Jack Rungo had accepted the great challenge that would bring a devastating revelation to many who could not fathom how the truth appeared. He remained in that palace, on that throne, and opened his eyes, then called one of the Fronkilas.
"Bring me my goddess. I need a true rest."
"Alright, my king," said the Fronkila.
"But let me do it," said Rungo, changing his mind.
Jack Rungo looked at a portrait on the wall to the left of his throne, and there he saw the victorious face of the former king, whom he had defeated. He smiled, convinced that he was the strongest of all hunters, and so he was considered, for he was indeed very strong. He quickly punched the object and then threw it far away.
Jack Rungo walked down the corridor. The dim light coiled around his body, but nothing in him hesitated. The blood of the hunters he had defeated still lived in his memory like an immortal trophy.
The bedroom door opened without resistance, and there she was: Michigar Sunsend, the monument of lust and power.
In the room, which dazzled the eyes with its unusual beauty, stood the beautiful woman with snow-white skin, wearing a long, elegant dress. She was tall, with the face of an innocent teenager, though she was already over 200 years old, as Nero would easily explain. She was drinking while two men stood nearby, inviting the coolness to her face with giant Animpires' feathers.
They were armed, protecting that woman — the goddess Michigar Sunsend, daughter of one of the hunters Jack Rungo had defeated in an epic way.
Her dress was a living slit, flowing down her skin like a tamed river. Her scent filled the air, a spell made of forbidden herbs and raw desire. Michigar’s eyes gleamed when she saw him, hungry, ready to devour his presence.
"My king..." she whispered, placing the goblet on the golden table.
Jack advanced without asking permission. His fingers slid over her neck, feeling the slow, calculating pulse — the heart of a woman who had loved and killed with no difference.
"Did you expect someone else?" he murmured, his lips dangerously close to her skin.
Michigar smiled, a razor-sharp cut in her expression. Her hands slid across his chest, muscles sculpted by massacre.
"I only expect destruction. And you always bring me what I want."
Jack pulled her by the waist, feeling her warmth even through the layers of silk. The dress opened, as if it had a life of its own, revealing the pale sculpture he knew so well. Her nails dug into his neck, pulling him into a kiss that felt more like a battle, tongues sharp as blades.
The silk slid to the floor. He lifted her, pressing her against the cold palace wall. The candlelight flickered, as if they had abandoned the year 2060, casting twisted shadows of the bodies merging in a game of mutual possession.
"Say that I am your god," he demanded, his teeth grazing her collarbone.
Michigar laughed, her eyes half-closed in pleasure.
"You are my hell. And I never wanted to leave it."
The guards turned their faces away but remained motionless, statues witnessing the profane union. The Fronkila outside just smiled. He knew that when that room fell silent, a new plan for destruction would be born.
Jack Rungo slid his hands down Michigar’s firm thighs, lifting her with the ease of someone molding a destiny with their own hands. Her skin, cold as sculpted marble, shivered under his touch, but not out of modesty—they didn’t know that word.
The guards remained there, motionless, eyes fixed on nothing, as if they were part of the dark décor of the royal chamber. They dared not interrupt, for they knew that any movement, any stray glance, could cost them their lives.
"Open your eyes," Jack ordered, his fingers tightening her slim waist, feeling her flesh yield under his strength.
Michigar obeyed, her eyes glassy and wild, gleaming with a spark of pleasure and defiance.
"I never close them for you," she whispered.
He smiled, wild, and sank his teeth into the curve of her neck, drinking her essence as though she were a sacred chalice. Michigar arched against him, her nails scratching the bare back of the king, leaving red streaks that didn’t hurt — he loved feeling her marks.
The fire of the candles flickered, casting contorted shadows of the bodies merged in lust and power. The scent of incense and desire hung thick in the air, like mist.
The guards stood firm, trained to be indifferent, but they were witnessing something rare, not a mere act of pleasure, but a ritual. Jack and Michigar were not ordinary lovers. They were predators, two beasts that devoured each other with the same violence they used to destroy their enemies.
Jack pulled her by the hair, forcing her to face him.
"You belong to me, Michigar." His voice was low, an irrefutable sentence.
She licked her lips, savoring the burn of the moment.
"And you belong to me, Jack Rungo. There will never be another."
"Didn't you surrender to that failure of a king?" Rungo then asked, kissing his queen with anger that might have been jealousy, and he liked that feeling because it made him feel stronger.
All those present turned their faces toward the couple with great curiosity, as they had not expected such a question.