Meanwhile, Kafka was like a deer in headlights.
Not a single word formed in his throat. His hands hovered uncertainly in front of him, caught between confusion and the instinct to run.
The goddess closest to him, a tall, proud warrior-deity with a crown of antlers and armor, dropped her sword and staggered toward him on shaking legs.
Her eyes, usually sharp and piercing, were now half-lidded and smoldering. She didn't speak, just moaned softly and pressed her thighs together, her hips rolling forward in slow, involuntary thrusts.
Her hand slipped beneath the slit in her skirt, fingertips working fast and relentless over soaked silk.
"Hnnn!♡~ Huaghh!♡~ Lord Kafkaa!♡~Help me, please!♡~"
He immediately backed up.
"Nope. Nope. Nope-nope-nope."
He didn't need anyone to explain what had happened. He knew.
Somehow, the incarnation of Lust that slept within him had awakened, its essence had reacted with the sacred tree, turning its energy into something else entirely.
