Soul God Dominates the Mortal World

She came again, her pussy squirting, her body shuddering, her moans loud, "~Ahn!~ Deus!" The warmth of his load triggered her climax, her thick thighs quaking, her big ass quivering, her perky breasts heaving, her white hair a wild cascade, her dark eyes rolling, her jade-white skin glowing, her heart swelling with devotion, her body claimed, complete. Deus lowered her slowly, his cock slick, glistening, his chest heaving, his silver hair a mess, his glowing eyes softening, his smirk playful, his hand brushing her white hair, tucking a strand behind her ear, her shiver faint, her pussy still dripping, her body spent, her joints numb.

"New style… fucked you good, didn't I?" he teased, his voice low, rough, his fingers tracing her jade-white shoulder, sparking a soft moan, her dark eyes fluttering, her full lips curving into a shy, satisfied smile. "Too much for you, sexy?" he asked, his tone playful, his hand sliding to her big ass, squeezing gently, her moan louder, her pussy tingling, her heart racing, her devotion burning.

"Never… enough," she whispered, her voice husky, her blush deepening, her body limp, her perky breasts rising with heavy breaths, her big ass quivering, her white hair splayed, her jade-white skin radiant, her devotion absolute. She leaned into him, her dark eyes meeting his, a spark of gratitude, lust, love, her hand resting on his chest, feeling his heartbeat, her soul energy buzzing, her bond with her god sealed in filthy, primal passion, the bath chamber a sanctuary of their desire, Luxenhold's grandeur a distant echo, their world narrowed to this moment, this heat, this divine claim.

Ivana stood at the highest tower of the Great Lumen Empire, her sharp gaze piercing through the thick clouds blanketing the horizon. The crimson hue of the approaching dusk painted the skies in blood and flame, a fitting omen for what lay ahead. Her white hair, tied in an intricate braid, whipped around in the wind as her silver-blue cloak fluttered behind her. The frost-engraved pauldron on her left shoulder shimmered faintly, reacting to the surging mana in the air.

Below her, the capital buzzed with focused urgency. Black-armored Souler units marched through designated lanes. War priests stood at attention, chanting protective hymns. Aetherforged catapults lined the walls, each manned by elite cultivators. Defensive runes etched into the very bricks of the city now glowed a steady blue, pulsing in rhythm with the Great Lumen's defensive core.

Ivana turned and descended into the War Nexus.

There, she strode through the sacred halls like an empress leading the heavens. Attendants and generals bowed with respect as she passed. She entered the Grand Assembly Room—where the War Table stood, projecting a massive magical topography of Earth and the portal to the invading world. Flickers of red marked enemy signatures detected by scouting orbs and soul-scout familiars.

"Report," she commanded, her voice cool, crisp.

General Alaric Evermark—an aged but stalwart Souler with frost-scarred skin—saluted. "Our perimeter defense has been reinforced with ten thousand Souler Guards. Two divisions from the Desert Heart Caliphate arrived this morning and are currently stationed at the western ridge."

"Any news from the Skyward Sanctum?" Ivana asked, eyes narrowing.

"They've pledged support, but... delayed. Politics." His tone soured.

Ivana didn't flinch. "We expected as much. Continue monitoring. No mistakes."

She dismissed the generals and walked into her private chambers adjacent to the War Room. There, she met with the Beast Soul Harmonizer—a cloaked figure who helped tune her mythical beast soul phantoms to maximum efficiency.

"Frostveil, Glacien, Saberfang—have they all synchronized?" she asked.

"Yes, Empress. But the purple Nythera—its illusionary power is unstable under prolonged strain. You must be careful not to overuse it in a battlefield setting. The psyche backlash may be severe."

"I understand." She nodded, noting every detail.

She moved to the training arena where the Seven Bounty Hunters—minus the two left at the Great Dame—stood gathered. Lone Wolf greeted her with a simple nod.

"You'll lead the southern wing alongside Scar. Strike fast, hit harder, and if things go wrong... buy me time."

Scar scoffed. "I prefer 'decimate' to 'buy time,' but sure, Your Majesty."

Ivana smirked faintly, a fleeting glint of confidence in her cool expression. "That's why I trust you."

After a round of strategic breakdowns, reassessments of teleportation zones, blessing rituals from the Empire's High Priests, and a session of synchronized breathing with her Beast Soul Spirit to sharpen her focus, Ivana finally allowed herself a moment—just one—to breathe.

Her steps led her through a crystalline hallway carved with glowing ice veins, to a private chamber hidden behind layers of spatial locking enchantments. The guards stationed there didn't move—only stepped aside.

Deus was waiting inside.

He stood by the floating mirror of soul essence, his hands behind his back, white robes casually flowing, his silver hair glimmering like liquid starlight. As Ivana entered, she didn't speak immediately.

Instead, she knelt before him.

"All preparations are complete," she said quietly. "The formations are set. The wards are stabilized. The alliances are... as stable as we can make them."

Deus turned to face her fully, his eyes glowing with unreadable emotion. "You've done well."

Ivana raised her eyes slightly. Her gaze didn't waver, but her voice did—just slightly. "Everything is ready, but… it's been so much. I've barely slept. I've seen grown warriors cry behind their helms, thinking no one's watching. I've carried the weight of an empire on my shoulders every second."

Her lips curled into a tight line.

"I've endured it all… but it's exhausting."

Deus stepped forward and crouched slightly, lifting her chin with two fingers. His voice, deep and calm, was layered with divine softness. "Then it's time you rested, Ivana. I know just the way to help you relax."

Her breath caught slightly, eyes widening—not with fear or confusion, but anticipation.

"Strip," Deus said softly, yet commandingly, his tone not leaving room for refusal.

Her eyes met his again—this time not as Empress Ivana Frost of the Great Lumen Empire… but as the woman behind the crown, letting her guard down.

A deep breath left her lips as she began to unfasten her frostplate armor, piece by piece.

*****

The skies over the Great Lumen Empire had never looked this vivid.

A deep crimson hue bathed the clouds, as if the heavens themselves anticipated bloodshed. A strange pressure loomed in the air—heavy, still, like the world was holding its breath. All over the Empire, the souler armies stood on high alert, battalions positioned in tight formations, each adorned in essence-imbued armor. Their faces were calm, but their hearts beat like war drums.

Ivana stood atop the tallest spire of the Empress Palace, dressed in silver-etched ceremonial armor, her long white hair flowing like threads of frost in the wind. From this vantage, she could see far into the horizon. Her jade-green eyes locked onto the swirling blackened skies where the veil between worlds had begun to tremble.

Today… was the day.

The werewolves were coming.

But unlike two days ago, the human world was no longer unprepared.

Below her, the central courtyard buzzed with organized chaos. Freshly recruited free soulers were being integrated into divisions, emergency teleportation arrays were in place across key positions, and Essence Cannons were mounted on the high walls of the Empire's capital. Even the civilians had been evacuated to underground sanctums, shielded by ancient runic wards passed down from the Archmage of Dawnlight.

Lancelot, now in full battle regalia, stood beside the generals of the other allied Empires. The Desert Heart Caliphate had sent their Sandcallers—Souler spellblades wrapped in enchanted desert garbs, their weapons glowing with mana-crystals from the Sun Furnace mines. The Elven contingent from the Forest Crown Dominion had arrived too, silent as ghosts, their presence heralded by a rain of silver blossoms.

Everyone had come. No Empire wanted to be caught unawares.

---

Meanwhile, in the Werewolf World...

Beneath the twin moons—one glowing red, the other faint blue—the Progenitor stood before his army. The ground trembled from the sheer pressure of their gathering.

Tens of thousands of werewolves had been assembled in war formation. Savage and armored, their hulking forms radiated bloodlust. The ancient White Fang banners fluttered under the gory moonlight. Their fangs had been sharpened, their bloodlust whetted with primal hunger. They were ready for war.

But there was one thing missing.

The final signal.

The werewolf spy, now accepted again into the ranks, stood among the Progenitor's elite. Despite the internal tension, her story—delivered with careful inflection and perfect emotional control—had placated many. The Deus sigil embedded within her kept her true allegiance hidden… even from the divine senses of the goddess that lingered somewhere in the moons above.

She looked up.

The red moon had grown brighter.

The Progenitor raised his clawed hand high. "Today, we reclaim the honor of our race. Today, the Earth shall howl with our might!"

A deafening roar erupted from the army.

---

Back in the Great Lumen Empire...

Ivana finished her final enchantments, marking her soldiers with layered protection seals. Each member of her Souler Army bore three unique brands—Speed, Shield, and Anchor—designed to offset the werewolves' monstrous agility and healing factor.

She descended the spire, her fan weapons humming softly at her sides. Her generals bowed.