Chapter 4: Happy Days
The routine settled into her bones like a sickness she couldn't shake.
Three days after the first night, Candice stopped pretending she wasn't going to return. Five days after that, she stopped counting. The visits became as inevitable as breathing—as necessary as food, as constant as the cold weight of her sword at her hip. Every evening, she finished her patrols, delivered her reports, smiled at the villagers who praised her name, and then waited.
Waited for the sun to bleed into the horizon.
Waited for the hunger to curl through her stomach like smoke.
Waited for the moment she could slip through the back entrance of the Crimson Lotus, her hood pulled low, her face hidden, her body already trembling with need.
The first week was the worst. She'd told herself it was temporary—a necessary evil, a means to an end. She'd told herself she was gathering information, learning about the mark, figuring out how to remove it. She'd told herself she was still in control.
By the second week, she'd stopped lying.
The goblins died by the dozens every morning. She cleared camps that had sprung up overnight, slaughtered patrols that wandered too close to the village, and burned their totems until the forest stank of ash and black blood. Each kill fed the mark, sated it for a few hours, gave her enough clarity to function.
But the hunger always came back. And each night, she found herself crawling back to Morgana's bed.
The villagers noticed something was wrong. They had to. Candice saw it in the way they looked at her—the elders with their furrowed brows, the farmers with their hesitant smiles, the children who used to run up to her with flowers now keeping their distance. She was losing weight. Her eyes were hollow. Her temper, once even and controlled, had begun to fray at the edges.
"Are you ill?" Elder Marcus asked her one afternoon, his weathered face creased with concern. "You look like you haven't slept in weeks."
"I'm fine," she said.
"You're not fine. You've been pushing yourself too hard. The goblins can wait—"
"The goblins can't wait. They're getting stronger. I can feel it."
It wasn't a lie. The goblins were evolving, their levels rising, their tactics growing more sophisticated. Candice had killed a hobgoblin yesterday that had been Level 45, and the battle had actually required effort.
But that wasn't why she kept fighting.
She fought because the killing made the hunger bearable. She fought because the violence gave her an excuse to avoid the village, to avoid the questions, to avoid the pitying looks that followed her everywhere. She fought because when she was swinging her blade, she didn't have to think about what she'd become.
The nights were different.
The nights were where the real work happened—if you could call it work. She'd stopped pretending it was anything other than what it was: a transaction. Morgana gave her relief. Candice gave Morgana power. They used each other, plain and simple.
But somewhere along the way, the transaction had become something more.
It was the little things that betrayed them. The way Morgana would laugh at something Candice said, a genuine laugh, not the practiced one she used with customers. The way Candice would find herself talking about her day, sharing details she hadn't intended to share. The way they'd linger afterward, tangled in Morgana's silk sheets, neither of them in a hurry to move.
"You know," Morgana said one night, her fingers tracing lazy circles on Candice's stomach, "you're different when you're here."
"Different how?"
"Less... clenched. Less like you're about to snap in half." She pressed a kiss to Candice's shoulder. "More like the girl I used to know."
Candice didn't respond. She didn't want to think about the girl she used to be. That girl was gone.
The sex was never gentle. That was the other thing that had changed. The first few times had been careful, almost tentative—Morgana exploring Candice's body like she was unwrapping a gift, Candice letting herself be explored. But as the weeks passed and the hunger grew sharper, the encounters grew rougher. More desperate.
Morgana would push Candice onto the bed and climb on top of her, pinning her wrists above her head, her purple hair falling like a curtain around them. She'd kiss her hard, biting at her lips until they bled, and Candice would moan into her mouth, her hips already bucking upward.
"Someone's eager tonight," Morgana would say.
"Shut up and fuck me."
"Bossy."
But she'd obey. She always obeyed.
Her fingers were ruthless, pumping into Candice's cunt with a rhythm that left her gasping, her thumb pressing hard against her clit, her teeth sunk into Candice's neck. Candice would come screaming, her nails raking down Morgana's back, and Morgana would keep going, wouldn't stop, would fuck her through one orgasm and into another until Candice was a sobbing mess beneath her.
"More," Candice would beg. "Please, more, I need more—"
And Morgana would give her more.
She'd pull out the toys she kept in the chest at the foot of her bed—polished obsidian and enchanted leather, everything designed to wring pleasure from a body until it broke. She'd strap a cock around her hips and fuck Candice from behind, her hands gripping her hips hard enough to bruise, her thrusts deep and relentless.
"You like that?" Morgana would growl. "You like being fucked like a whore?"
"Yes, yes, fuck, don't stop—"
"You're going to come for me. You're going to come on my cock like the desperate slut you are."
And Candice would. She'd come harder than she ever had in her life, her body convulsing, her voice breaking, the mark on her stomach blazing so bright it lit up the entire room. Morgana would fuck her through it, drawing out every last spasm, until Candice collapsed onto the bed, boneless and gasping.
But it wasn't just Morgana giving.
Candice learned to take what she wanted. To push Morgana down and ride her face until she came, to pin her against the wall and finger her until she screamed, to tie her to the bedposts with silk cords and tease her for hours, bringing her to the edge and pulling back, over and over, until Morgana was begging—actually begging—for release.
"Do it," Morgana would gasp. "Please, Candice, please let me come—"
"Say it again."
"I need it, I need you, please—"
Candice would apply her mana then, flooding Morgana's mark with Lust Mana, and the orgasm that followed would be violent. Uncontrollable. Morgana would thrash against her bonds, her voice cracking, her body arching off the bed, and Candice would watch with something between fascination and horror.
This was power. This was what the mark could do.
The first time Morgana leveled up after their sessions, she didn't even notice. She was too busy lying on the bed, panting, her skin slick with sweat.
"Check your status," Candice said.
Morgana frowned, the golden glow of the notification appearing in her peripheral vision. Then her eyes went wide.
"Level 25," she breathed. "I gained two levels. In one night."
"That's how I felt."
"This is..." Morgana sat up, her expression shifting from shock to delight to something hungrier. "This is incredible. I didn't have to fight anything. I didn't have to train. I just had to get fucked."
"I know."
"Do you understand what this means? If we keep doing this—"
"I know," Candice said again. The words tasted bitter in her mouth.
Within a month, Morgana had reached Level 28. Her body had changed, her skin glowing, her eyes brighter. She looked like a different person, and in many ways, she was. The imperfect mark on her lower back had begun to shift, its jagged edges smoothing out, its purple glow taking on a golden hue.
"It's synchronizing," Morgana said, examining herself in the mirror. "My mark is synchronizing with yours. I've never seen this before—the texts didn't say anything about—"
"That's because the texts were written by people who didn't have a perfect mark to compare it to."
Morgana turned to face her, her expression thoughtful. "What else do you think it can do? What else can your power change?"
"I don't want to find out."
"Liar."
Candice pulled her hands away. "I'm not lying. I want the mark gone. I want to be normal again."
"Normal." Morgana's laugh was sharp and cold. "Normal is boring. Normal is sitting around this village until you die, never achieving anything, never knowing what you could have become."
"I was going to become a Paragon. I was going to surpass Level 75 through hard work and dedication."
"And how's that going for you?"
Candice didn't answer. She couldn't. The truth was that Morgana was right—she was gaining levels faster than she ever had before. Faster than she'd thought possible. The mark was making her stronger, feeding her power even when she didn't want it.
The days bled into weeks. The weeks bled into each other. Candice stopped counting the goblins she killed and started counting the nights she spent in Morgana's bed. Two. Ten. Twenty. Forty. Each one a small piece of herself she gave away, a little more of the old Candice dying and something new taking her place.
She reached Level 35. Then Level 37. Then Level 40.
By then, Morgana had hit Level 30.
"You're catching up," Candice said, watching her lover stretch on the bed, her body gleaming with sweat.
"I'm surpassing everyone." Morgana's voice was tinged with wonder and greed. "Do you know how many adventurers in this village are below Level 25? Everyone except you. And I'm already stronger than all of them. I didn't have to lift a single finger."
"It's not healthy. You're not building combat skills."
"Why would I need combat skills? I have you." Morgana rolled onto her stomach and propped her chin on her hands. "Besides, I'm building something better. Connections. Resources. Once I'm strong enough, I can leave this village and go somewhere with real opportunities. Somewhere I can be appreciated."
"You want to leave."
"Don't you?" Morgana met her eyes. "You could do so much more than this. There's a whole world out there, Candice. And with the power we're building together, we could take it."
"I'm not leaving. This village needs me."
"Does it really, though? Or does it just need someone—anyone—to protect it? Because the way I see it, you're sacrificing your life for people who will never understand you. People who condemned me for being honest about who I am. People who would condemn you in a heartbeat if they knew what you've been doing at night."
"Don't."
"I'm just saying you should think about it. That's all."
The next morning, Candice woke up alone in her own bed—she'd stopped sleeping at the brothel, but she still stumbled home in the dark hours before dawn—and stared at the ceiling for a long time.
Morgana was right. The village would condemn her if they knew. They'd call her a monster and chase her out with torches and pitchforks. She'd seen it happen before, with other people who'd broken their rules. She'd helped it happen, once—stood by while they banished Morgana for being a whore.
She'd thought she was doing the right thing. She'd thought she was protecting the village.
Now she wasn't sure she'd been protecting anything but her own denial.
The hunger stirred in her belly, and Candice sighed. She dressed. She ate. She walked to the barrier and checked its failing edges, then walked into the forest and killed goblins until the sun set.
And when night fell, she pulled her hood low and slipped through the back entrance of the Crimson Lotus, already wet, already trembling, already hating herself for wanting what she was about to get.
Morgana was waiting.
"Rough day?" she asked, watching Candice shed her clothes like they were on fire.
"Shut up."
"I'm just asking—"
Candice pushed her onto the bed.
Morgana grinned. "Someone's eager."
Candice didn't answer. She didn't need to. She climbed on top of Morgana and kissed her hard, bruising, taking what she wanted without apologizing for wanting it. Morgana's legs wrapped around her waist, pulling her close, and Candice ground against her thigh, desperate for friction.
"Fuck me," Candice growled.
"Say please."
"Please."
Morgana laughed, low and throaty, and flipped them over. She reached for the chest at the foot of the bed and pulled out a harness, a gleaming black cock already attached.
"On your knees," she commanded.
Candice obeyed. She always obeyed.
The first thrust stole her breath. The second made her moan. By the third, she was gone—no longer Candice Dixon, Level 40 mage, protector of Succi. Just a body being used, a cunt being filled, a slut who couldn't get enough.
"That's it," Morgana purred behind her. "Take it. Take all of it."
And Candice did. She screamed and she came and she begged for more, and Morgana gave it to her, relentless and cruel and exactly what she needed.
When it was over, they lay tangled together in the aftermath, the sheets ruined, the air thick with the smell of sex and sweat and something darker. Candice's mark was still glowing, pulsing with the rhythm of her heartbeat as it processed the Lust Mana she'd gathered.
But it wasn't enough. It was never enough.
"Do it," Morgana whispered, shifting beneath her, pressing her back against Candice's hand. "My mark. You know what to do."
Candice pressed her palm to Morgana's lower back, right over the now-golden mark that had once been purple, and pushed.
Morgana's scream was instant, sharp, glorious. Her body arched, her voice broke, her nails clawed at the sheets as the Lust Mana flooded her system. The mark absorbed it greedily, changing, growing, synchronizing further.
When Morgana collapsed, panting, a notification appeared in the air between them.
Level 31.