Starting With an SSS-Rank Goddess Summon!

Vala leaned in and took him into her mouth once more... not to suck, but to clean.

Her tongue swirled slowly around the sensitive head, gathering the last beads of cum that clung to the slit.

She dragged the flat of her tongue down the shaft, licking away every remaining streak and every bit of saliva as well release that still glistened on the veined length.

Soft contented groans vibrated around him the entire time.

"Mmm... nnh... haah..."

When she finally pulled back, a thin string of saliva and residual cum connected her lower lip to the flushed head of his cock for a moment before it broke.

She opened her mouth slightly, showing him the clean empty interior, then closed it and swallowed one last time with a soft audible click.

A small satisfied smile curved her lips.

Silas felt his cock twitch hard against his thigh, already beginning to thicken again at the sight as he forced a slow breath through his nose.

’I have to control myself...’

He reached down and stroked the top of her head once with his fingers becoming gentle now.

"Good girl."

Vala’s smile widened. She rose smoothly to her feet, straightened her cloak, and walked to the cracked window without a word.

Snow still drifted in on the thin ribbon of freezing air as she glanced back over her shoulder with her dark eyes turning warm.

"I cannot wait for tomorrow, my Lord and... thank you for the meal."

Then she braced one hand on the windowsill, vaulted cleanly through the narrow opening, and disappeared into the swirling white of the blizzard as though she had never been there.

The window swung shut behind her under the force of the wind as the brass lock clicked into place on its own.

’Well isn’t that lucky...?’

Silas remained seated for a long moment, staring at the empty space where she had been.

Slowly he reached down, pulled his trousers and boxers back up, and fastened them with steady fingers.

The residual heat of the orgasm still lingered in his blood, and the memory of Vala’s tongue carefully cleaning every last drop of him was already burned into the back of his mind.

’Damn...’

He leaned back in the leather chair, running a hand through his dark hair.

’The women in my territory are really hot. Should I perhaps be engaging in sexual activities more often?’

The thought drifted through him as he let out a long quiet sigh and looked toward the closed door the Princess had exited through only minutes earlier.

’I also need to ask the Princess if I can give her a nickname. I really do not want to keep calling her "Princess" all the time.’

His gaze dropped to the thick stack of reports and the bound ledger still resting in the center of the desk.

The long list of names stared up at him as Silas picked up the pen and leaned forward.

"It’s about time I sort out the groups."

The tip of the quill touched the paper and he began to work.

...

The dying embers of the massive hearth cast long, dancing silhouettes across the polished wood of the Keep’s main living room.

Outside, the blizzard that choked the Umbral Basin screamed its hollow frozen fury against the reinforced exterior stones, but within the walls, the air remained dry.

On the oversized velvet couch, a single massive finger twitched.

FZZT!

A miniature spark of cerulean lightning jumped from the knuckle to the upholstery, leaving behind a pinprick of glowing carbon.

Thor shifted.

Her throat worked, swallowing the dry residue of a deep unnatural sleep, and then she opened her mouth in a full-chested jaw-cracking yawn that sounded more like an avalanche rolling down a mountain slope than an awakening mortal.

"Haaaaah... nggh."

She rolled onto her back.

Her wild tangled blonde mane cascaded over the edge of the cushions, trailing toward the dark floorboards.

As her storm-blue eyes blinked against the ambient orange glow of the hearth, she slowly sat upright, stretching her broad corded arms toward the vaulted timber ceiling.

The sheer power of her musculature shifted under her skin with an audible fibrous pop as her thick collarbones and massive shoulders flexed, and her heavy chest heaved in an expansive intake of dry air.

She sat there for several seconds, scratching at her ribs with blunt calloused fingers.

She tilted her head left, then right, feeling the thick tendons in her neck click like cracking river ice then, she looked down at her lap.

She was naked.

"Where in the nine hells are my battle-rags?" she muttered, her deep raspy voice vibrating in her chest.

She tapped a finger against her bare knee, retracing the fractured sequence of the past few hours.

Her memories were not delicate things... they came in blunt impacts.

The first thing that surfaced was the clash of weapons, the deafening shockwaves that had leveled the white space, and the intoxicating rush of trading blows with Morwenna.

A genuine grin tugged at the corners of Thor’s mouth.

’That pirate woman...’ Thor thought, her storm-blue eyes glowing with an appreciative blue spark. ’She’s genuinely built of stout timber.’

Thor had been holding back, of course.

To unleash the true, cataclysmic wrath of Mjölnir within the confines of a mortal territory’s courtyard would have split the tectonic plate straight down to the mantle, boiling the subterranean aquifers into superheated geysers.

But even with her divine physical output choked down by a lot, she had still swung the Uru-forged head with enough inertia to cave in a siege engine.

And Morwenna had met that violence head-on and even overpowered her several times.

’The warriors under this banner are truly a different breed,’ Thor mused, planting her massive bare feet onto the cold oak floorboards.

She made her decision right then and there, without a shred of divine hesitation... Blessed Land was going to be one of her regular anchor points.

Whenever the endless mind-numbing squabbles of the Council of Deities grew too tedious to stomach, or whenever Midgard’s mortal cities choked her with their fragile glass-and-steel monotony, she would tear open a rift and drop down right here.

Besides, she found herself genuinely liking the master of this house.

Silas was unlike the sniveling self-important warlords she usually encountered across the fractured realms.

He didn’t reek of desperate ambition or false humility as he looked at a demigoddess, acknowledged the apocalyptic force standing before him, and didn’t soil himself.

’A good lad,’ Thor decided, nodding to herself. ’Stout heart and quiet eyes. As long as that scheming, lustful whore Loki doesn’t catch his scent...’

At the mere thought of her half-sibling, an involuntary shudder rippled down Thor’s broad muscular back.

The mental image of Loki slinking into this peaceful, hard-working settlement with silver-tongued whispers, trying to bend a mortal Lord with that vile charm... it was enough to turn the God of Thunder’s stomach.

Thor snorted, shaking her wild blonde hair to dispel the foul thought, and turned her gaze toward the heavy oak coffee table sitting in the center of the living room.

’How did I even end up flat on my back in the first place?’

Her brow furrowed.

The combat with Morwenna had ended and after walking around naked and eating, they had been heated, roaring for another round but then, the front doors had opened.

A golden-haired elven woman... Aeliana, the one who helped them with the barrier that they fought with stepped into the hall, flashing that deceptively sweet, butter-wouldn’t-melt smile, and handed them both carved wooden tankards foaming with what she claimed was a "cooling herbal tonic."

Thor blinked, and then a booming full-throated chuckle tore from her throat.

"Gwahahaha! Little wood-rat got me with a sleeper!" Thor barked, slapping her bare thigh with enough force to crack thunder across the room. "Cheeky little thing! Slipping paralyzed nightshade and spirit-moss into an executioner’s draft! The audacity!"

Her laugh died down into a fond rough grin as her eyes settled on the items resting quietly on the table.

There, sitting beside an empty crystal decanter, were her iron gauntlets, Járngreipr, their rune-etched surfaces gleaming dull silver in the embers.

And coiled neatly beside them was Megingjörð, the thick ancient leather belt of power that doubled her already monstrous reality-warping strength.

Thor raised her open hands. She didn’t speak as she merely exerted an infinitesimal pull of her divine will.

VRRR-CLANG!

The iron gauntlets launched from the table like twin cannonballs, tearing through the air and sliding onto her massive forearms with a magnetic snap.

The internal locking mechanisms clicked into place, the ancient Nordic runes flaring with a brief icy blue light before dimming.

Almost simultaneously, the heavy leather of Megingjörð uncoiled, whipping around her waist and cinching tight with a deafening sound.

THWIP-CLACK!

The moment the buckle caught, the ambient air pressure in the room visibly doubled, the wood beneath her feet groaning under the sudden dense magnification of her mass.

She rolled her shoulders, satisfied.

But as she looked around the vast, silent room, noting the empty chairs and the faint traces of muddy footprints near the entryway, she raised an eyebrow.

’Where did the rest of the brood wander off to? Did that little royal girl with the blue hair manage to survive the tour without swooning?’

Before she could stand to investigate, the sound of footsteps echoed from the spiral staircase at the far end of the hall.

Thump! Thump! Thump!

Down from the upper floors came the Lord of Blessed Land.

Silas was descending the stairs, his eyes tired but alert and draped over his left arm was a massive voluminous pile of dark fabric.

It was a set of thick woven robes... cut from the same dark shimmering cloth as his own cultivator-style garments, but tailored to proportions that were almost comically oversized.

Broad in the shoulders, long in the hem, and reinforced at the seams to accommodate someone who looked more like a living siege engine than a delicate maiden.

Silas stepped off the bottom riser, his eyes locking onto Thor.

He blinked once, taking in the sight of the towering blonde warrior sitting completely naked save for a pair of ancient iron gauntlets and a divine leather belt.

"Ah," Silas began, his voice dry as he held out the folded fabric like a white flag. "You’re awake... I was just coming down to leave these on the table so you’d have something to cover yourself with when you finall—"

WHOOOOOOSH!

The word died in his throat as the air imploded.

In the vacuum of a single microsecond, a blur of golden hair and raw speed flashed past his retinas.

Silas, despite possessing a Mythic Gold Core and reaction times that could track a lot of things at high speeds, didn’t even see the movement begin.

One second the robes were resting across his forearms.

The next, his arms were empty with the cold air brushing against his bare palms, and Thor was standing six feet to his left, holding the massive garment aloft between two fingers, inspecting the stitching with a critical eye.

Silas stood completely frozen, his heart skipping a singular startled beat.

’...How fast was that? She didn’t even push off the floorboards. She just ceased being on the couch and existed here instead.’

"Oho!" Thor rumbled, oblivious to his internal shock. She brought the fabric to her nose, sniffing it deeply. "Thick weave! Smells of pine resin, crushed mint, and... living sap? Hah! Sturdy work, mortal! Did your seamstresses weave this from standard flax?"

Silas slowly lowered his empty arms, clearing his throat to regain his composure.

"No. I had Eluned weave them personally from the inner bark fibers of the spirit trees. She can manipulate plant matter at the cellular level, so they’re remarkably tear-resistant."

At the mention of that name, Thor’s storm-blue eyes flared with a sudden intensity.

The casual boisterous warmth vanished for a fraction of a heartbeat, replaced by a gaze so sad that Silas felt the oxygen in the room thin out.

"Eluned..." Thor murmured, her voice dropping into a low, resonant hum that rattled the loose mortar between the stone bricks. "The former World Spirit? The green Goddess of Nature who tended the First Roots before the realms fractured?"

She turned her gaze to Silas, the sharpness softening into disbelief. "She is bound here? Under your roof?"

"She’s my first Hero," Silas nodded carefully, keeping his voice even. "Though right now, she’s dead to the world. I patted her head until she fell asleep in my room barely twenty minutes ago..."

Thor stood motionless.

Slowly, the God of Thunder lowered the robes to her side as she looked down at the dark, polished floorboards with her broad scarred shoulders sinking slightly under an unseen weight.

"I see..." Thor whispered, a rare tone creeping into her booming voice. "Then I owe her a debt of shame. When the grand assembly met... when the foul whispers began and the false charges were laid upon her shoulders... I was away, hunting void-beasts along the outer rim. By the time I shattered the dimensional gate and returned to the high courts, the decree had already been struck. The cowards had cast her down. Framed her, stripped her groves, and sealed her off too."

She closed her eyes, her iron-clad hands tightening into massive fists that creaked under the pressure.

"She was a gentle soul... Far too soft for the wolves that sit upon the golden thrones. I am sorry, Silas, that my hammer was not there to crack the skulls of the liars who broke her."

Silas stared at her, his eyes widening slightly.

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