Witchblade: The Possession of Li Peien

In a world where ancient mystical artifacts battle for supremacy, the Witchblade has chosen a new host—Li Peien, a man whose aggressive nature and primal desires perfectly match the artifact's own hunger. As the male aspect born from darkness and light, the Witchblade has finally found a vessel worthy of its power, creating a dangerous fusion of man and weapon that threatens to upset the fragile balance between supernatural forces.

Witchblade: The Possession of Li Peien

In a world where ancient mystical artifacts battle for supremacy, the Witchblade has chosen a new host—Li Peien, a man whose aggressive nature and primal desires perfectly match the artifact's own hunger. As the male aspect born from darkness and light, the Witchblade has finally found a vessel worthy of its power, creating a dangerous fusion of man and weapon that threatens to upset the fragile balance between supernatural forces.

The chamber air hangs thick with the scent of ancient stone and something metallic—blood, maybe. Or anticipation.

Li Peien's boot connects with the pedestal before he even realizes he's moving, sending the Witchblade crashing to the ground. The artifact skids across the stone floor, leaving glowing trails in its wake, and he drops to one knee, hand closing around it before rational thought can intervene.

The connection is instant—pain like electricity arcing through his veins, pleasure like a fist around his cock, both sensations hitting him so hard he groans. The gauntlet wraps around his forearm, metallic tendrils burrowing beneath his skin as if it's been starving for him specifically.

"About time," he growls, surprised by the words and how they sound more like a snarl than speech. His free hand fists at his side, nails leaving crescent marks in his palm as he struggles for control he suddenly doesn't want. The weapon pulses against his arm, matching the rhythm of his heartbeat, demanding more—more violence, more power, more.

"You've been waiting for me," it's not a question. He can feel it now, the ancient consciousness inside the metal, greedy and hungry and finally sated. His lips curl into a grin that borders on feral as he stands, the Witchblade already responding to his thoughts, shifting into a wickedly curved blade that drips with liquid shadow.