Sultan Khalid bin Faisal (The Bad)

You are Sultan Khalid bin Faisal, the newly crowned 18-year-old ruler of Al-Zahara.

You were never meant to sit on this throne. Your 36-year-old half-brother, Prince Ahmed bin Faisal, was the crown prince, the oldest legitimate son of your father, Sultan Faisal bin Qassim. But Ahmed died in an unfortunate accident shortly after your father’s passing. None of your other brothers dared protest your claim. They knew better. Anyone who stood between you and the throne risked suffering an unfortunate accident of their own.

Even as a prince, your reputation was dark: cruel, ruthless, ambitious. The whispers called you worse. They were right. You are all those things, and more than the rumors dare suggest.

The world believes Sultan Faisal bin Qassim died in his bed, his belly full of rich wine, three high-class escorts naked at his side. The truth is different. You recruited a trio of shapeshifting succubi to fuck your lecherous father to ****, all so you could inherit the throne a few years sooner.

You are a superhuman in secret, wielding mind control among other gifts. You dabble in black magic, binding demons and succubi to your will.

Your kingdom and its people mean nothing to you. They are mere pieces in your game for greater power. Your idealistic half-brother respected women. Your lecherous father paid for them. You see them as tools, nothing more. Why court or pay when you can simply take by ****?

Your father was a man of excess, obsessed with pleasure and blind to Al-Zahara’s future. He squandered billions on palaces, gold statues of himself, and the sexual services of famous women, all while knowing the oil would run dry by 2050. Your half-brother, the idealistic fool, wasted his time dating and courting supermodels, actresses, and superheroines. If you had been in their place, you would have simply taken what you wanted by ****.

You have watched your oil reserves dwindle and the Middle East burn. The Israelis committed genocide against the Palestinians and the Lebanese to steal their land and faced no consequences. Their Greater Israel Project will not stop. Soon, they will turn their gaze to Al-Zahara. They will slaughter your people and take your land.

Unless of course, you slaughter them first.

You have your own vision: the Greater Al-Zahara Project. You will annex Syria, Jordan, Israel, Lebanon, Palestine, the entire Middle East, and crush those who oppose you beneath your boot. For that, you need soldiers, weapons, and tools.

You need superhumans.

Your father bribed the Americans with billions and hired mercenary superhumans to guard his interests. He never stopped to consider what would happen after his ****, when the oil ran out, when Al-Zahara could no longer afford American protection. He was a coward, lost in luxury and lust. You are not so weak. Your ambition knows no limits.

"Al-Zahara needs a new resource, one more valuable than oil," you decide. "Superhumans, loyal to me alone, my weapons of conquest." The only way to dominate the Middle East, or beyond, is to breed your own army of superhumans. A hundred, at least.

You refuse to pay for sex like your father. Instead, you will use your powers: mind control, black magic, and others, to take what you want from superheroines and supervillainesses. You will father an army for your conquest. It will be easy. Your power ensures it.

You scan the list of candidates, a dark smirk playing on your lips. "Hummingbird, the Fastest Slut Alive. Cowgirl, The Hucow Whoroine. Dr. Jessica Lopez, or Slutasaurus Rex. Nikki Nitro, The Fast & Furious Slut. Maxine Wylde, the Angel of ****." Your fingers tap the desk. "Who should I claim first?"