Ch. 117 – Now… SNAP

Rhea thrust out a solid, polished golden hand, her eyes flashing with a sudden, unyielding sharpness. "Don’t take another step, Durin Feros!" she barked, her voice echoing over the heavy bass of the ballroom music.

Durin recoiled, looking completely stricken. "Bu-but, nugget! Can’t you see how absurd this all is?! No self-respecting man can just stand here for a display like this!"

Behind the counter, Rhea breathed heavily, her large breasts pushing tightly up against Rhys’s back as she massaged his shoulders with desperate intensity. The spatial ring portal was steadily transferring Rhys’s groin deep into her slick interior. Her internal walls tightened around him, her legs spasming with latent euphoria. Beneath them, Ariadne kept bucking up onto Rhys with relentless speed, her high heels clicking sharply against the underside of the bar while her free hand flicked furiously at her own dripping warmth. Below the entire arrangement, Dione licked Rhys softly where his length met the spatial ring, her wet tongue slipping around the crimson band.

"You... you can’t possibly feel it from outside, Durin," Rhea strained out, her voice quivering with a heavy, breathless rasp. "But the inside of this kitchen... ahhn... it gets so intensely hot after all the cooking! I’m... I'm just wrapping myself around Rhys because my cool metal skin keeps his body temperature down while his heart acts up!"

As she tried to explain herself, Rhea’s golden body staggered lightly against Rhys’s back. She let out a soft, helpless moan, throwing her head back as a sudden ripple of hidden pleasure crashed through her frame.

Durin shifted his boots, looking deeply, visibly uncomfortable, but he didn't dare advance another step against his wife's command. "Why... why do you have to lean so heavily on him, then?!" Durin mumbled, stumbling over his words as he gestured wildly. "And why do YOU look like you're having a massive hot flash as well, nugget?!"

Before the argument could escalate, a sudden rustle came from the floorboards directly in front of the bar.

The short tiefling shot upright from the ground, rubbing his bloodshot eyes. He had passed out on the carpet minutes ago, and in all the unhinged chaos, everyone had completely forgotten he was even there.

"Where’s... where’s that damn soowoop, man?" Ging slurred loudly, swaying on his feet as he blinked at the ceiling. "I’m real... humgry..."

That drunken tiefling actually has a damn point! Rhys thought with a hit of dark sarcasm. I keep forgetting about the damn soup!

He had one large pot already prepared thanks to Rhea, but he desperately needed a massive batch made if he was going to feed the entire ballroom. Unfortunately, the three women wrapped around his body like suffocating boa constrictors made stepping away to prep vegetables literally impossible.

Then, another bizarre, intense sensation pulsed through Rhys’s lower half, accompanied by a wet, echoing slurping sound rising from the shadows.

He forced his eyes down beneath the bar. Ariadne was bucking on him frantically, her spatial ring pulsating red around his length inside her warmth—a feeling he was deeply familiar with by now. He could feel Rhea’s interior gripping him in powerful, episodic bursts every time Ariadne drove him through the portal. Rhea held onto his shoulders for dear life, silently finishing once again as her large bosom flinched against his spine.

But then Rhys caught sight of Dione, and his jaw nearly detached from his face.

The sea goddess peeked out from beneath Ariadne’s thigh, looking up at Rhys with wide, devoted eyes filled with tears of pure ecstasy. Her mouth was stretched wide open, a heavy, gulping thump vibrating in her chest. A blood-red glow radiated out from the back of her throat—a second, matching spatial ring was lodged right over her tongue. Rhys watched in absolute, stunned horror as the distinct shape of his own length formed and disappeared against the outside of Dione’s throat in perfect, synchronized rhythm with Ariadne’s frantic bucking.

Rhys had genuinely believed Ariadne couldn't possibly surprise him any further tonight, but he was dead wrong. Her fox-like cunning was operating on a completely terrifying level. He couldn't even see her face right now, but he knew she was swelling with immense pride over her wicked craft. Her hips began rotating in wide, circular motions, driving him deeper through the dual portals.

Rhys was literally inside all three women at the exact same microsecond.

Rhea’s dwarf husband was standing less than three feet away, entirely unaware as his golden wife went through yet another long, hidden finish, her slick wetness trailing all the way down her thighs beneath her emerald dress.

No matter how evil I think Ariadne is... she just turns around and proves she's ten times more villainous than I previously thought, Rhys contemplated, his mind drowning in the sensory deluge. She is actively corrupting me in real time.

"The poor lad over here had a wee-bit too much to drink," Durin said, gesturing impatiently at the stumbling tiefling. "We’re all starting to wait a really long time now just for some soup! You shouldn’t keep all these guests waiting, Rhys!"

I would be more than happy to serve it! Rhys thought pettily. But your WIFE currently has me completely pinned to the floorboards!

A sudden, sharp laugh split his internal monologue like an axe cutting through wood.

"You gain a brand-new, evolved sight from your powers being restored," Omen teased, floating beside the bar and dramatically pantomiming a grand reveal. The phantom’s shadowy face suddenly turned icy cold, its tone dropping into a dead-serious growl. "And you don’t even bother to ask what it’s actually for?!"

Why the hell are you so damn mad at me?! Rhys barked back mentally. I didn’t ask to get jumped behind a catering bar!

The shadowy figure of Omen simply shook its head in utter disappointment.

Rhys involuntarily let out a ragged groan as his entire upper body wrenched from the combined surge of pleasure below. Rhea had arched her back and spread her legs slightly under her dress, allowing Rhys to hit the absolute bottom of her womb through the ring portal. Dione was completely slumped back on the floor, her eyes rolled to the ceiling, her throat bulging continuously around the red ring while drool dripped from her open mouth. Ariadne was moving the fastest of them all, her frantic cadence dragging all three of them into a wild, synchronized frenzy. Rhys's vision flickered black and white from the sheer sensory overload.

Omen materialized directly next to Rhys, leaning down to his ear.

"It makes total sense that you don’t even know how to use a power that was given to you long ago," the shadow said, looking down on Rhys with supreme disdain. "I’ll just have to show you myself... as always."

What the hell does that even mean?! Rhys asked stupidly in his head.

Before he could process the thought, Omen’s ghostly, pitch-black hand reached out, grabbed Rhys’s right wrist, and forcibly raised his hand up above the counter line.

"You still have that stolen magic coursing through your veins that I ripped away earlier," Omen whispered with a manic, sharp-toothed grin. "And now... we’re going to put it to real good use. Now... SNAP."

Rhys hesitated, his mind completely numb, but his fingers followed the phantom's explicit command on pure instinct.

SNAP.

The sharp sound echoed over the bar. In an instant, the dim lighting of the kitchen behind the partition began to swirl with dark, misty shadows. Figures rapidly condensed out of the ether—four, seven, and then a grand total of eleven newly formed, spectral clones materialized in perfect formation within a matter of seconds.

Rhys didn't even need to turn his head to look back—and he physically couldn't anyway, since Rhea was currently spasming against his spine. But from the way Durin’s face went completely, ghost-white, and the way the drunken tiefling's jaw hit the floorboards in sheer stupor, Rhys knew instantly what had just happened.

He had just performed a brand-new, fully evolved ability. He had successfully copied Shula’s djinn magic, using it to manifest his very own army of shadowy Omen clones.

Every single one of the eleven spectral clones turned toward the bar, flashing the exact same too-bright, razor-sharp grin as the mask of the original Omen standing right beside him.