Chapter 165: Birth of a new faith
Allen sat in the middle of it all, sprawled across his throne like a beast king at the center of his harem. The stone beneath him was no longer just a seat—it had softened into warm, veined flesh, breathing with every pulse of power radiating from his body. Divine cum stained the steps. Goddess milk glistened on his thighs. His cock hung slick and heavy, still twitching with residual power, its shaft marked by celestial bites and kisses, as if the heavens themselves had tried to memorize its shape.
Around him, the goddesses lay in disarray.
Some trembled on their knees, heads bowed in worship they’d never known. Others sprawled on the temple floor, thighs wide, fingers still circling overstimulated clits, moaning quietly in divine aftershocks. A few clutched their bellies, gazes distant and confused, feeling something new growing inside them. Something mortal. Something his.
They hadn’t just been fucked.
They’d been converted.
Their grace still shimmered, but it was corrupted now—rewritten in the rhythm of his thrusts, in the way their sacred wombs clung to his seed like it was prophecy. None of them could go back. Not after tasting him. Not after being claimed so thoroughly their names would never mean the same again.
Allen exhaled slowly.
The air was thick. Living. Every breath carried the musk of sex, the spice of ruin, the perfume of broken divinity. Beastkin maidens moved among the fallen seraphs and goddesses like acolytes tending to holy vessels. They washed them. Kissed them. Pressed their naked bodies against the stunned immortals and whispered prayers—his prayers—into dazed ears.
A new religion was blooming.
And Allen was its god.
He rose, slowly, towering over the wreckage. Cum dripped from the corners of mouths that once sang hymns of judgment. Haloes floated sideways, bent out of orbit. Wings twitched with sensitivity instead of purpose.
He walked.