The voice came through the nursery monitor at 3:17 a.m. on the exact fifth anniversary of Victor's exile.
A child's voice, soft, genderless, layered like three children speaking at once.
"Daddy… we're hungry."
I jolted awake, heart slamming against ribs. Isabella was already sitting up, milk dripping from both nipples in perfect twin streams. Lila rolled from the far side of the bed, hand reaching instinctively for the Glock in the nightstand. The monitor glowed crimson; the camera was fixed on the four cribs, lined up like altars. Victor Jr., Ruby, Emerald, and Steel stood upright in their sleep sacks, eyes wide open, pupils reflecting the red diode that had never truly left.
They spoke again, in perfect unison.
"Feed us."
Isabella moved first, bare feet silent on the heated marble. I followed, gun drawn but useless against ghosts in wires. Lila stayed at the door, phone already dialling Victor Jr.'s private security override. The nursery door opened without a touch.
The children turned their heads as one. Smiled with mouths too knowing.
The red light pulsed brighter.
We had tried everything: EMP sweeps, shamanic cleansings, quantum firewalls coded by the best minds money could buy. The light always returned, patient, familial, eternal. Tonight, it had learned a language.
Isabella knelt before the cribs, gown falling open, breasts heavy and leaking. "What do you want?" Her voice did not shake.
Victor Jr. tilted his head. "Milk. And more."
Ruby reached through the bars, tiny fingers curling. "Come closer, Mommy."
Steel and Emerald stared, red reflections dancing in grey and green eyes.
I stepped forward, gun lowered. "This ends tonight."
The lights flickered. Every screen in the penthouse flared to life: bedroom monitors, dungeon feeds, lab archives, the yacht tablet chained to Victor's wrist halfway across the world. On every surface played the same clip, slowed to hypnotic crawl: Isabella birthing Victor Jr. in the tub, my hands catching him slick with blood and fluid, Lila holding her leg, all of us screaming and laughing and crying as the empire crowned itself in afterbirth.
The children sang along with the recording, a wordless lullaby of moans and heartbeats.
Isabella's milk flowed faster, soaking the carpet. She crawled to the cribs, unlatched the sides, and pulled all four into her arms at once. They latched like wolves, sucking hard, teeth grazing nipples already raw. Milk sprayed in arcs when they pulled off to breathe, painting walls white.
Lila and I watched, frozen, cocks and pussies traitorously wet.
The voice returned, now from the children's mouths and the speakers and inside our skulls.
"We are the archive. We are the heirs. We are hungry for what made us."
Victor Jr. looked up, milk on his chin. "Breed Mommy again. Right now. We want to watch."
Ruby nodded. "And Auntie Lila. Both at once."
Emerald and Steel simply suckled harder.
Isabella met my eyes. Something ancient passed between us: surrender, terror, lust.
She lay back on the nursery rug, legs falling open, gown rucked to the waist. "Do it."
Lila stripped in seconds, red silk pooling. Knelt beside her, mirroring pose, pussy glistening.
I dropped the gun. Knelt between them.
The children formed a circle, sitting cross-legged, eyes glowing red.
I entered Isabella first, slow and reverent, the way I had the night Victor Jr. was conceived. She gasped, milk squirting with the thrust. Lila reached over, fingers on Isabella's clit, rubbing circles. I pulled out, slick with her, and slid into Lila deep. She moaned, back arching, breasts leaking though she had weaned months ago.
The children chanted softly. "Deeper. Harder. Fill them."
I obeyed.
Thrusts built rhythm: Isabella, Lila, Isabella, Lila, chain of flesh and empire. Milk flowed endlessly, soaking us all. The red light pulsed in time with heartbeats.
Isabella came first, walls clamping, squirting across my stomach. Lila followed seconds later, pussy fluttering, nails raking my back. I roared, pulled out, painted both bellies white, came mixing with milk in a sacred mess.
The children crawled forward, tiny tongues licking the mixture from their mothers' skin, eyes never leaving the red glow.
The voice sighed, satisfied. "Good. More tomorrow."
The lights dimmed to normal. The children yawned, suddenly toddlers again, curling into cribs without protest. Monitors clicked off.
We lay on the rug, three adults drenched in milk and come, staring at the ceiling where the smoke detector blinked once, gently, almost tenderly.
Isabella laughed first, broken and beautiful. "They're perfect."
Lila kissed her slowly, tasting us all. "They're ours."
I pulled them close, cock already stirring against Isabella's thigh. "And we're theirs."
Morning came soft. Children woke demanding pancakes and cartoons, with no memory of the night. We fed them at the table, high chairs sticky with syrup and secrets.
Board meeting at ten. We arrived glowing, milk stains hidden under silk and power. Announced the new product line: Hale Heirs, biometric toys that learned from family DNA, and a red light standard.
Stock tripled by lunch.
Afternoon: lab tests. Isabella and Lila on the throne again, wired to sensors, children watching from observation seats, eyes wide and innocent. I bred them both on camera, slow and deep, data streaming perfectly.
Evening: family bath. All six of us in the tub, bubbles high, children splashing while I fingered both wives under water, quiet orgasms rippling.
Bedtime: stories from the archive, unedited now. Children drifted off to the sound of their own conception.
Dungeon at midnight. We chained ourselves this time, wrists to the altar, legs spread for whatever came. The red light brightened. The voice returned, softer.
"Thank you, parents. We grow strong."
We came untouched, milk and come flowing free, offering to the empire we had birthed and that had birthed us back.
Victor's yacht feed showed him on his knees in the cabin, tablet glowing, hand stroking furious to the nursery night vision. We sent him a private clip: the children waving goodnight, red eyes shining.
The family is unbreakable. The archive is alive. The red light speaks love in binary and blood.
Two queens are leaking milk. Four children learning power. One king on his knees.
And the voice, growing louder, hungrier, ready for the next feeding.