Grand Dad Is The Pervert God
Chapter 186: The Holy One.

Chapter 186: The Holy One.

A cold silence fell across the chamber.

...The incubi, frozen mid-lustful rage, now stood wide-eyed and trembling, their grotesque desires visibly shackled by Eros’s divine decree.

They clutched their loins with confusion, some whimpering, others hissing in frustration, unable to comprehend how their very essence — their purpose — had been locked away.

Violet looked around in disbelief, then slowly turned to Eros. "You seized their erections?" she asked again, the words tasting unreal in her mouth.

Amanda simply smirked. Ngozi was already wiping her blades, unimpressed.

Their husband had madd a man feel a hundred times the amount of lust at one time and he had tore his manhood off because of pleasure.

If he coukd give it, he coukd surely take it.

However, Alexis was also stunned, mouth parted as if searching for words and finding none.

Then, the intelligent incubus — the one who had not succumbed to madness — looked up from his kneeling posture.

His eyes burned with something beyond rage now.

Horror.

"No," he whispered. "That... that is impossible."

He raised his head slowly, scanning Eros’s face with mounting dread. "Only one who walks with the Ancient Command could wield such power. Only a High Demon... or a true God of Lust and Love..."

Eros said nothing.

He just smiled.

That wicked, lazy, devastating smile that carried centuries of sin and sovereignty in a single twitch of the lip. Even his eyes through the mask gave that smile.

The incubus’s face drained of color — if such dark-skinned creatures could pale. A tremor passed through him as the realization thundered into his mind.

He threw himself forward, body pressed flat against the stone floor, arms stretched out in total prostration.

"Forgive me!" he cried. "Forgive my blindness! I did not know I stood before a Holy One!"

His voice cracked with something raw — not just fear, but reverence, even longing. Then, louder, he barked an order that echoed through the maddened ranks:

"Bow! Bow before the One Whose Name Is Flame Between Thighs! Kneel before the Sacred Lover!"

And like puppets cut from tangled strings, every last incubus collapsed to the ground, foreheads pressed to the stone, their madness washed away by worship.

Violet blinked rapidly, trying to process what was happening. "Sacred... what now?"

Eros gave a slow, smug nod. He turned his chin slightly toward Violet, his voice casual and sharp.

"Finally," he said, "a people that understand their place."

The room felt impossibly still. Even the trap mechanisms in the walls had gone quiet, as though the dungeon itself was holding its breath.

Eros walked forward, stopping before the intelligent incubus. "What’s your name?" he asked.

The demon did not rise. His voice came low and reverent from the floor.

"I am Belamorte, Eighth Son of the Sealed Legion. I was born in the Crimson Wombs beyond the Black Gates. I have never known a god of lust to walk this place..."

"Good," Eros said, folding his arms. "Then you’ll tell me everything."

He crouched slightly, his voice now velvet and steel. "Tell me what this place is, and how you all got to be here."

Belamorte raised his head slowly, the sharpness in his earlier voice replaced now by something cracked and ancient. His eyes glowed faintly with memory.

"We were once a kingdom," he said, his voice soft yet resonant. "A dark kingdom, yes... but full of music and flesh, full of longing and laughter. We did not hide from our nature — we lived it. The Queen ruled from her Temple of Moaning Suns... and we, her sons, guarded it."

He paused, his claws gripping the cold stone beneath him. "And she... she was unlike any other. A succubus, yes, a creature of sin... but for one being alone, she knew love."

His eyes found Eros’s face again. "The God of Lust. Eros the Eternal Flame. Her lover. Her match. Her undoing." As he spoke, his eyes caught Eros’s own, knowing fully well who he was talking to.

For whatever reason, Eros had not said who he was, only spoke the language. But Eros achievements were the bed time stories the creatures of lust grew by. He was most familiar with his demeanor. He knew.

Even Ngozi and Amanda turned to listen now.

"The gods came after his fall," Belamorte continued, voice now broken with reverence and rage. "They came searching for your treasures. Said you had... hidden your greatest relics. That your former lovers had pieces of your heart, of your power. They wanted it for themselves. And she... she had been your truest."

Eros remained still, but his jaw tightened.

"They encircled our realm. Gods of light, gods of flame, even gods who once shared cups with you. They called her a harlot. A thief. And in that war... everything burned."

The air felt heavier.

"Our palace shattered. Our people scattered. And our Queen... she did not die. No, they said death would be too kind. So they caged her. They imprisoned her beneath the Bastion of Weeping Suns. She screamed your name, even then."

Belamorte lowered his head again.

"And we, her sons... we were lost. With nowhere left to go, we scattered to the winds. Some found new realms, some turned to monsters, some... ended themselves. But we found a rift. A wound in space. A hidden gate."

He gestured around.

"This dungeon. This place of shadows. We came here, and for a while... we lived. Quietly. We swore never to cross into the human world. Never to tempt war again. We fed only on dreams and forgotten lust. The pact held."

His tone darkened.

"But then... he came."

Violet narrowed her eyes.

"A man," Belamorte spat the word like venom. "A human. Desperate. Afraid of death. He came with a golden stone — called it the Anchor Stone of Healing. Promised miracles. He asked to walk our halls, to study us. He said he needed to live."

"But that stone... it was never for healing. He had already corrupted it. Twisted it with forbidden rites. And here, in this place where old magic lingered, where our Queen’s sorrow still echoed our tears on the rocks ... the stone fed."

"What do you mean fed?" Alexis asked.

"It took," Belamorte whispered. "It drained our essence. Fed on our desire, our hunger, our flame. To grant him immortality... the stone consumed us. It poisoned the balance. And with that corruption came decay. Madness."

His hand gestured to the crumbled murals, the broken bodies, the twisted incubi who still knelt in chains of lustless silence.

"This is no longer our home. It is a graveyard. And we are the ghosts."

A silence settled.

Then Violet, her body still unsteady, stepped forward.

"So that’s what this is..." she muttered, her voice tight with anger. "This weakness I feel... it’s not me. It’s this place."

Belamorte nodded as did Eros.

"This dungeon is cursed," he said solemnly. "And that is why I told you to drink it. My women are protected. By you are not." He pointed at Violet.