Chapter 9: Predatory Smile
The abandoned house on the outskirts of Sighisoara creaked under the weight of time and ghosts.
Wind brushed through broken windows, carrying whispers of ancient curses and bloodstained histories.
In the dim light of a dying fire, Riya sat on the cold floor, sharpening a blade more out of habit than need.
Muramasa sat across from him, back against a wall, arms folded.
"You understand what it means to carry the mark of a Ruler now?" he asked without looking up.
"You're not just a participant anymore, Riya."
"You're a balancing force."
"A judge."
"A weapon forged to keep this war from becoming a slaughterhouse."
Riya didn't answer right away.
His thoughts were elsewhere—caught between the blood he'd spilled, and the haunting image of Jack's offer.
When he finally spoke, his voice was distant.
"I never asked to be a judge."
"No one ever does," Muramasa replied, his gaze dark.
"But the Grail doesn't care what we want. It chooses."
"And it chose you."
Elsewhere .
The night cracked open like thunder.
Achilles, a blur of bronze and speed, carved through defensive barriers as if they were parchment.
Arash, silent and deadly, loosed arrows that exploded mid-air, disorienting the defenders.
They came to retrieve Spartacus—and nearly succeeded.
But the Black Faction rallied.
Chiron and Vlad led the defense with brutal precision, forcing the Red Servants back.
No blood was spilled, but the message was clear:
The war was heating up.
Later that night, under the cold gaze of the moon, Riya and Muramasa stalked a lone magus collecting reagents near the edge of town.
The ambush was swift—silent.
The magus never even saw the blow that dropped him unconscious.
Back at their hideout, Riya tied him to a rusted chair.
The questioning was brief—Riya didn't need to ask twice.
When the man's secrets were spent, when the location of the Black stronghold was etched into Riya's memory—
Without warning, Riya drove a blade into the man's throat.
The spray was hot.
The magus choked once, then stilled.
Muramasa stared for a moment.
He had seen killers.
He was a killer.
But something about Riya's cold efficiency—the lack of hesitation—made even him pause.
Riya wiped the blade on the dead man's sleeve and said, "We can't afford witnesses."
"Dispose of the body."
Muramasa nodded, silent.
But in his heart, he now understood: Riya wasn't like the others.
He had purpose.
That Night.
Sleep fell on Riya like a black curtain, and when it lifted, he stood in a realm of swirling mist and violet stars.
He wasn't alone.
Jack stood before him.
Tall, alluring, and draped in veils of shadow and lace, she exuded danger like perfume.
Her body was sculpted to tempt, every curve wrapped in silken death, every step oozing sensual power.
She approached, hips swaying, eyes glowing with dark amusement.
"Good boy…" she whispered, her voice a velvet blade.
Riya's breath caught as she reached out, her fingers trailing down his chest, leaving a trail of cold fire in their wake.
"You did what I asked."
"You proved you're not afraid to get blood on your hands."
"And now…"
She pressed her body against his, the soft swell of her breasts brushing his chest, lips grazing his ear.
"Now I'm yours. And you… you're mine."
Without waiting, she pulled him down into the mist with a hungry kiss, her mouth hot, greedy, and impossibly soft.
Her hands roamed over him like she was memorizing every inch, her touch both reverent and possessive.
Riya growled against her lips, responding with raw need.
Jack laughed—a sultry, sinful sound—and pushed him onto the bed of shadows that rose up beneath them.
She straddled him, undressing with slow, teasing grace.
Every movement revealed more pale, perfect skin, shimmering with moonlight and temptation.
"Feel me," she whispered, lowering herself onto him with a shiver. "Take me. Make me scream your name."
Their bodies moved like they had done this a thousand times before—primal, fevered, desperate.
Her nails raked down his back.
Her moans filled the space between them.
Riya lost himself in her rhythm, her scent, her wicked smile.
Their bodies moved like they had done this a thousand times before—primal, fevered, desperate.
Her nails raked down his back, dragging welts of pleasure-pain in their wake, and her moans—soft at first, then louder, more feral—echoed in the air between them, deliciously obscene.
Riya lost himself in her rhythm, her scent, her wicked smile that promised sin with every breath.
Then Jack leaned forward, her breath hot on his neck, lips grazing his jaw as she took his hand and guided it upward—slowly, deliberately—until his palm cupped the soft weight of her right breast.
"Touch me," she whispered, voice husky, barely holding back a shudder. "Make me yours."
His fingers curled, massaging her, thumb brushing over her taut nipple in a teasing circle.
Jack let out a gasp, her back arching, pressing herself deeper into his touch.
A moan, sultry and unrestrained, slipped from her lips—high and breathy—her hips grinding down harder against him in response.
"Just like that," she purred, her eyes half-lidded, drunk on pleasure. "Don't stop, Riya… make me feel you."
Her words curled around his mind like smoke, thick with need and invitation.
Riya's breath hitched, his fingers kneading her breast more firmly, savoring the way her body responded—arching, trembling, craving more.
Jack leaned in, her lips brushing against his in a kiss that was slow and heated, a taste of something forbidden.
Her tongue flicked against his, teasing, challenging, before she pulled back with a breathless giggle and straddled him fully, pressing her slick warmth against his length.
She rotated her hips in lazy, tantalizing circles, coating him with her desire, moaning low in her throat at the delicious friction.
"You feel that?" she whispered, her voice like velvet dragged over bare skin. "That's yours now. All of it. Every inch."
Riya gripped her hips, steadying her, and Jack reached between them, her fingers wrapping around him with practiced grace.
She guided him to her entrance, pausing—eyes locked with his, daring him, inviting him.
And then—
In one slow, aching motion, she sank down onto him.
A cry tore from her throat, raw and beautiful, as their bodies became one.
Tight heat wrapped around him, pulsing and trembling, and Riya groaned, his head falling back as he filled her completely.
Jack's hands pressed against his chest, her nails digging in just enough to sting.
"There," she gasped, rocking her hips. "Now we're connected… body, soul, power… everything."
And in that moment—lost in her heat, in her rhythm, in the raw ecstasy of it all—Riya felt the Saint Graph inside him stir and shift, a surge of power laced with lust and darkness binding them together completely.
Their rhythm quickened.
Jack rode him with reckless hunger, her hips snapping with a feral intensity, each motion drawing a gasp or a groan from them both.
Her hands tangled in his hair, yanking his head back to expose his throat, where she pressed her lips, then teeth, nipping possessively.
"Faster," she hissed against his skin. "Take me deeper. Make me yours, Riya."
He obeyed, his hands gripping her waist, guiding her, thrusting up to meet her every descent.
Their bodies slapped together in frantic heat, sweat-slick skin glowing under the moonlight of the dreamworld.
Jack's moans grew louder, her body trembling on top of him, her inner walls clenching with every rise and fall.
Her mature, seductive form seemed to blur at the edges, as though the power of her Saint Graph was merging with his soul in real time.
"I can feel it," she gasped, her voice trembling with pleasure and something more.
"Your power… it's flooding into me."
"It's delicious. It's—!"
Her words dissolved into a scream as her body arched, her climax hitting with shuddering force.
She clung to him, nails dragging down his back in streaks as she spasmed around him.
The pressure built in Riya until he could no longer hold it back.
With a low, guttural groan, he thrust up one final time and released deep inside her, the wave crashing through his core like fire and lightning.
Their bodies froze in that perfect moment — locked, breathless, shaking — as the connection solidified between them, a sacred and sinful fusion of lust and power.
A glow pulsed around them, flickering through the dream, marking the binding of their pact.
Jack collapsed against his chest, panting, her fingers tracing lazy patterns across his skin.
"Now we're bound," she whispered, voice thick with satisfaction. "You're mine… and I'm yours."
And then—
The dream shattered like glass.
Riya bolted upright in the real world, breath ragged, sweat beading on his skin.
The room was dark and still, but his pulse thundered in his ears.
Muramasa sat nearby, eyes narrowing as he sensed the shift in energy.
Riya's hand clenched instinctively — and for a moment, he swore he could feel Jack's presence lingering in his veins.
Another Servant conquered.
Another power gained.
And the war marched on.
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RIYA RIOT STATS:
Jack the Ripper:
Skills:
Presence Concealment:(A+)
Mad Enhancement:(C)
Murder on a Misty Night:(A)
Mental Pollution:(C)
Information Erasure:(B)
Surgical Procedure:(E)
Thousand Faces:(A)
Noble Phantasms:
Maria the Ripper:(D+)
The Mist:(C)
From Hell:(E-≈A+)
Natural Born Killers:(B)
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