The air in the Elven Glade reeked of rot and fear. Nick’s demon wings, leathery and vast, folded against his back as he surveyed the carnage. Abominations—twisted, pulsating masses of flesh and teeth—had overrun the sacred groves. He’d already cleaved through a dozen with his flaming broadsword, their ichor sizzling on the moss.

His mission was clear: free the enslaved elves cowering in crystalline cages. With a thought, he unleashed a controlled inferno, a wall of hellfire that incinerated three advancing beasts. The heat made his muscles ripple, sweat glistening on his tattooed chest.

Among the freed prisoners was Lyra, a tall elven archer with silver hair cascading to her ass. Her emerald eyes, wide with gratitude, locked onto his. Nick felt his demonic aura activate, a subtle thrum in the air that magnified desire. He saw her nipples harden against her thin, torn tunic, peaks begging for attention.

“Thank you,” Lyra breathed, her voice like wind chimes. She approached, her long fingers tracing a claw mark on his bicep. “You’re bleeding.”

“It’s nothing,” Nick growled, but she was already leaning in, her tongue darting out to lick the crimson streak. The effect was instantaneous. His blood, infused with his power, healed her minor scrapes, but it also sent a jolt of pure lust through her system. She moaned, her back arching, her pussy undoubtedly getting soaked beneath her leggings.

Later, in a hidden glade safe from