NOVGO.NET Chapter 1443 Possessed by a Slut
Chapter 1443 Possessed by a Slut
Quinlan looked down.
Nyxara’s body was on the ground, but it was wrong.
Her form was fading, emptying.
The glow in her eyes had dimmed to a thin, glassy sheen. Her skin, once taut with vitality, had begun to hollow inward, as if something fundamental was being withdrawn from behind it. Color leeched away in slow, uneven currents.
She was withering away.
Quinlan did not move, did not rush to her aid.
His heart remained firm as his mind dissected the possibilities with ruthless calm.
Decay? It felt a bit too clean for that… Backlash from the shriek?
Was she dying?
The thought registered without urgency.
If his pounding had reduced the Primordial Demon of Lust to a collapsing husk, that was a fact worth remembering. A feat to file away. A story to brag about for the next billion years. Her chest rose once. Then again.
Her breathing was shallow and felt unnatural, hollow.
“What’s going on with you?” Quinlan murmured.
Nyxara’s lips parted, but no sound came out.
Then her form stopped deteriorating.
For a single heartbeat, everything froze.
The air locked in place.
The remaining light inside her compressed inward.
Her outline sharpened, edges pulling tight, as if reality itself was bracing.
Nyxara’s body burst.
Not outward in gore but inward, fragmenting into countless motes of radiant pink and violet dust. Each particle glimmered with a soft, crystalline glow, carrying echoes of heat, hunger, and ancient will.
They turned. Every particle reoriented toward Quinlan at once.
A death surge?
A final strike?
Some demonic retaliation encoded into her system to be activated upon defeat?
His instincts flared instantly.
Water exploded around his body in a reflexive barrier, dense and layered. Wind detonated outward from his core in a concussive burst, shoving space itself away as he leapt back.
The particles passed through all of it, slipping between currents, through pressure, through resistance, as if none of it had ever been there.
Returning. Or rather, finding their rightful new home…
That’s what this was. Quinlan tensed his muscles as the first motes reached him.
They sank into his skin without pain, dissolving instantly upon contact. He felt no harm.
More followed. Thousands. Tens of thousands. A river of demonic essence pouring into him, threading through muscle, bone, and soul with intimate familiarity.
Once in his system, the flow curved.
Every mote adjusted its course at once, arcing toward his back as if guided by an unseen hand. The air behind him grew warm. Then tight. The particles spread outward in precise lines, sketching themselves into permanence.
A tattoo bloomed across his back.
Pink. Lush. Ornate.
Curved demonic sigils traced the outline of a succubus crest, elegant and unmistakably feminine. Its lines were luminous and its core pulsed with a soft, rhythmic glow.
His spine straightened on reflex.
“So cruel,” a voice whimpered inside his head, threaded with quiet reproach. “You thought I died in our duel, and your first thought was how you would brag about breeding the primordial succubus to death for the next billion years.”
Quinlan closed his eyes and let out a long breath.
“Please tell me I did not just get possessed by a slutty demon,” he groaned.
“What a terrible reaction!! My Ruin can’t be this cruel to his cute and loving demoness right after eliciting her Shriek of Ruin!” Nyxara whined.
Quinlan let the breath out slowly through his nose.
“My cute and loving demoness?” he repeated flatly. “You spent days if not weeks toying with me. Instead of cute, you were horrifying, and instead of loving-”
“Love has many forms!” Nyxara cut in at once, scoffing in his mind. “You men are so narrow-minded about it. Oh, and before you complain even more, I even offered to be your lover a few minutes into our duel, but you declined!”
“You would have consumed my whole being if I accepted.”
“…”
Silence stretched for a beat.
“Hehe! Let’s ignore the irrelevant details, okay?❤️”
Quinlan rubbed his face with one hand and sighed again, longer this time. “So. This Shriek of Ruin. You attached yourself to me.”
A pleased hum rippled through his thoughts. “Attached is such an ugly word. Bound sounds hotter. Claimed is even sexier.”
He felt her presence curl closer, warm and pleased.
“You are the one man who I accepted to stand above me,” Nyxara explained with a low, sensual voice. Although she wasn’t present in the physical sense, Quinlan felt as though he was back in her embrace, hugged tightly by the demoness. “The man who conquered me. My fate is joined to yours now. I am your loyal demoness for eternity. I will never betray you. I will never abandon you.”
“… Shouldn’t this be consensual?” he muttered. “I won, but I don’t even get a say in this?”
She laughed softly, the sound practically purring against his thoughts. “Oh, my Ruin is so full of complaints… It’s as if he didn’t just conquer the hottest succubus in the world. You should rejoice, not brood…”
“I am being extremely reasonable right now.”
“Hehe! This would not have happened if you had not wanted it. Deep down, where it matters, you are happy to have me. You just don’t know it yet.❤️”
Quinlan instantly groaned upon hearing such nonsense. “Goddess save me. I did not sign up for this.”
A chime echoed through his awareness just then.
[Ding!]
[Primordial Trial Conquered.]
Something deep inside him shifted.
His body answered the presence settling into it with layers of power realigning as if acknowledging a foreign banner planted within its borders. Heat rolled through his chest, dense and controlled, carrying the unmistakable signature of his Primordial Breeding Physique.
The response was not welcoming.
It was territorial.
A pressure formed beneath his sternum, then surfaced through skin and bone alike. Dark lines etched themselves across his chest, spreading outward in sharp, angular patterns. Where Nyxara’s mark on his back was curved, ornate, and undeniably feminine, this was heavy and masculine, built for dominance rather than allure.
The two marks reacted.
The pink sigil on his back flared, its glow intensifying as if bristling. The dark crest on his chest answered in kind, its presence pushing back, asserting priority.
Inside his body, power collided.
“What is this?” Nyxara gasped. “My right to be present is being questioned?”
Quinlan let out a short, breathless chuckle as he thought about the pink mark on his back. “Maybe your aesthetic just does not fit.”
“What? But it’s so cute.”
The pressure surged, as if outright denying the truth of her words.
Neither yielded.
The markings pulled at each other, lines stretching through his flesh, heat and weight converging toward his core. The clash compressed him, forces grinding together until resistance gave way to synthesis.
[Ding!]
[Evolution Underway…]
The colors bled.
Pink deepened into crimson. Soft curves sharpened. The dark sigils fractured, then reformed, their edges burning with a blood-red sheen against night-black lines. The patterns spread across his torso and back alike, no longer separate, no longer competing.
They became one.
A lattice of demonic script and primordial authority etched into his skin.
Nyxara went quiet.
Then she let out a slow moan, audibly going into heat. “I will admit.”
There was a pause, her tone lingering as if she were tracing the lines herself.
“This does look much better on you. So manly! I want to eat you up all over again!!”
But while the horny demon kept spouting her horny nonsense, new lines of messages arrived in Quinlan’s mind.