The last thing he remembered was the mountain folding away like smoke, the angel's red lips curving in that final, knowing smirk. Then nothing.
Until warmth.
Soft skin pressing against him.
A woman's arms cradling him tight.
He opened his eyes—tiny, newborn eyes—and saw her face: flushed red, tears streaming, blonde hair falling in messy strands. She was sobbing with joy, rocking him gently, whispering thanks to the gods.
His father burst in—big, bearded, eyes wet too.
Rogthar.
The man scooped the baby up like he was made of gold. "A son," he choked out. "After all these years... the gods finally gave us a son."
The room was small but sturdy—wooden walls smoothed by hands, a proper hearth with stone surround keeping the chill out, woven rugs on the floor, wool blankets folded neat. A few kin stood around, murmuring blessings. No dirt floors here, no leaking thatch. Houses were solid, like in the warmer villages he'd seen in his old world's India—plastered walls inside, timber frames, clean hearths, people in dyed wool tunics and embroidered cloaks instead of ragged furs.
Rogthar lifted the child high. "He will be called Jagna. Jagna, son of Rogthar!"
The room erupted in cheers. Axes thumped shields. Horns of mead were raised.
Nineteen years passed like a long raid.
Jagna woke on a thick fur mattress in the family's longhouse. The place was bigger now—his father's status had grown. Walls lined with carved shields, iron tools hung neat, a proper bed frame of oak, and wool curtains for privacy. Light came through small shuttered windows, not just smoke holes. Clothes folded nearby were fine: linen undertunics, wool breeches dyed deep blue, and leather boots with good stitching.
He was no boy anymore.
Athletic as a wolf—broad shoulders, corded arms from years swinging axe and shield, narrow waist, legs like tree trunks. Brown-blonde hair fell long past his shoulders, braided at the sides like a warrior's. Face sharp, handsome in a dangerous way—high cheekbones, storm-grey eyes, full lips curled in permanent half-sneer. Women stared. Men stepped aside.
He stretched, feeling the power in his new body. The contract's gift hummed under his skin—stronger, faster, harder to kill.
Then he felt her.
Warm mouth wrapped around his thick cock.
Jagna looked down.
Blonde hair spilling over his thighs. Full breasts pressed against his legs. Green eyes looking up at him with raw hunger.
layana.
His aunt. His father's sister. The fierce warrior everyone feared and wanted. Badass beyond words—killer with sword and spear, body honed from battle, curves that could start wars. She was sucking him slow and deep, tongue swirling over the fat head, then sliding down to lap at his heavy balls, moaning like she couldn't get enough.
She pulled off with a wet pop, lips shiny.
"Morning, nephew," she purred, voice husky. "Your cock's even thicker than yesterday. Gods, I've missed this."
Jagna grinned—feral, tyrant smile. No shame. No hesitation. This world was different, and he was done giving a fuck about rules.
He grabbed her by the hair, yanked her up. She gasped, excited. He flipped her onto her back on the furs, spread her strong thighs wide. She was already soaked—dripping down her legs. No panties in this world; just easy access under her tunic.
He slammed into her in one brutal thrust.
layana screamed—half pain, half pure fucking bliss. Her nails raked his back, drawing blood. "Yes—fuck—harder, Jagna!"
He didn't hold back.
Pounded her like he owned her. Deep, punishing strokes that made her tits bounce, made the bedframe groan. She bucked up to meet him, cursing in Norse, begging for more. Her pussy clenched tight around his thick shaft, milking him.
He flipped her again—face down, ass up. Grabbed her hips, slammed back in. She screamed louder, muffled into the furs. He reached around, rubbed her clit rough. She came hard—shaking, cursing his name, soaking his balls.
He didn't stop. Kept fucking her through it, relentless. Tyrant. Fearless.
When he finally came, he buried deep and flooded her, growling low. She shuddered again, another small orgasm ripping through her.
They collapsed in a sweaty heap. layana turned, kissed him rough—tongue claiming his mouth like a conqueror.
"You're a monster," she whispered, smiling. "My favorite monster."
Jagna smirked, stroking her hair.