Marvel: Impregnation System
Chapter 209 - 196: Aftermath Part 2

Chapter 209: Chapter 196: Aftermath Part 2

"I see you." Ricky almost whispered, his eyes continuing to bleed into an even darker shade of black that, somehow, still reflected the sight of the being uttering his name.

Everyone followed his gaze upward to the clouds, unaware that Ricky’s sight stretched far beyond them and into a place they could never imagine.

The moon.

Because there, before Ricky’s sight, stood an oddly proportioned man.

His head was the first thing one might notice, grotesquely enlarged, stretching far beyond the width of his narrow shoulders, as if it alone was meant to bear the weight of cosmic knowledge.

His robe spilled down his form, draping over elongated arms and slinking along a frame that seemed both frail and towering, the Roman-like attire stretching so far it vanished into the very depths of space itself.

And though his silhouette remained perfectly still, Ricky swore those hollow eye sockets, flashing now with a faint yellow light, shifted, locking directly onto his gaze.

However, when their eyes truly met, it felt less like beholding a creature and more like peering through a crack in the universe itself, into a place where something far older and immeasurably indifferent resided.

"It was then that Ricky Luciano finally became aware of the one whose duty it is to watch what has happened, what will happen, and what ever could happen." The voice spoke deeply, almost with a hush of reverence, as those faint yellow eyes bore down on him.

"It was then that Ricky Luciano became aware of the Watcher."

The words settled, and as they did, the Watcher, a being bound by a vow to only ever observe and never interfere, stood fully revealed before Ricky’s sight.

Countless questions should’ve been spiraling through Ricky’s mind, but another wave of exhaustion slammed into him, leaving only enough adrenaline to press out a single question from all those that could have been asked.

"Why the f*ck is your head so big-"

THUMP

He didn’t even get the words out as Ricky’s vision cut to black mid-sentence, his body giving up all at once as he pitched forward and fell flat on his face, out cold.

"Ah, there it is." Alexander laughed, chuckling as he finally watched Ricky face-plant onto the ground just as he’d expected he would.

"But as Ricky Luciano’s face plummeted into the ruined earth beneath his feet, those who had been waiting and watching his every move began to shift from their original stillness, unsettling the future of this world, as his actions unknowingly disturbed the fabric of what should have been." the Watcher narrated, his tone almost indifferent, treating Ricky not as the main character of this story, but as a mere side piece to the greater plot now unfolding.

"Every action Ricky Luciano has taken thus far has unknowingly caused ripples, a butterfly effect spreading in every direction he’s turned."

"The very moment Ricky stepped outside New York City, the city where his soul should have slumbered, was the beginning of everything that has happened and will unfold."

"With it all starting from a single step into the Vatican, which resulted in a single shard going missing." The Watcher spoke deeply, turning his gaze away from Ricky and settling it onto a figure he had just encountered.

Gaea.

Returning to her tree and nestling within its bark, her form relaxed among countless buds of life surrounding her, as figures that resembled her in some ways slowly drew nearer.

"Mother Goddess, what do we do?" One such figure inquired, having a striking likeness to Gaea, except that half of her face was obscured by a spreading fungus.

"What are we to do now that Merlyn is under that man’s control?" Another figure chimed in, this one marked by a flower blooming in her eye sockets.

However, Gaea did not answer him at once and instead, her hand moved with slow, almost reverent grace to caress an object at her side.

It was small, jagged almost, and at first glance a mere splinter of darkness.

But even a casual glance twisted inward upon meeting this mere shard, the eye naturally sliding down its edges as if unwilling to linger.

It was no simple fragment.

It was a Night Shard, one of the terrible remnants formed when Nyx, the primordial Goddess of Night, had rebelled, only to have her very soul shattered by Olympian decree.

It was then that Zeus personally broke her soul into three shards: The Night That Was, The Night That Is, and The Night That May Yet Be.

This particular shard was the one that had gone missing all those years ago, The Night That May Yet Be.

Back when Ricky was banished from New York and stepped into that candle-choked Catholic church, desperate to take up the Ebony Blade and become the Black Knight so as to give Eddy his Catholic funeral.

It was hard to remember, since it was only mentioned in passing during a discussion with Pope Pius and Abraham, but it wasn’t something anyone should have forgotten entirely.

This stolen fragment was the result of a butterfly effect that began the moment Ricky stepped into the Vatican.

"There’s no need to fret; in fact, it’s quite the opposite." Gaea said matter-of-factly, gently caressing the shard between her fingers.

"The entire point of my actions was to draw Merlyn into the coming conflict, and I more or less succeeded." Gaea said with a smile, getting what she wanted, as always.

After all, left to his own devices, Merlyn would’ve been impossible to entangle in the coming war without surrendering something dear in exchange.

But by aiding Ricky, all she had to do was offer a single flower, and now Merlyn was bound to follow, inevitably swept along wherever his master chose to tread.

To Gaea, Ricky was far easier to manage than her once-devoted disciple.

"Now, we prepare." Gaea said, raising her hand slightly and sending out a faint call that resonated throughout her dwelling.

Slowly, those attuned to her particular summons emerged from the woodwork.

Voluptuous druids whose generous curves would unknowingly make it impossible for Ricky to hold a proper conversation let alone his sight.

One by one, they gathered and settled at the base of Gaea’s great tree.

They arranged themselves in a half-circle, like children awaiting instruction, as if the strategy for Ricky needed no other formality.

"We are at your will, Mother Goddess." The female druids said in unison, bowing deeply before her, unwavering in their devotion as they were undeniable in their beauty.

"With the coming war brewing, we must do what we’ve always done and gently nudge everyone a little closer, as fate wills it." Gaea said calmly, pleased to see all her devoted children heeding her every word.

"Then, shall we embed ourselves within those Ricky Luciano deems close-" A busty druid sitting in the front row inquired, only to be interrupted by Gaea.

"Close, but no." Gaea chuckled lightly, her gaze lingering on the druid as a hint of embarrassment colored her cheeks while the others laughed, and soon she found herself joining in.

"Instead, we’ll send some druids to get close to him, all of you to be precise." Gaea smiled at her own words, already knowing they would understand her meaning.

That’s why she didn’t linger with her gaze, instead turning softly toward the night shard and placing it carefully at her side, away from their watchful eyes.

"But Mother Goddess, won’t he find out-"

"Yes, Mother Goddess, wouldn’t Ricky Luciano-"

"My children," Gaea’s voice rang out, cutting through the chorus of curious questions with a calm tone.

"He is a very strong man, but like those who dwell on Olympus, he lets his lust control him." Gaea carefully worded, watching as the druids widened their eyes before shaking their heads in understanding.

"Not right now, but soon, he will entangle himself within my grand design." Gaea smiled, watching the druids begin to murmur among themselves at the prospect of their assignment.

Then, with a soft exhale, she slowly closed her beautiful green eyes and let out a faint whisper.

"It is his fate, afterall."

But for the Watcher, there was no such solace.

His eyes could never close; they were bound always to see, to witness every ripple stirred by Ricky’s growing intervention in this world.

And as such, to record.

"But these were events already set in motion long before Ricky ever appeared; he merely quickened their march toward an end that had long been fated." The Watcher continued, his gaze drifting over Gaea, who was always destined to take the night shard.

Then his all-seeing eyes shifted away from Gaea though not out of choice, but because they were compelled to follow the thread, the butterfly effect that Ricky had become within this universe.

"However, events that should never have existed have since unfolded across the world in more shapes than one, splintering paths that were never meant to be walked, weaving new threads into the tapestry of fate that even I was not meant to witness." The Watcher said, his voice echoing with distant foreboding.

And then, as if carried by the very flutter of a butterfly’s wings, his vision shifted, descending from the stars to a place on Earth now irrevocably changed by Ricky’s touch.

"But foremost among them all is a country, and indeed the culture itself, that Ricky Luciano has influenced so profoundly."

Meanwhile In A Small rural Village,

Far from the bounds of a small village, people gathered at the center of a deserted train station to send off a young boy who had been born and raised among them.

At first, the villagers had regarded him with disdain, but over time, through the subtle yet profound shift of fate, like the flap of a butterfly’s wings, their perceptions had changed, aligning with the evolving beliefs of the nation that they currently resided in.

"Remember to brush your teeth and eat well, remember to-" A woman fussed over him, listing one thing after another, her affection both tentative and overwhelming.

The boy sighed heavily, enduring her smothering care with the patience of someone who had long since accepted her ways.

"Mother, I promise, but I have to go!" The boy urged, his eyes darting toward the oncoming train, its iron wheels grinding against the tracks as it slowed.

This train had come for him alone, a symbol of the path he was destined to walk.

"Klaus, you are making me and your mother so proud." A man, his father, stepped forward, his voice thick with emotion as he gently pulled his wife away, her hands lingering on their son’s shoulders as if reluctant to let go.

Klaus felt a lump form in his throat as his father was a stern man, a soldier through and through, rarely offering his genuine thoughts unless they concerned war.

But now, in this moment, as he looked at his son, no, at the young man Klaus had become, he spoke not as a soldier, but as a father.

"You are not just our pride, Klaus, you are the pride of our village. Of our country." His father said, his grip firm on his wife’s trembling hands.

Klaus swallowed hard, nodding as he clenched his fists as he wouldn’t fail them, he couldn’t.

Then, the train let out a thunderous hiss, steel grinding against steel as it prepared to depart.

As it inched forward, Klaus caught sight of the symbol emblazoned at its forefront, a stark, black emblem twisted in rigid symmetry.

A Hakenkreuz.

Or as the rest of the world would come to know it.

A Swastika.

That symbol wasn’t merely adorning the train, it was everywhere.

Drenched in red, it hung from banners that draped over the train station, fluttered from rooftops, and was stamped onto the armbands of uniformed officers standing at attention.

It littered the village streets, no longer just an emblem but an undeniable declaration of who ruled over this land.

Nazi Germany.

Slowly, the train came to a halt, its steel wheels screeching against the tracks before settling into an eerie silence.

A thick cloud of steam billowed from its undercarriage, momentarily obscuring the entrance as the heavy metal doors groaned open.

From within, the officer emerged, his boots striking the stone pavement with sharp precision.

His uniform was immaculate, pressed to perfection, each button gleaming under the dull overcast sky and his presence exuded rigid authority, his posture unwavering as he stepped forward, clipboard in hand.

"Klaus Bauer," The man uttered, flipping through the clipboard’s pages with a gloved hand as his eyes, cold and calculating, swept over Klaus like a hawk sizing up prey.

"Y-Yes, sir!" Klaus responded, snapping to attention, his heels clicking together.

"I am here as Inspector General of our great Führer, of our great Reich, to recruit the gifted individuals among God’s chosen children!" The officer’s voice thundered across the square, his words carrying the weight of absolute authority.

The gathered villagers instinctively bowed their heads in reverence, their posture one of both obedience and fear.

The officer, his gaze sharp and calculating, lowered his clipboard and peered down at Klaus as his gloved fingers tapped against the paper, eyes scanning the name once more before lifting to meet the boy.

"Please confirm your ability." The officer’s voice lowered along with his gaze, scrutinizing every little fidget of Klaus as if he had been fooled many times before.

Then, before the officer and the gathered villagers, Klaus’s fingers slowly began to shift, the flesh stretching unnaturally as the tips morphed into gleaming, razor-sharp knives.

The transformation was eerily smooth, metal replacing skin as the blades extended outward, glinting under the dim afternoon sun before halting at their full length.

The officer’s eyes widened with pure admiration, his breath hitching in excitement as he hurriedly scrawled notes onto his clipboard.

The scratching of his pen was frantic, the sheer enthusiasm of his writing almost shaking the paper in his grasp.

"Splendid! SPLENDID!" The officer’s voice rang with elation, his strict demeanor melting into a broad, triumphant smile.

Seeing their superior’s delight, the villagers, who had once gazed upon Klaus with wary curiosity, now exchanged glances of approval.

They had scorned him as if he was the stain on their society and yet, one by one, their expressions shifted, having seemingly forgotten their own cruelty and nodding in quiet pride while others murmured their own admiration.

A few even smiled, as if reassured that one of their own had truly become something greater, something worthy in the eyes of the Reich.

"You are not only doing a great service to your country but to yourself. Be proud." The officer’s voice carried an air of absolute authority, his words pressing into Klaus like the weight of destiny itself.

Reaching behind him, the officer retrieved a red armband adorned with the unmistakable black Hakenkreuz, the symbol of the Reich.

With careful precision, he fastened it around Klaus’s upper arm, the fabric tightening against his sleeve as if binding him to a greater purpose.

Klaus inhaled sharply, his chest rising as he puffed it out with a mix of pride and nervous exhilaration.

This was the greatest moment of his life, the culmination of everything his village, his parents, and his nation had prepared him for.

The villagers watched in solemn reverence, their eyes reflecting a mixture of admiration and resignation.

His mother dabbed at her eyes, overcome with emotion, while his father gave a single, approving nod, his stoic expression betraying the slightest glimmer of pride.

Ricky’s interference didn’t just serve his own interests, it reshaped history itself, altering the perception of mutants not only in America but across the world.

Especially among those who held the Christian faith.

What had begun as a move to benefit himself had rippled far beyond his original intentions.

His words, calculated and wrapped in just the right veneer of righteousness, had inadvertently handed the Nazi Party a powerful gift, one they seized upon with fervor.

Germany, already marching toward complete control under the guise of a holy war, now had a justification to reshape its stance on mutants.

Once a marginalized group scorned by their ideology, they were now being legitimized by none other than the Vatican, an institution that had historically dictated moral authority across Europe.

The Nazi high brass wasted no time.

Determined to match and surpass the hidden powers that lurked in the shadows, they issued a decree, one that would set them apart from the rest of the world.

While the United States would be the first to legally acknowledge mutants in their laws, Nazi Germany would become the first nation to openly embrace them on a massive scale.

A nationwide propaganda campaign was launched, its purpose clear: to recruit as many mutants as possible, to fold them into the Reich’s growing machine.

Billboards, posters, and radio broadcasts sang a new tune, not of fear or exclusion, but of national pride.

Mutants were no longer outcasts.

They were assets.

They were the future.

The hatred that once burned against them was redirected, repurposed, and refilled with something even more insidious, unwavering loyalty to the Reich.

And it had all begun the moment Ricky made that decree.

Klaus was one such example, a boy who had once suffered under the cruelty of his village, mocked and shunned for his mutation.

But in a single moment, his world had flipped upside down.

The Führer himself had accepted mutants at his side.

What was once a curse had become a badge of honor.

No longer an outcast, Klaus now stood before an officer of the Reich, his chest swelling with newfound pride.

Mutants who pledged themselves to the Nazi Party, to their country, were granted privileges that ordinary citizens could only dream of.

Among those benefits was an immediate promotion to the rank of non-commissioned officer, a mark of distinction, of value.

As the officer secured the Nazi armband around his arm, Klaus felt something he had never known before.

Purpose.

"Heil Hitler!" The officer saluted Klaus, striking his hand horizontally into the air as Klaus clicked his boots and held up his hand to return the salute.

"HEIL HITLER!"

The Watcher observed the moment unfold, having witnessed the events that led to it, and the cause behind it all.

"However, after witnessing all that has been, all that will be, and all that might yet come to pass, only one question remains." The Watcher said with calm finality, his yellow eyes brightening ever so slightly as he lifted his elongated head.

"What fate will Ricky Luciano disrupt next?"

One week later,

SNORT

"Huh?" Ricky snorted suddenly, jerking his head upward as his consciousness snapped fully awake while he blinked rapidly, trying to clear the fog swirling in his mind.

"Ugh, my f*cking head~" Ricky muttered, pressing one hand to his temple before grimacing and switching to both hands, trying to soothe the relentless ache.

He sank back onto the bed, continuing to rub his throbbing temple as his ears slowly tuned in to the sounds around him.

"Do you have any fours-wait, no!" Alexander suddenly called out from a distance, then immediately cut himself off mid-sentence.

He raised his tiny paw, halting any further mention of fours, his bloodshot eyes locked on the sole single card resting by Bucephalus’s side.

Because Alexander understood.

"Do you have any threes?" Alexander asked confidently, a smirk tugging at his lips only for Bucephalus to slowly shake his long head in response.

"N-No~" Alexander whispered shakily, his eyes locked on Bucephalus’s hoof as it slowly rose to reveal the four, the very card Alexander had almost chosen.

"Please, Bucephalus, PLEASE!" Alexander shouted, clutching the other card desperately with his tiny paws.

But the mighty steed merely shook his head, pulling the card closer to himself, leaving the gerbil utterly defeated.

"What day is it-" Ricky asked groggily, wiping his nose as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed that looked eerily familiar.

"That doesn’t matter, come join the next game since Bucephalus keeps cheating." Alexander interrupted immediately, blaming the warhorse for its blatant cheating, which prompted a knowing roll of the eyes from Bucephalus.

HUFF

Bucephalus huffed through his long nostrils, letting out a slow, amused sigh as if Alexander’s words were nothing more than a joke to him.

"YOU ARE, YOU"RE CHEATING AND I CAN SMELL THE LIES ON YOUR BREATH!" Alexander roared, accusing the mighty steed outright, only for the horse to again roll its eyes in a silent dismissal.

"Aye, aye, tone it down, will ya?" Ricky muttered, pulling on some shorts nearby before unconsciously heading over to the table and sliding into the empty chair.

"I’ve got a massive headache, and your screaming ain’t exactly helping." Ricky sighed, settling in right next to Alexander who began shuffling the cards.

"I apologize, but these cutthroat games of Go Fish truly ignite a fire in my blood." Alexander said, correcting himself as he realized Ricky had slept for an entire week straight.

HUFF

Meanwhile, Bucephalus let out a soft huff, shaking his head in quiet pity for his rider’s poor skills at the game.

From their very first match, Alexander hadn’t managed to win a single game against him.

Sniff

Ricky sniffled again, adjusting the cards dealt into his hands as his groggy mind slowly processed the game before him.

Until it was suddenly his turn.

"Do you have any jacks?" Ricky asked Alexander, turning to the side only for the gerbil to shove the card right into his face.

"Take it! WHY DON’T YOU TAKE IT ALL!" Alexander roared, throwing up his tiny paws in a fit right at the start of the game.

"Geez, you weren’t kidding about that fire." Ricky laughed, taking the jack along with the one already in his hand before laying the two pair on the table in front of them.

It was still Ricky’s turn, but instead of rushing, he took his sweet time, arranging the cards in his hand while placing the lower numbers to the left and the higher ones to the right.

The task was tedious, but that very monotony let his mind slowly drift, allowing him to take in not just the game, but his surroundings.

Then, suddenly, his eyes widened.

"Oh sh*t, my kid!" Ricky suddenly remembered, standing up as his system window popped up to reveal the child who had given him his telekinesis ability.

"Wait until after the game-"

DING

[Name: Mitth’raw’nuruodo ’Thrawn’ Luciano (Variant)

Mother: Raven Darkholme

Grade: S+ (Variant)

Template: Grand Admiral Thrawn

Template Description: Grand Admiral Thrawn is a fictional character from the Star Wars franchise Thrawn is a highly intelligent and unrelentingly strategic Chiss military commander who rises through the ranks of the Galactic Empire despite being a non-human in a xenophobic regime. Known for his calm, analytical demeanor and deep appreciation for art and culture, Thrawn uses these interests to study and predict the behavior of his enemies with terrifying precision. Though he often presents himself as composed and diplomatic, Thrawn is utterly ruthless in pursuit of order and victory, making him one of the most dangerous and respected tacticians in the galaxy.

Description: During an attack, Raven’s water broke due to stress that resulted in the birth of your son. Thrawn is a variant of his template counterpart as he has inherited your mutant gene along with your connection to the whispering void. Although just a mark, Thrawn can be seen as a dangerous person if he is not raised accordingly.

Abilities:

Telekinesis (Mutant X-Gene): Can manipulate and move objects mentally with precision and power, from subtle movements to devastating force.

Mark of the Whispering Void: Grants the user access to both the physical world and the Void, enhancing their power and perception. However, it warps their bond with their parental figure, turning them into either a fiercely devoted ally or their most dangerous enemy. The mark amplifies love into loyalty or resentment into vengeance, all while the Void feeds on the story that unfolds.

Enhanced Reflexes and Intuition: Received the hosts strong build along with his uncanny intuition.

Decelerated Aging: Raven’s metamorphic powers have bled into Thrawn, a power that has staved off the degenerative effects of aging which he now inherits.

Skills:

Leadership: Thrawn possesses a natural aptitude for leadership. He instinctively commands loyalty and fear, drawing from his father’s innate instincts and his mother’s stealth-driven influence.

Tactical Intelligence: He has an innate ability to analyze threats, predict patterns, and exploit weaknesses.

Negotiation & Manipulation: Thrawn shows a natural proficiency in reading people and twisting circumstances to his advantage.

Multilingual: With an intuitive grasp of language, Thrawn mind has an aptitude for learning languages.

Stealth & Espionage: Thrawn is naturally gifted with the physique to move undetected, gathering intelligence, and operating in shadows without drawing notice.

Emotional Control: Thrawn has the innate ability to regulate his emotions, using this skill to manipulate others and maintain a composed, unreadable presence in high-pressure situations.

Cultural Adaptability: Thrawn has the innate ability to operate between elite circles and ranges all the way to street urchins.

Strategic Combat: Though not a primary combatant, Thrawn has a strong aptitude for hand-to-hand tactics.

Technological Aptitude: Thrawn has the aptitude for surveillance tech and security systems, applying his knowledge toward intelligence gathering, and infiltration.]

"Sh*t, didn’t she say she wasn’t due for another month or two?" Ricky asked suddenly, running a hand through his hair as his eyes scanned the text, desperate to make sure his son was alright.

"Baby Mitth’raw’nuruodo is fine." Alexander patiently said, trying not to yell at Ricky to focus on the game while awaiting for him to finish his turn.

"But what about-wait, Mitth’raw’nuruodo?" Ricky was about to act like any parent should until his mind wandered to the name itself.

"You’re kidding, that’s the name she chose for my son?" Ricky laughed, thinking it was a joke until he simply saw Alexander’s deadpan stare.

SIGH

"That name is gonna be some bully’s wet dream." Ricky sighed, staring at his status screen for a long moment before finally recognizing something.

’Star wars?’ Ricky muttered to himself, squinting at the text as that name was seriously familiar, nagging at the back of his mind.

Following that faint trail of familiarity, Ricky could just barely piece together a single thought, something about a movie or something similar that tugged at the edge of his memory.

Because for all that Ricky was and ever would be, even if he cared enough to try and piece together everything about these fictional universes, there would only ever be one response that slipped from his lips.

’Eh, who cares.’ Ricky thought, shrugging off the notion.

Even if he tried to follow that thread, he was already at a point where he’d messed up so much of the original plot that any faint glimmer of what was supposed to come wasn’t even certain anymore.

"Dammit, I have to go back-" Ricky started to say, only for Alexander to look up from his cards and abruptly cut him off.

"After this game-"

"Alexander, everything is New York is-"

"It’s fine!" Alexander interrupted, his eyes darting to sneak a look at Ricky’s cards, only for them to be swiftly turned away as the mobster shot him a frown.

"What Merlyn showed you was merely an abbreviated version of what really happened," Alexander tried to explain, though he was clearly more interested in continuing the game.

Nearby, Bucephalus shook his head in quiet shame at just how desperate his rider was for a win.

"I f*cking called it!" Ricky fist-pumped, patting himself on the metaphorical back for seeing through Merlyn’s half-truth.

"Wait, but with the coven-"

"All dead. The traitors, anyway." Alexander interrupted Ricky again, shuffling his cards and rearranging them into a new order, as if that were the reason he was already losing at Go Fish.

"After you passed out, the coven members who followed you here returned home only to find news of the sudden rebellion." Alexander revealed, watching Ricky immediately scrunch his eyebrows at the sudden foreboding in the gerbils tone.

"After arriving in New York as the last real lethal force of the coven, they came under constant scrutiny, which drove them back to Camelot to await your word on how you’ll fix this." Alexander explained, purposely highlighting the most stressful situation unfolding in New York

Just to keep Ricky sitting there, mulling it over, so the game wouldn’t have to end.

SIGH

"F*ck." Ricky sighed, rubbing his eyes heavily as this sudden betrayal ran deeper than a simple apology could ever fix.

"Then my kids and my girls are-"

"All fine. Lucky managed to round them all up and stash them away until New York settled back down," Alexander finished, bouncing up and down as anticipation to what card Ricky would pick got the better of him.

Ricky was about to ask something else when he suddenly remembered the last thing Merlyn had shown him as he plopped down into his chair, a grimace settling onto his face.

"Frank," Ricky muttered, grief heavy in his voice but the weight was not because he had lost one of his men, but a piece of his family.

Alexander’s impatience faded in that moment, since even he couldn’t be disrespectful when someone mourned the loss of a comrade.

"They said he fought valiantly until the very end, sacrificing his life to buy time for Alina and your son, Moxie, to escape." Alexander’s words made Ricky press both hands to his face, tipping forward under the weight of his overwhelming sadness.

No one would ever truly grasp what Frank Costello meant to Ricky.

The history books might label him a close friend, maybe even a vital member of the family, but that was only the surface.

Frank was far more than that.

He was like an uncle to Ricky, someone who had always had his back and never gave him a reason to look over his shoulder.

No matter the mistake, no matter how deep the hole, Frank never hesitated to do whatever it took to help Ricky get back on track.

That unwavering loyalty went beyond blood or business; it was a bond forged in trust, sacrifice, and unspoken understanding.

For Ricky, losing Frank wasn’t just the death of a comrade, it was losing a pillar of the family, his family.

Leaving a gaping hole that couldn’t be filled by mourning alone.

It was why that weight of silence settled heavy on his heart, keeping him rooted in silence for a very long, long time.

"They told me the funeral can’t proceed without your say-so," Alexander revealed, watching as Ricky sat back up and glanced at his cards but in truth, his mind was elsewhere, lost in thought.

"What about Chores?" Ricky couldn’t help but ask, turning his green eyes upward as Alexander nodded in quiet understanding.

"He survived." Alexander revealed and just like that, a small weight lifted from Ricky’s heart, allowing him to breathe a little easier, even if only slightly.

Ricky let out a deep, relieved sigh, leaning back in his chair as he fiddled with his cards as Alexander’s tiny gerbil paw began tapping slowly on the desk.

"They found him barely breathing next to that Samuel Frost. They even say he gave up part of his life force to save-"

"I don’t give a f*ck about that rat. And by the way, I ain’t staying," Ricky scoffed, tossing his cards into the middle just as Alexander stood up.

"They say he isn’t in critical condition-"

"HE GOT HIS LEG CUT OFF, ALEXANDER, HIS GODDAMN LEG!" Ricky yelled, gesturing toward Alexander, who opened his mouth to reply but quickly shut it when he saw Ricky wasn’t in the mood for any of his shenanigans.

"I gotta go back, I’ll be back to explain everything later but for now-"

"Leaving so soon?"

A sultry voice came from the side, revealing none other than Morgana, propped up against the doorframe and dressed in a skimpy outfit that left little to the imagination.

"Yeah but it’s only-........temporary." Ricky said half-heartedly, about to wave Morgana off until his eyes landed on her and suddenly froze at the sight.

"Of course, my king, I completely understand~" Morgana purred in a sultry tone, swaying her hips as the silky dress she wore slipped slowly down her right shoulder, revealing even more skin.

With only one hand barely holding the dress from slipping completely, Morgana seemed left with no choice but to press her body against Ricky’s to keep it from falling.

"But before you go, can’t I show you how much I missed having you by my side~" Morgana purred softly, her voice dropping to a whisper as she slinked her arms around Ricky, pulling herself close to his ear.

"How I’ve missed you next to me~" Morgana whispered, biting her lip as Ricky’s hands instinctively slid down her back, the words sending a shiver through him.

"On top of me~"

Morgana’s smile deepened as she felt something growing beneath Ricky’s shorts.

She pressed tender kisses along his neck, caressing his body with the delicate touch of her lips, while Ricky’s eyes drifted upward, fixed on the ceiling as if trying to steady himself.

"Morgana, I really f*cking need to-" Ricky started, but before he could finish, Morgana slid her hand down his muscular chest and grabbed his crotch.

"You really need to f*ck me~" Morgana whispered, pulling her lips away from his neck to press them against his own, as if to shut him up.

Alexander and Bucephalus exchanged a quick, knowing glance before swiftly deciding to make their exit, leaving the room behind them.

Meanwhile, the gerbil scurried about, frantically gathering the scattered cards as if eager to continue where they left off before being yanked away by Bucephalus.

But beneath Morgana’s sultry smiles and brazen touches was more than just longing.

Yes, she had truly missed Ricky over the past week, his unconscious state leaving a persistent ache in her heart that refused to fade.

However, that feeling alone wasn’t enough to warrant her current lewd display.

No, this blatant affection carried a deeper purpose.

Power.

That was the real reason Morgana threw herself at Ricky, pressing her barely clothed body against the man who could give her everything she desired.

Security as Camelot’s new ruler.

It was a unique sort of thought process, but for Morgana, someone whose mind had only recently been unfrozen from the confines of medieval culture, it was nothing out of the ordinary.

In medieval times, it was common knowledge that some women, especially those in royal courts, actively sought to become pregnant by the king.

It was a tried-and-true strategy for gaining influence, securing their position, or even attaining the status of queen.

Royal women were expected to produce heirs, and pregnancy could dramatically elevate their standing and power.

Morgana wasn’t foolish enough to believe that simply being related to Arthur was enough to secure the throne.

Every throne needed a king.

Morgana just wanted a hands-off one, like Ricky.

Someone who had no real interest in actually ruling, who would hold the title purely so he could bed the queen, while she would be the one truly in charge.

That was her dream, and it was finally coming to fruition, there was just one problem.

Morgana didn’t even realize she was already pregnant.

"Ricky, I need you~" Morgana whispered in the most lewd tone imaginable, cupping his face with both hands as she kissed him.

Just as her loose-fitting dress slipped to the floor, leaving nothing to hold it up, it revealed her supple, naked body, and one that seemed to beg to be held by the man standing before her.

Ricky could barely hold on, his restraint crumbling the moment Morgana discovered his weakness, exposed by the way he reacted so suddenly to her.

"Ricky~" Morgana whispered again, this time uttering only his name, before she began kissing her way slowly down his body.

She licked along every crevice of his muscular body, savoring the taste of his skin, before finally reaching his fully erect cock.

With a slow tug, she slid down his shorts, letting it spring free and slap against her face.

The depravity of her naked body was on full display as Morgana clung to Ricky’s cock, desperate to keep him close until she secured the very security that was already growing inside her stomach.

And as unlucky as Ricky had been since arriving in Otherworld, it seemed all his luck was about to be paid forward at this very moment.

"Maybe I can stick around just for a quick second."

Author’s Note: Boom.