The silence in the secret chamber was heavy, thick with the scent of orchids and the darker, muskier undertone of raw, unbridled emotion. Bibi Dong, the Supreme Pontiff of the Spirit Hall, a woman who held the fate of the continent in her pale, elegant hands, was trembling in the arms of a man half her age. Her face was buried in the crook of Zhang Tian's neck, her breathing ragged, hot puffs of air against his skin that betrayed the absolute collapse of her mental defenses.
Zhang Tian held her. His arms were wrapped around her waist, his chin resting lightly atop her rose-pink hair. To any observer, it was a scene of tender comfort, a young man offering sanctuary to a broken woman. But inside Zhang Tian's mind, the gears of calculation were spinning with the cold precision of a clockwork mechanism.
'She surrendered,' Zhang Tian thought, his eyes narrowing slightly as he stared at the stone wall over her shoulder. 'I told her I might make a mistake. I warned her. And yet, she held on tighter.'
He could feel the contours of her body pressing against him—the softness of her chest, the desperate strength in her arms, the heat radiating from her core. It was intoxicating. She was, without a doubt, one of the most beautiful women in the world, a ripened fruit that had been forbidden to all but the most powerful. And right now, she was hanging low on the branch, waiting to fall.
But Zhang Tian knew better than to mistake vulnerability for submission. Bibi Dong was a Limit Douluo. She was a sleeping dragon whose scales had been pried open by heartbreak. If she woke up now, if her rationality returned before he secured his position, she would kill him. She would realize the manipulation, the sheer audacity of his game, and she would obliterate him to erase the shame.
'I cannot let her wake up,' he decided, a ruthless chill settling in his gut. 'Not yet. The window is open, but it is closing fast. I need to ensure she remains… pliable. I need to bind her to me in a way that transcends logic or politics.'
He needed to break her completely, just for tonight.
Slowly, carefully, Zhang Tian shifted his grip. His hands moved up her back, his fingers massaging the tense muscles along her spine. At the same time, his eyes flashed with a subtle, violet light. The Purple Demon Eyes, cultivated to the Boundless stage, were not just for observation; they were a weapon of the mind.
He pushed his mental force outward, a silent, invisible needle piercing the already fractured shield of her consciousness. But he didn't attack. Instead, he reached out to the Blood Silver Emperor vines that were still partially summoned around them.
'Usually, I devour,' he thought, focusing his intent. 'I strip away the corruption to give her clarity. But clarity is my enemy right now. Clarity brings guilt. Clarity brings hesitation.'
He reversed the flow.
Instead of siphoning the dark, chaotic energy of the Rakshasa God, Zhang Tian poured his own spirit power into the connection. He acted as a catalyst, a bellows blowing air into a dying ember. He found the dormant, suppressed remnants of the Rakshasa's divine will—that vile, corrupting influence he had suppressed earlier—and he fed it.
'Wake up,' he projected silently, his will merging with the dark energy. 'She is weak. She is broken. Take her.'
The reaction was instantaneous.
Bibi Dong gasped, her body going rigid in his arms.
Inside her mind, the silence that Zhang Tian had bought her earlier shattered. It wasn't a return of the whispers; it was a roar. The Rakshasa God's corruption, sensing the weakness of its host and the influx of foreign power, surged like a tidal wave breaching a dam. It didn't just return to its previous level; it exploded, fueled by the fresh, raw agony of Yu Xiaogang's betrayal.
'Kill him!' a voice shrieked in the back of her mind, a voice that sounded like her own, but twisted, dripping with venom. 'He mocked you! He called you a tool! He called you damaged goods! Find him! Flay the skin from his bones! Make him scream your name in agony!'
The red haze descended over her vision. The grief that had paralyzed her moments ago was incinerated, replaced by a white-hot fury. She wanted blood. She wanted to tear down the Spirit City, brick by brick, until she found that lying, pathetic man and his whore.
Her aura flared, a terrifying, suffocating pressure that made the air in the chamber heavy as lead. The stone floor beneath them cracked.
"I will kill him," she hissed into Zhang Tian's chest, her voice vibrating with a demonic intensity. "I will tear his heart out."
Zhang Tian felt the shift. He felt the murderous intent rolling off her in waves. It was dangerous, yes, but it was exactly what he wanted. Chaos. Instability.
"Shh," he soothed, his hand moving to the back of her head, his fingers tangling in her silky pink hair. He pulled her head back gently, forcing her to look at him.
Her eyes were terrifying. The pupils were blown wide, the pink irises swirling with a chaotic mix of crimson and black. She looked less like a human and more like a beautiful, vengeful demon.
"Yu Xiaogang?" Zhang Tian asked, his voice calm, dismissive. He wiped a tear from her cheek with his thumb, his touch deliberately intimate. "A man like that... a worm who crawls in the dirt... how is he deserving enough to even enter your mind right now? How is he worthy of your rage?"
Bibi Dong blinked, the red haze wavering slightly at his words. "He... he betrayed..."
"He is nothing," Zhang Tian interrupted, his voice firm, hypnotic. "He is the past. He is dust. Look at me, Bibi Dong."
He used her name. Not her title. It was a calculated risk, a breach of protocol that shattered the distance between them.
"You are the Supreme Pontiff," he murmured, leaning closer, his breath ghosting over her lips. "You are a queen. Why dirty your hands with trash? Why let his memory stain this moment?"
He felt the corruption within her latch onto his words. The Rakshasa energy didn't care about justice; it cared about desire, about excess, about the violation of taboos.
'Yes,' the dark voice whispered in her mind. 'He is right. Why weep for the weak? You are power. You are desire. Take what is in front of you.'
"Your mental state is... turbulent," Zhang Tian said, his expression one of deep concern, though his eyes remained dark and hungry. "The corruption is fighting back. It's trying to consume you because of your pain. We need to go somewhere quiet. Somewhere private. I need to... stabilize you."
"Stabilize..." she repeated, the word feeling thick on her tongue. The rage was still there, but it was shifting, morphing into something else. The adrenaline of hatred was turning into a fever in her blood.
"Come," he said.
He took her hand. She didn't resist. She let him lead her out of the secret chamber, her mind a fog of conflicting impulses. She realized, dimly, that she was still clinging to him, her body pressed against his side as they walked. She should pull away. She was the Supreme Pontiff. This was improper.
'Improper?' the voice sneered. 'Who cares for propriety? You followed the rules, and what did it get you? Heartbreak. Betrayal. Take what you want.'
They moved through the shadows of the city, avoiding the main patrols. Zhang Tian led her not back to the palace, but to one of the high-end hotels reserved for the Spirit Hall's elite guests—a place he knew was currently empty of any high-ranking officials.
As they walked, Bibi Dong's mind, unmoored from reality by the surge of corruption, began to drift into darker waters. The image of Yu Xiaogang faded, replaced by the man walking beside her.
Zhang Tian.
He was young. He was powerful. He was everything Yu Xiaogang wished he could be. He was a genius who didn't need to steal secrets. He was a warrior who could stand against powerful enemies without backing down. And he was handsome. Gods, he was handsome.
And he belonged to Qian Renxue.
The thought should have brought a wave of guilt. Just minutes ago, she had been ready to reconcile, ready to try and be a mother. But now, with the Rakshasa's poison flooding her veins, that guilt twisted into something ugly.
'She is his daughter,' the voice whispered, sounding like scraping metal. 'The spawn of Qian Xunji. The reminder of your shame. Why should she be happy? Why should she have this perfect man while you rot in loneliness?'
The hatred for Qian Xunji, the man who had ruined her life, bubbled up, mixing with the corruption. Renxue was his child. Renxue had his face, his spirit.
'Steal him,' the voice urged, a seductive hiss. 'Take him from her. Use him. Replace the memory of that man with this man whom that little girl loves. Wouldn't that be the best? Wouldn't that be the ultimate revenge against the Angel clan?'
Bibi Dong looked at Zhang Tian's profile in the moonlight. The evil thoughts swirled, turning her pain into a twisted, possessive lust. She wanted to hurt Qian Xunji's memory. She wanted to take back control. And taking this man... taking the one thing her daughter treasured... it felt like power.
They arrived at the hotel. Zhang Tian, using a token he had "acquired" from the Bibi Dong in the last few days, bypassed the staff and led her straight to the topmost chamber. It was a lavish suite, designed for indulgence, with velvet curtains and a massive bed dominated the center of the room.
He closed the door and locked it. The click of the lock was loud in the silence.
"Sit," he said, guiding her to the edge of the bed.
Bibi Dong sat. She felt feverish. Her skin felt too tight, her blood too hot. She watched him as he moved around the room, dimming the spirit lamps until the chamber was bathed in a soft, golden twilight.
Zhang Tian turned to her. He summoned his spirit again. The Blood Silver Emperor vines snaked out, glowing with a soft, crimson light. They wrapped around her, not restraining her, but caressing her.
"I need to check the levels of the corruption," he lied smoothly. "It feels... volatile."
He was pretending. He wasn't absorbing anything. He was simply maintaining the connection, keeping the channel open so the Rakshasa energy could continue to boil her reason away. He was watching her eyes. He saw the way her pupils dilated when the vines touched her waist. He saw the way her lips parted, her breath coming in shallow gasps.
She wasn't fighting it. She was drowning in it.
'She's on the edge,' he thought, a thrill of anticipation shooting through him. 'One push. Just one little push.'
He withdrew the vines slowly, letting them drag across her skin like fingertips.
"It is stubborn," he murmured, stepping back. He ran a hand through his hair, feigning exhaustion. "I need... a moment. The backlash from stabilizing you is taxing. I'm going to wash up. The water helps me focus."
He turned his back to her and walked towards the adjoining bathing chamber, but he didn't close the door. He stopped in the frame.
Slowly, deliberately, he reached for the hem of his shirt.
Bibi Dong watched, her gaze fixated on him. The evil thoughts in her head were screaming now, a cacophony of desire and malice.
He pulled the shirt over his head and tossed it aside.
The muscles of his back rippled as he moved. His skin was flawless, marked only by the faint, glowing lines of his spirit power. He was perfection. A sculpted idol of masculine power.
The sight of his bare torso was the spark that ignited the powder keg.
Something in Bibi Dong snapped. The last tether of her restraint, the last shred of the Supreme Pontiff's dignity, burned away in the heat of the corruption.
She didn't think. She didn't plan. She simply acted.
Her spirit power, vast and terrifying as an ocean, exploded outward. It wasn't an attack; it was a capture.
Zhang Tian felt the pressure hit him. It was immense. He didn't need to pretend to be shocked; the sheer weight of a Level 99 Limit Douluo's aura was enough to make his knees buckle.
"Your Holiness—?!" he began, turning around, feigning alarm.
He didn't finish the sentence.
Bibi Dong was there. She moved faster than sight, a blur of purple and black. One moment she was on the bed, the next she was right in front of him.
She grabbed him. Her hands, deceptively slender but possessing the strength to crush boulders, gripped his shoulders. She shoved him backwards.
Zhang Tian flew back, slamming into the wall of the bathing chamber with a thud that knocked the breath out of him. Before he could slide down, she was pressed against him, pinning him to the stone.
Her eyes were blazing crimson pools of madness and lust. There was no hesitation in them. No recognition of rank or propriety. Only hunger.
"Your Holiness, wait—" he gasped, playing the part of the overwhelmed victim. "What are you—"
She silenced him. Not with words, but with her mouth.
She kissed him. It wasn't gentle. It wasn't romantic. It was a collision. Her lips crashed against his, bruising and demanding. She bit his lower lip, drawing a drop of blood, and groaned at the taste. Her tongue invaded his mouth, hot and wet and aggressive, sweeping through him like she was trying to devour his very soul.
Zhang Tian's hands came up, gripping her arms as if to push her away. "Stop..." he mumbled against her mouth, his resistance weak, calculated. "You... you aren't yourself..."
But how could a Spirit King resist a Limit Douluo?
She ignored him. Her spirit power surged, locking his arms in place, pinning them to the wall above his head. She was stronger. Infinitely stronger. And right now, she was using that strength to take what she wanted.
'Yes,' the voice in her head hissed. 'Take him. He is yours. Erase the thoughts of that girl's father. Claim him as your prize.'
She pulled back for a fraction of a second, her breath coming in ragged gasps, her face flushed with a dark, intoxicating heat. She looked at him, at his handsome face, at the fake fear in his eyes that only fueled her dominance.
"You talk too much," she growled, her voice a guttural, unrecognizable sound.
She didn't bother with undressing. Her hands moved to her own elaborate, formal robes—the symbol of her office, of her restraint.
RIP.
The sound of tearing fabric was loud in the small room. With a savage, almost violent motion, she tore the robes open. Buttons flew, silk shredded. She didn't care. She stripped herself with a frantic, desperate haste, revealing the creamy, flawless skin beneath.
She was a mature woman, her body a testament to perfection. Her breasts were large, full, and heavy, heaving with her rapid breaths, their peaks hard and dark against the pale skin. Her waist was narrow, flaring out into hips that were wide and curvaceous, the kind of body made for sin.
She pressed herself against him, skin to skin. The sensation of her soft, naked breasts crushing against his bare chest sent a jolt of electricity through Zhang Tian that he didn't have to fake.
She kissed him again, harder this time, grinding her hips against his, her nails digging into his shoulders, drawing blood.
Zhang Tian's resistance melted away like snow in a furnace. He stopped pretending to push. His hands, freed from the wall by her distraction, didn't push her away. They descended.
He grabbed her hips, his fingers digging into the soft, yielding flesh. He pulled her harder against him.
"You... you are crazy," he whispered, his voice hoarse.
"I am," she panted against his neck, biting the sensitive cord of muscle there. "I am mad. And I want you."
She grabbed his hand and forced it upward, pressing it against her breast. "Touch me," she commanded, her voice trembling with need. "Make me forget. Make me forget everything."
Zhang Tian didn't need to be told twice. His hand closed over the heavy, soft globe of flesh, squeezing, kneading. It was incredible. The texture, the warmth, the sheer weight of it in his palm. This was the Supreme Pontiff. The woman the world feared. And she was unraveling in his arms.
He let out a low growl, dropping the act of the victim. He was the predator now, even if she thought she was in control.
He bent his head, capturing her lips again, matching her aggression. His other hand slid down her back, tracing the curve of her spine, moving lower to cup the firm, round perfection of her buttocks. He squeezed, pulling her up and into him.
Bibi Dong moaned, a sound of pure, broken surrender. The evil thoughts, the hatred for Renxue, the pain of Xiaogang... it all blurred into a single, white-hot point of sensation.
She didn't know who she was anymore. She didn't care. She was just a woman burning alive, and he was the fire.
She pushed him down, her strength overwhelming his balance, forcing him onto the floor of the bathing chamber. She straddled him, her hair a curtain of pink silk around them, her eyes glowing in the dim light.
"Mine," she whispered, a decree from a mad queen. "You are mine."
And as Zhang Tian looked up at her, at the beautiful, terrifying ruin of a woman about to consume him, he smiled a dark, victorious smile.
"As you wish, Your Holiness."
~~
A/N: Check out my BTTH Fanfic [Doupo: Plundering the Plot with God-Tier Comprehension].
Also, check out 20 Chapters Ahead for this fanfic on my P.atreon.
Patreon link: https://www.patreon.com/c/evildragon04