Thud.
A body of a dead lightning wolf dropped on the high pile of corpses.
"This is the last one?" a goblin asked, looking amazed at the pile.
"Yes, they are too heavy" another goblin replied, shuddering. "I don't know how the Great One did it, but that was scary with that 'performance' she called."
"Yeah," a third goblin added. "She just casually burnt him alive with a finger in front of us."
They all gathered around, peering down at the burned and corpse-strewn battlefield.
"We are done here," one finally said. "You should go and tell the Great One."
"No, you should go," another countered. "You were the one in the front line, the closest to her."
"But you were the one who ogled her the most," the third insisted. "You saw what she did."
"Fine!" one growled, throwing up his hands. "I'll go. And if I die, I'm coming back to haunt you."
With a shaky breath, he stepped forward.
He was the one who would report.
Outside the hut, the goblin who was supposed to report spoke up. He cleared his throat and lifted the flap of the leather hut.
"Excuse me, Great One," he said, his voice quivering slightly.
He stepped inside and greeted first by the heavy, musky smell of semen. Then the most stimulating view he had ever seen: white everywhere.
On the floor, on the leather walls, on the bone throne—everywhere in the hut was covered in thick, dripping white. Lyssandra sat there, completely naked, her cock still raging like it had never felt fatigue. A thick layer of sperm and clear fluids coated the organ.
Below her, five female goblins lay motionless, their bellies swollen as if they were carrying quadruplets. Semen dripped from their mouths, vaginas, and anal openings.
Some of them still muttered like a broken doll, "P-Please…..k-keep fuck-fucking me~~~."
The male goblin, overwhelmed, stumbled back the entrance.
"Uh… i-if the Great One n-needs us again… please just call," he stammered, his voice cracking.
He quickly rushed out of the tent, his heart pounding in his chest.
"Is it done?" Lyssandra barely registered the goblin leaving, his nervous exit a mere blur against her newfound focus.
She wasn't looking at the mess, but at the system floating before her mind's eye. A triumphant glow accompanied the notification: [Level Up]. But more importantly, a new feature had unlocked.
[Crafting]
"Just what I need," she mused, a tired grin spreading across her face. "Now I can improve this shitty hole."
Name: Lyssandra Age: 20 Gender: Futanari Race: Human Level: 7 HP: 190/190 MP: 60/60 Stats:
STR (Strength): 4 AGI (Agility): 3 VIT (Vitality): 7 INT (Intelligence): 3 DEX (Dexterity): 3 LUK (Luck): 2 LIB (Libido): 100 Skills:
Active Skills:
Absorption (Green Slime, Fire Slime, Goblin, Hobgoblin) Slime Mimicry (Half) Alluring Feint
Passive Skills:
Natural Regeneration Strong Metabolism Flesh Conduit Beast Tongue
Titles:
[Goblin Chief]
She summoned the power within her, activating [Slime Mimicry]. A translucent, gelatinous coat enveloped her, sucking up every drop of white fluid clinging to her skin with wet, audible noises.
The moisture vanished, leaving her skin gleaming clean yet pulsing with energy.
She retrieved a newly purchased outfit from the system store and let the fabric slide onto her dynamic curves.
The outfit was a daring fusion of elegance and danger—a black, form-fitting bodysuit that sculpted her figure with precise, almost cruel intent.
Unlike a simple garment, it was built in sections, panels stitched together with fine seams, broken up by deliberate cutouts that exposed glimpses of skin.
Thin strips of fabric crossed over her torso, creating a layered, harness-like design that emphasized the impossible sway of her hips and the swell of her chest.
The material possessed a faint, oily sheen, catching even the weakest light to outline every curve with a smooth, hypnotic gloss.
The neckline dipped dangerously low, showcasing the deep valley between her massive breasts, while the sides cut inward aggressively, unveiling soft skin beneath that contrasted sharply against the dark fabric.
Around her slim waist, a series of thin straps wrapped snugly, both decorative and functional, giving the impression of something between fine attire and a restraint mechanism.
Her legs were encased in black fishnet stockings, the fine mesh stretching tightly over her skin, connected seamlessly to the bodysuit at the hips. The pattern climbed upward, blending into the outfit like shadows creeping along a predator's body.
With each step, the netting shifted subtly, drawing the eye to the strength and motion beneath.
Tall, fitted boots hugged her legs, matching the dark aesthetic.
Dark accents, small metallic rings and clasps were placed at key points, catching faint glints of light and adding a warrior's edge to the design.
The overall look was bold and deliberate. It was something that belonged as easily in the grim depths of a dungeon as in a hungry gaze.
"This outfit increased my resistance against all elements—fire, water, wind, and more," she noted, feeling the fabric friction against her skin like a second layer of armor.
"But with this purchase, my LP…" she groaned, her eyes widening as she checked the counter. "It's down to almost 100. I had nearly 700 LP after that orgy."
She casted a lingering, regretful glance back at the five bloated female goblins behind her. They laid inside the hut, their bellies round and trembling, lost in the afterglow and the aftermath of her own boundless libido.
"Well, things happen. Let's see the work the goblins did," she muttered, shaking off the financial sting.
Lyssandra stepped out of the hut. The air outside smelled of ozone and burnt fur.
The goblins were scrambling around the pile of monster corpses.
The moment she stepped out, the goblins froze in their tracks.
Their synchronized stop was less like soldiers standing at attention and more like prey sensing a predator. A distinct tension rippled through their crouched forms as their crotches suddenly swelled, prominent bulges straining against their rough trousers.
A few could not resist the primal sight of her. They lunged forward, charged straight at her path, driven by a hunger that had nothing to do with food.
Luckily, their kin grabbed them by the scruffs of their necks just as they reached her.
"Yes, admire me," Lyssandra thought, a wicked grin twisting her lips. "You can look, but you can't touch. Or I will take your head."
She strolled toward the massive pile of carnage, the goblins made way for her. It was impressive. There were a few dozen fresh corpses, totaling well over one hundred bodies. Even the dead goblins were stacked neatly on the periphery, added to the tally.
With a lazy gesture of her hand, she took the loot.
She pulled all the corpses directly into her system inventory. The storage was unique; it could store dead objects and keep them fresh for an indefinite duration, preserving every piece of meat.
Some of the goblins watched this magic with a mix of astonishment and deep envy.
"How can she take all the food to herself?" one shouted, his pitch high with greed.
"But she killed all of them," another goblin added, proposing the rugged logic of the tribe. "Those rightfully belong to her."
"But…" the first goblin still sounded unconvinced, his eyes darting between the empty battlefield and the goddess-like woman.
Lyssandra raised her voice, cutting through their low-level chatter.
"I will temporarily take care of these food and will ration it until all of you have a steady food source!"
She paused, letting those simple-minded creatures process the situation. Their confusion slowly melted into obedient understanding.
"The food left too long outside will rot with time," she continued, her tone authoritative. "So when you need food, come to me."
The goblins nodded vigorously, the doubt vanishing under the weight of her presence.
"Now form a line. Everyone will have a piece."
Her command was barely finished before the horde surged. True to their nature as ravenous monsters, they rushed toward her at once, a chaotic river of green flesh and greed.
Some tripped and fell. Others were trampled under the weight of their kin in their desperate scramble for meat.
"Tch. Monsters are still monsters," she clicked her tongue, her eyes narrowing.
With a fluid gesture, the air around her hand compressed. Flesh and mana twisted until she held a sharp lance, three meters long, bristling with deadly intent.
She swept the tip across the dirt floor, scratching a deep, clean long line into the earth.
"Who goes past this line, die."
The threat hung heavy in the air. Instantly, the chaotic swarm halted. They froze, backs arching in instinctual fear of the spear tip.
Slowly, painfully, they shuffled backward.
Within moments, the messy crowd had transformed into an orderly, terrified queue. They stood obediently behind the line, eyes fixed on her.