The Abyss Beneath the Estate
The secret magic workshop lay deep beneath the Blake County Estate, at the very bottom of the abyss. Count Blake, seated in his wheelchair, stared with bloodshot eyes at the large magic mirror floating in midair. Beyond the mirror, the two hidden chambers his son used to train his dolls were displayed in perfect clarity. There, his wife's cousin Camilla—once hailed as the Empire's Sword—and his own wife Carna were entwined in grotesque intimacy, both completely naked. The two peerless beauties, one with radiant golden hair and the other with jewel-like blue eyes, pressed their bodies together like beasts, their skin glistening with shared saliva and fluids. Though the mirror's distant communication magic carried no sound, the sight alone was enough to melt the Count's reason into a sticky, depraved haze.
“Haa... haa... Magnificent... What a magnificent sight...”
As if in place of his dead lower body's nerves, a thick, murky lust boiled up from the depths of his brain. Every time the massive double-headed dildo connecting the two women's most intimate valleys produced its obscene, wet friction, the Count's mind seethed with overwhelming taboo and visual stimulation. His breathing grew ragged, animalistic. Yet—
“...Damn it.”
His lower body remained utterly still. Kneeling beneath the wheelchair was a young rental doll with golden hair and blue eyes, crafted to resemble a blend of his wife and her cousin. She desperately rubbed the Count's limp manhood with both hands and her soft breasts, trying to force a reaction, but the dead nerves below his waist refused to stir. The humiliation of craving supreme pleasure with his mind while his body refused to obey.
“Tsk. Useless lump of meat.”
Count Blake clicked his tongue irritably and poured the wine from his glass directly over the doll's golden head. The red liquid ran down her pale face and chest like blood. “M-Master... I'm sorry...”
“Move aside. Lick my toes instead.”
At his sharp command, the wine-soaked doll flattened herself on the floor and began dutifully licking his motionless toes. At that exact moment—
“Oh my? Aren't you treating our rental dolls a bit too roughly, Count?”
A man tore through the darkness and appeared in the air. It was the President, master of the Cradle—the colossal hypnosis organization that fed on the nobility's vilest desires and ruled the Empire's underbelly from the shadows. He looked down at the doll licking the Count's feet and complained in an exaggerated tone. The Count's suppressed rage finally erupted at that flippant attitude.
“Hah! If that so-called 'God's Doll' your church commissioned had actually done its job properly, I wouldn't be stuck in this dark basement watching through a mirror while using second-rate rentals!”
The Count jabbed a finger at the mirror, where his wife and cousin writhed in pleasure. “If my legs were perfectly healed, I would be the one pinning those two bitches down in that room right now, tasting every hole!”
He vented his fury at the President, blaming the Saintess's incomplete treatment for his paralysis. Yet the President showed no sign of discomfort. Instead, he curled his lips into a smile and burst into laughter.
“Hahaha! If you wish to complain, direct it not at me, but at the Church for ordering us to leave the Saintess's ego intact for the sake of appearances.”
The President's golden eyes narrowed like a predator's. “It is not a flaw in our technology, but merely your misfortune and the Church's hypocrisy. Isn't that right?”
“......Kuh.”
At that cold, piercing gaze, the Count—who had been shouting moments ago—felt his shoulders stiffen. Though he styled himself as a shadow ruler of the Empire, before the true monster of the abyss he could only avert his eyes. In that instant, he was reminded exactly who held the true power in their relationship.
The Count cleared his throat and quickly changed the subject. “Ahem... In any case, thanks to my son I enjoyed quite the spectacular show... but even with that overwhelming stimulation, my lower body remains as crippled as ever.”
He looked down coldly at his unmoving legs. “If the Saintess's half-baked treatment and even this level of visual stimulation cannot restore me, then as a mage I should focus on researching the demonic arts to fully heal this cursed lower body. That is why I summoned you—to secure the necessary materials.”
“Oh? How admirable. To mobilize both the safety of the family head and your own reason for the sake of pleasure! You truly are one of my finest clients.”
The President clapped his hands, once again wearing his businesslike smile. The Cradle, which often used rare herbs and materials for hypnosis, operated on the surface as a legitimate trading company distributing rare goods across the Empire. In truth, however, it was the abyss itself—using hypnosis to fulfill the nobility's corrupt desires, perfectly controlling the Empire's underworld and manipulating its very heart.
The Count, who had felt his legs weaken from a single glance of the President's eyes, was once again reminded of just how terrifying this monster was. Yet as the head of the ancient Blake family, a lineage of mages, he could not allow himself to be completely cowed by a mere merchant of the shadows. Forcing another cough, he summoned what dignity he could and brought up the strange atmosphere that had recently settled over the estate.
“By the way, President. My son's condition has become quite peculiar lately. I thought he was nothing but a foolish, thoughtless wastrel, but the words and actions he's shown these past few days have gained a certain weight.”
“As if he has become a different person?”
“Exactly. It seems Camilla's harsh discipline and the Saintess's miracle have finally awakened the superior magical bloodline he inherited from his parents, which had lain dormant within him.”
Through the magical tools he had secretly installed, the Count glanced at the neighboring room where Edric and Carin sat naked on the bed, watching their mothers' copulation side by side. “Well, that base wastrel nature of his remains unchanged, at least.”
Though it had been the Count's own suggestion, he had never expected his son to actually sit beside his own daughter and watch his mother and aunt mate naked while fondling each other's genitals. Even the Count found the grotesque scene of such depravity absurd enough to elicit a hollow laugh. He had once tried to correct that incorrigible wastrel nature with powerful hypnotic suggestions so the boy could at least function as a proper human being, but in the end he had failed completely to reform the fundamental trash nature buried in the boy's bones. Along with that bitter self-mockery, there was not a trace of paternal affection in the Count's eyes. Only the cold calculation of a mage evaluating a useful long-term piece.
“Judging by how you've given him a doll as a wife, it seems you truly intend to raise him as your successor this time?”
“Well, that depends on whether he finally abandons that pathetic knightly play and properly inherits the family's magic.”
The Count declared coldly, “If he still admires Camilla—no, after watching him sit beside his daughter and enjoy the sight of his mother and aunt mating naked, admiration is no longer the right word. It is proper lust, a beast's desire.”
He looked at his son with disgusted eyes and continued. “Kuk, fine. Since he has obtained the Camilla he so desperately wanted, if he abandons his knightly games and properly inherits our family's magic, I will raise him as heir. But if he still wishes to remain a knight—”
—Crash! The wine glass in the Count's hand shattered into pieces by his own magic.
“Then the moment that stain on our bloodline produces a perfect 'successor' through his daughter-in-law Carin, I will eliminate him without anyone noticing.”
It was a declaration that he would kill his own blood, yet the President did not so much as blink. After all, the Cradle's ironclad rule was absolute confidentiality regarding hypnosis alone; they never interfered in the internal political struggles or killings within noble families. Knowing this, the Count fixed the President with a sharp gaze.
“I am informing you in advance, President. Your people have no reason to interfere in my family's affairs... but if my son dies, the ownership issue will become somewhat complicated. In the event of his death, will 'Carin,' who would become my daughter-in-law, and 'Camilla,' who belonged to my son, revert to me as the family head? Or will you reclaim them?”
“Ah, there are clear rules for such matters.”
The President pulled a small notebook from his pocket, flipped through it, and answered mechanically. “Under imperial law, a wife who loses her husband naturally belongs to the family head. Her ownership will transfer cleanly to you, her father-in-law. However...”
“However?”
“In Camilla's case, as I mentioned before, she is an unwed mother who raised an illegitimate child. Unless she becomes your official second wife or a concubine bearing a child not registered under Edric's name, she remains a wanderer with no legal affiliation to any family.”
The President smiled thinly as he recited the cruel rule. “As you know, by the founding emperor's direct decree, any doll that loses its master and has no family to belong to must be reclaimed by us, have its memories and body readjusted, and then be put up for auction. That is the iron law of this world.”
“Tsk. How troublesome.”
The Count clicked his tongue in irritation, but his aged mind quickly finished its cunning calculations. “Then, while my son still lives, I will enjoy Camilla as thoroughly as possible. And before he dies and she is sent to auction... I will spread filthy rumors about that merchandise throughout high society to drive its value into the ground, then purchase her at a bargain price during the auction. You will allow me that much discretion, won't you?”
The President burst into hearty laughter, his shoulders shaking. “Kuhahaha! You mean to spread rumors that she is a whore who mated like a beast with some unknown bastard and bore a daughter, just like last time? Truly, your malice is something to behold, Count.”
But the President's laughter soon cooled into businesslike detachment. “We are merchants as well. If you deliberately manipulate the merchandise's value downward through malicious means, we will naturally have to impose sanctions. However...”
He rubbed his thumb and forefinger together and whispered conspiratorially. “If you compensate us with an 'extra fee' sufficient to cover that loss in advance... then the story changes completely. The winner of the auction would already be decided, after all.”
“Kukuku. Worry not. The Blake family has money rotting in our coffers. I will pay handsomely.”
“An excellent choice. Then I shall see you at our next transaction. Until then.”
Wearing a satisfied smile, the President offered a light reminder to treat the young rental doll with care before melting back into the darkness. Left alone in the empty magic workshop, the Count looked down at the doll still licking his feet and swallowed a dark soliloquy.
'He seems to think giving me Camilla makes him a good son... but Edric. Kukuk. The only true filial act you can perform for me is to become my perfect long-term piece, leave behind excellent seed, and then die.'
Though his son's eyes had recently taken on a beast-like sharpness, in the Count's gaze he remained nothing more than a childish blood relative dancing in the palm of his hand. For the sake of the family's prosperity and the perfection of magic, he had long since discarded such trivial things as morality or paternal love.
'That failure born of Carna can be used and discarded as needed. What I truly look forward to is the next generation.'
The Count's bloodshot eyes stared into empty space as he sank into grotesque eugenic fantasies.
'A child born from the union of Camilla's superior physical abilities and my magical bloodline. And the official heir of the family, born between Edric—who inherited Carna's excellent magical blood—and Carin. I will pit those two bloodlines against each other in ruthless competition, and the single survivor shall become my perfect successor in the demonic arts.'
Though his lower body was paralyzed, the arrogance of a family head and the cold ruthlessness of a mage burned sharper than ever.