Beast Gacha System: All Mine-Chapter 72: Lament **

Last night was a blur of many things.

SLAP—SLAP—SLAP—

Eastiel, of course, remembered most of it. Even the wet, skin-on-skin percussion between them. His feline mind cataloged the details. He hadn’t engaged in a fruitless, pleasurable battle. No. He was determined to extract strategic data from her pretty little head.

SLAP—SLAP—SLAP—SLAP—SLAP—SLAP—

"Not to your taste, Brother?" Oathran asked mildly, noticing Arkai’s faint frown at the cup of date wine a servant had left. The Dragon Lord plucked the cup from Arkai’s hand and took a sip.

SLAP—SLAP—SLAP—

"Please... there is a perfectly clean cup available, Elder Brother," Arkai grunted, his attention divided between the distraction and the ongoing interrogation on the bed.

SLAP—SLAP—SLAP—SLAP—SLAP—SLAP—

Oathran just smirked, a flash of white teeth, and turned to refill the cup to the brim. He took another slow sip before carrying it toward the bed, where Eastiel was vigorously pursuing his line of questioning.

SLAP—SLAP—

"Ahh! Ahh! Ahh!! AHH!! Stop—! I just—came—"

Ignoring her breathless plea, Eastiel, crouched over her, slammed his hips forward with reckless abandon. A low growl rumbled in his chest. "I won’t stop until you give me your full plan. How... how are you planning to kill them, hmmm? The specifics."

SLAP—SLAP—SLAP—SLAP—SLAP—SLAP—

"Drink," Oathran said, his voice calm. He pressed the lip of the cup to Eastiel’s parted lips. The sudden, sweet intrusion of taste and Oathran’s proximity shattered the lion’s single-minded focus.

"Haa..." Eastiel took the cup, his relentless rhythm slowing, transforming from a punishing pace into something deeper, more sensual.

He drank deeply, rivulets of dark date wine escaping the corner of his mouth, tracing a path down his neck, over the sculpted plane of his chest and rippling abdomen, before finally dripping onto the slick, joined place of cock and cunt.

Oathran, having successfully disrupted the interrogation tempo, leaned down and captured Cecilia’s lips in a hard, claiming kiss. The taste of wine on his tongue was more intoxicating than the alcohol itself.

"How about you simply answer his question, my love?" he murmured against her mouth.

"Mmmhhh... ahhh... ahh... ahh... I will... I’ll answer... but let me... just let me... rest..." Cecilia begged, her words fractured by the deep, rolling thrusts. 𝘧𝓇𝑒𝑒𝑤ℯ𝑏𝓃𝘰𝑣ℯ𝘭.𝘤ℴ𝘮

"You just rested," Arkai pointed out logically, climbing onto the bed behind Eastiel. "And it’s my turn after this."

"I’m not done yet, Brother..." Eastiel protested, his voice dazed but stubborn. He began to pound into her again, each drive a punctuation mark. "I need... the details... before she passes out... mmm... again..."

His movements grew harder, faster. Oathran’s distracting kiss was making his head spin. "Cecilia..." Eastiel panted. "Answer... my que—"

"Okay... mmm, I’ll answer, but... but please just cum... I’m so... tired... and I’m about to... again..." Her hips jerked uncontrollably, a fresh wave of release building.

Sensing her impending climax, Eastiel’s pace became frantic, punishing. Arkai, flooded with the shared sensation through their bond, had to look up at the ceiling and focus on the stonework to avoid coming from proxy stimulation alone.

Oathran, however, chose escalation. He freed himself from his trousers and presented one of his tips to Cecilia’s lips. "Suck," he commanded softly.

"Elder Brother!" Eastiel yelled, knowing full well the exquisite pull of her mouth would resonate directly on his own buried cock. "Please don’t ruin—fuck!"

"Aaaahhh!" Arkai let out a strangled groan, his own control fraying at the edges.

SPLURT! SPLURT!

"Aaaahhh—ahhhh!" Eastiel’s interrogation ended with a full, shuddering release inside her, his body going rigid.

Oathran, meanwhile, chuckled in deep-throated bliss at the gentle, rhythmic suction Cecilia managed around one of his cocks.

Cecilia gasped like a drowning woman breaking the surface as Eastiel, spent, withdrew. The vacuum was instantly filled by Arkai, who sheathed himself in one smooth stroke, drawing a long, pleasured moan from her.

"Mine still feels more... comfortable, Cece? Compared to his... overly stimulating cock?" Arkai whispered, a thread of smug mirth in his voice as he began a slow rhythm.

Cecilia managed to frown, glaring at him with the last dregs of her energy. "It’s still... too big..."

"Tell me now," Eastiel demanded, recovering swiftly. He kissed her hard, his wine-sweet lips nearly colliding with Oathran’s cock still at her mouth.

Oathran flinched back with a laugh, then turned to share a look of amused shock with Arkai. This kid is feral. Arkai scoffed, still moving within her, made a crude, mimed gesture of blowjob with his hand and a tongue to his cheek. Oathran’s eyes widened, and he pointed a mock-accusatory finger at the wolf. You vulgar beast.

"Tell me!" Eastiel insisted, pinching her nipple hard, oblivious to what his elder brothers were doing behind him.

SLAM!

"Aahh!" Cecilia cried as Arkai punctuated Eastiel’s demand with a particularly deep thrust.

Arkai met her glazed glare with a stern one of his own. "Tell him, Cece."

Of course, they managed to get her to talk. The three-pronged assault, Eastiel’s relentless, stimulating interrogation, Oathran’s distracting, intoxicating kisses, and Arkai’s stern, punctuating thrusts, had finally breached her defenses.

Eastiel was proud of that. In all their years of political sparring and veiled debates, he had never been able to extract a straight strategy from Cecilia Araceli. She was always a fortress of misdirection and layered plans.

And now, here she was, spilling her tactical blueprint between gasps and moans. A smug satisfaction settled in his chest. Finally, he had allies in this impossible fight. He wasn’t one man against the Saintess’s impenetrable wit no more. He had brothers on his side.

"I’m planning... on making them anxious... on making them c—mmmm cumming again..."

Her words dissolved into a shuddering moan as Arkai hit a particularly deep angle.

"Making them what?" Eastiel pressed, cupping her face to keep her focus.

"Con...fused... ahhh!"

"How?" All three men asked in near unison, their movements pausing for a crucial second.

"I’m distributing... the healing elixirs... to the people in need... and telling everyone... it’s from the Saintess..."

Eastiel blinked. That was it? Charity? He’d expected something involving dragon-fire and decapitations.

"So when people asked directly... to the temple or the empire... they wouldn’t be able to... ahhh ahh... produce... the same... effect... mmm!" she finished, arching against Oathran’s chest.

The penny dropped. It wasn’t just charity. It was a credibility war. She was creating a living, breathing counter-narrative. The Temple offered empty prophecies of prosperity. She would offer tangible miracles of survival. The Empire offered law. She would offer a higher, unbreakable code. Ruby offered divine love. She would offer practical salvation.

She elaborated between gasped breaths. She’d also produce more ’prophecies,’ but bypassing Temple channels, sowing deliberate confusion. Vast, visible charities. Open offers of protection. Miraculous healings on a scale that would become legend.

Rumors, rumors, rumors... gossips, scandals, rumors...

She would let her name resurface in whispers, then in shouts.

She would taunt them. Ruby, in her gilded cage. Arzhen, in his bloody crown. The Temple, in its hollow piety. She would weaponize public opinion, spinning outrage and hope into a noose for her enemies. This path was chosen for its psychological yield. A slow, excruciating erosion of their mental state.

But she herself would be a phantom. A shadow dispensing light. They would never catch her.

"And when the time comes..." she whispered.

She would return.

But to show the world the hollow space where her heart should be. The ultimate proof of their crime, and her impossible, resurrected power.

"I don’t want to be a true Saintess..."

A grin spread across Eastiel’s lips.

"Then," he said, "you will be our goddess instead."

Ours. Not the Temple’s. Not the Empire’s. Not the people’s abstract symbol.

Theirs.

And the memory of last night, he would make it all come true.

Eastiel opened his eyes.

To his right was the naked Dragon Lord.

To his left was the naked Black Wolf King.

How in the seven holy hells did my life come to this?