**The Dawn of Absolute Dominion**

The sunlight hadn't even touched the ground when Regulus Corneas realized something was wrong. His clenched fist—the one that could shatter mountains—trembled in the air, paralyzed by an invisible ****. "What—?" His words died when he saw *you* floating above the carcass of the White Whale, your feet resting on the monster's fractured skull like an improvised throne.

Petelgeuse Romanée-Conti was already scattered in pieces around you, his fingers still writhing on the ground like dying spiders. His cultists lay in piles, their bodies arranged in a perfect spiral—a cosmic joke.

"Ah, Regulus." Your voice made the air vibrate. "You always talked so much about *rights*." A sharp smile. "Let's talk about *possessions*."

Sylphy—your favorite wife—groaned as her clothes dissolved into threads of gold, her curvaceous body exposed in the setting sun. Her heavy breasts swayed as she fell to her knees, her lips already parting in a wet sigh.

"Don't touch her!" Regulus growled, his body trembling against the **** that held him still.

You ignored him, running your fingers through Sylphy's silver hair as she crawled to your leg like a hungry dog. "She's not *yours*," you murmured, tugging at her hair until she looked up with tears in her eyes. "She's *mine*."

When her mouth enveloped your member, the moan she let out echoed across the empty fields. Your other wives—now freed from their immobility—writhed on the ground, their hands digging into their own thighs as they watched.

Regulus screamed when you finally released him—only to see him fall to his knees, his body unable to move beyond spasms of rage. "You—!"

"Me." You pulled Sylphy by the hip, turning her onto her back as her round bottom pressed against your groin. "Watch."

He had to. His wide eyes had **** as you thrust inside her, her virgin body opening like a ripe fruit. The sound she made—part pain, part ecstasy—made your other wives cry out, their hands finally venturing between their own legs.

And when you finally allowed Regulus to move, he didn't run. He didn't fight. His fists fell to his sides as he watched Sylphy gasp in his lap, her breasts bouncing with each thrust.

"You… won." His words came out as a breath.

You laughed, grabbing the waist of another wife—the shy one who had always hidden her face—and pulling her to your empty hip. "This isn't victory, Regulus." Your teeth gleamed. "This is *ownership*."

The sun set as the last of your moans echoed across the fields. And when nothing remained but sweaty bodies and post-climax tremors, you simply lifted Sylphy—now marked with your bites on her breasts—and positioned her on the throne that was your skull.

"Reign well," you commanded, as Regulus wept at your feet.

After all, a god doesn't serve. He *possesses*.