CHAPTER 170: SEED(18+)

Allen didn’t speak again. He didn’t need to. The temple understood him now—not as a man, not even as a king, but as a force of nature. His breath was law. His cum was scripture. The garden below Kashet had bloomed for him, and it would not rest until every inch of it had been seeded.

The next priestess whimpered when he bent her over the slick altar, her hands slipping across its moaning surface as her knees buckled. The tendrils wrapped around her ankles without prompting, hoisting her hips in the air like an offering. Her cunt was already wet, clenching around nothing as she waited, trembling. Allen gripped her waist and slammed into her with no warning, his veiny cock punching into her depths as she screamed into the sticky air.

The altar welcomed the impact. It absorbed the shock, flexing and arching beneath her to match Allen’s rhythm. Each thrust made the entire chamber tremble, like the garden was fucking her along with him—Allen’s hips pounding her raw while the altar’s tendrils gripped her thighs and ass, spreading her even wider. Her moans melted into wet slaps and high-pitched gasps as Allen forced her open, ruined her pace, turned her thoughts to mush.

Behind him, Fina had two acolytes kneeling between her legs. She tilted her head back as their tongues worked her inner thighs, not letting either one touch her clit until they’d begged. Rinni was mounting one of the older priestesses, riding her face with greedy little rolls of her hips while tugging on her hair and moaning Allen’s name like a hymn.

Allen didn’t slow down. Not when the priestess started shaking. Not when she drooled into the altar. Not even when she gushed suddenly, violently, squirting all over his thighs with a ragged sob of release. He held her there, plugged full and twitching, then pulled out to let the altar swallow her down into the slick below, where other spent bodies had already vanished.

More stepped forward. No hesitation now. They wanted it.

One dropped to her knees and began licking his shaft, cleaning the mix of fluids from his skin with slow, reverent strokes. Another straddled the side of the altar and spread herself open with both hands, moaning his name and begging for his seed like it was the last water in the desert. Allen grabbed her throat and kissed her hard before pushing her down, spearing into her with a low, hungry growl. Her nails raked his back as she sobbed with pleasure.

By the third one, he didn’t even guide them anymore. They offered themselves up on the altar, the floor, his throne of vines. Some begged to be bred. Some begged to be denied. One asked only to be choked while he came down her throat—and Allen gave it to her with slow, brutal thrusts and a hand tight around her neck, watching her eyes flutter as she swallowed every drop.

The altar fed on it all.

Every orgasm soaked deeper into its root. Every scream was swallowed. Every squirt, every creampie, every sticky line of cum down a priestess’s stomach—it all bled into the living garden. The tendrils pulsed faster. The air became thicker. Even the walls began to ripple with moans, whispering names, memories, lustful prayers lost in ancient tongues.

At the center of it all, Allen didn’t tire.

He was hard—harder than when he started, cock veiny and glistening, veins black with corruption, each orgasm only stoking the flame of something darker inside him. A force older than the gods that now whispered directly into his ear. Not with words. With need.

He grabbed two priestesses at once, forcing one to ride his cock while the other straddled his face, both of them screaming as they bounced and clenched and begged. His tongue lapped at the second one’s hole with feral hunger, tongue-fucking her while he slammed the first one down on his cock until she shook in overstimulation and collapsed onto his chest, twitching, drooling, broken.

He didn’t stop.

Hours passed. The chamber throbbed with heat. The walls wept sweet fluids that rained down onto the altar like divine sweat. The priestesses lost track of who was being fucked. They crawled over each other, hands between thighs, drinking one another’s moans and begging Allen to ruin them next.

Fina watched it all with a smirk, legs spread wide, her own pussy soaked as she fingered herself and whispered praises in a forgotten tongue. Rinni curled in her lap, dazed and breathless, her body still leaking from Allen’s earlier use. They were his queens, but even they knelt before the rhythm he’d summoned.

Eventually, Allen slowed—not from exhaustion, but by choice. The garden was full. Every priestess had been touched, filled, blessed by his cock. The altar glowed faintly now, gold veins pulsing with a new light, fed by the pleasure of a hundred bodies and the corruption of a single man’s lust.

Allen stood at the center, chest heaving, cock still hard, body covered in sweat and cum and kisses. His eyes burned—not with madness, but with absolute clarity.

"This place," he growled, voice deep and resonant, "is mine now."

And the altar answered.

With a long, deep moan that echoed up through the stone and into the city above. A sound that made windows tremble. That made sleeping women wake up wet and aching. That made holy men shudder with fear, gripping their relics tighter as the new god in the depths claimed his temple.

Allen turned to Fina and Rinni.

"Tomorrow," he said, "we start digging deeper. There’s more to awaken."

Fina licked her lips. "Good. Because I’m not done watching you ruin priestesses."

Rinni giggled and curled closer, eyes half-lidded. "And I’m not done getting ruined with them."

Allen smiled. The altar purred. Allen then watched as fina dripping down from all the fingering.

And far beneath them all, deeper than the ruins, older than the gods, something opened its eyes—and smiled back.