.
No jealous husbands with modern weapons.
Just strength, fertility, and raw need.
I could be their living god.
Their first true alpha.
The morning sun climbed higher, heating the rocks beneath me.
Hunger—of every kind—roared louder than any beast in the valley.
I lowered the scope, heart pounding with dark promise.
The women laughed and called to each other in a guttural, musical tongue—Tongues of the Ancients already translating softly in my mind.
Children darted between huts.
Men sharpened spears.
But my eyes stayed on the women.
On glowing numbers.
On bone necklaces nestling between full, heavy breasts.
On thick thighs marked with sacred ink.
On dark nipples straining against leaf bands.
On the sway of wide hips that promised strong sons and endless pleasure.
The village thrived below, unaware that their new master watched from above.
I reshaped the Artifact back into the bone cycle.
It was time to descend.
Time to introduce myself.
Time to start collecting.