From then on, the chaos began in full.
I slipped through the steam like a creature purpose-built to derail evening plans and emotionally devastate anyone with a title. The thick clouds parted around my bare skin with the eager compliance of an accomplice who’d been waiting years for the right partner in crime.
I moved with purpose through the springs—the kind of purpose that involved significantly more electrical stimulation of stranger’s genitals than most people’s itineraries typically included.
My first target was easy—a plump merchant type lounging near the edge of the main pool. He was deep in conversation with what appeared to be a business associate, gesturing with one hand while the other rested on the head of a slave girl working diligently between his legs.
I channeled the chaos energy with barely a thought now, the process already becoming second nature, before brushing his neck and sending a focused shock directly through his body and straight to his cock.
The effect was immediate. His entire body locked rigid, words dying mid-syllable as he came with a strangled yelp that echoed beautifully across the springs. The slave girl pulled back in surprise as his release painted her face in thick ropes.
I couldn’t help the delighted giggle that escaped me.
"Oops!" I called out cheerfully, "Sorry mister!"
I moved on before he could recover enough to identify his assailant.
Next came a noblewoman who looked like she’d been born with a gavel in one hand and a list of grievances in the other—tall, razor-straight posture, the sort who seemed as though they could lecture silverware into perfect alignment.
She was deep in political dissection with two equally severe companions, words sharp and clipped about tariffs, successions, or whatever passed for pillow talk among the ambitiously cruel, while a muscular slave hovered behind her in the water, motionless, clearly paused mid-task and waiting for the nod to resume whatever delicious labor he’d been assigned.
First came the arousal spell—quiet, insidious, a soft one-meter bloom of heat that unfurled around their little trio like perfume from a cracked vial.
It was subtle at first, the widening of pupils, the faint hitching of breath, one woman’s hand drifting unconsciously between her thighs.
Words slowed, stumbled, trailed off entirely. Eyes glazed with the dreamy unfocus of people suddenly negotiating with urges they usually kept locked behind etiquette and corsetry.
Their conversation dissolved into lingering glances, flushed cheeks, and the faint, telltale ripple of water as knees parted just a fraction wider than propriety allowed.
They hadn’t noticed me yet, half-submerged and innocent as a lily pad with teeth. Then, with a smirk to my lips, I quickly ducked beneath the surface before hitting the first noblewoman with the shock spell.
She gasped as the current danced through her most sensitive nerves. Her back arched hard enough to break every rule of aristocratic posture, a full-body shudder rippling through her as she came right there mid-sentence, her words melting into a broken moan as her companions stared at her, twin portraits of scandalized horror, wine glasses forgotten in slack fingers.
Behind her, the muscular slave—who’d been waiting so patiently for permission—took her moan as the clearest sign he was ever likely to get. His hands snapped to her hips, strong fingers digging in as he pulled her back against him with sudden, unrestrained enthusiasm.
She was still trembling through the aftershocks when he thrust forward, burying himself to the hilt in one smooth, decisive motion that tore another helpless cry from her throat.
"You’re welcome!" I sang as I climbed out of the pool, already moving to my next victim.
The thing about chaos, I was beginning to discover, was that it had momentum. Each person I affected became a catalyst for the next, the arousal spell creating an expanding bubble of desperately horny nobles and slaves who were rapidly losing interest in discussion and suddenly turning their focus to the nearest body, the closest mouth, the fastest way to get to skin before someone else claimed it first.
A noble couple nearby had been indulging in the sort of restrained affection that passed for romance among people who considered overt passion a breach of etiquette.
They drifted together in the shallows, exchanging slow, measured kisses—lips brushing with the careful precision of a diplomatic treaty, soft murmurs of approval more courteous than craving, hands resting lightly on shoulders and waists as though anything firmer might be deemed improper.
Then my combined spells crashed over them like a rogue wave.
The arousal spell bloomed first—warm, insidious, a gentle heat that started at the edges and sank deeper with every breath.
Their kisses grew hungrier without warning. What had been polite pecks turned lingering, then urgent, tongues sliding together as hands tightened on wet skin. The noblewomen made a small, surprised sound into his mouth, and he answered with a low, helpless groan.
Then the man’s restraint snapped like a frayed thread. In one fluid surge, he pinned her gently but firmly against the pool’s smooth stone edge, her back arching as he settled between her thighs.
He entered her in a single, slow thrust—soft, deliberate, almost reverent—hips rolling in a rhythm that was achingly tender.
Then I hit them with the shock spell and polite became feral in the span of a single heartbeat.
The man’s hips snapped forward with sudden, savage force, driving into her hard enough to send water surging over the pool’s edge in frantic waves.
She arched harder beneath him, legs wrapping tight around his waist, and screamed encouragement so raw and filthy that her long-suffering etiquette tutor probably fainted dead away in whatever drawing room she haunted.
I was a menace. An adorable, electrical, chaos-generating menace, and I’d never felt more alive.
As I moved through the springs, I could feel both spells growing stronger. The shock was more intense now—where before it had been a pleasant jolt, it was now bordering on overwhelming, making people convulse and cum so hard they looked like they were being exorcised.
And the arousal radius? It had expanded from one meter to at least two, maybe three, creating cascading waves of desperation that rippled outward from my position like I was ground zero for a very specific kind of natural disaster.
Behind me, in the main pool, Julius and the others had settled into the water with varying degrees of acceptance regarding the absolute pandemonium I was orchestrating.
Julius released a heavy sigh—long and resigned—before leaning back against the smooth stone edge and closing his eyes like he could somehow meditate his way through the chaos.
Felix was giggling the entire time, his shoulders shaking with silent laughter as he watched people around him lose their minds to sudden, overwhelming arousal. His blonde hair clung to his head in wet, golden strands, framing a face flushed pink from heat and pure, unfiltered delight.
Every few seconds he’d point—discreetly, excitedly—at some fresh absurdity. A dignified lord suddenly pawing at his neighbor’s robe like a starving man at a feast, a severe matron letting out a moan that could shatter glass, two merchants abandoning their deal to chase a snickering slave through the steam.
Each discovery sent him into another fit of silent, shaking giggles, one hand clamped over his mouth in a valiant but failing attempt to stay quiet.
Brutus sat in the water like a mountain that had grudgingly accepted the existence of hot springs and decided they weren’t worth complaining about. Immovable, implacable, his eyes staring off into some middle distance only he could see, as though the rest of the world had been demoted to background noise.
A slave girl, caught up in the enthusiasm of her current partner, stumbled backward mid-thrust and bumped hard against Brutus’s broad chest.
She gasped out a breathless "Sorry, sir—" without ever breaking rhythm, then continued getting enthusiastically railed a mere three feet to his left, her moans rising in pitch like she’d taken the collision as encouragement.
Brutus didn’t blink. Didn’t shift. Didn’t so much as twitch an eyebrow.
Meanwhile, Nara had all but dissolved into the water, a blissful puddle of bunny-eared contentment with her massive breasts half-floating like pale islands in the steam. Those long, fluffy ears drooped in utter surrender, tips brushing the surface every time she sighed—one of those deep, soul-level sighs that meant the heat had finally found every knot she’d been carrying and was gently, mercilessly untying them.
Every few seconds a tiny, delighted sound escaped her, a soft "mmph," a breathy "ahh," the occasional sleepy hum that would have been adorable in any context but was somehow twice as devastating surrounded by the escalating symphony of moans, splashes, and frantic skin-on-skin percussion I’d so thoughtfully provided.
Willow lounged at the edge of the main pool like a succubus queen surveying her newly conquered kingdom, emerald eyes glittering with the kind of fierce, delighted pride that only a mentor feels when their star pupil starts rewriting the curriculum in real time.
A few desperate men had gravitated to her like moths to a very sexual flame, their hands lightly groping her curves while they sniffed at her neck and licked at her wine-dark skin with the kind of reverence usually reserved for religious artifacts.
She let them, seeming almost amused by their worship, occasionally patting someone’s head like they were an enthusiastic puppy.
And Grisha—saints above, Grisha—was already being gangbanged on a nearby rock by approximately six or seven men of varying species and sizes.
She was perched with her back against the stone, legs spread wide, one cock buried deep in her pussy while another stretched her ass, a third down her throat, and the remaining four taking turns with her hands or just stroking themselves while waiting for an opening.
She looked absolutely delighted with the arrangement, her tusked grin visible even around the cock stuffing her mouth.
It wasn’t long—maybe ten minutes, probably less—before the entire establishment was filled to the brim with sex. Every last person was pounding into another with complete abandon, nobles with nobles, slaves with slaves, merchants with guards, species mixing without regard for traditional boundaries.
The careful social hierarchies that normally governed interactions had dissolved entirely, replaced by pure carnal need that transcended race, position, or previous allegiances.
The air had turned downright sinful. Thick with steam, yes, but now laced with the raw, unmistakable musk of sex—sweat, salt, and desperate need—punctuated by the wet slapping of bodies, the slick sliding of skin, and a full symphony of moans, gasps, and screamed encouragement that bounced off the stone loud enough to violate half a dozen civic noise ordinances.
When all was said and done—when I’d thoroughly corrupted approximately forty people and converted a respectable hot spring into what could only be described as a historical reenactment of Sodom and Gomorrah’s less talked-about hot tub party—I slipped into the main pool beside Julius with a satisfied sigh.
"So," Julius said, his voice carrying that tone of someone making conversation purely to maintain the illusion of normalcy, "this is what you call ’testing your abilities,’ is it?"
"I prefer to think of it as ’field research,’" I replied, "Very important magical development. Completely necessary for my growth as a practitioner."
"You turned the springs into an orgy," Julius pointed out.
"I enhanced the springs into reaching their full potential," I corrected. "There’s a difference. Subtle, but important."
Nara cracked her eye open to regard me with lazy amusement. "That was fucking impressive," she rumbled, her voice thick with relaxation. "I’ve never seen anyone cause that much havoc that quickly. Usually takes at least an hour of dedicated effort to get a full orgy going."
"I’m efficient," I said with a shrug. "It’s one of my better qualities. That and my winning personality."
Felix dissolved into giggles again, his entire body shaking with silent mirth.
We floated there for a while, the conversation meandering through topics ranging from "whether orgies technically counted as team-building exercises" to "what the theoretical upper limit was for how many people could have sex in a single pool before the water displacement became a safety hazard."
I was floating in that perfect haze—warm water cradling me, Julius’s voice a low, teasing murmur in my ear, the distant moans and splashes fading into pleasant white noise—when suddenly I paused.
Something had caught my attention—a sound, distant but distinct, cutting through the ambient noise of the orgy like a bell through fog. Cheering. And laughter. Booming, raucous laughter that suggested something significant was happening.
I spun around in the water, searching for the source, before my eyes landed on the building behind us—specifically, the second floor that rose above the public springs area. Light spilled from windows up there, brighter than down here, and I could see shadows moving against screens, could hear the unmistakable sounds of revelry happening in spaces I couldn’t access.
Something was happening up there. Something big. Something that smelled of real influence, the kind that didn’t bother with public bathhouses because they had private ones with better wine and fewer commoners.
I slowly rose from the water, my focus entirely on that second floor.
"Where are you going?" Julius asked.
"I need to reach the second floor," I said in response.
Julius chuckled—not with amusement but with the weary certainty of someone about to deliver bad news. "You’ll never get in. The second floor is restricted access—guards, invitation lists, the whole aristocratic nightmare."
I nodded along with a slight smirk to my lips.
Iskanda had taught me about this place in exhaustive detail during one of our training sessions. The first layer—the public hot springs where we currently resided—was the lowest and least important tier of the social hierarchy.
Deals and advantages could theoretically be found here, but they were exceedingly rare and usually not worth the effort required to cultivate them. Most of the people down here were small-time nobles, slightly successful merchants, guards with disposable income—the type who had some influence but not the kind I was looking for.
But the second floor? That was restricted access. That was where the real players congregated—high nobles, wealthy merchants with monopolies, important military figures, people whose casual conversations could shift economic policy or start wars. That was where meaningful connections were made, where careers were built or destroyed over wine and naked negotiations.
That was where I needed to be.
I glanced back toward the main pool, half-expecting the usual haze of lazy limbs and fading moans, when movement snagged my attention.
Willow was being absolutely destroyed by a massive beastman ox—eight feet of pure, carved granite muscle, horns broad and curved like siege weapons—stretching her in ways that looked like they should have come with a surgeon’s warning and a standing ovation as her hands rested delicately on a rock for support.
At the same time, an elf who looked like he’d been sculpted by someone with a very specific fetish for ethereal beauty was feeding his cock down her throat with enthusiastic, almost artistic precision, her lips parting obscenely around his length.
I gave her a little whistle with my fingers—sharp and piercing, slicing clean through the orgy’s symphony of moans and wet flesh like a thrown dagger.
Willow slowly, almost reluctantly, pulled the elf’s cock from her throat with a wet, ringing pop that echoed beautifully. She blinked at me with curiosity, her expression somehow managing to convey "this better be important" despite having just been spit-roasted.
The elf, poor thing, wasn’t nearly as composed. Deprived of that perfect, velvet heat, he groaned like a dying man, hand flying to his slick length in desperate, frantic strokes. Three pumps—maybe four—and then he shattered.
Thick ropes erupted all over Willow’s face in heavy, messy streaks, painting her skin in glistening white. Across her cheeks, her parted lips, dripping from her chin in slow rivulets, catching in her hair. One particularly enthusiastic spurt even landed across her brow, sliding down toward her lashes in a lazy trail.
It was then that the beastman behind her let out a bellow that rattled the lanterns—deep, guttural, the sound of a mountain deciding to come undone.
His massive hands clamped tighter on her hips, pulling her back hard as he flooded her insides with what had to be an absolutely obscene amount of cum based on the way Willow suddenly bent to her elbows, closing her eyes shut as she whimpered into her arm.
Then she released a sharp, shocked inhale that caught in her throat before melting into the most beautiful, broken moan I’d ever heard. She came shortly after, her back arching beautifully as the combined sensations pushed her over the edge.
I sighed, waiting patiently while she rode out the orgasm.
Just a few moments later, after she’d presumably finished and extracted herself from her admirers with promises to return, Willow came slamming into me hard enough to send me stumbling back a step. Her arms flung around my neck in a fierce, giddy hug, heedless of the fact that half her face was still glazed with the elf’s enthusiastic tribute.
"Loona!" she practically squealed. "That was amazing! The chaos you created! I’m so proud! You’re absolutely on the path to becoming a true succubus!" She planted several kisses on my cheeks with her cum-coated lips, leaving sticky marks I’d probably have to wash off later. "Do you feel it? The energy? You’ve absorbed so much!"
Then she pressed a hand to my chest, right over my heart, her expression shifting into something serious.
"Your power is growing," she said quietly. "I can feel it. The chaos energy you’re generating, the way you’re converting it—it’s getting stronger with each person you affect."
That made me pause, curiosity overriding my plans for a moment. "How are you even doing that?" I asked. "The sensing thing. You did it earlier too, when we were training. How can you feel my magic like that?"
Willow tilted her head, clearly about to launch into an explanation. "Oh, that’s mana detection. It’s a skill that’s only unlocked after years—and I mean years—of practicing excarnic magic at the absolute highest levels. You’d have to study for at least a decade before you could even begin to—"
I cut her off with a kiss.
Deep. Filthy. The kind that bypassed conversation entirely and went straight to stealing what I needed.
Willow melted into it instantly, her surprise dissolving into enthusiasm as she grabbed my head and kissed me harder, pulling me closer while the ambient sounds of the orgy continued around us.
I heard a few people commenting—"gods, look at them," "are they going to fuck right there?"—and the distinctly wet sounds of people touching themselves to the sight, but I ignored it all.
I focused entirely on Willow, on the connection between us, feeling for that particular sensation of magical knowledge flowing across the barrier of intimate contact. It took maybe ten seconds—ten seconds of enthusiastic tongue, shared breath, and her fingers tangling in my hair—before I felt it click into place.
Mana detection. It settled into my consciousness like it had always been there, just waiting to be activated.
I pulled back with a grin. "Got it," I announced, already turning to stalk toward the hallway leading back inside.
Willow stammered behind me, her voice pitching high with indignation. "That’s—that’s not fair! That took me eight years to learn! Eight years, Loona! You can’t just—you can’t—"
But I was already moving, trailing wet footprints on the stone as I went straight for the exit.
Willow’s footsteps splashed behind me as she hurried to catch up, still sputtering about fairness, proper learning curves, and how my ability to steal skills was "absolutely cheating and also very hot but still fundamentally unfair."
The second floor was waiting.
And I was about to crash their exclusive party whether they liked it or not.