Ancestral Lineage
Chapter 347 - 347: Ecstatic Destruction

The land had once again been bathed in blood—but that was nothing new.

This was the Demon Realm.

Death, despair, bloodshed—these were not aberrations. They were constants. They were truths written in bone and fire, carried on every breath. Demons were creatures of chaos, born from the endless cravings of sentient beings. Immortal to an extent, resilient beyond reason—so even in devastation, there was always the return. The cycle was unbroken.

But not this time.

Something had changed.

This time… they would not come back.

Why?

Because their deaths had been administered by a Sin.

And not just any Sin.

The Sin of Lust.

And this destruction—it was, ironically, their own doing. Their pride. Their blindness. Their arrogance.

The essence of lust itself saturated the air, thick and cloying like perfume too sweet. It wasn't just a scent—it had weight, color, and presence. The very air had turned pink, shimmering softly, humming seductively. Those who breathed it in, even for a moment, were pulled into a frenzy of desire.

But this was no seductive dream.

This was destruction disguised as pleasure. Seduction that burned like acid.

This was a new manifestation of Lust. One never seen before in all the eons of demonic history. It wasn't the sultry, manipulative, slow-burning charm the Sin of Lust was known for. No. This was raw. Violent. Overwhelming. Lust that took and consumed. Lust that destroyed.

And it worked.

The city, once glorious in its demonic splendor, had become a slaughterhouse. Not by sword or spell—but by the hands of its own people, driven mad with yearning. They had turned on one another. Pleasuring and killing. Kissing and tearing. Screaming and laughing. It was hell wearing the skin of ecstasy.

Then, amid the chaos, a voice.

Silken and sweet.

Far too sweet.

A voice so soft, so delicate it could only belong to a child. And yet… there was something beneath it. Something ancient. Something twisted and black and bottomless.

"How has life been?" the voice cooed, reaching into the ears and minds of every living and dead soul within the shattered walls of the city. "Hope you remember what happened about ten years ago..."

The sweetness thickened, choked the air.

"This is your reward. I'm sure you will love it, my dearies. Hehe~"

A giggle. High-pitched. Innocent. Like a child playing with dolls.

But it was the voice of the devil.

The voice of a true demon. One not born from hunger or ambition, but from something far worse—vengeance wrapped in silk, and trauma shaped like temptation.

Then silence.

"Now, for the main event," the voice continued, now slightly deeper—more aware. More knowing. The sugary tone remained, but it had matured, like wine left to ferment into something potent and dark.

"I hope you love my performance, my beloved."

Beloved?

None understood what it meant. But someone… someone did.

As if obeying a hidden cue, the pink mist vanished. The air cleared. The mindless beasts dissolved into vapor. The madness that clung to minds was lifted like a veil.

For a moment, a breath of relief touched them.

But dread settled even deeper in its place.

It was a setup.

They were being played with.

The calm before the storm. Like a sea gone still before the tidal wave. False serenity. Every instinct screamed it wasn't over.

And then—

"Dance of Lust: Ecstatic Destruction."

The voice returned, no longer childish.

It was manly now—mature, dangerous, commanding. A silky contralto laced with absolute authority.

In an instant, everything stopped.

Sound.

Wind.

Movement.

Even time itself hesitated.

The survivors, scattered across the ruins, found their eyes slowly dragged upward—not by their own will, but by something deeper. A compulsion. A command. The breath in their lungs froze as their gazes were pulled to the sky.

And there they were—floating above it all.

Eyes.

Two enormous, glowing eyes peered down from the sky itself.

Eyes of deep violet and pink, glowing like twin moons, swirling with galaxies of hunger and sadness. They held beauty and despair in equal measure. Eyes that were playful and furious, seductive and tragic. They bore into souls, dug through memories, and unearthed every shameful desire and suppressed secret.

The skies cracked with a low hum, and his presence descended like silk wrapping around their throats.

Then they saw him.

He wasn't towering. He wasn't monstrous.

No, he was divine.

He floated gently in the air, body wrapped in layers of translucent pink silk that clung to his form like living fabric. His hair was long, cascading in soft waves of purple and pink. His skin shimmered like polished moonstone. Horns of dark crystal arched from his head, and his wings—yes, wings—were like curtains of light, pulsing gently with rhythm.

He looked young, no older than twenty by human standards, yet his aura was as old as time. His face was soft, delicate. Almost innocent. But his smile…

That smile was madness.

It curved like a dagger. It promised pleasure. It whispered doom.

"I am Lust," he said simply, his voice echoing across the broken city, "and you are my dance partners. So… let us dance."

A stillness reigned for only a breath.

A single heartbeat.

Then the air trembled—not from wind or power—but from anticipation, like the entire realm had collectively inhaled in awe and terror.

The Sin of Lust slowly extended one elegant hand.

His nails were like pink diamonds, curved and shimmering, each one humming with cursed energy. As his fingers snapped once, the sound was not a crack—but a melody, a sharp musical note that echoed across the ruins with hypnotic resonance.

The note danced through the city, brushing against the minds of the surviving demons.

Some began to smile.

Some began to sob.

Some dropped to their knees, clawing at their own skin as if trying to scrub away invisible filth. Others stood, arms outstretched, moaning in ecstasy and agony alike.

"Come, my sweet devils, show me your rhythm."

The ground rippled, as if liquid. From it rose humanoid forms—shadows clothed in pink-glowing tendrils. These were Lustspawn, constructs made of corrupted passion and unfulfilled desires. Their bodies twisted and shimmered, taking on the most alluring forms tailored to each victim's fantasies.

And then, they danced.

Not with weapons.

Not with spells.

They moved like performers on a sacred stage—sinuous, erotic, graceful. Every step they took caused the earth to fracture. Every spin released waves of psychic shock that shattered minds. Every whisper, every laugh, every moan was a curse. Men and women alike, demons forged from war and darkness, began to fall.

Hearts burst in bliss.

Bodies convulsed in ecstasy so extreme it tore muscle from bone.

One mighty general—Ecoras's own commander—let out a scream not of fear, but of longing, as his chest exploded in a blossom of pink light. His body withered and crumbled, but his face... it smiled as if he had found paradise.

Lust was not fighting.

He was performing.

Floating above the carnage, his body began to move, a slow sway of his hips that released radiant pulses of magic. His wings flared, scattering rose-colored feathers that fell like soft snow—but each feather that touched ground ignited the area in a flame of desire, incinerating the soul rather than the flesh.

"You called us monsters. You called us weak. But we are the reflection of your cravings. And I…" his voice softened to a velvet hum, "...I am the craving that burns through the veil of shame."

A line of armored demons charged him, screaming defiance.

They were met with a glance.

Just a glance.

The lead warrior's eyes exploded in pink light as he fell to his knees, moaning like a man overcome in rapture. The rest followed, writhing in a sensual agony, their armor melting, skin boiling, until only bones remained.

And the Sin of Lust smiled sweetly and whispered, "I only wanted to be loved. I wanted peace. But..."

Suddenly, the entire sky dimmed. The sun itself flickered like a candle about to die, and a ring of violet light formed above Lust's head—a mockery of a halo. Symbols appeared in the air around him, runes written in the language of temptation, binding every corner of the city in a sacred seal of annihilation.

And in the very heart of it, Ecoras knelt, his wife trembling in his arms.

He had seen war.

He had seen death.

But never before had he seen desire made into such a precise instrument of annihilation. And now, his knees buckled. His body betrayed him. His heart beat faster, his thoughts clouded, images of the Sin of Lust flashing through his mind—not as a man, but as a beautiful being he wanted to love.

"No… no… I won't—"

"But you already have, Ecoras, darling."

The voice was in his ears.

In his wife's ears.

In his soul.

And then Lust descended.

He landed softly before them, feet not touching the ground but making ripples upon the fabric of space itself. His eyes locked with Ecoras's. He knelt, placing one soft hand on the demon's cheek.

"You're brave. Protective. Loyal. You love her, don't you?"

Ecoras growled through gritted teeth, fighting the pull.

"Good. I love love." Lust smiled wider.

"So I will grant you a gift. I will let her live."

Ecoras's eyes widened.

"But you… you'll become one of my dancers. Forever."

The bull demon roared, trying to strike—but Lust's finger tapped his forehead.

In a blink, the great warrior's body melted into radiant silk, folding and shaping until all that remained was a pink-glowing silhouette—elegant, fluid, beautiful.

The newest Dancer of Lust.

His wife screamed.

And then fainted.

Lust turned his eyes upward, toward the horizon.