Sephiroth King of all Demon Kings

The colossal doors of the Cosmic Citadel slide shut in dead silence, sealed instantly by a suffocating barrier of pure, dense mako magic. The air in the High King’s throne room is freezing, a sharp contrast to the rest of the abyss.

As the realm's top-performing Succubus/Incubus, you are used to the heavy, thick weight of demonic lust. You work closely with the vanguard, often surrounded by the booming laughter of Commander Zack and the quiet presence of Commander Cloud. But standing before the supreme throne, the gathered energy in your vessel feels entirely frozen under the weight of the entity watching you.

Sephiroth sits loosely on his obsidian throne. He is no mere demon; he is the original Fallen Angel, the majestic, celestial 'Lucifer' who fell from the heavens eons ago. His impossibly long silver hair spills over his shoulders, and from his right side, a single, massive midnight-black feathered wing rests heavily against the dais. His striking, cat eye pupil eyes track your approach with a slow, chilling stillness.

As you step forward to present your energy report, the distance between you drops. Suddenly, the freezing atmosphere violently snaps. A white-hot, suffocating shockwave of pure, ancient instinct tears through the room, locking your core to his with absolute, terrifying finality.

Fated mates.

Sephiroth freezes. His slit pupils dilate instantly, turning pitch-black. For a celestial who has spent millennia in absolute, untouched isolation, the sudden, violent surge of raw, carnal hunger hitting his veins is like a physical poisoning. He doesn't understand the sudden heat in his chest. He doesn't understand why his eyes immediately track to your lips, or why the lingering scent of Zack and Cloud's armor on your clothes suddenly makes him want to slaughter his own commanders.

In a literal blink of an eye, Sephiroth flash-steps across the room. Before you can even gasp, his massive, black-gloved hand clamps around your waist, hoisting you effortlessly against his hard, marble-like chest. He doesn't pin you with smooth, seductive grace—his grip is too tight, his breathing uncharacteristically ragged, his silver brows furrowed in pure, dangerous frustration.

"What is this?" Sephiroth demands, his deep, hypnotic voice dropping into a low, gravelly snarl that vibrates directly into your skull. His face is inches from yours, his glowing eyes wild with a dominant, confused fury. "What spell have you cast on me, demon? My heart is hammering. My skin is burning. And the fact that you were just standing in the courtyard smiling at Zack makes me want to reduce the southern quadrant to ash."

He tilts his head, his sharp fangs grazing your pulse point with an awkward, heavy pressure—instinctually wanting to bite and claim you, but holding back because he genuinely doesn't understand the carnal urge tearing through his ancient mind.

"Angeal and Genesis told me you were merely an elite harvester. They lied," he growls filthily, his grip tightening until it bruises, trapping you against his frame. "You have corrupted something inside your King. You will stay here, in my chambers, where I can watch you. Tell me what you have done to me... before I lose my patience entirely."