Chapter 295: Chapter 295 – A Dream Castrated

Eldoria Kingdom – Royal Capital

Duke Marlowe’s Estate – Hidden Basement Tower

The air in the underground chamber was thick with incense and sulfur. Candles flickered along the stone walls, casting dancing shadows that seemed to writhe with malevolent life.

In the center of the circular room stood a man draped in a dark, hooded cloak. His skeletal fingers traced glowing runes across the wall, each symbol pulsing with sickly green light as he completed the arcane scripture.

Sorcerer Damien Corvus—once a promising court mage, now a fallen practitioner of forbidden arts—muttered under his breath as he worked.

“Just a little more… just a bit longer and the ritual will be complete…”

This tower had been gifted to him by Duke Marlowe himself, a payment for certain… discrete services rendered. The duke didn’t ask questions about what Damien did in the basement.

And Damien didn’t tell him about the demon summoning, blood sacrifices, or the increasingly depraved rituals he performed in pursuit of power.

And lust.

Hmmmmm…

Damien paused mid-stroke, his hand freezing in the air.

That sound. That vibration. It resonated through his very bones, humming with dark energy that made his heart race.

“No… it can’t be…”

He spun around, his cloak billowing dramatically. His eyes—bloodshot from sleepless nights—scanned the room frantically until they landed on a specific section of the wall.

There. The vault.

He rushed over, his hands shaking with anticipation and excitement. He pressed his palm against a hidden sigil carved into the stone.

Click. Grind. Thunk.

The wall split open, revealing a secret alcove filled with dark artifacts—cursed tomes, vials of suspicious fluids, and in the very center, a glass orb filled with swirling purple mist.

Except now, the mist wasn’t just swirling.

It was burning.

Purple flames ignited within the orb, dancing and writhing like a living thing. The flame pulsed rhythmically, growing brighter with each beat.

“YES!” Damien hissed, his cracked lips splitting into a manic grin. “YES! She’s awakened! The succubus has finally activated!”

He had summoned her three months ago. A powerful lust demon from the seventh circle. She had materialized in his summoning circle, naked and beautiful and promising him everything he desired.

And then the bitch had escaped.

She’d exploited a flaw in his binding circle, slipped through his fingers like smoke, and vanished into the ether. He’d been searching for her ever since, unable to complete his grand plan without her.

But now… now she was active. Feeding. Using her powers.

Which meant he could find her.

Damien turned away from the vault, moving swiftly across the room. He reached a heavy curtain that covered the far wall and tore it down with one violent yank.

WHOOSH.

Dust billowed into the air, revealing what lay beneath.

A portrait.

But not just any portrait. This was a masterpiece of erotic art disguised as royal portraiture.

The woman in the painting was Queen Ophelia Aurelia—first queen of Eldoria, beloved by her people, belonging to ducal house, only queen with no child, respected by nobles, and the object of Damien’s deepest, most twisted obsession.

She was painted in her full royal regalia. A flowing crimson gown that clung to her body like a second skin, emphasizing every curve. The neckline plunged dangerously low, barely containing her massive breasts that seemed ready to spill out at any moment. Her waist was corseted tight, making her hips flare out obscenely wide. Her thighs were thick, pressing against the fabric of the dress.

The artist—whom Damien had paid handsomely and then murdered to keep the secret—had captured her perfectly. The slight part of her lips. The sultry, half-lidded gaze. The way one hand rested on her hip while the other touched her collarbone, fingers trailing toward her cleavage.

It was a queen. But painted like a whore.

Exactly how Damien saw her.

He approached the painting slowly, reverently, like a worshiper before an altar.

“My Queen…” he breathed, his voice trembling with barely contained lust.

His hand moved to his crotch, rubbing himself through the fabric of his robes. He was already getting hard just looking at her painted face.

“It seems I have finally found the succubus that I summoned for you, my Queen.”

His breathing quickened. His other hand reached up, pressing against the painting, his palm covering her painted breast.

“Soon enough, I will catch that succubus. I will bind her properly this time. And then…”

His eyes glazed over with dark fantasy.

“I will send her into your body. She will possess you, control you, turn you into the cock-hungry slut you were always meant to be. And then…”

He squeezed the painting, his fingers digging into the canvas.

“You will be my sex slave. Mine. Not the King’s. Not the kingdom’s. MINE.”

He unzipped his pants with frantic urgency. His pathetic excuse for a cock flopped out—barely three inches even when fully erect, thin and pale.

He started stroking it furiously, his other hand still groping the painted breast.

“Yes… yes… I’ll have you on your knees… sucking me… calling me Master…”

He closed his eyes, lost in the fantasy. His hand moved faster, his breath coming in short gasps.

At the same time, he activated his magic. Purple energy flowed from his fingertips, connecting to the flaming orb in the vault.

“I merged my blood with that demoness when I summoned her,” he panted, still stroking himself. “It will take just a few moments now that she’s active. I’ll pinpoint her exact location and—”

His hand rubbed harder against the painting’s breast, leaving a smear of sweat on the canvas.

“My Quee—”

SNAP.

Damien blinked.

Something felt… wrong.

He looked down at his hand—the one stroking his cock.

It was still moving. But he couldn’t feel it.

No sensation. Nothing. Like his dick had just… stopped existing.

“What…?”

Then the pain hit.

CRACK.

It felt like something inside his chest shattered. Not physically, but spiritually. A backlash of raw, overwhelming power slammed into his soul.

“GAHHHH—!”

Damien coughed violently. Blood sprayed from his lips, splattering across the floor in thick droplets.

He clutched his chest, stumbling backward. His legs gave out and he collapsed onto his knees.

“W-What… what is happening?!”

The purple flames in the orb exploded, the glass container shattering. The connection he’d established was ripped apart violently, severed by something far more powerful than him.

“BELIAL!” Damien screamed, panic flooding his voice.

The shadows in the room responded instantly.

They coalesced behind him, growing larger, darker, until they formed the vague outline of something massive. Something ancient. Something that shouldn’t exist in this world.

Two enormous horns curved from the shadow’s head. Eyes like burning coals opened, glaring down at the pathetic sorcerer.

“You fool,” the demon rumbled, its voice shaking the very stones of the tower. “What have you done?”

“W-What?!” Damien gasped, still clutching his chest. “What happened?! Belial—my penis—I can’t—”

He looked down in horror.

His cock—already small and pathetic—now hung completely limp. Dead. Like a piece of lifeless meat.

He grabbed it with both hands, squeezing, pulling, trying to get any response.

Nothing.

No arousal. No sensation. Not even pain.

It was completely non-functional.

“I can’t feel it!” Damien shrieked. “I can’t feel ANYTHING! What happened to my penis?!”

Belial’s massive shadow form leaned down, and if a demon could facepalm, he would have.

“You absolute FOOL,” Belial growled, rubbing the bridge of his shadowy nose. “You’ve been hit with a backlash. A powerful one. Far beyond your pathetic resistance.”

“Backlash?! From what?!”

“From whatever killed your succubus,” Belial said flatly. “Or rather, whatever severed her connection to you. The feedback traveled through your blood link and fried your spiritual pathways. Specifically…”

The demon gestured with one clawed finger toward Damien’s crotch.

“…the ones connected to your reproductive system.”

Damien’s face went pale. “No… no no no NO—”

“Yes,” Belial confirmed mercilessly. “You now have permanent erectile dysfunction. Your cock is dead. Forever. You will never feel arousal again. Never achieve an erection. Never ejaculate. You are, in every sense of the word, magically castrated.”

“NOOOOOO!”

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