Chapter 601- Ancestor Wants some Fun
Tianlong turned.
His gold-crimson eyes fixed on her, and he felt the familiar, dark heat stir in his groin. He had already destroyed one mother today—had emptied her womb and filled it with his own seed, had broken her and remade her into his bitch. Now he looked at this one, this thick, composed, sword-bearing matron, and he felt the same predatory interest. How far would maternal love go? How much would this woman sacrifice? How tight was her cunt beneath that silk?
"Your son," Tianlong said, his voice carrying across the arena with divine amplification, "cultivates demonic qi. He entered this competition under false pretenses. He is disqualified. He will be held for interrogation and execution."
The woman’s jaw tightened.
She walked down from the guest stands, her silk dress swaying around her thick, well-muscled thighs. She moved with the controlled, deliberate steps of a woman who had trained in clan martial arts, who had negotiated with dangerous men, who knew how to wield power even when power was not on her side. But her eyes were desperate, her lips trembling, and her hand on her sword hilt was white-knuckled.
"Ancestor," she said, stopping before him. She bowed—not the full prostration of a disciple, but the slight, respectful bend of an aristocrat acknowledging a greater power. "My son is innocent. He must have been deceived by a rogue master. Please, allow him to compete. Allow him to prove his righteousness. I beg you."
Tianlong looked at her.
He looked at the insignia on her breast. He looked at the sword at her hip. He looked at her body—the heavy, maternal weight of her tits straining against the silk, the thick softness of her hips that had borne children, the strong, plush thighs that could grip a man with devastating force. He looked at her face, the composed beauty that was now cracking under the weight of her love for her child.
He had already fucked one mother today.
He wanted to fuck this one too.
"You can wait with your son at the back," Tianlong said, his voice flat and final. "But he is disqualified. The competition will conclude without him."
The woman gritted her teeth.
"Indeed," she said, her voice low and shaking.
She turned and walked to where her son knelt in chains, her thick ass swaying beneath the azure silk, her shoulders rigid with suppressed rage and humiliation. She stood beside the boy, her hand resting on his shoulder, her eyes fixed on the platform with a burning intensity that was half hatred, half desperate hope.
Tianlong returned his attention to the remaining two.
The broad-shouldered man and the blind woman faced each other across the blood-stained stone. The man’s golden qi-claws flickered. The blind woman’s stance shifted, her white eyes tracking his breathing, her scarred body coiled like a spring.
"Resume," Tianlong commanded.
The fight was brief and brutal.
The man charged with his Tiger Claw technique, his hands raking through the air with golden light that tore the stone. The blind woman evaded, her scarred body twisting with preternatural grace, her bare feet gripping the white disc as she struck at his meridians with fingers like iron. But he was stronger, his cultivation base higher, his clan-trained body dense with muscle. He caught her wrist, twisted with brutal force, and slammed a palm into her chest that sent her flying backward.
She hit the stone edge with a wet, cracking sound.
Blood poured from her mouth in a thick stream. Her arm hung at a wrong angle, the bone snapped. She tried to rise, her white eyes rolling, her scarred body trembling, but her legs would not obey.
The man stood over her, panting, his claws still glowing.
"I am the victor," he declared.
Tianlong laughed.
The sound was low, dark, and utterly dismissive. It rolled across the arena like thunder before a storm.
"What nonsense," he said.
He walked onto the platform.
The broad-shouldered man turned, his eyes widening. "Ancestor? I have defeated her fairly. I am the last standing—"
"What kind of masturbation did you use?" Tianlong asked.
The man blinked, his face flushing. "I... it is the Tiger Claw technique. A clan art. Righteous beast cultivation—"
"And you," Tianlong said, turning to the chained demonic cultivator. The boy looked up, his face pale, his black qi leaking from his pores. "What technique did you use?"
The boy swallowed. "Dragon... Dragon Fist. From my master’s secret scroll..."
"Fine," Tianlong said.
He looked toward the back of the arena.
His eyes found the woman in the azure silk dress. She stood beside her son, her hand on his shoulder, her eyes fixed on Tianlong with a mixture of hatred, fear, and something else—something that looked like awe.
"You," Tianlong said. "Do you also know that martial art? The Tiger Claw?"
The woman hesitated.
Her hand tightened on her sword hilt. She looked at her son, then at Tianlong. Slowly, she nodded.
"Come here," Tianlong commanded.
The arena went silent.
The woman walked forward.
Her steps were measured, controlled, but her heart hammered against her ribs with a violence that made her heavy tits sway beneath the silk. She could feel every eye on her—the spectators, the elders, the defeated disciples. She reached the edge of the platform and stepped up, her silk dress whispering around her thick, strong legs. The noon sun was hot on her skin. She could smell the blood from the blind woman’s broken body.
Tianlong stood behind her.
She felt him before she saw him—the furnace heat of his body, the sheer, terrifying size of his presence. And then, as he stepped close, she felt something else.
His crotch pressed against her ass.
Through the thin, expensive silk of her dress, she felt the heavy, hard weight of his cock. It was enormous, thick, fully erect, pressing into the cleft of her thick, maternal ass with unmistakable, vulgar intention. She felt the broad head grind between her cheeks, the shaft throb against her silk-covered flesh, the heat of it radiating through the fabric like a brand.
She gasped.
Her body went rigid. Her hand on her sword trembled. "Ancestor... what are you—"
"Be still," he said.
His voice was at her ear, warm, commanding, intimate. His hands came around her waist, then moved up to her arms. He positioned her hands in front of her, forcing her fingers into the Tiger Claw stance. His chest pressed against her back, the dense muscle of his torso crushing against her shoulder blades. His cock ground harder against her ass, and she felt him roll his hips in a slow, deliberate circle, pressing the thick shaft deeper into the cleft of her silk-covered cheeks.
"Feel the energy," he said.
Spiritual energy erupted from his palms.
It poured into her meridians like molten gold, flooding her channels with a crimson-tinged light that made her gasp and arch. The energy was hot, thick, overwhelming. It filled her arms, her chest, her lower dantian, pooling in her womb with a warmth that made her pussy clench involuntarily.
And with it, she felt his arousal—the hard, pulsing heat of his cock pressing against her soft flesh, grinding with every slight movement of his hips.
’His jade pillar is against my ass. Oh gods, his... c-cock is against my ass.’