Dark and pure magical power flowed like a warm stream, endlessly pouring through the point where their lips met, flooding into every corner of Ling Xiya’s limbs and body.
But at this moment, this light did not clash with the darkness.
Instead, it was like parched sponge finally meeting sweet rain—greedily absorbing and fusing with the gift bestowed by the Demon King.
Ling Xiya’s consciousness drifted in the warm ocean of power.
All her former persistence and convictions faded like old, discolored paintings, growing vague and indistinct.
The only things that remained clear were the breathtakingly beautiful face right before her eyes, the reassuring softness and strength cradling her in those arms, and the domineering yet tender sensation on her lips.
Izayate’s taste.
Izayate’s scent.
Izayate’s power…
Everything intoxicated her, fascinated her, made her crave… more.
“Master…”
Between the entanglement of their lips and tongues, Ling Xiya let out a murmured whisper whose meaning was almost lost in the sound.
Her voice carried a thick nasal tone and a faint, barely perceptible tremble.
It was the height of pleasure—and a trace of longing she herself had not yet realized.
At that very moment, Ling Xiya—who until now had been resting powerlessly in Izayate’s embrace—suddenly moved.
Her slender arms tightened abruptly, exerting every ounce of strength in her body,
pulling Izayate even closer, as though she wanted to meld herself into the other woman’s very being, never to be parted again.
The action carried an almost desperate possessiveness.
The sheer force of it made her seem like an entirely different person from the gentle, obedient, meek maid who always kept her eyes lowered.
Izayate froze for a brief moment.
In those deep eyes,
a flash of surprise passed quickly, only to be replaced by something deeper—intrigued amusement.
She even curved her lips slightly, forming a playful, teasing arc.
Oh?
So this little cat—who usually let herself be molded and handled so docilely, soft as a ball of cotton—
could no longer hold back and was finally showing her hidden claws?
Rather than pushing her away, Izayate did the opposite.
Like indulging a sulky child,
she channeled an even more torrential surge of pure magical power into Ling Xiya’s body, like nourishing spring water reviving long-parched earth.
At the same time, she lifted her free hand and, with an almost sighing tenderness, gently stroked Ling Xiya’s long, waterfall-smooth hair.
Her fingertips glided through the silky strands, soft and soothing, as though calming a pet that was nuzzling its master and begging for attention.
Yet Izayate’s indulgence did not quell Ling Xiya’s “restlessness.”
Instead, it was like pouring oil on fire, driving her further out of control.
Under the catalysis of that warm, powerful magic, and with the long-suppressed, surging emotions in her heart finally breaking free,
the defenses of Ling Xiya’s reason cracked and collapsed rapidly, like a dam battered by floodwaters.
The hands that had only rested timidly and dependently on Izayate’s waist earlier now seemed to gain a will of their own.
Slowly, uncontrollably, they began to move.
Her fingertips trembled almost imperceptibly—with nervousness, with longing, and with the sensation of teetering on the edge of losing all restraint.
First they tentatively, cautiously traced the elegant, slender line of Izayate’s waist, savoring the smooth, captivating curve.
Beneath the thin fabric lay warm skin and firm, elastic texture.
The real heat and feel struck Ling Xiya like an electric current, racing through her entire body in an instant.
Her breathing grew ragged involuntarily, her chest rising and falling sharply.
Each inhale carried the unique, comforting faint fragrance that belonged only to her master.
Master’s body… so soft… so warm…
The thought filled Ling Xiya’s mind, simple and direct.
She drank it in greedily,as though this body were the most precious treasure in the world, the one thing worth devoting her entire existence to protect—
The sole light in her dark life.
She even tightened her arms a little more, burying her cheek deeper into the hollow of Izayate’s neck,
greedily inhaling her master’s scent, drawing in that addictive warmth.
Then her hands were no longer content to stay at the waist.
With an irresistible momentum, they slowly slid upward.
Her fingertips glided across the soft, flat plane of the abdomen—skin so fine it felt like the finest white jade, making her reluctant to move on.
Finally, her hands reached Izayate’s back.
With the lightest touch, she traced the smooth skin, feeling the silky texture and—hidden beneath that seemingly delicate surface—the astonishing, coiled power of a beast ready to pounce.
This was her master.
The mighty, beautiful, invincible Demon Queen Izayate.
Her light, illuminating her bleak existence.
Her god, granting her purpose and something to rely on.
Her… everything.
Izayate’s body stiffened for a single heartbeat.
She could clearly feel the restless hands in her arms, burning hot, moving across her back, her waist, and even…beginning to drift downward.
The touch was inexperienced and clumsy, yet carried a heart-shaking persistence and yearning.
“Xiya…”
Izayate paused the flow of magic and drew back just slightly.
Those profound eyes held a mix of scrutiny and amusement as they gazed at the girl in her arms—eyes dazed, cheeks flushed so red they seemed about to bleed.
“What are you doing?”
Ling Xiya seemed startled back to a sliver of clarity by the sudden question.
She lifted her head in confusion, gaze still unfocused,but the moment she met Izayate’s piercing, soul-seeing eyes, an inexplicable panic and shame surged through her.
What had she done?
She had actually… actually toward her master…
She jerked as if to pull her hands back, cheeks scalding.
But just as her fingers were about to leave Izayate’s body, an overwhelming reluctance and terror seized her.
No… she couldn’t let go… If she let go, would Master disappear like those blurred figures in her hazy memories?
No!
Master was hers!
She could only be hers!
“No… don’t… Master… don’t leave me…”
Ling Xiya’s gaze turned hazy once more, tinged with pleading.
Not only did she refuse to withdraw her hands—
she hugged Izayate even more tightly, and at the same time,her hands grew bolder, driven by a do-or-die resolve, continuing their exploration.
This time, her target was Izayate’s chest.
When her fingertips finally brushed that soft, full curve,
Ling Xiya let out an even more suppressed moan—mingled pain and pleasure.
Her body went completely limp, boneless, collapsing fully into Izayate’s embrace.
She could only rely on instinct and that fierce possessiveness to continue her clumsy, greedy “exploration.”
Izayate raised an eyebrow at the sudden audacity, then gave a quiet, inward laugh.
What a… reckless little thing.
But at the same time, the last shred of doubt in her heart completely vanished.
Feeling the unabashed, almost pathological attachment and possessiveness radiating from the girl in her arms, watching her tremble, lose herself, and utterly surrender at the slightest touch—Izayate knew she had succeeded.
This seed that once belonged to the light had now been personally nourished by her with the essence of darkness.
It had bloomed into a beautiful flower that belonged to her alone—one laced with sick, possessive desire.
Ling Xiya was now… completely and utterly hers.
She could no longer live without her.
Just as fish cannot live without water, flowers cannot live without sunlight—
From this day forward, Ling Xiya would never again be able to live without Izayate.
Izayate let out a soft sigh, her tone carrying a trace of helplessness
yet filled with absolute confidence and a faint, almost imperceptible indulgence.