Chapter 8: The First Command
The afterglow was a chemical warmth in Argent’s veins, pleasant and irrelevant. Pyrrha lay curled against him, her breathing still uneven, her skin damp with sweat. Her fingers traced idle, possessive circles on his chest. In the silence, he could feel the new power sleeping within him—Polarity. A faint, metallic taste lingered at the back of his tongue, like licking a battery. It was a profound, tectonic strength, the ability to command the very metal that built their world. He wondered, idly, how it would interact with the fine wires in Weiss’s rapier, or the steel components of Ruby’s scythe.
Pyrrha shifted, nuzzling into his shoulder. “I can feel it,” she murmured, her voice husky and spent. “A… my semblance spread past my aura. It’s gone to you, hasn’t it?”
“Yes,” he said, his hand stroking her hair. There was no point in lying. Her devotion was absolute, and the truth would only bind her tighter. “It’s how my semblance works. A permanent copy.”
Instead of horror, she sighed, a sound of deep contentment. “Good. Then my one true master also has a piece of my power and soul inside him. I’m truly yours, in every way possible.” She propped herself up on an elbow, her emerald eyes searching his face in the low light. They were clear now, focused not with a champion’s intensity, but with a disciple’s awe. “What do you need from me?”
The question was perfect. He looked at her, his expression softening into something that mimicked tender consideration. “Right now? Just this. Just to be here.” He let a beat of silence hang, then continued, his voice dropping. “But trust… it’s a fragile thing, Pyrrha. Even now. Especially now. I’ve shown you the deepest truth of what I am. That leaves me exposed.”
Her face fell, a flicker of panic in her eyes. “You can trust me. I would never—”
“I believe you,” he interrupted gently, stopping her words with a finger to her lips. “But I need to hear it. I need a… covenant. Not for me, but for you. So you have a touchstone, a promise you made in this moment, to look back on when the world tries to pull you away. When people like Ozpin or your team, or even Jaune, try to remind you of who they think you should be.”
He saw the name ‘Jaune’ land, a tiny flinch. Good. He was mapping her remaining connections, identifying the pressure points.
“They don’t know me,” she said, with more heat than he’d expected. “Not like you do. Not at all.”
“Then give me your words,” he whispered, shifting to sit up against the headboard. The sheets pooled around his waist. He looked down at her, his gaze patient, expectant. “Give me a vow. Something spoken aloud that makes it real. Something only we share.”
Pyrrha sat up swiftly, her nakedness seeming irrelevant, just another layer of honesty shed. She didn’t hesitate. She slid from the bed and knelt on the floor beside it, the cool air raising goosebumps on her skin. She looked up at him, her back straight, her hands resting on her thighs. The pose was one of formal fealty, but her eyes were blazing with an emotional, personal fervor. The dim light from the window caught the tear-tracks still drying on her cheeks.
“Tell me what to say,” she breathed.
He reached down, his fingers tilting her chin up. “Speak from that place inside you that’s so tired of being the statue on the pedestal. The place that finally feels free.”
She took a shuddering breath. Her voice, when it came, was low and trembling, but unwavering in its conviction.
“I, Pyrrha Nikos,” she began, then stopped, shaking her head. “No. Just Pyrrha. I am just Pyrrha. I vow to you, Argent Proudmoore, my mind, my body, and my loyalty. I renounce the empty title of champion. I renounce the loneliness of perfection. I choose the truth you’ve shown me. I will obey your commands, protect your secrets, and further your goals, not as a servant, but as… as an extension of your will. My strength is yours to direct. My heart is yours to hold. From this moment, my life is woven with yours. I see you. I accept you. I am yours.”
As she spoke the final words, her voice broke. A fresh tear spilled over and traced a path through the faint freckles dusting her nose. The raw, unfiltered emotion in the room was palpable, a thick humidity.
Argent leaned down, his face inches from hers. He let his semblance flare, not to create anything new, but to amplify. He took the genuine, vulnerable love and devotion radiating from her and turned up the volume in her own mind, looping it, reinforcing it, making the feeling reverberate through every memory and future thought. He tied the ecstatic physical release she’d just experienced directly to the sound of her own voice making this promise. The neurochemical high of orgasm and the profound emotional catharsis of surrender became permanently linked.
To her, it would simply feel like the most natural, earned epiphany of her life. The love felt deep because it was deep, now surgically enhanced and anchored to her very core.
He watched the internal shift happen in real-time. The trembling in her hands stilled. The tears continued, but they were no longer tears of overwhelm; they were tears of profound relief, of a crushing weight finally, gloriously lifted. Her expression softened into something achingly peaceful.
“It feels real,” she whispered, amazed. “It feels… like coming home.”
He smiled, a genuine curl of his lips that touched his eyes. “That’s because it is.” He slid from the bed and knelt in front of her, bringing them eye-to-eye on the cool floor. He framed her face with both hands, wiping her tears away with his thumbs. “You are so strong, Pyrrha. And now, all that strength has a purpose. We have a purpose.”
He pulled her into a kiss. It was softer than before, a seal on the pact. She melted into it, her arms wrapping around his neck, a small, broken sound of happiness humming in her throat. When they parted, she was weeping again, but silently now, her face pressed into the crook of his neck.
“Thank you,” she mumbled against his skin. “Thank you for seeing me. For wanting me. Not the symbol. Just me.”
He held her, one hand cradling the back of her head, his eyes open and冷静 over her shoulder, looking at the pale strip of dawn light beginning to edge the window blind. The plan was accelerating beautifully. Pyrrha Nikos was no longer a potential asset. She was a foundational pillar.
She was a foundational pillar. Her vow still hummed in the quiet air between them, a tangible thread now connecting her psyche to his. He held her, feeling the solid reality of her shoulder under his palm, the beat of her heart against his chest. The dawn light was strengthening, painting monochrome stripes across the tangle of sheets and discarded armor on the floor.
That was when he decided to breed her.
The calculus was immediate and clear. A child would be an unbreakable chain, biological and profound, far beyond the mental webs he’d spun. It would permanently sever any lingering path back to a normal life, to Jaune Arc, to the destiny Ozpin might have envisioned for her. She would be, in flesh and fact, his. The thought sent a jolt of pure, dark anticipation straight to his core. He softened his hold, pulling back just enough to see her tear-streaked, peaceful face.
“Such a glorious vow,” he murmured, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw. “It demands a worthy reward. A physical commemoration of our new beginning.”
Pyrrha’s eyes, still shimmering, focused on him with trusting curiosity. “A reward?”
He shifted, rising to his feet and pulling her up with him. He guided her back toward the massive, rumpled bed—the same quadrant where Yang’s scent still clung to one pillow, where Blake’s hair was caught in the seams. “Ride me,” he said, his voice dropping into a low, possessive register that was neither a request nor a forceful command, but a definitive statement of what would occur. “I want to watch you take your reward. I want to see your face when you understand the full depth of what you’ve pledged.”
A slow, delighted smile spread across her lips. She moved willingly, her body languid from spent passion but eagerly responsive to his directive. She climbed onto the bed, the muscles in her thighs flexing as she straddled his hips where he now lay back against the headboard. His cock, already hardening again against his stomach, twitched as her heat hovered above it.
He reached between them, gripping himself, guiding the swollen head to press against her slick, used entrance. She sank down an inch, a sigh escaping her. He stopped her with hands on her hips.
“Look at me,” he said. The casual tenderness was gone, replaced by a steel-cable intensity. “Understand this completely, Pyrrha. From this moment forward, every time I fuck you, it will be like this. Raw. No barriers. I am going to fill this perfect, champion’s cunt with my cum, over and over, with a very specific purpose.”
Her breath hitched. Her emerald eyes widened, swimming with a dawning, profound comprehension. It wasn’t fear he saw. It was a shocked, thrilling awe.
“I am going to impregnate you,” he stated, the clinical, brutal word a stark contrast to the intimate coil of their bodies. “You will carry my child. You will not use birth control. You will not even consider it. Your body’s prime function, beyond fighting for me, will be to receive my seed and make it grow. Do you understand the reward you’re being given?”
For a heartbeat, she was perfectly still, suspended above him, his cockhead just barely parting her swollen lips. A flush, deeper than any from exertion or pleasure, flooded her chest and face. A small, incredulous sound, almost a laugh, bubbled from her throat. It was the sound of a locked door she never knew existed swinging open onto a forbidden garden.
“Yes,” she whispered, the word thick with emotion. Then, stronger, fueled by a dizzying mix of devotion and a primal, feminine thrill: “Yes. Oh, gods, Argent… yes. Please.”
She was pleasantly shocked by his words, and she rushed to obey.
In one fluid, desperate motion, she slammed herself down, sheathing him entirely in one breathtaking plunge. A choked cry tore from her as he filled her, the fresh sensitivity from her first time making the stretch a delicious, burning fullness. “Fuck!” she gasped, her head falling back, her red hair cascading down her bare back.
“That’s it,” he growled, his hands clamping on her hips, his fingers digging into the firm muscle. “Take it all. This cunt is mine to breed. Now move. Show me how badly you want to be filled up with my baby.”
Pyrrha rose up, his slick length sliding almost all the way out, before driving back down with a force that shook the bedframe. She set a frantic, hungry rhythm, her nails scraping over his pectorals. Each downward thrust was a wet, slapping collision of skin, the sound obscenely loud in the quiet room. Her tits bounced, her nipples hard pebbles, and her face was a mask of concentrated, blissful abandonment.
“You’re gonna put a baby in me,” she moaned, the words slurry and raw, as if speaking the fantasy aloud made it more real. “You’re gonna knock up the Invincible Girl. Oh fuck, your cock feels so deep, it feels like you’re already pumping it full!”
“I will be,” he grunted, meeting her thrusts with an upward drive of his own, spearing up into her hot, clutching depths. He could feel the unique, hollow ache of her recently ruptured hymen, a bruised and welcoming gate. “I’m gonna flood your womb until it takes. You’ll feel it, Py. You’ll feel my cum shooting straight into your fertile little cunt and you’ll know you’re mine forever.”
His filthy, graphic promises pushed her closer to the edge. Her movements became erratic, less controlled, driven by a base, animal need to be claimed and seeded. Her inner muscles began to flutter and spasm around him, a rippling, milking pressure. “I’m gonna cum! I’m gonna cum on your breeding cock!”
“Do it,” he commanded, his own release coiling tight at the base of his spine. The visual was too potent—Pyrrha Nikos, astride him, lost in the throes of accepting her role as his broodmare. “Cum all over it. Soak it. Then hold still and take your reward.”
She screamed, a raw,撕破的 sound utterly devoid of her usual melodic grace. Her body locked, back arched violently, as her orgasm shattered through her. Her pussy clamped down on him in rhythmic, vicious pulses, a silken fist trying to drag the cum from his balls.
The sensation tipped him over. With a final, brutal upward grind, he buried himself to the hilt and let go. Hot, thick jets of semen erupted inside her, pumping deep into her welcoming, fertile channel. He groaned, a guttural sound of pure possession, as he emptied himself, pulse after pulse flooding her ravished womb.
She collapsed forward onto his chest, shuddering, her whole body trembling with the aftershocks. He kept his hips pressed tight against hers, ensuring not a single drop escaped. They stayed locked together, panting, the only sound their ragged breaths and the distant, first morning bell.
After a long moment, he softened inside her. A slow, warm trickle of their mixed release leaked out, staining the sheets beneath them. He stroked her hair, his other hand splayed possessively over the small of her back, right above the curve of her ass.
“It’s done,” he whispered into her ear.
She nodded, her face still buried against him. “It’s done,” she repeated, her voice muffled, satiated, and utterly certain.
“It’s done,” she repeated, her voice muffled, satiated, and utterly certain.
For a long minute, they stayed like that, a tangled knot of limbs and drying sweat. Argent could feel the slow, inevitable seep of his release leaking from her, a warm dampness spreading between their joined bodies. He didn’t mind. It was a mark, a proof. But then Pyrrha stirred.
With a soft grunt of effort, she pushed herself up off his chest. Her movements were deliberate, her brow furrowed not in pain, but in concentration. She rolled to her side, then onto her naked back beside him on the ravaged sheets. Without a word, she hooked her hands behind her knees, drawing her legs up.
She planted her feet flat on the mattress and pushed, raising her hips upwards until her pelvis was tilted at a sharp angle toward the ceiling. Her abdominal muscles, defined from years of combat training, stood out in stark relief. Her cunt, pink and swollen, glistened in the low light. A single, pearlescent trickle traced a path down toward the small of her back, but the raised position stemmed the greater flow.
She held the pose, her breathing controlled, a look of fierce determination on her face. It was the same expression she wore in the ring moments before a final, decisive strike.
Argent propped himself up on an elbow, watching her. A slow, approving grin spread across his face. “Well now. What’s all this?”
Pyrrha kept her hips elevated, turning her head to look at him. A faint, pragmatic blush colored her cheeks. “Basic anatomy,” she said, her voice matter-of-fact, though a thrill of pride vibrated beneath it. “Gravity is working against us. This gives it a better chance to… to take root. I want to keep as much inside as I can. For a while longer, at least.”
He chuckled, a low, genuine sound of delight. His free hand came to rest on her lower stomach, his fingers splaying possessively over the flat plane. “Look at you. Taking initiative. My clever, dedicated girl.” His thumb brushed the sharp crest of her hip bone, then drifted upward. He traced the tense line of her ribcage, finally circling one taut, rose-brown nipple. He pinched it gently, rolling the pebbled flesh between his thumb and forefinger, watching her breath catch.
“I can’t wait to see these change,” he murmured, his gaze fixed on her breasts as his fingers teased the other nipple to an identical stiff peak. “To watch them grow heavy and full. To see your beautiful body reshape itself around the life we put inside it today.” His voice was a contemplative, hungry whisper. “The famed Invincible Girl, round with my child. Your tits swollen with milk for me. It’s going to be a masterpiece, Pyrrha.”
A shudder ran through her, part exhaustion, part electric arousal at the graphic, intimate fantasy. She maintained her position, the muscles in her thighs beginning to tremble slightly from the strain. The physical effort became another act of devotion, a silent prayer to the possibility he’d planted deep within her.
“How long should I hold it?” she asked, her voice strained.
“Until you can’t,” he said, finally leaving her nipples to trail his fingers back down her quivering abdomen. He let his hand rest, a warm weight, just above her pubic bone. “Every second counts.”
She nodded, closing her eyes, focusing on the dull, full ache inside her and the heat of his palm on her skin. The room was silent except for their breathing. The metallic taste of her stolen Polarity semblance still ghosted Argent’s tongue, a constant, thrilling reminder. He cataloged the feeling alongside the others—the razor-edged grace of Blake’s shadow-step, the crisp, geometric potential of Weiss’s glyphs, the explosive, conversion-based power of Yang’s kinetic absorption. A formidable arsenal, now joined by a force that could bend the world’s skeleton.
And soon, he thought, his eyes drifting to the determined set of Pyrrha’s jaw, a living, breathing legacy. A permanent chain.
After another minute, a small gasp escaped her. Her hips wavered, then slowly lowered back to the mattress. She let her legs fall open, boneless, a sheen of new sweat on her skin. She turned her head toward him, her expression soft and searching. “Did I do it right?”
He leaned over and kissed her forehead, a parody of tenderness that felt utterly real to her. “Perfectly.” He swung his legs off the bed, the floorboards cool under his feet.
He stretched, the muscles in his back pulling tight, and glanced at the window. The sky was shifting from deep indigo to a watery grey. Morning was coming, and with it, complications. Pyrrha watched him from the bed, her eyes half-lidded with exhaustion and fulfillment. The practical side of her, the strategist, was clearly surfacing through the haze.
“My team,” she said softly, a tiny line of worry appearing between her brows. “They’ll have noticed I’m not back. Jaune… he worries. He might come looking.”
Argent turned, leaning against the desk cluttered with Ruby’s schematics. He gave her a relaxed, dismissive wave. “Let me handle that. You’ve done more than enough.” He focused his semblance, but not on her. He cast his mental reach outward, through the still-sleeping halls of Beacon, toward the JNPR dorm. He found the sleeping minds of Lie Ren, Nora Valkyrie, and Jaune Arc. The touch was gossamer-light, a minor adjustment.
To Ren and Nora, he implanted a simple, convincing memory: Pyrrha mentioning she was pulling an all-nighter in the library to prepare for a special one-on-one tactics seminar with Professor Goodwitch. She’d be back at dawn. To Jaune, he added a reinforcing layer: a sense of warm confidence in Pyrrha’s unmatched capability, quelling his instinct to check. It was easier than he’d expected; Jaune’s mental defenses were like loose netting.
He opened his eyes. The whole process took less than five seconds. “Done,” he said. “They’re all peacefully asleep, believing you’re studying. They won’t stir or worry.”
The worry line on Pyrrha’s forehead smoothed away. She smiled, a slow, adoring thing. “My benevolent, sexy master is so smart,” she murmured, snuggling deeper into the pillow that smelled of other girls. “You think so far ahead.”
“It’s what I do.” He walked back to the bedside, looking down at her spent form, the glorious wreckage of the champion. “You’ve earned yourself some sleep, Py. A real, deep sleep. No dreams, no worries. Just rest.” He placed a hand on her temple, his semblance dialing from a subtle influence to a direct, gentle command. “Fall asleep.”
The order was a weighted blanket, settling over her consciousness. Her smile remained, soft and trusting, as her eyelids fluttered. “So smart…” she slurred, the words melting into a sigh. The command became too heavy to resist. Her breathing deepened, evening out almost instantly into the profound, motionless rhythm of compelled slumber.
She lay naked on the quad bed, one arm thrown above her head. In the quiet, a single bead of saliva traced from the corner of her slack mouth onto Yang’s pillow. Between her legs, a slow, thick trickle of their combined fluids seeped from her swollen lips, darkening the sheet beneath her.
Argent smirked, supremely satisfied with the way this new conquest had turned out. Pyrrha Nikos was no longer just a conquest; she was a foundational pillar, willingly reshaped, permanently anchored. He bent and carefully pulled a corner of the rumpled comforter over her hips, a mockery of chivalry that amused him.
The dorm room door hissed open.
“Master? You in here? We got back from the training sim and—” Ruby Rose’s cheerful voice cut off abruptly.
Argent turned, leaning casually against the bed frame as all four members of Team RWBY filed into their own room.
Ruby stood frozen just inside the doorway, her silver eyes wide. Weiss Schnee stopped beside her, a data scroll in her hand, her icy blue eyes snapping from Argent’s bare chest to the sleeping figure on the bed. Her lips parted in a silent ‘o’. Yang Xiao Long pushed past them, a grin already forming until she saw the specific occupant of her bed. The grin didn’t fade, but it shifted, becoming sharper, more knowing. Blake Belladonna was the last to enter, her feline ears flattening against her hair as she took in the scene with a single, comprehensive glance.
The room was silent, thick with the scent of sex and the visual proof of it.
Yang was the first to speak, her voice a low, amused purr. “Well, well. Been expanding the portfolio, boss?”
Weiss found her voice, a scandalized whisper. “Is that… Pyrrha Nikos?”
Ruby blinked, processing. “She’s… sleeping. Did she have a really tough… training session… too?” The innocence in her question was utterly genuine, and it hung in the air for a beat.
Then Blake’s golden eyes met Argent’s. There was no confusion in them, only a quiet, resigned understanding. She saw the leaking evidence, the absolute surrender in Pyrrha’s unconscious posture. She saw the satisfied curve of Argent’s mouth. Her own memories, of a similar night on these same sheets, were still warm.
A slow, collective realization dawned on the others. Weiss’s cheeks flushed. Ruby’s eyes darted from the empty mug on the nightstand to Pyrrha’s discarded armor piled on the floor. Yang’s grin widened into something wolfish.
Argent said nothing. He just watched them, his smirk deepening, as his loyal huntresses looked upon the newest member of their unorthodox fellowship, asleep in the master’s bed.