Champion Of Lust: Gods Conquer's Harem Paradise! - Chapter 433

Chapter 433: Banquet Starts 1 (Pyris Conquers)

“Jasper. Zaranrel.” Pyris’s voice dropped like thunder sheathed in silk. He didn’t raise it. He didn’t need to. The weight of his presence did the work.

He turned his gaze slowly toward the fox and the incubus lounging far too comfortably in the gathering space. “What’re you two doing… in the gathering of my women?”

A pause. The air compressed. Space tightened around them like it was considering exile.

Jasper’s ears twitched, tail stiffening like someone had yanked it mid-flick. Zaranrel just gave a lopsided grin, unbothered—until the flicker of divine pressure made the rim of his glass crack in his hand.

But before either could respond, Astrid scoffed loudly from the couch, flipping her braid over her shoulder. “Correction—not all of us,” she fired back.

Nysa nodded firmly, arms crossed, lips drawn in a tight smile.

All eyes briefly shifted to Zara, expecting her usual agreement.

She looked away. Hummed softly. Said nothing.

Pyris arched a brow but said nothing more. Instead, he swept Elsa into his arms in one smooth, air-bending lift. She giggled as space warped around them again, her small form cradled against the furnace-core of her brother’s chest.

“Not for so long, Astrid!” he added, and walked off like the world followed.

As they drifted through the chamber, Elsa peeked up, silver lashes blinking. “Big brother… is it true I’ll be working with Aunt Esmeralda?”

He smiled down at her, his aura dialed low enough not to melt furniture. “I mean—if you want to.” His tone shifted, warm but edged with truth. “I’ve got things to handle now. I can’t work at Obsidian Tech the same way. Not fully. So Aunt Esmeralda and Aunt Emberly need someone new. Someone brilliant. A genius like my little sister, Elsa.”

She beamed, all light and mischief. “Then I’ll help big brother! And learn everything so I’m super useful to you!”

“Good,” he murmured, leaning in, whispering something only she could hear.

She giggled again, louder this time.

Together, they approached Mory—his teacher—the beautiful, compact force of reason and resistance. Dwarven beauty and elegance of force mind of sharpened steel. She eyed them both with a deep, immediate suspicion.

“No,” she said flatly. No hesitation. Not even a blink.

Elsa’s lip quivered. Her ears drooped. She tilted her head in the classic ‘cute mode activated’ angle, eyes shimmering like a weaponized lake under moonlight.

Mory frowned. “I said no.”

Then Pyris took her hand. Gently. Fingers threaded through hers, heat slow and pleading rather than divine and overwhelming.

“Come on,” he whispered. “Just this once. Like old times.”

She looked away, jaw clenched… but they didn’t stop.

“Please,” Elsa added, tiny voice barely audible.

Mory sighed so hard her braid bounced. “Fine,” she muttered. “I’ll help Emberly. But only because someone has to make sure you two don’t blow up a lab.”

Pyris grinned. He knew she’d fold.

After all, she needed somewhere to apply the new forbidden knowledge he’d passed on to her. Without an outlet, it would’ve driven her mad. She had to say yes.

Victorious, he and Elsa walked off together—high-fiving midair like conspirators fresh off a heist.

Around them, the others rolled their eyes, chuckled, or scoffed in mock defeat.

But no one stopped watching.

Because even in his mischief, Pyris radiated the kind of presence that turned gods into onlookers and legends into second thoughts.

____

To the left of the grand ballroom, beneath towering pillars shaped like inverted flower bulbs blooming from the ceiling, the first section unfolded like a dream carved from sapphire. Massive floral arrangements spilled over crystal vases that rotated ever so slowly, suspended above tables draped in deep cobalt silk. Glowing orbs floated in the air—soft blue lanterns shaped like sacred fruits—casting a serene bioluminescence. Chairs of transparent crystal lined every circular table, catching and scattering the light like stardust.

The ceiling itself bent with hanging gardens and phantom vines that shimmered as though humming in harmony with the guests’ presence.

This was the gathering section, where nobles and power-kin alike would sip divine spirits, posture in elegance, and trade secrets beneath a sky of artificial auroras and floral canopies that swayed without wind.

Directly opposite, the second wing stretched in pristine opulence: long, arched banquet tables overflowing with frozen-white blossoms and twin-layered candles that pulsed like living stars. The chandeliers weren’t lights—they were constellations, crafted from crystal and strung with thousands of droplets, raining radiance in slow motion.

Towering butterflies—dark, spectral, and metallic—hovered from above, wings wide as shields, wingspan catching every flicker of light like royal banners of a forgotten dynasty. This was the dining realm, reserved for the chosen—strategists, commanders, family heads, and emissaries.

Here, power would dine beside grace, each meal a declaration, every glance a silent war. And all beneath a sky of falling glass light and illusion-forged night.

On the right, past a corridor of starlit arches, the third section bloomed with a colder elegance—silver-laced trees crafted from light and illusion stood along mirrored dining tables that seemed to stretch into infinity.

Every glass surface beneath the plates flickered with internal starlight. The chairs here bore softer velvet, the kind only ever touched by royalty. Candles hovered above the table settings, suspended in gravity-defying stillness.

This area, the reserved dominion, belonged to the nobles, and empire elders allies who looked like the highborn who existed not in the world, but above it. Silence here wasn’t demanded—it was the default. A thousand years of power whispered from every shadow.

At the very heart of it all—beneath a dome that shimmered with magical stardust and suspended galaxies—was the dance floor. No markings. No lines. Just a polished obsidian surface that reflected more than the people—it reflected their essence. This was where conversations ended.

Where tensions collided in veiled movement. Where soul danced with soul in ritual, in flirtation, in war masked as waltz.

It was surrounded on all sides by the three kingdoms of splendor, like planets orbiting the same black sun.

The mortal leaders were already arriving—draped in embroidered cloaks and ceremonial robes, some polished like war generals, others gleaming like tycoons dressed for divine negotiations. And while they sat with familiar confidence—used to marble floors, towering ceilings, and lavish banquets—none of them could entirely mask their awe.

Because this wasn’t just a ballroom. It was a revelation.

Esmeralda moved with poise between them, her heels silent against the mirrored floors, guiding each leader toward their assigned thrones carved from light-infused crystal and cushioned in deep obsidian velvet. Her every gesture was composed—chin high, expression unreadable, eyes glinting with cold brilliance.

Lizzie followed beside her, less decorated but no less efficient, wearing the calm of a priestess and the precision of a blade. They didn’t just guide guests. They orchestrated arrival.

The leaders seated themselves, eyes drifting up to the glittering chaos of chandeliers, the illusion-sculpted butterflies, the three divine banquet zones orbiting a central void of power.

And yet, their gazes kept returning—not to the ceiling or the music or the wealth of it all—but to each other.

Greed smoldered behind the eyes of many.

It wasn’t the beauty they craved. It was the game.

The one they had just witnessed. The ancient, newly revealed play behind the curtains of the world. They might not have known its full potential or how the Obsidian got to create something like this—but they could smell the power. They could feel the invitation, even if it was just a taste. Immortality. Ascension. Godhood.

They didn’t care if they were pawns—so long as there was a board to climb.

Only Ambrosia sat still, spine straight, eyes unfazed. Her calm was not ignorance—it was rejection. She had no hunger for illusions.

And across from her, Zalaria Serenova leaned slightly forward, quiet and smiling, but her thoughts were galaxies away. Because unlike the others, she had seen the origin of the path they all chased. And it wasn’t a gate.

It was a person.

A person with stars under his skin and destruction in his palm.

The Dragon Emperor said nothing—but his eyes drifted. Once. Twice. Searching. Not just for seats or political cues.

For Astrid.

For Seraphina.

The daughter he had cast away. The empress who had left.

The Human Emperor’s gaze wasn’t so layered. He sought one thing: Alexandra. His daughter. His lost pawn—now his best hope to claw his way into the Obsidian Dynasty. Into their favor. Into power itself.

As they began to settle, fine glass was filled with liquors aged in celestial time pockets, dishes placed like art across their tables of luminous stone and froststeel.

And then the Human Emperor stood.

“I shall take a brief moment to refresh myself,” he announced.

Esmeralda, who had already anticipated the move, gave the faintest nod to Lizzie.

With measured grace, Lizzie turned and followed. Not hurried. Not slow. Just inevitable.

She caught up to him before the great marble hallway.

“Your Majesty,” she said with a bow deep enough to remain respectful—yet not so deep as to imply subservience. “If you would kindly follow me. The Obsidian Family has prepared a private chamber for distinguished reflection.”

Of course it was a lie. And they also knew what or rather, where the Human Emperor was going.

The Human Emperor’s brow twitched.

Who was this girl?

A servant? A glorified maid? An afterthought?

To think the Obsidians would send this to escort him—a sovereign of the Human Realm.

The audacity.

And yet—

His eyes shifted back. Toward the tables. Toward the other leaders. Predators, all of them. Watching. Waiting. Ready to pounce if he made the wrong move.

So he swallowed his disapproval, smoothed his expression, and nodded.

“Lead the way.”

Dark Lord Seduction System: Taming Wives, Daughters, Aunts.