Champion Of Lust: Gods Conquer's Harem Paradise!

Their grandparents. His grandfather had died right after cucking a certain god and then the leader of the Immortal Realms. He had cucked them both at once before dying together with his grandmother and the two ladies he had stolen from those beings had faced even a worse fate!

It seemed like Pyris was just a Champion Of Lust and Lust Dragon but also carried the legacy of his grandfather who had cucked the Immortal Realms Sovereign and then a god.

Anyway...

Even Pyris himself knew the pattern of how Obsidian die in mysterious ways. They all did.

And as for his mother? Pyris was certain she wasn't just Rank 19. No—there was more to her than even he could understand.

_____

The preparations were complete. Pyris opened the vault—one of two, this one reserved only for tools, not artifacts of mass destruction. From within, he drew out a weapon older than kingdoms:

[Cursed Forge Hammer]

Rank: Immortal

Status: Bound to the Obsidian Bloodline

Active skills...] The status went on but Pyris barely glanced at it.

It pulsed with restrained power, a whisper of the ancient forge techniques long thought extinct. This was no ordinary crafting tool—it was a legacy of the past, one Pyris was permitted to wield. The rest? Far too dangerous. Far beyond his current level.

He had never cared for artifacts, never hungered for divine weapons or legendary tools. Why would he?

The Obsidian vaults were filled with them.

Weapons so powerful they had been locked away, untouched except for the occasional moment his mother felt like "playing" with the lower-ranked ones. The true weapons—artifacts capable of rewriting reality of a battle—remained sealed in the ancestral mansion, guarded by the Phantoms.

This was why Pyris barely reacted when his system offered him a Godly-Rank hammer as a reward. Godly? His teacher's hammer had no rank at all. And the other hammers slumbering in the vault? They made the system's reward look like a child's toy.

As if sensing his thoughts, his teacher moved.

She pulled out her own hammer.

The air changed.

The forge trembled as she lifted the massive weapon—longer than her entire body, wreathed in roaring, unstable energy. Sparks of forge intent crackled along its runes, it's energy barely contained within. The head of the hammer burned not with heat, but with essence, as though the concept of forging itself had been condensed into a single artifact.

Pyris blinked, staring. Then he stared at her. Small, flame-haired, wielding that thing.

She narrowed her eyes.

"You're thinking something rude, aren't you, Pyris?"

"Not at all," he said, deadpan.

She clearly didn't believe him.

Ignoring her glare, Pyris reached back into the vault, withdrawing a pair of Immortal-Rank Forging Gauntlets. The metal adjusted as he slipped them on, the complex enchantments flexing and reshaping to fit his hands perfectly.

For how powerful they were, the gauntlets felt… light.

Too light.

Power rippled subtly beneath the surface, amplifying his dexterity and magic flow in ways only a master could appreciate.

Next, he retrieved a small black orb from the vault.

Turning to Elsa, he pressed it gently against her chest. Find exclusive content at My Virtual Library Empire

The transformation was immediate.

The orb pulsed once—then liquid black metal poured from its surface. It spread like ink flowing over her skin, rippling in perfect harmony with her body. The armor wasn't forged. It was formed.

Obsidian-black plates flowed over her torso, shoulders, and arms, intricate patterns emerging as the armor solidified. Void energy he had added when he touched it, pulsed faintly from the cracks, reacting to her being signature. She didn't have magic yet.

When the transformation ended, Elsa stood clad in a sleek, seamless black suit of armor—matte yet menacing, leaving only her eyes visible.

The power thrummed beneath it. Adaptive. Evolving.

It wasn't just armor. It was a statement.

Pyris nodded, satisfied.

From the vault, he pulled a smaller, single-handed forging hammer, perfectly suited to Elsa's frame, and handed it over.

"You're here to show me what you wanted to, Elsa." he said firmly.

Elsa gripped the hammer, her hands trembling only slightly as she nodded. She hadn't come here to observe. She had requested this. She had asked to make a construct of her invention—something hers. Something she had come up with when he was in the labyrinth.

Pyris began to share just enough knowledge for her to try.

It was time to see what she was capable of.

His teacher raised her colossal hammer, flames dancing along its edge. Her voice echoed with the authority of countless lifetimes spent mastering the craft.

"Let's begin."

______

The Nightshade Duke's mansion sat like a brooding silhouette against the violet dusk, its gothic spires clawing at the sky with a flair only a family with a name like Nightshade could pull off. The garden, if you could call it that, had more dead vines than living plants—though it was unclear whether that was an aesthetic choice or pure neglect.

The iron gates creaked in a way that suggested they were either ancient or trying too hard to be dramatic, while the gargoyle statues on the balcony corners seemed less like protectors and more like they were waiting for the next fool to trip over the cobblestones.

Inside, the air smelled faintly of lavender and old paper. The mansion wasn't dusty—no, it was kept pristine, but in a way that made the shadows feel heavier, like the furniture had stories it wasn't sharing. Velvet drapes muffled the moonlight, and a grand clock ticked with just enough delay between beats to make you wonder if it was off or just messing with you.

Upstairs, in a room with violet wallpaper patterned like thorny roses, Seren lay sprawled on her plush, oversized bed, phone in hand, scrolling with an expression that was just short of pure delight.

A rare smile graced her lips—soft, genuine. She had done it.

The Flower of Darkness was to it's expectations. The mystical bloom had begun working its magic, and her mother's health was improving. Soon, she'd be back on her feet, perhaps even able to torment the mansion staff again with her dramatic monologues about "the fragility of life."

But that wasn't the only thing Seren had taken from the Abyssal Labyrinth.

Her rank had climbed—considerably. Not enough to make her arrogant, but enough that the powerful nobles and royalties who whispered at the edges of her senses no longer felt quite so… overwhelming.

More than that, she'd made connections—friends.

Well, sort of friends.

Lyra had stuck around. The two of them were close now, real friends who didn't just share battlefield adrenaline but the quiet moments too. But the others—Petne, Alera, Zara? They were mysteries. Especially Petne.

Well, at least she knew Zara knew her mother, but Petne?

Seren's eyes narrowed as her thumb continued to scroll.

She didn't know who Petne really was. High status, clearly. Power on a level most couldn't touch. But he'd just… vanished after their encounter in the Labyrinth.

Until now all she knew, he was a very powerful dragon with a unit Bloodline like royals and high nobles but not more than that.

Her finger paused mid-scroll.

A headline blared across her screen:

"Youngest CEO of Obsidian Tech—Pyris Obsidian Returns from Dangerous Journey Injured!"

The article unfolded in a mess of gossip and speculation. Something about injuries after a mysterious disappearance. She felt intrigued, Pyris was from the same academy as her, an enigma not just the young generation but also the older generation was curious about.

She scrollee through all the articles, more she read, the more she was interested. Another link. She clicked. A video interview.

Esmeralda, Vice CEO of Obsidian Tech, sat with perfect poise, answering questions with calm authority. She was talking about the launch of the game until she was asked about Pyris.

"Mr. Obsidian ventured where few dare—the Abyssal Labyrinth—to retrieve something vital for the good of the mortal realm. His efforts were extraordinary, and please expect innovations that could reshape our world."

Seren barely noticed the praise. Her mind locked onto something else. The injuries. The labyrinth. A humanoid dragon. Ancient bloodlines.

She remembered now—Petne in his humanoid form, fighting that monstrous guardian. How his wounds had reopened, even before Seren and Lyra had fled from the fear of Mira. But she could vividly remember most of the wounds.

And now this… Pyris Obsidian, CEO of a tech empire, recovering from a "dangerous expedition" and had the same wounds.

Her breath caught.

The realization hit like a hammer blow.

Petne was Pyris Obsidian.

Seren stared at the screen, her pulse racing.

"How stupid can I be?" she muttered under her breath, tossing the phone aside and sinking into the bed's pillows.

She had found him.