After Dionysus dropped the first mortal off, her legs still wobbling as she stepped out of his truck.
He didn't say much. Just watched. Eyes on her backside until she disappeared behind the dust cloud her heels stirred on the empty road.
The truck, Jimmy, rumbled under him as he drove back toward the hotel. The desert stretched endless and golden, the kind of silence that tempted even a god into reflection. That was, until the voice in his head chimed in.
[System Ping — You know, for a god of pleasure, you're shockingly bad at pillow talk.]
Dionysus blinked. "What now?"
[So, what's her name?] the System asked casually, like they were discussing the weather.
Dionysus frowned, one hand lazily gripping the wheel, the other drumming against the cracked leather. "Is that important?"
[Well... considering she was screaming your name for a solid hour, and you only ever called her "Lady"... and a bit of baby yeah, I'd say it's worth remembering.]
He sighed. "Gods don't need to exchange names. They leave marks, not memories."
[Poetic. Tragic. Kinda dumb, too.] The system's tone oozed mockery. [Anyway, stats update coming in hot.]
A holographic panel blinked into existence in his peripheral vision—Dionysus' status bar.
→ Status:
Mood: Post-coital Calm
Satisfaction Level: 87%
Happiness Index: Elevated
Stamina: Unfazed…
Dionysus groaned, "Show me her stats, not mine. What's her name, then?"
The system flickered, then displayed her profile like a dating card from Valhalla.
[Subject: Freya]
Origin: Old Norse, Scandinavian Lineage
Age: 21
Personality: Fiercely independent. Strong. Adventurous. She walks like she knows she belongs on a battlefield—or in a king's bed. Magnetic to the core.
Style: Rustic elegance. Think simple white shirts tucked into denim, leather boots, and Viking-inspired silver cuffs that jingle like war cries.
Looks: Sun-kissed pale skin, long waves of gold for hair, and those piercing glacier-blue eyes that could cut a lesser man in half.
Speech: Confident. Blunt. Always flirting, even when she says she's not.
[Fun Fact: She fantasized about you for three weeks before her car mysteriously ran out of gas near your coordinates.]
Dionysus chuckled darkly. "So, fate was horny this week."
[Fate's always horny. Why do you think you're here?]
He laughed, slow and low, tapping the steering wheel. "Freya," he said aloud, testing the name like a fine wine. "Fits her."
[Shall I record that as your first name-remembered conquest? It only took one round of cosmic-level penetration.]
"Record it," Dionysus muttered with a grin. "The name. The sound. The way she broke when I said good girl. Record it all."
[Already archived in the Hall of Moans, Lord Dionysus.]
[Next stop: Mortal No. 2. Coordinates incoming in 3... 2...]
Dionysus tilted his head, eyes narrowing as the next location blinked to life on the dashboard. "Let's see if the next one moans in French."
[You will be told about the second mortal by morning, the results for today's performance aren't out yet]
Dionysus groaned and He hit the gas, and Jimmy roared into the sun-soaked wasteland, a god in a truck on a mission of divine indulgence.
>
Morning crept in with a dusty gold hue, painting shafts of light across the marbled floor and casting slow-moving shadows along the velvet-draped Imperial Suite.
Dionysus stirred, his golden eyes blinking open with a lazy sort of confusion.
A god doesn't sleep.
And yet—he had. Deeply. Like a man.
"Rise and shine, Lord Dionysus," the system chirped inside his head, its tone crisp and far too smug for this early in the divine morning. "You've wasted nearly half the day unconscious like a mortal. How quaint."
Dionysus groaned. His silken sheets clung to his naked waist as he sat up, running a hand through his mess of tousled curls. "I don't sleep," he muttered. "I meditate."
"Mmm. Yes. Deep, snoring meditation. With drool. Very divine."
"I will mute you."
"No, you won't. I'm the only one who tells you when your next conquest is ready. You'd lose your precious turn."
He sighed like a tragic poet. "Fine. Let's get this over with."