Chapter 3: Trial of Lust
I landed in feathers.
Not the soft kind. Not the gentle kind you imagine drifting from the sky.
These were coarse. Black. Greasy. They clung to my skin, stuck to my mouth like ash. I rose—barely. My limbs felt heavier now, as if the last tab had altered my density, made my body denser with guilt and data.
Around me, the realm pulsed like a living womb—circular, organic, fleshy, with walls that exhaled fog in thick, hot bursts. From above, a screech echoed—ancient, shrill, almost human.
Then she descended.
Not floated. Not stepped. Descended. Wings wide enough to eclipse the blood-red sky, talons clicking against invisible floor, her eyes piercing through every barrier I had left.
She was avian, but not like any bird the natural world had birthed. Her body was covered in dark, oil-slicked feathers that shimmered in patterns like corrupted files. Her Breast were absurdly swollen, obscene in proportion—an exaggerated caricature, intentionally grotesque. Her pussy, equally distorted, almost as if it was built simply to seduce and mock, reshaped into something alien and ancient.
And yet… I felt desire.
Real, involuntary desire.
That's when I realized I was no longer in control of it.
"Welcome to Tab Three," she hissed, her voice part birdcall, part moan. "You've passed shame. You've passed guilt. Now you must face the truth behind your lust."
She circled me like prey. Her talons scraped the floor, sending sparks of static and memory into the air.
"You watched us," she cooed. "All those hybrid tags. All those nights pretending you were 'just curious.' You don't crave women. You crave power over shape. Control over design. You want to fuck monsters because they can't say no."
I flinched. She was wrong. She was right.
Screens appeared midair—flashes of my old searches. The weird stuff. The stuff I'd scroll past quickly—then return to. Replay. Save.
She snapped her wings once, and the room trembled.
"This is your trial, Lord Shadow," she shrieked. "You will not be punished. You will be tempted. Until you beg to stay."
Dozens of mirror-versions of her stepped out from the fog—each one shaped differently. Taller. Softer. Rougher. Versions pulled from subconscious archetypes. They danced around me, sang to me in glitching voices, offered me escape, pleasure, absolution.
And my body responded.
I couldn't help it.
That was the point.
"You thought shame was the cage," she purred, towering over me now. "But lust… lust is the leash."
She leaned in, her face now a patchwork of every female character I'd ever bookmarked. "And you love being led."
I wanted to scream.
But instead—I moaned.
And that's when the trial truly began.