I wake with a groan, my skull throbbing like a Zenoite Krovar's stomping it. Last night's victory bash at The Iron Bloom—after our haul from Crestmoore's quarry caves—drowned me in ale, and now the curse's 30 kg weight feels like a boulder, pinning me to the bed. My mouth's drier than a Gromble's arse, and my memory's a fog thicker than Opeka's swamps. Rubbing my eyes,
I freeze. I'm not alone. Tira's sprawled beside me, bare as a newborn, her phoenix tattoo glowing faintly in the dawn's gray light. Bruises dot her arms, her skirt's shredded across the floor, and the sheets look like a warzone. My supreme sword twitches—hells, she's a sight—but then it clicks. This is too neat. Another of Tira's bloody pranks.I squint, inspecting her setup. The bruises? Too even, like Moonflower sap smeared on. The tears in her skirt? Too clean, like she sliced them herself. Tira, you cunning Fire vixen, thinking you can outfox the Supreme Prankster?
I smirk as she stirs, her voice a husky mumble.
"Killyaen? What… happened?" She's good—damn near theatrical—but I'm better.
"Nice try, Fire Girl," I drawl, rolling out of bed despite the curse dragging my limbs like lead. "Those bruises? Amateur hour. Your clothes? I'd have ripped 'em with flair." Her eyes widen, then narrow as I pull a vial from my spatial ring—Glowvine sap, my go-to counterstrike.
I flick it onto her chest, the neon goo splattering her tattoo. "There. My beacon again."Tira shrieks, bolting upright, the glow lighting every curve.
"You bastard!" she snaps, but a grin tugs her lips.
She lunges, all fire and fury, pinning me to the wall. The curse slows my dodge, my hungover stamina shot, but her heat's electric, her hands roaming.
"Let's finish this, Supreme Elf," she purrs, her breath scorching. Every inch of me screams yes, but letting her win? No fun in that.
"Nah," I say, shoving her back with a wicked grin.
"Punishment, Tira. You don't outprank me and walk away." I saunter to the door as she screams, "Killyaen! Get back here!"
Too late, Fire Girl. I'm gone.In front of the door, Bera and Lila stand frozen, mouths agape, clearly eavesdropping on Tira's shouts. Bera's skirt barely covers those hips I've fantasized about, her fiery eyes darting from me to the room. Lila's tunic clings to curves that could crack stone, her smirk sharp.
"You rejected her?" Bera sputters.
"The village pervert saying no to that?"Lila crosses her arms.
"Thought you'd hump anything breathing, Supreme Idiot." Their shock's gold—Opeka's biggest leech turning down Tira? Priceless.
Then it hits me. The hotspring torture from last chapter—their sultry show, Lila's earthen tendrils trapping me while they scrubbed each other, giggling. I'm not naive; this wasn't just Tira's prank. Those two were in on it, scheming together to mess with me.
Payback's calling.A sinister grin spreads.
"Oh, ladies, you're in for it." Before they blink, I toss a vial of sleeping powder—Moonflower sap and herb dust—from my ring. Poof, it hits their faces. Thud, thud—they drop like sacks of Gromble fat, Bera's curves sprawling, Lila's legs splayed. Tira stumbles out, still glowing, just in time for another dose. She crumples, cursing my name.Dragging them to the bed's a slog—the curse makes every step a grind, my breath ragged—but I manage, dumping them in a heap.
I sprint to Crestmoore's blacksmith, a grizzled Middle Knight Earth cultivator. "Six shackles," I pant, slapping coins down.
"Top quality—resist Water, Fire, Earth, Wind, block Qi." He grunts, handing over iron cuffs, runes glinting. Perfect.
Back in the room, I shackle them—Bera, Lila, Tira—arms and legs spread, chained to the bedposts. The Qi-blocking runes hum, caging their powers. They're stirring, groggy, as I head to the market.
I spot the blonde vendor from , her hips swaying as she hawks Glowvine trinkets. "Fancy a private show?" I murmur, silver tongue primed. "With an audience." She giggles, intrigued, and after some thinking follows me back, her tunic teasing what's beneath.
The girls are awake, eyes blazing—Bera's fury, Lila's cold rage, Tira's mix of shock and respect. Their gags—rags from Tira's skirt—muffle their curses. The vendor, Vira, laughs. "You're wicked, Killyaen." I grin. "Supreme Prankster, love. Ready to burn their pride?" She nods, and I pull her onto the bed, center stage.
I start slow, peeling Vira's tunic to bare her sun-kissed skin, her breasts flushed. My thumbs graze her nipples, hardening them, and her gasp hits the girls like a lash. Bera jerks her chains, screaming through her gag, sweat beading. Lila's thighs clench, her tunic darkening. Tira's panting, glowvine streaking her chest, her skirt sodden.My lips find Vira's throat, sucking a mark as my hands slip under her skirt, teasing her heat. She moans—loud, unrestrained—and Bera's face flames, tears streaking, her skirt soaked through. Lila's trembling, her composure gone, her thighs slick. Tira's shuddering, her arousal pooling, enough to fill a bucket with theirs combined.I push Vira down, settling between her thighs, freeing myself. Her hands stroke me, eager, and I groan, the girls' eyes locked on us.
I enter her slow, every inch a taunt, her cries sharp as I set a rhythm. Bera's sobbing, her body a mess—sweat, tears, slick flooding the mattress. Lila's glassy-eyed, her tunic ruined, her shame dripping. Tira's feral, her tattoo pulsing, her puddle joining theirs—a barrel's worth of humiliation.
Hours blur. Vira's nails rake me, her peaks fueling my thrusts, my release a surge that shakes us both. I stand, grinning.
"Enjoy the show, ladies?" Bera's broken, tears streaming, her mattress a swamp. Lila's vacant, her thighs stained. Tira's trembling, her glare promising revenge, her body a wreck. Vira laughs, tugging her tunic on. "Find me at The Iron Bloom, for more trouble." I wink, waving her out.
I unlock the shackles, tossing them aside with a clatter. Bera and Lila barely stood up, their faces crimson with a mix of half-anger, half-shame. Bera's fists clench, her eyes blazing as she snaps,
"You went too far, Killyaen. Too damn far." She storms out, her skirt dripping, her shoulders hunched with humiliation. Lila follows without a word, her icy stare haunted, rubbing her wrists where the shackles bit, her tunic clinging to her soaked frame. Tira rises slower, her glowvine-streaked chest heaving, her lips twitching in a near-smirk, her flushed cheeks betraying the sting of defeat.
I lean against the wall, arms crossed, my voice low and cutting.
"Now you know how I felt in the hotspring, ladies. Trapped, teased, helpless. This was for that little stunt—and for thinking you three could prank me together." I chuckle, shaking my head.
"I'm not naive, you know. I saw your game from a mile off."Tira steps close, her voice a husky whisper, laced with menace.
"You think you've won, prankster? Watch your back—I'm coming for you."I grin, locking eyes with her.
"Go ahead, be my guest, Fire Girl. You've only tasted a piece of what I can do when someone challenges me in a prank war. You literally felt just a part… the whole other part was missing while you were tied up, hahahahaha!"
I laugh, loud and wicked, savoring the moment.Tira's jaw drops, her usual sharp tongue failing her for the first time. Her eyes widen, flickering with shock, outrage, and—hells, is that a spark of awe? She stands frozen, mouth agape, grappling with the sheer audacity of someone like me. The Supreme Prankster, untouchable. I wink, turning for the door. "Better close that mouth, Tira, before a Gromble flies in."She snaps it shut, her face flushing deeper, but says nothing—a rare defeat.
I saunter out and head for The Iron Bloom, my stomach growling, mind spinning with counters to Tira's inevitable revenge. Bera's fury, Lila's silent rage, Tira's stunned silence—this war's heating up, and I'm ready for the next round.