The air in the towering headquarters of the Revenant Authority was thick with the scent of polished marble and latent corruption. High above the city smog, in a chamber large enough to host a small concert hall, the Grand Elder sat. The room was the definition of opulent power: walls paneled with rare dark wood, lighting that filtered through stained-glass depicting ancient, forgotten battles, and furniture upholstered in textiles stolen from a defeated regime.
The old man, sank into a chair that looked more like a throne carved from petrified bone. His face was a road map of age and malice, deeply lined, his eyes the color of stagnant pond water. He spoke, and the sound was like dry leaves being crushed underfoot.
"Failed to capture Revara. Failed again to capture the two brats," the Grand Elder rasped, his voice scraping against the stillness of the room. He didn't raise his volume, but the low, guttural tone carried the weight of a death sentence. "Revara's power only manifests once in a decade. It would be a catastrophic matter of time before one of the old higher-ups in Vanguard Bureau snatches her up. We cannot afford this lapse, Grave."
Grave, a man built from tight sinew and suppressed fury, stood rigidly opposite the elder. He wore the black uniform of high command, but his posture was that of a disgraced servant.
"I am profoundly sorry, my Grand Elder," Grave said, his tone perfectly calibrated for submission, though a tiny muscle twitched near his jaw. "I will find another way. I assure you, this operation will be prioritized above all else."
The Grand Elder hesitated, a thin, disturbing tremor running through his body. His eyes narrowed, and for a fleeting, horrifying moment, the illusion of an old, frail man shattered. The air around them grew heavy and hot, smelling faintly of sulfur and wet earth. The very ground began to shake, a deep rumble that shuddered the expensive crystal decanters on a nearby side table.
A section of the Grand Elder's form began to change. His skin, where it stretched across his knuckles and along his neck, darkened to a granite gray, and his bones seemed to swell, pushing against the confines of his tailored jacket. Massive, obsidian claws, not quite fully formed, snapped into existence at the tips of his fingers, flexing once before receding. It was barely ten percent of his potential, but it was enough to make the air sing with unspoken violence.
"I don't really care how you try to capture this girl, Grave," the monstrous whisper vibrated the glass. "But listen closely: Don't you dare cause another huge conflict or war like the last time. Do you fucking know the political shit I had to do, the assets I had to deploy, and the payments I had to make to patch up your mess?"
Grave immediately bowed, dropping his head low enough that the silver Revenant insignia on his collar almost touched his chin. He apologized deeply, the words rehearsed and desperate, masking the boiling resentment beneath.
The monstrous change receded, the Grand Elder shifting back into his original, mundane form, though a lingering darkness clung to the corners of the room.
"I want her captured as soon as possible and immediately put in the lab," the old man commanded, suddenly calm. "I am sure the other bureaus from the other countries, especially the Nexus Beacon, are close to making the youth serum. The news of Clock going missing in their country, combined with our surveillance… it's obvious that either they kidnapped him, or the other competing bureaus did, but the research is getting too close."
The heavy mahogany door slid open, and Obsidian Veil entered. Clad in a tailored suit that seemed to absorb the light, he moved with the liquid grace of a predator.
"They are far closer this time, Grand Elder," Obsidian Veil confirmed, his voice smooth and unnervingly calm. "Our rat couldn't infiltrate much deeper into the Nexus Beacon, but it's almost confirmed that Nexus Beacon kidnapped Clock and is leveraging his unique abilities for their serum research. Their attempts have ramped up tenfold."
The Grand Elder stroked his chin, the fear of aging visible in his eyes.
"I want both of you to bring me the girl to our lab immediately. If the other bureaus finally make the youth serum before both of you could even secure Revara, expect a proper, agonizing punishment. The kind that makes you beg for the reckless wars you started, Grave."
Obsidian Veil tilted his head, calculating. "How about we ask for assistance from the other branches of the Revenant Authority, or even the other Revenant Circles?"
The Grand Elder scoffed, a dry, rattling sound. "The moment they get a hand on Revara, they will immediately steal her from us. The only thing that keeps the Circle from tearing itself apart is the sheer, desperate need to be a member of a major bureau for protection."
"Right," Obsidian Veil agreed, understanding the delicate, murderous politics of their world. "The Revenant Circle has made too many enemies. The moment one Authority shows weakness, or attempts to leave the circle alliance, the other bureaus will surely kill them and absorb their assets."
"That's about right," the old man confirmed, leaning forward, his gaze fixed solely on Grave. "Now, GO. Bring back the girl immediately, and try not to fucking embarrass me again, Grave."
Grave's hands, hidden behind his back, tightened into fists so hard the skin across his knuckles split, drawing thick drops of hot, crimson blood. After everything, he thought, shoving the sound of his rage deep into his chest, after every risk, every impossible demand I've met, he has the nerve to scold me like a puppy? Fucking bitch.
Grave and Obsidian Veil exchanged a brief, tight glance, a silent agreement of mutual irritation and they immediately left the chamber. Grave's eyes glittered with a dangerous, corrosive anger that promised retribution, just not directed at the Grand Elder yet.
Miles away, within the fortified, brightly lit headquarters of the Vanguard Bureau, a different kind of intensity was unfolding.
Pulse was woken not by an alarm or a notification, but by an intrusive, all-consuming sensation in his groin. He blinked, the residual fog of sleep instantly vaporized by raw, electric pleasure.
Crystara was on her knees before him, her dark hair spilling over his inner thighs, her intense focus entirely devoted to his arousal. She was working him with a hungry, rhythmic passion, her lips sealing expertly around him, dragging her tongue from base to tip, occasionally catching him with the sharp edge of her teeth just to keep him hyper-aware.
"Holy shit," Pulse managed, his voice thick and rough. "That's so good, Crystara."
He reached out, his mind still fuzzy, and tapped his power. A wave of focused, high-frequency kinetic energy, his vibration power, immediately enveloped his dick. The sensation intensified exponentially. The deep, internal throbbing combined with the wet heat of her mouth turned the pleasure into a breathtaking agony.
Crystara gasped sharply against his shaft, the sudden, overwhelming sensation forcing a deep, guttural moan from her throat. She didn't slow down; instead, she became aggressive, her grip on him tightening as she started head-bobbing, trying to drive him deeper, faster, consuming every inch he offered.
Pulse lost control. He grabbed a handful of her hair, not roughly, but firmly, needing an anchor and began humping, driving his hips forward, fucking her mouth with frantic, aggressive abandon. The vibrating energy made every thrust feel like a seismic shock, jolting pleasure deep into her core.
He was fast approaching the edge, the pressure building behind his eyes and in his aching balls. After minutes of this long, aggressive blowjob, Pulse finally peaked, a massive, convulsing rupture of sensation.
He cried out, arching his back. He had meant to pull out, but Crystara had locked down, refusing to release him, sucking harder as he began to flood her throat. Left with no choice, Pulse came in a massive, vibrating surge inside her mouth, the hot, salty fluid pouring out of him.
Crystara didn't flinch. She kept sucking until the last drop left him, swallowing hard, her throat bobbing as she drank the entirety of his semen.
But she wasn't done.
Even as his erection began to very slowly deflate, she immediately kept sucking, her focus unwavering. She began aggressively working her tongue and lips again, trying to drag him back to life.
Pulse leaned up onto his elbows, trying desperately to escape the voracious assault. "Crys, wait, wait, I need a minute…"
But the more Pulse resisted, the more Crystara seemed to enjoy his struggle, becoming even more aggressive in sucking him, treating his dick like a life source she was determined to drain.
A loud, desperate scream tore from Pulse's throat, a complex mix of pleasure, exhaustion, and mild terror.
In the adjacent living room, Skye was sitting on the utilitarian sofa, focused entirely on ignoring the ongoing events. She had been there since arriving late last night, and the soundproofing in the unit was clearly insufficient.
She had heard the start of the night, the loud, rhythmic slapping and the guttural cries. She'd heard the lull around 3 AM, and the aggressive re-start at dawn. These two, Pulse and Crystara, had an absolutely ridiculous amount of stamina.
Skye winced internally as Pulse's desperate, high-pitched scream echoed faintly through the wall.
"Those two sure have a lot of fucking stamina," Skye muttered, shaking her head. She took a long sip of lukewarm energy drink. Then he heard another, muffled, choked cry of pure surrender from Pulse's room.
Skye immediately laughed, a dry, sardonic sound. "She is absolutely sucking his soul out."
Just as she settled back, a high-priority, encrypted message flashed on Skye's personal Bureau device, a harsh, red light indicating a priority summoning. Skye sighed, the amusement instantly draining from her face. The moment of peace was over. She shoved her device into a pocket and immediately left the unit, knowing the moment she walked out, the Bureau would take precedence over everything, even her teammates' ridiculous sex marathon.
After what felt like an eternity, the noises finally stopped.
Pulse and Crystara eventually left the bedroom, both looking thoroughly exhausted and yet strangely energized. Crystara's walk was all swagger, even though her hair was a mess and there was a faint sheen of sweat across her exposed stomach.
"I'll take a shower," Crystara announced, her voice slightly husky.
Pulse rubbed the back of his neck, feeling the phantom throbbing below his belt. "I'll prepare you some drinks and food. You just drained the life out of me."
They followed through, Crystara cleaned up, and Pulse prepared a massive breakfast, a necessary refueling for two people who burned calories with industrial efficiency. Even during this domestic moment, the intensity lingered. As Crystara reached for a piece of toast, Pulse would seize the opportunity, grabbing a handful of her ass or cupping one of her perfect, firm tits, fondling her briefly with familiar heat before letting her go.
Crystara, having just finished her meal, finally looked down at her Bureau device, set to silent mode during their recovery. Her eyes instantly jolted wide.
She shot upright, knocking her chair back. The lazy exhaustion vanished, replaced by the streetwise alertness of a woman ready for a fight.
"Shit. We need to go to the office now," she said, urgency spiking her voice. "We are being fucking called."