What do ghosts say during during bad sex?
"This is a grave mistake" 😂 🤣
Why do ghosts make terrible lover?
Because they always go through, instead getting in you.🤔🤔🤔
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Ren blinks awake, the morning light creeping in through the curtains. His head feels heavy.
What a weird dream, he thinks.
His mind lingers on the whispers. Voices.
Even though it was a dream, he remember it clearly;
Ghosts talking about him, Lina and sex.
He rubs his eyes and sits up.
What the hell was that? He shakes his head. It was just a dream. Nothing more, right?
His eyes drift to the metal on his bedside table.
The metal.
He remembers the voices. They mentioned it glowing sometimes.
Was it glowing? I haven't seen it glowing. Or maybe it was just a dream.
He looks at it. It's still. Nothing special. He leans forward.
Maybe I imagined it.
He picks up the metal, feeling its smooth surface. He turns it over in his hands. Looking at every side.
And something feels off.
A tiny crack catches his eye. On the corner.
Was that always there?
He inspects it closely, but can't remember clearly.
Whatever, just a dream. And i didn't even look at this thing closely before.
He puts the metal down, not caring to think about it anymore. He has more important things to care about.
The group he was thinking to create before.
He goes to the shower, strip and steps in.
Water streams over his shoulders, its warmth cascading down his body. But no amount of warmth can quiet down his thinking.
The idea took root some days ago.
"The group," he murmurs, barely audible over the steady rush of the shower.
Not just any group—my group. Something unlike anything this world has ever seen. Something that would elevate me beyond any mortal comprehension.
Why stop at being powerful? Power is meaningless if it's hidden. I want to be seen, feared, admired. I want them to look at me and know they are nothing in comparison.
The thought alone sends a rush through his veins, as though the water scalding his skin is feeding the flames of ambition within him.
But it's not just about power. It's about creating something lasting, something that defines me. Something they'll talk about long after I'm gone.
He runs a hand through his wet hair, slicking it back, his gaze unfocused. The water is merely background noise now as the vision crystallizes in his mind.
What kind of group will it be? The answer comes quite easily.
Start small, exclusive. Target the wealthy, the desperate, the ones who think they can buy anything—even a solution to their problems.
"You want to walk again? To see, to breathe without pain? Pay the price, and I'll make it happen."
A smile creeps onto his face, sharp and predatory.
And what price it will be.
It's not about the money, though that will come in abundance. No, the price is about control. About owning these people in ways they can't even comprehend.
The water starts to cool, but Ren doesn't move. His thoughts drift further, delving into possibilities that make his pulse quicken.
Money will just be the beginning. Wealth opens doors, yes, but influence? Influence changes the game.
He imagines himself sitting in a room filled with powerful figures—business tycoons, politicians, celebrities—all of them hanging on his every word, desperate for his approval, his guidance.
"What do you need from me?" they'd ask, and he'd decide their worth. Their usefulness.
And if they don't meet my standards?
He chuckles softly to himself, shaking his head.
Then they don't get what they want. Simple.
But it's not just influence or control that excites him. His mind veers toward the more personal rewards.
The desires…
He steps out of the shower, wrapping a towel around his waist. His smirk lingers as he walks to the mirror, wiping away the steam.
There's something intoxicating about the idea of being wanted, of knowing that no one can resist me.
His reflection stares back, and for a moment, he imagines the kind of legends he could leave behind.
What kind of mysterious man do I want to be?
Ren leans against the sink, the towel resting loosely around his hips as his thoughts race.
A thief who doesn't steal for money but for the thrill. Someone who robs banks just to show he can.
Imagine their faces when they realize nothing is missing, except maybe their sense of security.
His grin widens, the image vivid in his mind.
Or a prisoner who enters a jail willingly, not because he's caught, but because he wants something inside—something… or someone.
He chuckles, the sound low and wicked.
Beautiful women in chains. A corrupt warden's mistress. I'd play my game, and when I'm bored, I'd vanish without a trace, leaving them wondering how I ever existed.
His heart races at the thought.
The Incubi persona was only the beginning.
There's no limit to what he could create, no boundaries to the legends he could craft.
A wanderer who saves lives with a touch, a shadow who takes what he desires, a phantom who exists only in whispers.
A real magician... A shadowy figure.....
He steps away from the mirror, the towel slipping slightly as he paces his room, running his fingers through his damp hair.
But back to the group.
Ren's excitement doesn't dim as his mind refocuses.
I can't do this alone. Not if I want to enjoy the spoils. I need people—servants, allies, pawns.
He grabs a clean shirt, pulling it over his head, the fabric clinging to his still-damp skin.
Technical work, logistics, management… these aren't things I want to waste time on. I need someone for that. Someone capable, loyal, someone who knows their place.
Elisha's face flashes in his mind.
She'd be perfect.
He buttons his shirt, a sly smile curling his lips.
She's beautiful, intelligent, and already tied to me in ways she doesn't fully understand. She was my first. That makes her unique.
The thought fills him with satisfaction.
If she doesn't agree, I'll make her see reason. After all, I'm offering her a chance to be part of something extraordinary. She should be grateful. This isn't a position just anyone could have.
He grabs the Incubi outfit from his closet, folding it carefully into a bag.
And why wouldn't she want this? I have everything she could desire—wealth, power, protection. I'll make her see that working for me isn't just a job; it's a privilege.
Bag in hand, he steps to the window, his gaze sweeping over the city. He can feel the pulse of it, the chaos and order that blend into one living organism.
A shimmer of energy surrounds him, the shield activating with a faint hum. The air around him distorts, bending light, rendering him invisible.
With a single step, he lifts off, the ground falling away beneath him. The wind rushes past, cool and invigorating.
As the city blurs below, he can't help but smile.
He is finally going to do it, though it's just beginning.