Monark had a dream. He dreamed that he was lying in a pitch-black place, as if surrounded by dark clouds, with everything around him soft and fluffy.
In the darkness, countless green eyes stared at him with lecherous gazes. Their owners even reached out with grubby hands, groping all over his body.
As those black hands touched him, he felt something inside him being drawn away by the shadows, replaced by a liberating pleasure. It felt like soaring through the clouds; his body became so light that he was about to float away.
For some reason, it simply felt wonderful. A sleazy smile appeared on his face, and even his sleep-talking turned into Japanese words like "yamete" and "iku."
It was too good. Waves of pleasure came one after another, and he simply could not take it anymore—he was actually pleasured awake!
The moment he opened his eyes, he saw Deathstroke's single eye staring at him with a "lecherous" look. In his hand was the controller for adjusting the massage chair's speed.
The smile vanished from Monark's face instantly. He sat up and snatched the controller back. No wonder it had felt so good that his soul was nearly leaving his body—the chair's massage frequency had been adjusted to "Creator God level" by Deathstroke!
God knew how Deathstroke had translated the gods' writing and engraved it onto the remote again. He also had no idea how Old Demon Spirit's massage chair classified its settings, but this Creator God-level massage was definitely not something mortals could endure. Shit, even his bones had gone soft.
"Are you that bored? Pulling this kind of prank while I was asleep?"
Monark stood and smoothed his little mustache. His eyes went dull and lifeless, as though he had lost all will to live.
Su Ming