Stefano's weak mind is taken over by Osiris' fallen divinity.

Corrupt branch.

The Osiris Ring’s Whisper

Stefano trudges into their apartment after another humiliating day at the museum—his boss belittling him, his coworkers ignoring his expertise, he could manage that... However, after so many years, it had all become a soul crushing ****, Stefano’s key turned in the lock with a defeated grind, the sound echoing through the dimly lit apartment like the final sigh of a man who had long since stopped expecting anything from life. He tried to cheer himself up,

"Well... Shit, lighten up, man."

With little success.

The middle-aged man's shoulders slumped beneath the weight of another day spent as a ghost in his own career—ignored by colleagues, mocked by his superiors, reduced to reciting scripted trivia to tourists who barely glanced at the artifacts he had spent his life studying. Torino's Egyptian Museum had become his purgatory, a place where his expertise withered under fluorescent lights and condescending smirks.

"Cheer up, Stefano. At least in front of Rebecca."

It was only then that a hint of a smile crept on the beaten down man's lips.

The moment the door creaked open, the scent of her hit him—vanilla and something deeper, muskier, an undercurrent of sweat from her afternoon training session. She was perched on the arm of the couch, still in her tight athletic shorts and a cropped tank top that clung to her damp skin. The fabric stretched over the swell of her hips, the curve of her ass impossible to ignore, even if he had wanted to. (He didn’t.) Her emerald eyes locked onto him, bright with concern, but beneath that—something else. He smelled her lust. Overworking was getting to him, lust? He was just imagining things... Besides his daughter was too innocent for this kind of stuff, right?

The only light in his life, Rebecca, Stefano's 18-year-old daughter, who always cheered her dad up, looking at her tight slender body had become one of his little sinful pleasures amidst the endless grind. Her emerald eyes shone as always with youthful vigor, yet he couldn't help but notice a difference, a gleam, a violet glow hiding something… a dark hunger.

On the kitchen table lies one of Rebecca's thrift shop purchases: a heavy bronze ring etched with hieroglyphs. Osiris Ring. Just a touch and a jolt of dark energy surges through him. Stefano's cock twitches against his boxers. Rebecca’s breath hitches. The air thickens with musk. No, it must be an illusion, the middle-aged man lets the bronze artifact go. His exhausted eyes are drawn back to her, the light of his life.

"Rebecca..."

His sweet daughter.

Her father's salvation.

How many times had he fantasized about her?

"Dad," she murmured, already crossing the room, her bare feet silent on the hardwood. "You look exhausted."

Before he could answer, her arms were around him, her body pressing flush against his. The heat of her was intoxicating. Her tits—B-cups, he knew since he peeked at her in the shower last week, perky too, damn perfect—pushed against his chest, and he could feel her heartbeat through the thin fabric. Her breath was warm against his neck, her lips just barely brushing his skin as she whispered, "Let me take care of you."

A shudder ran through him.

It wasn’t the first time she’d been… affectionate like this. Lately, every touch lingered. Every glance held weight. Every innocent gesture—adjusting his collar, fixing his tie, leaning over him to grab the remote—felt like a provocation. A challenge.

And now, as she pulled back, her fingers trailing down his arms, her gaze dropped—just for a fraction of a second—to his crotch.

Did she just—?

His pulse spiked.

But before he could process it, she was turning away, her hips swaying as she walked toward the kitchen. "I made dinner," she called over her shoulder. "And I, uh… got you something."

Stefano exhaled, running a hand through his graying hair. He needed a drink.

The kitchen table held two things: a plate of still-warm pasta (his favorite, because Rebecca remembered) and a small, velvet-lined box.

"What’s this?" he asked, picking it up.

Rebecca bit her lip, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. "I saw it at that thrift shop near the gym. It just… called to me."

Inside the box lay a ring.

Bronze. Heavy. Etched with hieroglyphs that seemed to move under the dim kitchen light.

Stefano’s breath caught.

His fingers trembled as he lifted it. The metal was unnaturally warm, as if it had been sitting in direct sunlight for hours. The moment it touched his skin, a jolt of something—dark, electric, primal—shot up his arm, straight to his core. His cock twitched, thickening almost instantly, pressing against the zipper of his slacks.

What the fuck—?

Rebecca gasped.

Her eyes were locked onto his hand—onto the ring—and her pupils dilated, black swallowing green. Her lips parted, her breath coming faster. "D-Dad…" she whispered, voice trembling. "You look… different."

And he felt different.

Stronger.

Hungrier.

The air between them thickened, heavy with musk and something else—something chemical, like pheromones cranked to eleven. Stefano’s skin tingled. His veins burned. His thoughts—usually a mess of self-doubt and frustration—sharpened into a single, crystalline command:

She wants to please you.

Make her.

The ring pulsed in response, as if agreeing.

Rebecca swayed on her feet, her fingers clutching the edge of the table. "I… I feel…" Her voice was slurred, dreamy. "Dad, I… I need to…"

Stefano took a step forward.

She didn’t retreat.

Another step.

Her breath hitched.

He reached out, his fingers—now larger, stronger—brushing her cheek. Her skin was on fire.

"Rebecca," he murmured, his voice deeper, rougher, dripping with authority. "Look at me."

Her gaze snapped up, obedient.

Good girl.

The ring thrummed, its corruption slithering into her mind, coiling around his daughter's will. Stefano could feel it—the exact moment her resistance crumbled. Her lips parted, a soft whimper escaping as her toned thighs pressed together.

"Tell me what you want," he commanded.

Her answer was immediate, breathless:

"You."