[Warning: NSFW Scene]

In the world of Rexteria, magic was a shadowed mystery, whispered about in musty tomes and hinted at in the crackle of midnight fires.

Some claimed that magic, if it had ever really existed, was little more than a glimmering myth, lost to all but a handful of bloodlines bearing the last vestiges of ancient power.

But of course, no one quite knew why magic had faded away—just that, somewhere in the annals of history, things had changed. The first Emperor of Valtirium had waltzed onto the scene, splendid and mysterious, with a relic of such power that he bent the world to his will.

This relic, the Scepter of Valtirium, passed down through generations, lending its name to the council of wise heads who guarded it fiercely. However, only the Valtirium bloodline could wield its power.

With this artifact, he seized control of the western lands, fashioning them into the Valtirium Empire, an empire that would eventually be divided into three districts: Upward, Midward, and Downward.

Why the divisions, you ask? Power, naturally. Nothing spices up an empire like a good power struggle! But like a fine banquet of rare meats and cheeses, dividing one's land into parts invites all manner of quarrels over which morsel is the finest.

Economic imbalance blossomed, and the empire became a curious dance of wealth and loyalty, where even the richest merchants knew that loyalty—not gold—would take you places.

And so it remained, century after century, a proud fortress against rebellion. Until, that is, the night the empire's ironclad certainty came crashing down.

The Terrible Emperor himself, Novan Valtirium, met a most unfortunate end by getting assassinated, as did his entire brood—wives, children, all gone… well, except for one. The last of his line: Argider Valtirium.

And what did our dear Argider, the Scum Emperor, do after he inherited the mantle?

Why, he drank himself into glorious oblivion and indulged in any woman he could meet, of course.

"Y-Your Imperial Majesty! It won't fit!"

"Relax," Argider whispered, his hand caressing the whore's face. "I wouldn't want to cause you pain." He applied a thin layer of salve on the tip of his cock.

With a firm grip on their hips, he slowly pushed himself inside the woman, feeling their muscles involuntarily tighten around him as his large shaft stretched the whore almost painfully. 

"Hngh!" She whimpered, her lungs heaving up and down as tears spilled from her eyes.

"That's it, whore. Just breathe," Argider coached, his pace maddeningly slow, savoring the feel of their's body conforming to his. Then he thrusted his hips forward, inch by inch, until he was fully sheathed inside.

As he continued to slam himself, Argider angled his hips, searching for that special spot inside the whore that would drive her wild. When he found it, he was rewarded with the girl's sharp intake of breath and an increase in the tightness of her walls.

"Found it." Argider growled, milking the woman's pussy. "Now, be a good girl."

It had been a week later after his ascension to the throne and he was still whoring his way in life. As the hours wore on, Argider lost count of how many times he came, while the whore's body was pushed to its limits by his relentless fucking. She was used in every position imaginable, her holes stretched and filled until she was nothing but a limp, cum-soaked mess.

Night finally arrived and Argider was sleeping soundly on his sprawling, plush chamber that was tucked away in the corner of the Imperial Palace. His white-blonde hair caught the light just enough to give him that effortlessly glamorous, — 'I woke up like this' look — like he was born to shine and break hearts all in the same breath.

The night, supposed to be like every other evening where the maids would clean the room from his nightly activities, felt strangely adrift. 

The air was a little too still, the dust bunnies a bit too smug. Even the maids seemed to be giving him the side-eye, as if they knew this night would be one for the books.

"Goodness gracious," came a murmured voice from the distance, pitched just high enough to make sure every word wove its way to Argider's ears. "He's brought another one to his bed? To think he was crowned Emperor just a week ago... It's almost like they don't teach him discretion in royal training!"

"It's because of that wretched scheme of his cunning mother, isn't it?" The other maid responded in a hushed whisper while her nimble fingers folded the silky, rich fabric of the dress into one. 

"His lust is insatiable. Even the throne could not possibly heal it," The other mocked, eliciting a snicker from her companion. 

At that moment, Argider could only pray the rain would drown out their unflattering whispers.

He lay there, trying to look nonchalant, but the shivery breeze from outside had other plans, teasing his embarrassingly unmuscular arms.

His body, the picture of bravado, trembled slightly in protest, as if even the wind was mocking him.

The bedsheets felt like a million little daggers, poking and prodding him as if even they couldn't stand his presence.

It was like the entire room had conspired against him, stealing away every ounce of comfort just to spite him.

Just as he was about to roll over and curse out the pillows, a loud slam from the bedroom door nearly jolted him out of bed.

Clearly, even his own room had declared war on him—typical, he thought, with a scowl.

It hit the wall almost too loudly and harshly that the maids swore they heard a crack and a faint fall of the stone wall crushed into dust, its particles flowing down like rains of ice.

The ambiance became heavier, knotting anxiety in their careless throats.

"Out." A familiar voice spoke that same melodious rhythm that always ushered Argider. But it was cold. Even Argider, while pretending to be asleep and turning away from where the voices were, felt his back frozen. They were mad. His mother's anger was never of burning hot but of burning frost. It'd sap out anyone's heat and warmth.

"Are you the masters in this household? You seem to speak so freely," Meloris, mother of Argider, spoke with disdain.

A mere look at her sharp, stern gray eyes sullen the mood of the atmosphere as it glistened in silent rage that maids in the mansion knew not to spark. 

"W-We apologize… We will now leave, your grace," With a bow of their heads, they quickly tiptoed their way outside the room like meek mice.

It was an amusing sight - with the way their bodies were lowered and cowered underneath her fiery gaze, just as Meloris wanted.

She made her way to the curtains and parted it impatiently, the cloth flapping while it opened for the scenery beyond. The rain stopped. Rays of light painfully streamed on his eyes, the sting making him groan. 

"Wake up, you damn fool," Scolded Meloris. "How dense is your mind that the basic comprehension of not bringing whores into your chambers seems so hard to retain?! Mine is surely not stupid, but yours seems to be like a pile of trash just like your father."

Argider let out a long, bored sigh and sat up, rubbing his eyes. "Hey. You," he mumbled, glancing over at the woman beside him—the one he'd invited to bed without a second thought, ignoring any annoying strings attached.

She had a forgettable face, the kind that wouldn't leave much of a mark on his memory. And, really, that's just how he liked it. He wasn't here for keeps.

"Out," he said bluntly, flicking a thumb toward the door with all the care of someone shooing away a stray cat.

Commitment? Please, he didn't have the time—or the interest—for that.

Once only the two remained in the room, Meloris's jaw tightened from the boiling veins that brisked through her and landed her palm on her son's face with a resounding slap, the cruelty matching the harshness of her anger. 

"The Imperial Family suffered many losses and yet, you're still whoring around and producing more bastards. They think I schemed the death of your father, of his first wife, his other concubines. What more if they found out that you, my son, are sticking his cock in one hole to another?!"

"So all I've gotta do is… stick it to my wives and pop out some heirs, huh?" he muttered, eyes downcast, fingers gently tracing the sting on his cheek.

The lingering burn practically begged him to get nasty about it, to throw some snark right back.

After all, if this was the grand purpose laid out for him, he might as well have a little fun pushing a few buttons along the way.

"Your wives aren't your toys." She refuted, the bones of her knuckles cracking as she clasped her hands together. "They are your wives, women who deserve your love, not lust."

That calmness that she exuded vaguely hinted at the brewing madness within her as she inched closer and closer.

She loomed over the pitiful face of Argider and solidly gripped their undirtied cheeks. "Within tomorrow..." She said, her eyes narrowing. "You will bed one of them. You will love them." Then she left.

Slowly, the sands of the hourglass drizzled to the other glass bulb.

There was a tremor of reluctance inside him before he finally released himself from the coverings of his blanket, upright naked in front of a mirror.

Much like his reflection, he was stuck in a title that required everyone to perceive and see him.

Women of the lower class provided little exertion to charm, but Argider's four wives were at the pinnacle of high society.

His unchaste reputation for bedding several women would mean more political scheming from his harem.

The thought of this alone exhausted him so he immediately wore his robe to go outside.

But there was a hushed creak as the door opened and his legs instantly prepared to flee in a slight, unperceivable motion by instinct.

"W-Who...." He panicked. "Who's there?! A-Answer me right now!"

Silence.

Suddenly, armed men rushed towards the defenseless Argider. Their builds were hulky and towered over the smaller emperor whose appearance would pass for a female. He could conquer the bed, but never the battlefield.  

"Do not resist, bastard emperor." The frontman spoke.

Before he knew it, one of them hurled a dagger with speed, piercing his heart and bringing him to a halt.

He was born a bastard, produced bastards, and died a bastard.

The blade sank deep into the muscle of his organ that pumped blood causing his breath to grow short.

He was in a state of shock that his body warmth was swept away with a cold flare. "W-Why?..." Argider muttered his last words.

His senses began to fade. The light in his eyes became dim, his scream morphed into a hollow gasp, and the burden on his mind slipped away as he fell onto the granite tiles of the floor.

There was still consciousness flickering that he could see the men kicking his body one last time and carrying him. Afterwards, it was all blank.

"...."

"...."

"Ar....""

Death, it seemed, was surprisingly gentle and empty, offering Argider a soft respite from his mortal existence.

Strangely, the absence of sound should have accompanied the end of his physical body, yet he could still perceive an echoing murmur. It defied logic. No longer tied to his physical form, he pondered why he could hear echoes in the boundless void.

Somehow, it continued relentlessly, reverberating through the emptiness that embraced Argider hauntingly.

But wait - could he truly be dead, if his senses remained intact in this ethereal realm? Death should have brought absolute silence, yet here he was, still able to discern the echoing murmur. 

"Ar...."

The echo again. What is it trying to say?...

"...."

"Ar...."

"ARGIDER! WAKE UP!"

A jolt of life entered him, his gaze instantly fixated skyward, his tunnel of vision having a bluer, subdued appearance. It was blurry and hazy.

The weight surrounding him was light and he couldn't decipher where he was until his nostrils felt constricted by liquid.

This instantly triggered a reflex to exhale forcefully, resulting in burning irritation.

He was underwater. How was he here? And most of all... why is he alive?

His arms extended to let the waters guide him to the shore. He swam, his arm stroking and leg kicking gently to reach the other side, salvation almost within his reach. 

As the tip of his fingers brushed against the edge of the ground, he jumped from the water and caught it with his bare hands, forcing out a cough and vomited water.

His lungs were inflamed, and there was an unbearable discomfort in his nose. 

"Didn't I die?… What kind of sick joke is this?" He groaned, half-coughing, half-laughing, a twisted chuckle caught in his throat, just barely muffled by the ache radiating through him. Somehow, the whole thing was unbearably hilarious, like the universe had pulled off the world's cruelest prank just for him.

However, those feelings were abruptly interrupted as his hand checked his chest because he remembered that a dagger split his heart into two. A sharp exhale escaped Argider's lips.

Instead of a flat surface, there was plumpiness that no man would have. Could it be?...

Argider glanced down, his grip tightening to confirm one more time. Boing. Boing. He had breasts, a woman's breasts. Between his legs, the manhood that he proudly carried as a gifted burden could not be sensed.

The arm of this man also became more slender and sharp, like a stem of flowers that could be plucked with no haste. Then he looked beyond his big bosoms, seeing his reflection.

It was himself - except his white blonde hair now cascaded over his shoulders as it grew longer and his head smaller. There was only one conclusion.

"I... I became a woman?!" 

How will he bed his wives and fulfill his promise to his mother?!