CHAPTER 49: [R-18] BEFORE MY EYES... MY TWIN SUBMITS TO THE SUCCUBUS!

They were moving away.

All of them.

Every enemy soldier she passed lowered their heads or averted their eyes, but none stopped her. It was as if the black sea were opening up before her, as if she were already part of this army. The demons around her had the build of beasts, but their eyes... their eyes burned with a cold discipline, a mental fortitude she had only seen in the highest ranks of her own domain. How was this possible? How could these tribes she had always despised have become an army more disciplined than her own?

Her boots sank into the snow, each step echoing like a death knell. And in the deathly silence, memories returned, her throat tightening.

"Don’t do this..." Liora had told her a week earlier. Her twin sister, her mirror. Don’t underestimate this valley. That Sora is hiding something. His victories aren’t just random.

But she hadn’t listened.

She had laughed bitterly, her pride stung. She had even dared to order Liora to take command of the first army herself, to lead most of their troops and mounts there. Liora had obeyed, her eyes hurt, but she had obeyed. And she, the Saint, had continued to dream of glory.

Her uncle had told her since childhood: a war is always won by attacking, never by waiting. So she had struck first, sure to crush these savages.

"Savages..." she breathed, rage on the edge of her lips.

This is what they were supposed to be: dogs without a strategy, barbarians of the Gorge, incapable of uniting anything but their impulses. Not an army. Not a threat. And yet... this battlefield was no longer a war, it was a massacre. Hers.

She clenched her fists, her nails cutting into her palms. Why? Why hadn’t she listened to Liora? Why had she blinded herself to this dream of northern expansion, as if it were merely a formality? She had thought she was marching toward a future of conquest, and all she had found was a mass grave.

Breathless, her heart beating with a dark fever, she finally looked up.

The tent.

The famous tent that had been talked about since the beginning of this war, like a stifled rumor. It was there that everything was decided. There that Sora hatched his plans. There that Nyss had just disappeared... with Liora.

Her legs trembled, but she kept moving forward. The snow crunched beneath her feet, her lungs burned, and every fiber of her being screamed with rage and shame.

She pulled back the sliver of canvas.

As soon as she stepped inside, the heat hit her. A heavy heat, saturated with sweat and musk, that made her cheeks flush. The air smelled of lust, thick, sticky, as if every breath had been exhaled amidst orgasms.

It took her eyes a second to adjust to the reddish glow of the torches. And what she saw chilled her as much as it wrenched her insides.

Nyss sat on a makeshift throne, made of rough wood covered with hides. But it wasn’t the seat that caught the Saint’s attention. It was her.

The succubus had changed her outfit. She wore a second black skin, made of an unknown material, shiny, sticky, which hugged every curve of her body. Her hips seemed wider, her breasts even fuller, her stomach so flat it seemed sculpted. The fabric sank into the slightest crease, highlighting her intimate area as if she were naked, but even more obscene. Every movement made the material glisten like a promise of lust.

And beside her...

Liora.

The White General, her twin sister, her other half, was bound. Extreme bondage, dark ropes encircling her everywhere: her wrists bound behind her back, her thighs spread open, her ankles attached to the throne posts. Her breasts, compressed by the knots, overflowed, her hard nipples poking through the bandages. Her face was scarlet, her cheeks bathed in sweat, her lips parted from which stifled sighs escaped. And in her eyes... there was no longer the pride of a general. Only a troubled glint, a painful, almost ecstatic depravity.

The Saint felt her heart explode.

So this is what I’ve done to her? she thought, breathless. My sister... the one who gave me everything since childhood, the one who followed me in all my wars... this is what I’ve inflicted on her since she’s been captive?

Her throat tightened, and her hands were already trembling with rage and shame.

A low laugh pierced the air.

Nyss crossed her legs slowly, the black fabric of her outfit straining over her firm thighs, then fixed her golden eyes on the Saint. Her smile was insultingly sweet, that of a mistress welcoming a guest into her lair.

"Pleased to meet you, Madam Saint..." she said, her voice deep and drawling. "Come closer. Let’s sit down... let’s talk a little."

The Saint took a deep breath. The air in the tent burned her throat, saturated with sweat and cyprine. She sat down heavily on a low stool, her gaze flickering for a second to Liora, still bound, before returning to Nyss. Her lips trembled, but she spoke anyway, her voice hoarse.

"What... what do you want from me? ... From us?"

She clenched her fists on her knees, trying to hide the trembling in her fingers.

"I saw your troops. Your discipline. Your... strategies. And that abyssium equipment... We didn’t stand a chance from the start."

She swallowed, her breath coming hard. Her scarlet eyes stared into Nyss’s, shining like two mocking flames.

"Then... why?" Why drag this out? Why not kill me and take our capital city right away?

A silence. Then a burst of laughter.

Nyss leaned back against her makeshift throne, one hand on her stomach, the other playing with the buckle holding her thighs together in her black outfit.

—Aahahahahaha... you’re hilarious, little Saint.

Her laughter rumbled like a roar, making her still-folded wings vibrate. She suddenly leaned forward, her eyes fixed on her guest’s.

—You see, Sora has big plans. Not just for your capital. Not just for your domain. Plans for this continent... and for this entire world.

She paused, slowly stroking Liora’s bound thigh. Liora moaned in spite of herself, her breasts, trapped in the ropes, bouncing in time with her breath.

—Of course, you can refuse to believe me. You can even imagine your gods caring about you. But that doesn’t change anything. You’re already part of his plans. We need you, Lady Saint. Not as a trophy. Not as a corpse. But as a living... and submissive piece.

The Saint gritted her teeth, shaking her head, her white hair whipping around her face.

"Nonsense!" she yelled, her voice cracking with rage.

Nyss leaped to her feet. Her wings spread with a sharp clap, filling almost the entire tent, their red membranes taut like sheets of lust.

With a single movement, she grabbed the Saint by the throat and slammed her against the tent’s central pillar. The shock shook the entire structure.

The succubus’s tail immediately wrapped around the Saint’s arms, pinning them to the wood. Prisoner. Her chest heaved violently beneath the soaked fabric, and her eyes flashed with hatred.

Nyss leaned down, her hot breath against her ear.

"Sora gave me every right to do this. So listen carefully..."

She pressed her body, molded in the black material, against the Saint’s, her swollen breasts crushing her taut chest. Her lips almost brushed against her mouth.

"I, Nyss, alpha succubus... I will make you my bitch."

A strangled moan rose from Liora, still bound, her eyes filled with tears and shame.

The Saint, panting, struggled in vain, her ragged breaths mingling with the succubus’s low laughter.

The priestess thought she was going to kiss her... but at the last moment, the succubus laughed softly and slid her claws towards her clothes.

One by one, the fabrics were torn off, sliding down her pale body to fall into the soiled snow on the tent floor. In a few seconds, the Saint was exposed, trembling, gasping for breath.

Nyss took a step back, examining her as one contemplates an offering.

Her body was that of a warrior priestess: heavy, proud breasts, swollen with tension, nipples hard and red in the humid air; a flat but supple stomach, made to undulate by the convulsions of her breathing; full, firm hips, marked by strength as much as by femininity; long, sinewy thighs, meeting in an intimacy barely concealed by the torchlight. Every detail exuded both the purity of temples and the fever of a woman trapped by her own desire.

Nyss smiled, reached out a hand, caressed her cheek, then moved it down her throat, over her breasts, lightly pinching a nipple, enough to draw a broken sigh. She went lower still, brushing her stomach, her hip, her thighs.

"There... look how you’re already trembling," she murmured. "You’re playing the Saint, but your body is begging me."

With a sharp movement, she pulled a dark rope and bound the Saint’s wrists to the central pillar of the tent. The ties slid over her bare skin, forcing her to arch her back slightly, chest exposed, legs outstretched. The priestess gasped, her eyes burning with both rage and shame.

Nyss then turned away, her heels clicking against the floor, and positioned herself behind Liora, still tied to the throne. She lifted her, positioning her so that her body was entirely exposed to her twin’s gaze. The White General was already moaning, her cheeks flushed, her breasts bound by the ropes beating in time with her frantic heart.

"Nhh... Nyss... ahh... not in front of her..."

The succubus burst out laughing and ran a hand over her throat, then over her chest, caressing each contour with studied slowness. Her fingers rolled over her erect nipples, then moved down along her taut stomach.

"Aah... nnnhh... lower..." Liora gasped in spite of herself, her eyes misty.

"You see, my sweet Saint?" Nyss said, accentuating her gestures, her golden eyes staring into those of the twin tied to the post. Your sister is already begging me. And you... you can only watch.

His fingers continued, sliding over Liora’s open thighs, tracing circles that made her arch her back. Her mouth escaped a muffled cry, each sigh echoing through the tent like an obscene bell.

"Aaah... Nyss... again...!"

The succubus leaned down, kissed the back of the General’s neck, gently nibbling at her skin, marking it with her fangs. Her other hand closed around her innermost part, pressing with sadistic slowness.

Liora writhed, her breath clouding white mist, her broken voice escaping in uncontrollable moans.

"Hhhnn... I... I can’t... aaahh...!"

Nyss burst into cruel laughter, still caressing, her wings opening behind her like a shadow of domination.

"Yes, my dear... let yourself go. Show him. Show your sister what it’s like to belong to a succubus."

And the Saint, tied to the pillar, could only watch, every cry, every sigh from Liora piercing her heart like a blade.

Nyss didn’t stop. Her hand still caressed Liora’s innermost being, rubbing the soaked fabric in fits and starts until each movement brought out an uncontrolled sigh. A few steps away, the Saint, tied to the pillar, was almost screaming:

"Stop it! Stop it now!"

Her eyes flashed with rage, but her voice was breaking, and Nyss noticed it. She felt it. Her golden eyes slid down to the bound priestess’s bare crotch. Her breathing betrayed everything. In her anger, in her helplessness, her own body had betrayed her: her innermost being was already glistening, wet, offered up in spite of herself.

The succubus’s smile widened.

"Oh... interesting. Even you, little Saint, can’t escape it. Hatred and desire are two sides of the same coin... and look how your body chooses for you."

The priestess turned her head away, ashamed, her cheeks flushed.

Liora moaned louder, trying to writhe against her bonds.

Nyss burst into a soft, almost maternal laugh and murmured in a voice that vibrated like a caress:

"You want to know, Saint? You want me to offer you the truth? Do you know what your sister’s weak point is?"

"No!" Liora moaned, her eyes misty. Not this... please, not in front of her...

Nyss didn’t answer. She swung her over with a sharp gesture, turning her over like one would turn over already-tamed prey. Liora found herself on all fours, face down on the beaten earth of the tent, the ropes pulling on her arms, her breasts swaying with the effort. The succubus placed a firm hand on her lower back, forcing her to arch her back, then slowly bent over.

Her wings opened, blocking out almost all the light, casting moving shadows that seemed to dance across the red canvas. Then she buried her face between the General’s offered buttocks.

A cry immediately burst forth, high-pitched, broken.

— Aaahh... Nyss...!

The Saint closed her eyes, tense against her post, her bonds groaning under the strain. Her nails scratched the wood, her lips trembled.

— Stop! Stop that, right now! she shouted, but her voice was no longer divine: it was an order raw with fear.

But Liora, her body trembling, was already panting, her words broken between moans:

"No... no I... aaah... go on... please... don’t stop..."

Nyss burst into a low laugh, muffled by the flesh she was tasting, and continued. Her claws moved slowly down Liora’s thighs, barely scraping the skin, forcing her to arch her back further. Her tail brushed against the back of her neck, snaking as if to strangle her with a shudder. Each lick drew a cry, each shudder snapped the taut cords immobilizing her.

"Listen to her, Saint..." Nyss breathed without raising her head. "Listen to your sister." You who wanted to protect her... look at her, she’s giving herself to me, losing herself before you...

"Shut up!" the priestess screamed, her cheeks streaming with hot tears.

Nyss straightened for a moment, her lips shining, and stroked Liora’s back with the tips of her claws.

Nyss straightened for a moment, her lips shining, and stroked Liora’s back with the tips of her claws.

"That’s your weak point, my sweet... That’s what she’s always hidden. Did you think she was your sword, your shield? She was never anything but a woman who dreamed of being made to bend."

"Nhh... aahh... Nyss... don’t say that..." Liora moaned, shaken by spasms, her thighs trembling, her reddened face pressed to the cold earth.

The Saint shook her head, mad with rage, but her own thighs clenched in spite of herself. She felt the damp heat of her innermost being, and Nyss saw it. She savored it.

"There... yes... breathe again... let it all out, my dear... in front of her..."

Liora screamed again, a higher-pitched howl, her body tense like a bow. Then she nearly collapsed, convulsed, the ropes squeaking against her skin.

Her heavy sighs filled the tent, mingling with Nyss’s victorious laughter.

And the Saint, panting, could only watch, her heart torn, as her own sister fell into ecstasy.