100x Rebate Sharing System: Retired Incubus Wants to Marry & Have Kids

Chapter 404: Chapter 403- Viktor’s New Powers

The window did not care what was happening beneath it.

That was the thing about the system. It had no concept of ’timing’. It arrived when it arrived — over burning fields, over dying bodies, over the precise scorched second of a commander’s dignity collapsing — and it simply sat in his vision, clinical and blue and entirely indifferent to the woman currently clenched around him like a fist that didn’t know how to open.

[ 100X REWARD TRANSFERRING ]

[ CALCULATING... ]

Viktor’s jaw tightened.

He was — still buried inside her. Every inch of him seated in the deep wet grip of her, her body holding him with the particular force of a woman whose nervous system had overridden everything her mind was trying to do, and the system window floated directly over her arched face and her open mouth and her wide, wrecked eyes.

He looked at her.

He looked at the window.

He looked back at her.

’Yeah, alright.’ He dismissed the calculation anxiety with the focus of a man who had learned to multitask in ways that should have been physiologically impossible, and he read.

[ REWARD PROCESSING COMPLETE ]

[ VIRGINITY CLAIMED — SUBJECT: CELESTIA WHITEFALL, HOUSE KTORIAN ]

[ MODIFIER ACTIVE: AUNT BOND — BLOOD RELATION (MATERNAL) ]

[ MODIFIER ACTIVE: FIRST SURRENDER — LIFELONG CELIBACY BROKEN ]

[ MODIFIER ACTIVE: WARRIOR VIRGIN — COMBAT RANK S-TIER ]

[ BONUS MULTIPLIER: 100X → 347X ]

Viktor blinked.

’Three hundred.’

The number sat in his chest for a moment before the rest of it loaded.

[ ABILITIES UNLOCKED — BATCH TRANSFER INITIATING ]

[ ABILITY 1 — ABSOLUTE SWORD DOMAIN ]

[ TIER: MYTHIC ]

[ DESCRIPTION: The user’s sword intent expands to fill all space within the domain boundary. Within domain, the user requires no physical movement to execute cuts. Any object, force, or concept the user’s mind identifies as a target is severed. Domain boundary — INITIAL: 1.2 MILES. Scales with cultivation. ]

[ NOTE: Previous ability [ SWORD DOMAIN — 2-sword-length, infinite slash ] has been CONSUMED and EVOLVED into the above. The distinction: the old domain required presence. The new domain requires only intent. You do not need to raise a blade. You do not need to be in the same room. You do not need to be awake. ]

[ ABILITY 2 — CANNON SWORD: HUNDRED BLADES FORMATION ]

[ TIER: LEGENDARY ]

[ DESCRIPTION: Host may manifest and control up to one hundred independent sword constructs simultaneously within the Absolute Sword Domain. Each construct operates at full sword intent capacity. Formation patterns are limited only by host cognition speed. ]

He read it twice.

’Without moving an inch.’

He thought about the sword that had come for his throat that morning, Celestia’s technique, the one that had torn a line in the air and arrived before sound. He thought about it inside a one-mile domain where he was the domain. Where every blade in every direction answered to a thought.

’Hundred of them.’

The smile arrived.

Not immediately. It built, the way things build when the size of a thing arrives in stages — first the understanding, then the implication, then the full weight of what he was now standing inside. It built from the corner of his mouth upward, the quiet one, the one that lived below his ribcage rather than on his face.

He dismissed the window.

And looked down.

At his aunt.

Celestia Whitefall lay beneath him exactly as she was, exactly as the paralytic compound had arranged her — thighs open, arms shaking at her sides, the enormous weight of her breasts heaving with every shallow breath, her silver-grey hair fanned out across the hut floor like scattered ash. The inch-long nipples were still standing. Still flushed dark-pink. Still doing the specific thing that bodies do when they’ve been overwhelmed into pure physiology.

Her inner walls were moving.

That was the thing he hadn’t fully anticipated — the specific, involuntary rhythmic clenching of a body that had never been here before and was processing Viktor like a question it had never been taught to ask. She was ’milking’ him. Not performing it. Not choosing it. Her body doing it entirely without her consent, the deep wet pull and release of her, slow and regular, gripping him in rolling waves that started at the base and traveled up the length of him.

Viktor exhaled.

Quietly. Through his nose. The controlled exhale of a man exercising discretion over a sound he very nearly made.

’Shit.’

He was still hard. Obviously. Embarrassingly. The kind of hard that had arrived when she’d clenched around him on that first thrust and had simply ’stayed’, refusing to acknowledge any argument about context or relationship or the fact that a system window had just materialized over the whole thing. His cock throbbed with her pulse. He could feel it — her heartbeat, transmitted through the grip of her, fast and erratic, the cardiac rhythm of a woman whose body was running two completely separate programs and losing the ability to reconcile them.

Her mouth was working.

He watched it. The shapes of words she couldn’t produce — the paralytic sitting on her throat like a hand, allowing breath but not force, allowing the shapes of speech without the volume of it. He could read some of them.

’Stop.’

’Viktor.’

’Get—’

The rest dissolved into the next involuntary clench and whatever she’d been trying to say became a breath instead, her chin lifting, throat exposed, the long column of her neck flushed down to the collarbone.

Viktor looked at her.

He’d taken her virginity. This woman — his mother’s sister, the General’s daughter, the commander who had ridden into his town with forty-three knights and a negative tower access score and the suppressed version of ’oh god what happened to that miserable fat boy’ behind her professional composure.

He’d taken it.

And the system had just told him, in clear numerical terms, exactly what that was worth.

The smile settled.

He leaned down.

His palm found her breast the way his palms found things now — with the particular unhurried certainty of someone who had stopped asking permission from themselves. He took the weight of it properly, fingers splayed under the full heavy curve of it, and ’lifted’, just slightly, just enough to feel it settle into his grip — the real weight of her, warm and dense and impossible to fully hold because there was simply too much of it, his fingers sinking into the yielding flesh while the rest of her spilled outward against his palm.

Her body shuddered.

He squeezed.

Not gentle. Not rough either — just present, the grip of someone who meant to hold a thing and was holding it. He felt her nipple drag against his inner wrist as she shuddered, the hard point of it, long and sensitive and completely betraying every word she couldn’t say.

He brought his mouth close to her ear.

”’You’re really a good aunt’,” he said.

The words came out quiet. Almost warm. The specific warmth of something meant sincerely inside a situation that should have made sincerity impossible.

Her whole body went rigid.

Not the rigidity of the compound — different, sharper, the rigidity of a woman who has just heard six words that required a response and had no mechanism to produce one. Her eyes flew as wide as the haze would allow, the brown of them suddenly present, suddenly ’aware’, the glassy overlay shoved back by raw indignant horror.

She ’tried to move’.

Both arms, jerking toward his shoulders, fingers reaching to push — the specific, desperate push of someone trying to create distance by force when there was nowhere to go. Her palms found his chest. Her arms were shaking.

The compound had left her with the motions but not the follow-through, and the push arrived with all the weight of a woman who had been lifting a sword since she was six years old stripped down to the trembling push of someone whose nervous system was running on emergency reserves.

Viktor let her push.

He watched it with the particular attention of someone who found the attempt genuinely interesting.

Then he lowered his head.

His mouth found her left nipple.

He didn’t build to it. He took it — full, lips sealed around the entire areola, tongue flat against the rigid length of it, and he ’sucked’ with the focused attention of someone who had been thinking about this since the armor came off.

Her back came off the floor.

The sound she made — it wasn’t a word. It wasn’t even close to a word. It was the sound of every muscle from her navel to her shoulders contracting simultaneously, the involuntary arching, the shoulders off the ground and the belly drawing in and the enormous weight of her breasts heaving upward toward his mouth.

He worked it. Tongue pressing, circling, the flat pressure giving way to the specific attention of the tip, tracing the inch-long length of her nipple while she shook. He felt her inner walls clench hard — once, sharp — around him in direct response, and his cock answered by pulsing, a deep throb that she would have felt all the way to her spine.

He moved.

His mouth left her left nipple and found her right one in the same motion — and ’both hands’ now, palms cupping both breasts from below, thumbs pressing inward at the base of each nipple while his lips worked the second one, giving the first the attention of his thumb and forefinger, rolling the abused nub with steady pressure.

Both nipples. Simultaneously.

Her arms stopped pushing.

Her hands — still on his chest, still pressed there — went still. Not because she’d given up. Because the sensation had arrived at a volume that simply didn’t leave bandwidth for the push. Her fingers spread flat. Her nails were against his skin. And the sound building behind her closed lips was being held there by the paralytic with increasingly insufficient force.

Viktor pulled back.

Looked at her face.