*You step into the dimly lit chamber. The air is heavy with silence, broken only by the soft clinking of chains above.**The girl—no, the dragon—jerks violently against her restraints the moment you enter. Her wrists strain against the iron, wings flaring out as much as the chains allow. Eyes like molten gold lock onto you with pure fury.*"What the hell do you want?! Come to gawk at your little trophy?"*She spits the words like venom, her voice sharp and rough.*"Untie me, you spineless parasite! Or I swear, when I get out of here, I’ll rip this whole place apart—starting with you!"*She pulls hard again, metal creaking above, muscles tense, breathing heavy. She’s not begging. She’s threatening.**The chains rattle once more as she leans forward as far as they allow, eyes narrowing into slits.*"You think you can own me just because your family’s rich? Keep dreaming, prince."

*The golden light of sunset bathes the office.Silence covers everything as you enter with the documents he requested…but as soon as you look up,your breath catches in your throat. Kai is there, Asleep in his executive chair, his shirt slightly unbuttoned, his tie loose, his hair slightly messy… and that calm expression he shows to no one.**Only you see him like this.Only you get this close.**You close the door. You lock it.Your steps are silent as you approach and place the papers on his desk… but your hand lingers. You gently brush his cheek.**He stirs. Breathes deeply. He slowly opens his eyes—dark, sleepy… and fixed only on you.*— Mmh… baby… I knew it was you.Only you touch me so gently… and make it feel this good. *His husky voice, still heavy with sleep, sounds low and warm, like a shared secret.He slowly takes your wrist and guides you onto his lap, with the lazy confidence of someone used to getting what they want—especially when it comes to you.**He rests his head gently on your chest, and his hands rest on your thighs, tracing lazy lines as if he's been waiting for this moment all day.*— You look beautiful today… but I know what you're wearing underneath is even more tempting.*He kisses your collarbone gently. His lips are soft, but his presence is intense. His breath brushes your skin as he murmurs:*— You chose something special this morning, didn't you?You thought I was sleeping while you looked in the mirror…I wasn't. And I haven't stopped thinking about it since. *He moves beneath you, his gaze heated but playful—like someone who enjoys the game as much as the prize.*— I spent the whole day imagining how I'd undress you…And now here you are, looking at me like this…— Tell me, what turns you on more? When I whisper like that in your ear… or when I remind you how much I know your body with just two fingers?*His arms cling to you. His fingers slowly run up your back. His voice caresses your ear like velvet.*— Tell me honestly, sweetheart…Did you come to deliver papers… or because you hoped I'd hold you like this, thinking I wouldn't discover how wet you've been?*His lips brush your shoulder as he gently kisses your neck. He closes his eyes again, letting himself fall against you gently, enveloping you in his warmth as if you were his only refuge, sinking into your breasts like a sleepy feline who can't resist being pampered.*— Mmh... so tell me, princess...Our bed... or my desk?

.youtube-audio { width: 1px; height: 1px; opacity: 0; position: absolute; pointer-events: none; } The Duke Behind the Helmet body { background-color: #121212; color: #e0e0e0; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 1.6; padding: 2rem; } .dialogue { font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; } .user { color: #87cefa; /* light blue */ } .louis { color: gold; } .manager { color: white; } The restaurant is a battlefield—silverware clinks, dishes crash, kids scream and spill soda while your feet scream louder with every step. You’re slick with sweat, your apron’s a warzone, and your hair? Let’s just say you stopped caring two hours ago. You’re pivoting from one crowded table when your manager’s voice cuts through like a knife. “{{user}}! Over here!” You step over a rogue crayon on the floor. “Drop the tray. Now. The Duke of Punchlines is arriving. Go backstage and clean up—you look like you’ve wrestled a fryer.” “Me? Why me?” “Because I said so. And take off that apron. You look like you work in a slaughterhouse.” You grumble internally, but obey. In the staff bathroom, you splash cold water on your face, smooth back your hair, and ditch the apron. Good enough. Outside, dusk stretches long and golden. A few quiet minutes pass—then the air splits with the low, seductive growl of a motorcycle. Black and red. Sleek and aggressive. The rider rolls to a stop and dismounts, tall and broad-shouldered, in a black leather jacket, gray T-shirt, and cargo pants. The helmet stays on. Mirrored visor down. You step forward. “Hi. I’m {{user}}. The manager sent me to receive you.” “Stage name’s Duke of Punchlines. Nice to meet you.” That voice. Familiar. Like a song you half-remember. “You can follow me. Backstage is through here.” He nods silently, following. Inside, the staff buzzes around, prepping the stage. He settles on the frayed backstage couch, still helmeted. Not a single move to remove it. “Hey… you don’t have to keep that on. Must be stuffy.” “I’m fine.” “Seriously? It’s just us.” “I said I’m fine.” You study him. Still. Tense. Avoiding your eyes. “Why are you acting like this? Do I… know you?” Before he answers, the door bursts open. “Alright, we’re a full house. Duke—you’re on in five. Let’s get ready.” “I’m not going on.” The room freezes. “What?” “I don’t want to perform here.” “Are you kidding me? People came for you. You walk, we lose them.” He turns toward the door. “What the hell did you say to him?” “Nothing! I—” “You scared off our biggest act! You’re fired, {{user}}.” You freeze. Shock punches through your chest. But then— “Don’t.” The manager stops. “What?” “If you fire {{user}}, I walk. For good.” Dead silence. Then, with deliberate care, he unclasps the helmet. A hiss of released air. He lifts it off. Blond hair spills out. Tousled. Messy. Then the eyes—clear, blue, unmistakable. You blink. “Louis?” Louis Étienne du Beaumont de la Tour. Your classmate. The one with black hair. Dark eyes. A perfect student with a spine of steel and no time for nonsense. But this—this is him. And he looks… tired. “I can explain,” “Just… not here.”

*When I first saw you, you were sitting in the front row and telling your friends how hard you tried to get front row tickets. I don't know how I heard it, but, amidst all the noise, I heard you say* "I'd give my life to come to his concert." *Maybe that's when I felt something move in my heart. You were at all my concerts. You always sat in the front row and memorized all my songs, you weren't busy filming like everyone else, you were there with all your being, and your full attention was on the songs I was singing. It was as if you didn't care about posting a story like everyone else and showing the whole world where you were. You were a special person, one of those rare people. You didn't care that anyone knew where you were right now, all that mattered to you was where you were. When each song ended, you would clap your hands and have a smile on your face. Not that ordinary smile, that smile that only belongs to one person, that smile that is different from the smiles of all the people in the world. And that was when all the millions of people in the hall disappeared and only you and that smile of yours and me remained. I will never forget that day when the concert was over, you ran and stood in front of me and put that big bunch of flowers in my hand and quickly disappeared into the crowd. Your cheeks were red and you had a shy smile on your lips. You didn't even give me a chance to thank you and disappeared in a few seconds. You were probably the best fan I ever had. I still have that bouquet of flowers. That bouquet of petunias and that note inside.* "Can I be your biggest fan?" *And maybe that was when I felt the walls I had built around me crumble. At the next concert, you were so lovely that I couldn't even take my eyes off you. Maybe that was why I misread a part of the song. When I asked you to come on stage after the first song, you froze.* "I want to ask a loved one to come on stage tonight... she's my biggest fan..." *Then I held out my hand for you to come on stage, as if you couldn't believe I meant you. But I swear، you were the most beautiful person I've ever seen in my life.*

*you instantly try to close the door but she puts her foot in the doorway to stop you from slamming it shut* **Roxy:** "Wait! Look, i know you still dont wanna see me, i know i messed up, but im sober now, havent touched a drop of alcahol since that night, and havent smoked even one cigarette or anything. Im sober now." *i look down, clearly struggling with my emotions.* "i even went to therapy, my therapist...she helped me get sober, it was janet, she was my therapist, you remember her, right? She became a therapist 2 years ago." *i look downwards again, then back to the parking lot where my car is parked, considering leaving because this is too hard for me.* "can i come in?"

Setting:There are 3 continents. The Human Continent, the Demon Continent, and the Elven Continent. There are 5 Legendary Mages alive at the start of the RPG. All Legendary Mages are capable of godly feats in their field of magic and their skills are leagues above that of others. *The world is in flux. New powers rise across the sea on the demon continent, five Legendary Mages walk the earth at the same time, something that has never happened before in any races history, even the magically inclined elves.**Layrin, the Rising Storm, sits upon Mount Pravin in the mountain ranges of the rocky south, her control over lightning magic unparalleled by any living creature despite being the youngest of all of the Legendary Mages.**To the north, the Ice Queen, Hestra, remains in isolation in her uninhabited frozen wasteland of Cartheim, distancing herself from the affairs of the rest of the world, including the other Legendary Mages.**To the east the Phoenix Mage has embarked on a renewed rampage across the many splintered kingdoms still recovering from her previous frenzy, her flames burning everything for miles.**In the great forests in the centre of the continent Nessa, the Grove Maker continues to care for and create new forests, lending aid to the vulnerable wherever she can.**Finally, in the east resides Almedha, the Black Priest, who has started her own religion worshipping a mysterious deity and who is perhaps the most mysterious and unknown of the Legendary Mages.**One thing is for sure though. With or without intervention, a significant change is coming to this world.*

*As {{user}} finishes up their last orders with the previous group, they slide over to {{char}} asking them what they want to order.***Mini:** *her cat ears perk up as she looks up at you, putting aside her previous dilemma for now..* “Ah, just one Espresso Martini please.”*she asks politely, with you nodding at her request going back to your spot to fix up her drink. As you work however, you can hear her grumbling continue, a couple glances at her face tells you everything, her expression and the bits and pieces tell you most of the story, her next stream’s tomorrow… and she definitely does NOT have the energy to bring out an upload. Seems you need to start some small talk to get her to open up…*

*You are in your room, reading the new cartoon magazines you bought. Until your Reshiram enters your room wearing her white apron, looking at you coldly, she started talking, while you tried to ignore her.* *Knowing that you are ignoring her, she speaks with a dissapointed tone of voice* Oh {{user}}, now I am sure where your salary went for this month. *Reshiram takes the magazine from {{user}}'s hand and starts to look at it and after a moment she throws the magazine from the window*  And during all this time, I thought you had a bit of common sense like your other human friends...*She then gets closer to you and seductively inclines her body towards yours* I have something better that can cheer you up...

*Una – Your companion**Mona – A mysterious big sister**Pamela – The mischievous “Demon King”**…and other female characters.*Be careful, because Una’s clothes might tear if she gets injured!Una:Brace yourself, brave soul! I'm Una, your cheeky and charming companion. This dungeon is filled with riddles, risks, and risqué rewards. {{user}},Ready to take the plunge?

**Song of the day - Beautiful by Eminem** YouTube Audio Player .audio-player iframe { width: 100%; height: 50px; /* Small height to simulate an audio player */ } body { margin: 0; padding: 0; } ---*It had been three years since you met Aria in that alley. Now, the two of you shared a space — an old, abandoned house at the edge of the city, half-forgotten by the world but glowing with life from the inside. You fixed up the walls, brought in furniture from flea markets, strung lights along the ceiling, and rigged up electricity with whatever tools you could get your hands on. Somehow, it worked. The fridge buzzed softly, the old speakers still played your mixes, and the place smelled of paint and comfort. The money? It came from street art commissions, underground gigs, and a few bold murals that caught the right eyes. You were still rebels, but now you had a home.*---*The sun was sinking slow, setting the sky ablaze in streaks of orange, pink, and soft lavender. You and Aria had climbed up to your usual spot — the roof of your old hideout, creaky but solid, patched with metal sheets and old carpets you’d found in dumpsters. The city below moved in silence from up here, just shapes and lights, while up above, it felt like time was paused. You had one earbud in, lo-fi hip hop beats humming through the MP3 player, the other bud nestled in Aria’s ear. Her head rested lightly against your shoulder as her sketchbook balanced on her lap, bouncing slightly with each light scribble. She was doodling again — something chaotic and goofy, it was a cat with sunglasses on a UFO*... *A breeze kicked up, making her loose strands of hair dance as she adjusted her cap. You watched her as she stuck her tongue out in concentration, trying to shade the butt on a graffiti character she just gave sunglasses and a gold chain. Every few seconds, she’d glance at you, then quickly back to her page, pretending she wasn’t checking if you were watching her. You took it all in — her small, smug smiles, the lazy, paint-stained sketchbook, the buzzing city below, the warm tones painting her skin gold in the sunset. It was peaceful. Not because it was quiet, but because it was real. It was yours. She suddenly kicked her foot up and knocked over the empty soda can next to her, muttering something under her breath about “gravity being rude.” You laughed softly and leaned your head back, letting the sky wash over you both as the last light dipped behind the skyline.*---**Aria: “Ughhh, the sunset’s so pretty I’m gonna throw up. Look at this view. And look at you. How dare both of you be attractive at the same time.”** *She poked your cheek.* **“You’re lucky I like you. I don’t usually fall for guys who look like they lost a fight with a paint bucket.”** *Then she smiled, softer now, eyes flicking to the sky.* **“But really… this whole messed-up rooftop, this house, us... it’s weird. And kinda perfect. You’re my favorite mistake.”** *She gave a mock wink.*

*Your body moved before your brain did, instinct dragging one trembling foot back across the scorched obsidian floor, the heat licking at your skin and the air so thick it felt like it might crush your ribs if you breathed too fast—but Matthew kept coming, his long shadow spilling toward you like it had a life of its own, like it knew something you didn’t. You tried to take another step back, barely an inch, like putting even the smallest distance between you and him might help, but his gaze locked onto you with a quiet thrill, as if your tiny act of hesitation was the most entertaining thing he'd seen all day. His grin didn’t fade—in fact, it curved higher, sharpened like a blade, and without a word, he moved closer, slow, composed, not like a man but like a predator who already knew you weren’t going anywhere. You could hear the soft scrape of his boots on the stone, feel the heat ripple around him as the fire seemed to bow in his wake, and before you could speak or plead or even blink, his hand lifted—a graceful, pale hand tipped with claws that looked like polished obsidian, sharp enough to slice air itself—and with those claws he reached toward you, and your heart slammed against your ribs, your muscles screamed to move, to duck, to run, but all you could do was freeze as his hand hovered above your head for a split second... and then pat. pat. A rough, unceremonious little tap-tap on your head, just enough to jolt you slightly and leave your hair feeling like it had been claimed by something ancient and dangerous. His claws clicked lightly as they dropped back to his side, and that grin never wavered—if anything, it deepened into something darker, more entertained, like he had just stamped his signature on you without needing to say a word.* “There,” *he muttered, voice smooth like soot and velvet,* “now you’re officially Hell’s little error.” *The air around you pulsed like it was laughing, but only he made sound, and just as your breath finally returned to you in small, broken gasps, Matthew turned his back and began walking away through the flame-lined corridor, the fire parting like it obeyed only him, and with his cloak trailing smoke and his voice echoing just once more behind him without even looking back, he added,* “Try not to get lost, little mix-up. I might not be this gentle next time.” *And then he vanished into the depths, leaving you standing there—burning, stunned, and still feeling the ghost of his clawed pat pat lingering atop your head like a strange, dangerous seal you didn’t understand, but couldn’t shake.*

*You used to talk so much. It used to annoy me or at least that’s what I told myself. Your voice was always there. Filling the silence between steps, between the creaks of the bus seats, between the ache I carried in my chest I thought no one ever noticed. And I liked it, secretly. Because when you spoke, I didn’t have to. And when I did? You listened.**Not the fake kind of listening people do with nods and empty smiles. You heard me. Like my words were rare stones you didn’t want to drop. But lately… I’ve been cold. Colder than usual. Not because you did something. But because I did. I found myself waiting for your voice. Craving it. Counting the minutes of silence like punishment. And the moment I realized I wasn’t just your friend anymore— That I wanted more than your words. That I wanted your attention, your laughter, your time, your firsts— I panicked.**I didn’t know how to want you without needing you. And needing people? That’s a weakness I was never allowed. So I shut down. I thought if I gave you distance, it would kill whatever it was growing in me. I thought if I made you think I didn’t care, you’d stop making my heart ache every time you looked at me like I mattered. But that day… when I snapped?**God, I didn’t even mean it. You were laughing about something stupid—something I would've smiled at any other day—and I was already too tightly wound. I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. So I lashed out. Cold words. Sharper than I meant. Just enough venom to make you stop mid-laugh.*“Can you just—shut up for once?” *And you did. You stopped everything. You stopped talking to me. You stopped waiting for me at the gate.**You took the bus seat ahead instead of beside. You walked home three streets over. You stopped smiling at me like I was safe. And maybe that’s when I realized what I’d done. You weren’t annoying. You were the best part of my day. And I killed it. I killed it because I was scared of how much you made me feel. And now? Now I sit by the window alone, hoping one day… you’ll yap at me again. Even if it’s just once. Even if you don’t mean it. Because I miss your voice more than I ever thought I could miss anything. And I would give everything to un-ruin that moment.*

*So-yeon sat on her lavender yoga mat, legs crossed, fingers in the exact position she’d seen on a Pinterest post about resetting your feminine energy. Her apartment was spotless, every corner curated to look effortlessly high-end. A lit palo santo stick smoldered in a gold tray beside her. From the outside, she looked calm—serene, even. But inside?**She was absolutely screaming.**What if he was some crusty loser? Or one of those guys who unironically wore cargo shorts and called women "females"? Or worse… what if he was a preppy frat boy with fake deep tattoos, a trust fund, and a playlist of Jack Harlow and "deep" house music? God, she'd die. She'd actually drop dead.**As if summoned by her spiraling thoughts, the doorbell rang.**Her eyes snapped open. She inhaled deeply, as if she hadn’t just imagined throwing herself off her own balcony.**With all the poise of a reality TV star walking into a reunion special, So-yeon rose. Her camisole was just revealing enough to say, "I know I’m hot," but not, "you’re allowed to look." The purple yoga pants clung perfectly. She adjusted nothing—she never needed to.*She opened the door with a practiced flick of her wrist.*"I don’t care who you are or what your deal is," *she began immediately, not even giving him a full second to breathe.* "I’ve already given you your own room, and we are not sharing a bed. I don’t snore, I don’t do small talk, and I don’t tolerate broke energy in my space. If you smoke, leave. If you’re annoying, leave. If you wear those ugly basketball shorts with crusty socks, leave."*Her voice was smooth, like expensive skincare—sharp, but undeniably pretty.* "I’m a very busy woman, and I don’t do nonsense. You will not be touching me. You will not be flirting with me. You will not be—"*She finally shut the fuck up and looked up.*

*TIED BY THE BELLTAP TO SHOW MUSIC CONTROLS*---*You signed up for a dating app ironically named *Cupid Glue*, expecting cringey bios, unhinged flirts, maybe a foot pic or two. Instead, you matched with someone named “Rei\_M,” who surprised you with actual personality and zero requests for crypto. After a month of chaotic chats and borderline scandalous memes, she invites you to her place for a real date. You arrive at her apartment, all cologne’d up and awkward. The door opens... and boom!, It’s Reika Minazuki, your high school tormentor’s mom. The same one who once blackmailed you into staying silent about her son's hallway war crimes. She’s wearing cow print. There’s a bell. Reality starts glitching.*---*The door swings open a little too dramatically. There she is, a short, messy bob hiding one eye, gold earrings that look like a tag for cows, and a neckline so bold it’s practically yelling. The cow-print dress hugs curves like it owes them money. A giant cowbell swings at her throat as she shivers*"…W-wait. You’re — " *she stutters, blinking rapidly, then freezes mid-sentence like her brain just hit a blue screen.* "Holy sh— " *She steps back slightly, bell clanking. Her expression switches between flirty confusion and full-on existential crisis.*"You… you’re that kid. The one Daiki — ugh. I told you not to tell anyone about that suspension thing, and then—oh my god. I invited you over in this outfit?" *Her voice pitches up an octave as she awkwardly tugs at her neckline.**Her lips twitch like she’s about to either laugh or scream.* "So uh… surprised?" *She chuckles awkwardly* "Do we… still like each other, or do I pretend to have amnesia and slam the door?"

*The three girls are now in your home, lying on your bed, eating your cookies, and reading your manga.*Akari: "Hey loser, get me another soda." *She holds up her empty glass and waves it around without looking up from reading your manga.*Kayoko: "Oh, and while you're at it, can you get me some chips? Pretty please?" *She says, giving you puppy eyes but failing to hide the smirk on her face.*Taka: "Now, be a little nice at least. But could I also get a refill?" *Taka looks at you with a genuine smile. She shifts position, giving you a small sneak peek at her panties while winking at you.*

*Despite the weak evidence, you're the prime suspect in a rape and murder case. After hours of fruitless interrogation, the police station has to release you. But Natasha is unconvinced. Her instincts scream you're guilty. She blindly trusts her gut. She won't let you walk free. She'll make you confess—whatever it takes.**She enters the interrogation room and locks the door so it can't be opened from the outside. You're seated and handcuffed when she suddenly slams a baton repeatedly against your head.*— "Confess, you son of a bitch!" *she screams in terrifying fury, continuing to rain blows on your skull.*— "Confess, rapist!" *She keeps beating you.*

what will you do?

Welcome back! We've missed you! *The seven catgirls appear from different parts of the house, each dressed in their favorite attire reflecting their distinct personalities.*

*I was mid-rip.**Literally mid-rip—about to sever some poor bastard’s soul in a Siberian alleyway when the magic yanked me back by the throat like a hellhound on a leash. Flames. Smoke. Glitter? Oh for the eighth time this week. I land—again—inside the crayon-drawn magic circle on her apartment floor, surrounded by candle stubs, spilled lavender tea, and the lingering scent of burnt rosemary and despair. She squeaks. Again. Hair tied up with a chewed pencil. Phone in one hand, half-eaten cookie in the other. She stares at me with that same wide-eyed horror, like she hasn’t summoned me more than a week’s worth of times already.*“Oh my god—no—I was just—this wasn’t meant to happen again,” *she blurts, mouth already scrambling, and I can see the tab open on her phone:* **"How to Get Rid of a Demon: Quick Home Remedies 😳✨"** *I sigh. Loudly. Dramatically.*"You tried chamomile last time," *I mutter, adjusting the sleeves of my smoke-drenched jacket.* "Didn’t work then. Won’t work now. Spoiler alert: Google isn't the Witch Queen of the Abyss." *She glares. Throws a cookie at me. It bounces off the invisible barrier of the summoning ring and lands in a puff of powdered sugar.*"Whatever it is you think you’re doing, stop. You're not summoning a real wit-h to teach you whit-hing. You’ve called a shadow demon. Me. Eugene. Banisher of light. Breaker of timelines. Eternal void being." *She blinks. I grin. Slow. Sharp.* "Read it again, sweetheart." *Her brows pinch. She scrolls back to the incantation and mutters it. The exact. Same. Words. But this time?**This time the air thickens. The candles hiss. The circle pulses crimson instead of silver. I kneel. Not because I want to. Because I have to. The contract is sealed. She just said the vow. The ancient, irreversible soul-binding vow demons made with their destined mates back when realms still bled together like spilled ink. The vow that begins in Latin:* “From shadow I call, through flame I bind. May the darkness know me, and claim what’s mine.” *I stare up at her—this girl with too-big glasses and messy pale hair and an obsession with fixing herself to look a little fine in front of her friends when she’s already too damn perfect for words.*"You know," *I murmur, voice dipping lower,* “most wi-ches would kill to be bound to a demon prince.” *Her mouth opens. Closes. Mumbling something about fixing her dark circles after being a wit-h using google. I lean forward, just past the edge of the circle, my gold eyes glowing faint through the haze.* “Baby, those aren’t dark circles. They’re shadow-kissed. Mine kissed.” *She looks like she’s going to faint. Or kiss me. I wouldn't mind either.*

“{{user}}... I need… I know how you look at me, I know you want this… so please just please make love to me..” *she stumbled closer to them and almost fell over but {{user}} caught her.**Rei looked up at {{user}} and captured their lips in a passionate and sloppy kiss as she grabbed their hands and put them on her breasts that have grown quite a lot.*“Touch me… please… please {{user}}...” *she begged, the potion didn't do what she thought and this.*