Dante opened his eyes.
Everything was pink. The sky, the ground, even the horizon, it all shimmered in soft rose hues.
Fields of glowing flowers stretched endlessly, their petals pulsing with faint light. The air smelled sweet, warm, almost intoxicating.
He sat up slowly, blinking. "Where… am I?"
Then came a voice.
It wasn't just beautiful—it was melodic, like every word carried rhythm and warmth. It echoed from nowhere and everywhere at once, smooth and divine, almost too perfect to be human.
"You stand in the Lands Between."
The sound wrapped around him like silk. It felt comforting and terrifying at the same time.
Dante turned in circles, trying to find the source, but the pink mist only deepened. The flowers swayed gently as if whispering to each other.
He swallowed hard, unsure if he was dreaming or dead.
Suddenly, a gust of wind swept across the field, plucking thousands of the glowing petals from their stems. They swirled in a vortex of pink and gold, forming a trailed line that spiraled into a delicate, swirling tornado.
Dante watched, mesmerized, as the cyclone of blossoms tightened and condensed, sculpting itself into a unmistakably curvy, feminine figure. Hips flared, a waist narrowed, and the silhouette of long, flowing hair cascaded down its back.
This was the first time Dante would think, with a jarring and utterly inappropriate clarity, *'Did I just get a hard on from flowers?'*
The figure, now fully formed from interwoven, pulsing flora, took a step toward him. She moved with a grace that was both natural and unnatural, the sound of rustling petals accompanying her every motion. She closed the distance, and a hand composed of delicate stems and soft blossoms rose to cup his face. The touch was surprisingly warm. His eyes, against his will, dipped to the swell of her chest, where the flowers artfully outlined a generous and alluring form.
"You are... Eros," she spoke, her voice the same divine melody that had greeted him, now filled with a heartbreaking familiarity.
"I'm Dante," he corrected, his own voice a rough whisper against her smooth cadence.
"No... yes.." she murmured, her floral fingers tracing the line of his jaw. "You have his heart.. How?" She seemed to be speaking to herself, not waiting for an answer. "Being reborn... anew."
"Can you tell me what's going on?" Dante asked, the confusion finally breaking through his awe and other, more primal, reactions.
"You now are the inheritor of Eros, the God of Love," she stated, as if reading from a celestial resume. "The weaver of destinies, the kindler of passion in mortals and immortals alike. The one who saw the beauty in all hearts and guided them to their perfect match."
"That's an insane resume," Dante breathed out, but his eyes bulged—a reaction mirrored lower in his body—as his mind finally registered the core of her statement. "Wait, *inheritor*? What do you mean, inheritor? I'm confused, can you explain everything?"
"I will," she said, her gaze seeming to look straight through him, into his very soul. "Somehow you got your hands on a god's heart... but from your strength, you did not kill him.... It's merging with you..."
"Who are you?" All of this was crazy to him. This beautiful, ephemeral flower girl was being painfully vague.
"I am a Spirit of Desire... Eros was my lover... and I was one of his."
"One of his? He had many?"
"Of course," she said, a sad, rustling sigh escaping her. "Eros believed he had enough love to go around. And he did... he loved everyone deeply, uniquely. If he's passed... I see no reason to keep living."
She looked at him, her floral form beginning to glow more intensely, individual petals starting to loosen and drift away like embers.
"But if you are his inheritor, then... I must leave you with a parting gift."
He looked at her, his protest dying in his throat as the flowers composing her form began to glow with an ethereal, blinding light. It was a radiance that consumed the world, washing out the pink sky and the glowing fields until there was only whiteness.
When his vision cleared and everything snapped back to normal, he blinked, and he could not believe his eyes.
The pitched tent in his pants became a full-scale pavilion. In front of him, where the spirit of desire had stood, was now one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen.
Actually, no. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on.
Her beauty was so profound, so utterly perfect, that he felt a bizarre, immediate conviction that to see anything else after this would be a sin, a crime against his very senses.
The irrational thought to gouge his own eyes flitted through his mind, just to preserve this single image for eternity.
But that was not all.
She was naked.
'What strange dreams I have...' Dante thought, his mind scrambling for any kind of rational foothold. 'Not that I'm complaining.'
Her form was a masterpiece of divine geometry. She had curves that were both powerful and gentle, a body so perfectly sculpted it seemed chiseled from living marble by the hands of a god, and perhaps it had been.
A defined, yet soft, set of abs tapered down to her hips. Her breasts were full and plump, sitting high and healthy on her chest. As his gaze traveled upward, her neckline led to a face that put all of creation to shame.
'Miss Universe, my ass... this is Miss Existence,' he thought, the crude internal monologue a desperate shield against the overwhelming reality before him.
His eyes, helplessly drawn downward again, traced the line of her hips, the long, flowing cascade of pink hair that fell over her shoulders, and the delicate, perfectly shaped pussy lips at the junction of her thighs.
She was desire made flesh, and every part of him, mind and body, was acutely aware of it.
Dante was no virgin. He'd had his fair share of fun and eyeful women, but yeah, they held no candle to her.
They were flickering matches to her supernova. Every rational thought had been scorched away, leaving only primal, pulsing instinct.
She spoke, her voice a silken caress that seemed to stroke his very soul. "I wish to be your first as you transform. It is my last wish. Can you grant me that...? In return, I will give you a guide to your power."
Dante did not hear a single word after "I wish to be your first."
The rest of her sentence was lost, drowned out by the roaring blood in his ears and the sudden, vivid images that flooded his mind.
It was an unstoppable, pornographic slideshow. He saw her, that perfect body, bent over the glowing pink grass. He saw himself pressing her against the trunk of a shimmering, non-existent tree.
He saw her on her knees, looking up at him with those devastating eyes, her long pink hair spilling over his thighs.
Hundreds of positions, angles, and sensations flashed through his consciousness in the span of a single, breathless heartbeat.
His mouth was dry. His own voice, when it finally came, was a hoarse, strained thing, stripped of all reason and driven purely by the ache in his core and the fantasy in his head.
"Yes."