Take Up the Cross – Chapter 107: Celebrations of Debauchery

The feeling of rubbing against soft fluff, a bestial, yet inviting sensation, is as attractive as it is repulsive. When it’s felt amidst screams only half full of pleasure, Adris wants to tear his hand from the meeting of bodies.

But he can’t. Creamy fur, purple vestments and a thick glove, or something worse is dragging on him! Try as he might, he cannot pull free of the constraining enjoyment.

A blistering heat, wet with evil delight, is like a phallus thrusting deeply in a hole too small for it. Mimicking the soft flesh attached to the creamy fur, this heat yields to allow itself to wrap around.

To become the only place permitted for him to reside…!

“… Get… get off…!”

(I’m not going to just watch like a…!)

He flails around to protest another directing him along; or so he thinks, but the reality assaulting his version of truth proves how little the attacker thinks of him. Where he lies is a swampy grave full of muck, with the illumination above, like a fickle moon, barely revealing the predator leaning over him while resisting his feeble strength.

It’s what’s devouring his crotch, a brutal…!

“Mmpha…!

Are you finished slumbering… honored guest?”

Adris’ eyes finally open, banishing the sleep this murmuring voice speaks of.

With it, all of the memories of domination begin to fade.

The absolute rapture of total control, and of dealing punishment…

A rather cold room, in spiritual impression if not appearance given its luxuriousness, greets Adris upon waking. Resplendent green-and-orange cloth protects against dust and stain over the gray chests of drawers and writing table taking up its space.

The boy’s quick intake of sights narrows to the corpulent sexual object leaning over from the bed’s side. His hands are wrapped around a black wing, stretched unwillingly out and showcasing thick flight feathers. Dragging on the harpy, Adris seemingly took her from her task…

(Why am I naked?)

And hot.

So very flushed.

(At least… the itching from Still’s trick is… gone…?)

At his crotch, such an itch is replaced.

The woman with a hanging cloth hood covering a no-doubt beautiful face has his cock almost totally hidden behind it. Though a long wing is dragged up toward Adris, her breath is still warming his length as she hovers above the tip.

While he was sleeping, a former enemy was tending to a rising need.

“You…?” Uncertain, almost with a quavering voice, Adris reasserts himself while releasing the woman’s comforting wing. “You are Falke’s servant? A page harpy?”

“… Correct, but only in essence, honored guest. My name is unnecessary, so call me as you wish.”

Unseen eyes gauge him in such an intimate moment. A woman dressed like a high-class slave and letting her right boob hang freely down to the bed’s sheets is also judging the boy she’s been left with.

(As a minder!? What is going on!? Why am I in bed, instead of in the thick of…?)

A battle had grown unbelievably chaotic, fighting for the sake of a friend thought stolen. Everything was put on the line, despite Neesiette’s protests.

For her, Adris has awakened to the strangest sensations and…

(This woman is fertile.)

The minutest sniff of the air sends Adris’ hips thrusting upward.

“Oh!? Honor—?”

His firm tip strikes behind the veil, surprising the woman enough to shock her away, but only briefly.

(Why does everything smell so crisp!? So certain!? Raw and greedy…?)

As Adris’ breathing quickens upon tasting the bouquets in the room, she returns slowly and delivers the sweetest, wettest slurp…!

“… Mmmm, should this… servant continue to please, as best she can?”

Such a question rattles Adris’ already shaken brain.

Only a lick was given before she spoke, but he can feel the intensity of what awaits behind the silvery white cloth.

The thrill of an otherwise anonymous woman inviting him to breach her lips is exotic and terrifying. But also a welcome invitation to use her.

“Does the honored guest wish to feel the smooth texture of a servant’s throat?”

If he but orders it, merely acknowledges the possibilities, this woman whose name he doesn’t even care to know will swallow him down.

“Shall the guest loosen his muscles and relieve the evening’s… aahn, lingering torments…?”

(You’re going to fix my morning wood!?)

“This is only a trap”, screams Adris’ instincts.

Why it is one, he has no way of knowing, but…

An offer to silence her dispassionate voice by accepting his length into her gullet, licking and sucking and coating his girth until his seed fills her belly, can he…?

(… Shit…! Shit, I’m…! This is the Castillo’s curse of lust!)

Even if the reason is known, when images of his dream conquest of a curvy, bouncing rabbit overlay upon this newest encounter, his lips part for him to speak before he even finds the proper words.

(How long have I been asleep!? I was nowhere near this affected…!)

Though this page harpy displays no affection or want in her tone, a supple body with comforting feathery wings and leathery ticking bird feet flexes as she prepares to climb onto the bed…

Adris casts her wing out of his hand with as much disdain as he can summon.

“… Know your place, furniture.”

“Hmm!?”

With embarrassing haste, the harpy maid pushes off of him. Her wings flap as she rights herself, touching back down and leaning into a hasty bow which lets her luscious bosom be cradled by an outstretched wing.

“This… servant deeply regrets displeasing…?”

A darkly deep voice works its magic like always as Adris throws himself from the bed after her, two fingers pointed at her face.

“Never make assumptions of, and advances toward, those far above your station.”

“Keh…!? AHH!?”

His chase halts her retreat, before Adris’ extended fingers part her thick lips in a moment. Though she speaks with such disdain, there’s nothing dry about the flower he curls up into.

“That!? Hngh!?”

Cutting through her human-despising pride, Adris’ dexterous touch leaves her bent over him instead.

“Hon-Honored… guueest!? Mmm?!”

His palm bumps against her. It rubs and grinds when she willingly lowers herself against it. Squishy lips display the desires of the body, ones that transcend conscious thought.

(Page Harpies exist for the purpose of serving the powerful! So long as you know that, let’s establish the hierarchy, shall we…!?)

“Also never forget that you live by the pleasure of others, not just to pleasure them. You have no authority to beg for my desires.”

“Yes!?” Turning social customs into a weapon makes his return assault justified, for despite the lack of consent she vigorously nods her head. “Y-Yes, this servant… understands…!? Ohh!”

The scene of a boy turning the advances of an attractive woman back on herself when he delivers pleasure instead, working his hands under the thin sashes that serve as a sky-sailing beauty’s only coverings, is something Adris needs to demonstrate to all potential watchers!

(Falke, your whores are not in control of me! Where are my girls at!?)

They are the only reality.

The only need Adris has, despite the fever pitch.

If it requires instructing one or more temptresses to teach the rest, then Adris is willing to risk his teammates finding out. With his cock still raging, Adris imposes as much superiority as he can while withdrawing from the bird maid’s tightening passage.

She absentmindedly observes him lick juices off his index finger, quaking at the show while pulling her wings before herself. Suddenly self-conscious.

(I can taste her thoughts from her “nectar”!)

No matter how artificial her mind’s interest, the rest desperately wants to slicken a male’s organ. Being assaulted by one over-anxious harpy is enough for a lifetime, however.

Rather than dwell on a temptation, though, Adris instead snorts in derision. “Why do you laze about, servant?”

“Oh!?”

“Fetch my clothes.”

“… Immediately, sir!”

Stilted at first, the page harpy soon reverts to graceful while pulling out clothing from a drawer that smoothly opens under its own power when she taps it. While all the pieces are of expertly crafted material by his measure, Adris’ annoyance grows when none belong to him.

(Damn, that bastard has deprived me of all that’s useful!)

“Where is what is mine?”

“… Apologies, honored guest.” Even though her body is flusher, the maid reverts to complete detachment as she guides Adris to a mirror. “Your clothing was reduced to a state ill-fitting for re-use. The honored guest named as ‘Still’ took it into her possession and, as yet, hasn’t tendered it for return.”

Memories, half-formed and myopic, claim that Still is a horrible witch surrounded by monsters from the most depraved of children’s nightmares. That she’s a danger to all who live…!

(It’s fine… she’ll repair them. I hope she also has all of my “trinkets”.)

Nothing makes sense without Still’s guidance.

Though Adris is uncertain in all ways about how the battle resolved, no delusional memory will break his belief in her.

It shouldn’t…

It can’t.

(Still is the only one that can aid me, because… I think she’s the only one who knows what happened!)

Along with waking up, something has awoken within Adris.

“Aura” stirs from old times within the Castillo. It circulates at his behest, and also pools and swirls when uncalled. Still’s murky “presence” can’t be felt past its flow.

(All of this “darkness” is going somewhere, but I can’t focus it…!)

If this “aura” and “darkness” war as to destination to travel to, Adris can only guess at who is to blame.

A familiar woman comes to mind, too close to him before Zennia. A living mockery from the past, but she can’t…!

(There’s another aura user active, this alone is certain.)

Along with this horrifying certainty, even absent Still, his shadow clinging to the wall that’s lit by fake candles burning above doesn’t play about or contain its usual richness.

(Doesn’t Rantil hide in there, too?)

Without the allip, Adris cannot verify either his disposition or the girls’.

Never has he been sadder to not be able to suffer that crazy, diminutive monster’s presence…

As the harpy uses her talons to gingerly unfold articles of the outfit chosen, Adris watches, mystified, when the clothing springs to life. A gray tunic and vest part down the middle to sweep over him, with the sleeves unstitching to allow his arms in.

When material touches his skin, the color stains with invisible blood to turn the deepest night’s black. Upon the vest’s breast gathers the image of a white cross over a simple brass key design taking up residence underneath.

(Magical clothes…? No, wait, a brass key!?)

This ill-fitting emblem is a betrayal of a very hidden point.

“Oh?”

As proper as she is, even the harpy gasps when witnessing this dark color eat up Adris, tepidly drawing up the pantaloons offered next.

(FALKE KNOWS!? Or will this woman tell him!? No… she…?)

His dressmaid allows the pants to stand at attention behind Adris, trotting closer under their own power before the crotch and legs split open to encase him.

(This will be unpleasant!)

Two wraps cinch around his crotch and buttocks. They tighten on his erect member, reveling in an outward show of his thickness as a tent of cloth over a still-raging problem.

When Adris runs his hand along the smooth material over his skin, he discovers that it’s quite easy to open the front near his hips. In fact, it springs loose just by thought and touch, letting his cock chill in the air once more as it hangs out.

(The pants have layers of fitting and support? I can open both sides while the pants stay up?)

“… How useful.”

Adris spares a comment to the hidden eyes staring behind him as he runs his fingers along his rigid prick, seeking answers to her thoughts as she focuses on the same lure.

(She’s paying no attention to the key, at least.)

The maid servant shifts fluidly at his back as the pantaloons too stain to dark black. Blissfully ignorant of any greater depth, this woman seems only respectfully interested.

But it’s only a thin courtesy, an illusion!

Adris’ breathing starts to match her shallow rapidity, longing for a test of how easy it is to lift her long legs, knock her back onto the bed, and plunge in…!

(Assert control! Make this chaotic situation your own.)

Drawing from a reservoir of self-worth deep within to bolster his dramatic conditioning, Adris menaces her instead by quickly turning around.

(Never allow weakness before observers!)

He stalks toward her, shocking his “minder” backward with another gasp as his hand comes up.

“Since you seem so fixated, what is your impression?”

About a foot-or-so taller than Adris, the page harpy fidgets while he strokes the side of her belly.

(Charge into the gap between what they expect and the limits of what is allowed.)

“… The… the honored guest is as dashing as… when he arrived…”

Though the words are suitably containing praise, even as she remains very exhilarated according to Adris’ painfully sensitive nose the lower tone at the end is telling. Adris sniffs out hidden contempt, a clue not easy to obscure from a man who searches for it always.

(You’re one of the original harpies we smashed through, not just a survivor of the nest fire?)

An enemy, no matter if there was a draw.

She can’t be trusted, nor be expected to earn it even as a passing bond.

This woman is not suitable for “release”.

His hand pulls away with a condescending flick off her side, sending her head tilting up in confusion.

“Is… the… should this servant…?”

As though her every expectation is being upturned, she mumbles when Adris turns away again, closing his pantaloons’ sideways flap and adjusting his tunic’s frilly cuffs.

Confidence in borrowed clothes asserts with swift hands that tie his tunic’s neck loop closed.

“Take me to those who have been truly longing for my presence.”

(I can’t waste more time on reforming my image! We’re all… I’m in mortal danger!)

A cough from behind and a ticking on the floor halts Adris in his haste to leave, bringing his eyes to bare toes stretching out.

(… “Trample not where hearth and heart coexist.” This is Xin’s custom for shoes, though. Where are my boots? Surely that hardy prize couldn’t have been…?)

Thinking of those valuable boots, with their fur liner and springy feel, unearths painful recollections.

Fleeting scenes in an old hall.

Images of depraved, one-sided dominance.

Transforming from pure carnage into a worrying dance of corrupt bodies.

Those emotional glimpses of uncertain dreams draw white fluff over his feet, racing from his soles to cover naked ankles.

“Hiii…!?”

The other witness to this miraculous formation of crisp leather boots growing ruby gems for “eyes” on the vamps shakes while stepping away. Adris’ true dread suffocates beneath his minutely controlled features.

An act called “being a false god” states that these foreign boots only appeared to answer his desires.

With his feet feeling comfortable again, the boy’s blood-red, glowing eyes reflected in the mirror earn him another jolt from the page harpy. The glow serenely fades moments later.

Adris only offers a contemptuous slight of a grin, a careful flash of white teeth, as he starts toward the door.

“A-Apologies…!”

The subdued entourage fumbles in her curious rush to touch the door’s frame with her wing which has a metallic chain wrapped around it, prompting it to swing open on its own.

Stalking out into the empty halls with a conqueror’s spirit and roving eyes, Adris is indescribably calm.

(What the fuck happened last night!?)

The way to his goal is short, courtesy of doors with graved destinations emerging from flat surfaces after the harpy approaches them. Lit by the false candles along the ceiling recesses, Adris wonders at the actual size of Falke’s manse with how many hallways they pass through are so uniquely described.

Despite a sense of wrong and hurry, Adris’ instincts drive him to step ahead of the harpy at this latest “dimensional door” as a test. Seemingly driven by impatience, his “servant” pays no mind as she rushes to join him.

Only when the page harpy is nearby do they come to life.

(Why isn’t Falke simply monitoring me? Surely he can command them to open…?)

Too much is unexplained.

The questions have piled up, leaving no care for Adris of who “won or lost”, especially since he still lives.

(Had I lost, I would be dead.)

“Witness paradise, the meeting of all minds within a place accustomed to being many things for all.”

This last boast reveals its truth as the large doorway opens with a loud screech upon unlocking. Rather than enter with him, the page harpy makes a quiet bow and then fades from his service. Bright, warm ambiance invites him inside, where cackles and constant grunts are interrupted by a short scream before it’s muffled.

A grand hall of gray stone is lit by amber crystalline growths and spires up its sides. Some inner magic within these smooth protrusions with jagged ends suffuses the hall. It spreads as a mist which refuses to creep closer to the entertained guests.

Only the richly-garbed servants, dozens of them which line the walls and linger beneath the upper areas, dare to silently exist within this ominous mist. Like clockwork contraptions, they work without exchanging information to perform the tasks of cleaning and removing dishes.

More come in through doors beneath crystal overhangs, bearing plates full of food and drink.

(It feels like I’m within the Emperor’s tomb again, or perhaps the underground forest of Tienkain where Serras found her sword…?)

The hall’s presence is comforting, though, yet still trampled over by the storm of flesh at its south end.

“Kakakaka!

Kol count, forty? Kol thought, all men belonged to wolf~? If shitty red wolf can’t hold a hundred at once, Kol can’t really forgive a lie, right?”

“MMMPH!?”

“Huh? Kol can’t hear? But, think ‘barky bitch’ said… add more guys to see?”

Clapping hands set off the marching of feet and the screeching whine of a fearful bitch.

“Kakaka!”

Where a familiar voice with profound arrogance directs more participants, a grand stage of cut stone and thick rugs permits dozens of men to passively wait their turns. The virile woman at center stage surrenders to the bodies of uniformed servants who make her their attendant instead.

With flaps opened like Adris’, these helpers help themselves to a monster’s worn and inflamed body.

They grope at her as she leans back over the man under her, hands pushing down on large breasts and trapping her thick nipples between fingers to roll.

All smiles as they take from her, two leave thick deposits rather than stealing while the third screws his prick down her throat with sloppy pistons.

“GGAAAAAH! NUAAAH!”

The sight of an enormous woman being manhandled by men inferior to her might is stunning, especially with how bruised she is where their hands have grabbed and yanked. Wrists, forearms, and ankles are as red as…

The servant taking up her front, thrusting patiently and with intent to unsettle the wolf’s rising orgasm, paces himself as she nears before finally bottoming out.

“GGGGGEEEEEHHHHHH!?”

Both top and bottom work together without words, letting their full lengths lodge inside and rub between thin walls.

Ylva’s sole eye in view rolls back as she is finally granted release, made harsher when servants pull on her tits by grabbing her teats to yank up.

When she finishes shaking in tormented pleasure, the burgundy wolf becomes easier to see when the man thrusting into her front hole pushes off. This red, swollen passage revealed is permanently stretched with how many have been within, oozing gray fluids that match what sprinkles from the man’s spent tip.

As her strong abdominals shake, the smell wafting from her sends Adris’ mind into a frenzy once more. Cunt juices mix with a fruity aphrodisiac scent lacing her sweat.

It’s raw and inspiring him to push through them—!

(… Why is your belly full again…!?)

That horrid cavern which births monsterized facsimiles is stuffed and leaving her belly rotund again; yet, it’s also without the curious black tattoos around her navel. Remembering the inherent danger kills the need within his own loins, content instead to just watch.

Matted hair and dank sweat covering her declares this a long-term torture, for Ylva, as Adris remembers this would-be inexhaustible creature to be called, goes limp with this brief reprieve. With one thick pole still lodged in her ass and the other left in her mouth, she’s contorted for display so that…

“Ah, shitty wolf, again, isn’t she…?”

“… Mmmm…?”

“… leaking again~?”

“MMMMPHHH!?”

At the question, Ylva struggles to free her arms from the attackers binding her.

A black shoe comes up to rest on her belly, with a smiling servant glancing at the queen in charge of this execution…

“Losing it all means she has to start over,

RIGHT, GUYS~!?”

“MMMMMMMMMMMMMMPH!?”

Slowly, with exquisite pressure the foot presses on her belly…

“MMMMMMGHHHHHHH!?

MMMMMMMMMMPH—!?”

Gray goop spews out from her abused cunt like a fountain, pooling on the ground as Ylva shudders. The act of succumbing brings her an after climax as all of her efforts are brought to naught.

“Hmm, like before, Kol said ‘if you can do it’, didn’t say how long it takes~?”

Before the pleasure finishes washing over, a man easily pierces Ylva’s inundated hole and puts pressure on anew.

The bodies crowd around closely, with smiling men relishing the one-sided painful satisfaction given.

“Try again! Kakakaka!”

(Why are you cheering for this torture…?)

Questions abound about the short tyrant waving around a bird’s cooked drumstick in one hand, a goblet full of purplish-red liquid in another, and cackling so loudly that the room reverberates.

Without her armor on, Kol is far less imposing. Though always wearing a simple, worn tunic with padding underneath, she’s instead switched for a richer outfit that seems remarkably identical to Adris’ own.

In place of the black colors, hers are red and orange-striped; where his vest and tunic are loose, hers is tight to her muscular body; and, while Adris’ pants are long, hers are knee length to let monstrous feet loose.

While there should be a faithful cross, instead a hateful orange tree with a green falcon, a gray flute clutched in its talons, is emblazoned over her breasts.

Adris’ trembling hands go still at his command.

(What are you four doing!? Why do you wear the colors of my enemy!?)

Beneath banners and wreathes hanging above that proclaim red and black as the colors of victory, Kol hovers before an unused curule chair as her attention is split between banquet tables before her and the execution of a former enemy. Her tanned face is rosy as she laughs, proving that she’s been exposed to a treat Adris has been reticent to try to share with her.

At her side and chatting amiably is Castile, while a bit further away is a familiar man wearing a plain servant’s uniform and a blue turban, mutely staring into a goblet.

(Castile…? Kaskin!? Why is Kol being friendly with that rapist!?)

While Adris was laying unconscious in bed, an easy target for anyone that chose to seek vengeance or secure a more certain future, his comrades have been feasting and drinking…?

With enemies who would’ve savaged them, no less?

(Servants can’t produce a spawn, being fake, is that this show’s meaning? This she wolf has been sentenced to being filled without fulfilling her lust for progeny…)

With faces turning to greet him, Adris is left with few options other than ignoring the disappointment.

He strides in through the great doors and across the gray rug leading to the spectators, but the bustle is upon him before he can take in more.

“Cake, honored guest?”

“Wine, dear visitor?”

Immaculate smiles are offered by beautiful women. With small plates offered before him, these female servants lean in to display deep cleavage that is wasted on a boy Adris’ size.

But, it’s not as if he’s not appreciative of the flappy, unconcealing nature of their dress uniforms.

(I don’t want to appreciate it! I need to talk to the others…)

Strangely, these servants seem more focused on his clothing than his face.

(They didn’t even notice me until I was close…? Forget this!)

Waving them off without a word, Adris strides through them so quickly step that they dance from his path.

Five grand viewing platforms are prepared and turned toward this execution stage, telling Adris of the nature of the festivities ongoing as he tries to figure out the nature of this celebration.

(A great show of supremacy and the condemnation of the losers… “The Castillo way.”)

These platforms reside in three tiers of great heights, with a throne at the top, a huddled figure at one of the middle tiers, and Kol’s and another party’s at the bottom.

Musicians congregate around the guests of each platform, with gossamer tunes of woodwind instruments warring with the vivid beats of drums and percussion from the opposite end of the hall. Adris has seen how these different tunes affect the moods of his comrades.

(Why does Falke know what music they like so well?)

The nearest platform to him is home to three unusual souls who huddle around a small table containing crystal tea cups and other pieces from a familiar collection. Meager trees grow up through the floor surrounding their tea party, providing shade and security from the execution they seek to simply ignore. They bask instead in the light shining down from an open ceiling hole above.

(Ave is fine…)

Not only fine, but spirited as she does her best not to glance in the direction of the brutal gang rape going on. Like Kol, she wears clothing with colors that betray being gifts of the manse.

A flowing, almost transparent dress like a fish’s tail extends over her womanly parts, far too short for the average girl’s sense of chastity. In fact, a great slit down the middle lines up perfectly with her own, giving a peek of her side instead of it only due to her angle of “sitting”. Small breasts nonetheless provide slight bumps, which the top of her dress coincides with a revealing décolletage wrapping around her back.

Naked arms are delicate, as is the nape of her neck.

Flushed of face and smelling of a little wine herself, this elf child is so terribly alluring…

(All of you chose new clothing!? What about combat utility? Or… loyalty…?)

Seated at the strange elf’s coiled side are a curious man with elegant posturing that perfectly resembles the boy nearing, save for ears, and an oily madman who sits upon his own slithering tendrils.

While the placid elf man sips tea with his eyes closed, the psychopathic hustler trying to steal Neesiette instead examines elvish trinkets and art pieces using his strange spectacles with multiple lenses.

“Obtained from where, a place called ‘Annamista’ you said? I’ve never heard of such a strange, misted land!”

“No, but it’s such an incredibly large elvish kingdom!?” Ave timidly slaps the older man’s shoulder as she playfully laughs, “How could it escape your informed notice, my intellectual friend~?”

Instead of bringing a laugh, that sends him shaking violently in turn!

“DARE MOCK ME, CHILD!?”

“NO!? YES!? AVE IS SORRY!?”

Her hands flail in front of him as he reaches in.

The terror in Ave’s voice seems to be the most painful response to his hubris, prompting the man to sigh at Adris’ raised cross, quickly set the elvish piece down and move on to the next one.

“… You misunderstand, If I’m not cataloging it or en-route to collect it, why should it exist in my world, bahahaha!?”

“Hmmm!? Oh, forgive me for not taking into account how busy you are~! I was just… trying to lighten things up…”

(So, you can lie like a real person, Orloss?)

What unites all three, aside from their misfit natures, are the wooden placards hanging around their necks that are held up by silk cord.

Adris’ attention wavers as he reads the one around Ave, leaving her time to turn in shock and gape at him.

“A-A-Adris…!?”

Ave’s astonishment transfers to her timid tongue which flicks out to taste the air. What it savors straightens her spine, turning her silent while she closes her eyes to collect herself.

(Aren’t you a little into me!?)

As he nears, she scoots away while huffing, but finally manages to babble.

“You… you… look… well…!? No!? Of course you would… you’re so… strong and…!?” Choosing to pale while her tail shakes, Ave’s experiences during the last battle leave Adris wondering why her reaction toward him has become so extreme. “… Like… Kol said, nothing could happen to you… I was going to stay with you, but, Neesiette said it was dangerous, so, me being worried…?

Am I? I am… just…”

A girl wearing a placard that reads “I am the idiot who caused all of this” is absolutely terrified to say the wrong thing to the man she once felt comforted being around. Rather than openly idolizing him, Ave quickly averts her gaze and rubs a familiar glass songbird with swirling colors.

A gift from him is her solace instead of clutching against his chest.

(Fear is an… interesting outcome.)

As Adris stews in the conflicting emotions he feels, the men beside her betray different ones at Ave’s discomfort. The knightly warrior wearing strange, flexible armor only opens his eyes briefly to study Adris as he sips. Full of storybook dignity and lounging as if he’s awaiting birds to flutter down to sing to him, this “Rouvenor” fellow has a sign around his neck that reads “I was dreamed up by the idiot who caused all of this”.

“Don’t leave the boy hanging, you squirrelly snake! Use complete sentences!”

If this Rouvenor is passive, though, then Orloss is all jagged smiles as he greets the newest party guest. Around his neck the words “I am the idiot who was defeated by the idiot who caused all of this” are proudly displayed as he motions for Adris to join in on the conversation.

“Excellent work, you outrageous, cross-toting devil boy from another world!” A slam to the table brings a hiss from his companion, but Orloss’ mania is inflamed. “An impossible outcome isn’t easy to overlook or undersell! I thought that crack-pot bunny was bluffing about you, but I comprehend why the Alchemaster’s peasants are in an uproar with you skulking about Petripolis!”

“Orloss, please don’t…!”

When Ave tries to “shush” him with her finger, the boisterous collector scoffs.

“Pay no mind to fear of living dread, resourceful friend! If this rampaging shapechanger were as evil as some here might think, he’d just chase you down for sport without praising your maidenly parts first!”

“Ave isn’t—!?

I’m not… afraid of…!?”

(… “Shapechanger”? You claimed you’d hunt us down forever. Instead of being punished like your lackey, you choose to act as a pleasant banquet guest.)

The cheering tyrant Kol, so taken in by her enjoyment that she only now sniffs and glances in Adris’ direction, likely didn’t oppose Orloss’ involvement.

And upon the upper tier of platforms, where a silver throne rests with a beautiful moon child seated on it, the cultured old gentleman standing behind her betrays no sign of dissatisfaction at his associate being spared.

“Are you not disturbed by losing to the one you underestimated, Master Orloss?” Rather than relish in a victory earned without his knowledge, Adris decides to fish for a new relationship with this man who shows such adaptability to losing.

But, he truly feels…

(WHY? WHY ARE WE LETTING THIS ONE OFF IF WE WON!? This is when we should be extracting the fruits of our victory!)

The shewolf.

The deranged mystic.

And this kraken lord.

Mouths must be closed.

Any chance of Adris’ nature and name getting back to the Castillo must be prevented.

(Those who wield power to enslave others must be permanently crippled.)

“‘LOSING’? WHO LOST, UNUSUAL DARKLING!?”

Orloss’ black-square pupils enlarge at this word as he nearly chokes on it.

A grin of sheer madness shows how the idea of “losing” doesn’t match his vision of reality.

“ORLOSS!? Adris has been… err…!?” Ave sweats while rubbing her hands, before smiling brightly and clapping once. “… Recovering the damage to his vessel from using too much power!? He’s unaware of the outcome’s particulars, since we finished up after he… gave chase?”

“Oh? Then it can’t be helped, can’t be helped~.”

A gray cup comes up to Orloss’ mouth for a swig. After, he slicks back his meager crop of wild hair and smiles anew once more.

“There was ‘no win or lose’, only a misunderstanding set right! No ill will festers within my esteemed self, so calm your faint heart.” Orloss’ hand daintily waves Adris off. “After all, you have your friend alone to thank for forestalling my vengeance!”

(This suicidally clumsy girl…?)

“Avenalliah is…?”

Though able to control his reaction, the shock leaks out in how he questions and looks squarely at the elf.

“Mmm!? Well… that…?”

She in turn blushes more deeply, but refuses to show her usual kindness.

“Shy now!? After putting me through the unending hell of chasing you!?”

“No!? But if I were to admit it, wouldn’t I hurt…!?”

“THIS IS WHEN YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO BRAG, BUFFOON, NOT WHILE YOU’RE STILL FIGHTING ME!”

Orloss snaps at Ave again, then takes over when she refuses to gush about her “not victory”.

“This tree-loving grasshopper showcased knowledge that could only overturn a mere speck of my true power! HOWEVER, I will not allow her heroic efforts that won my affection to be overlooked…!” Orloss gloats about another’s work, patting Ave’s hand like a drunk, lecherous uncle while his eyes stay stern. “Disregarding the breeding mutt and the star bunny, had I brought my real ire to bear, all of you would’ve INSTANTLY been…”

Sinisterly he grins, with many of the items on his frock coat beginning to shimmer as Orloss’ evil heart secretly longs for that chance again.

“Very well, I welcome you to fraternize with Ave, Orloss. It wasn’t that I doubted her ability to… create an ‘understanding’, only that you would be willing to listen.”

Adris can offer a genuine smile of thanks now, tamping down the exciting thought of thanking her with a passionate tongue strangling her own.

Being stared at so intently unnerves Ave more, but Adris’ ever-keener nose detects the scent of…

(This girl is nearing her limit. And that limit threatens to break with only my presence?)

Like Adris, there’s probably a dampness to the maiden that avoids his gaze.

If he stays, she’ll never stop looking at him. The wall between them will crumble, with only passion behind it.

But it’s fine if it’s he that causes this.

It can’t be helped that Ave would desire Adris.

It’s the only permitted scenario, actually.

“Did I… do well, Adris? Turning him into a friend?”

Fear and arousal reinforce the other, her honeyed voice quavering as her white cheeks grow rosier…

“Are you still… angry with me…?”

(No. Never near as angry as you think I am right now.)

His purest companion is ready to melt away should he bark at her.

The feeling of absolute authority that he woke with, one that tantalized his soul with its possibilities, leaves him aching when it seems to unnerve the cowardly snake elf.

(Being vital, in total control and with absolute impression of authority…?)

Never felt sufficiently enough before now, Adris’ “true power” left a permanent impression on Ave.

Deriving solely from Adris himself, all of its commensurate rewards are his to claim should he reach out.

(I want to know what I did. This respect is wonderful, exhilarating, but… not permitted if it suffocates these girls…)

Another tack is required, and a charlatan can change horses in mid gallop.

“Despite attracting strange men to you that seem hazardous…”

Adris glances at the strangest of them, quiet still in deep repose. This Rouvenor enjoys the light of this stage with closed eyes, yet responds to Adris’ intent unspoken.

“Interest in my goals should become only ‘none’; in deepest dungeons was thy own villainy done.”

A deeper, aged voice full of singsong rhyme, identical to Adris’ memory of his own, casts out a mysterious slight. Adris is momentarily paralyzed by the calculated enigma.

(I’ve never once acted like this guy? Why is he my doppelganger!? What is he? No, why am I wasting time thinking about it?)

“… You always have a good eye for what’s hidden within.” Adris’ recovers his ambitions, stretching a hand out toward her, only to have her fidget and stare. “You’ve done well for us, and you won’t stop anytime soon, will you, Avenalliah?”

“Oh!? No! I’ll…!?”

Despite the fear, Ave allows him to pat her bare shoulder.

“T-Thank… you~!”

Even if only a bit scrapes off, the layer of smothering fear thins as Ave eeks out a sheepish grin.

“Hmph, ‘strange man’ am I!? This child… is just too excellent at forcing others to listen. Equally blessed she is that her proposal made sense, too.”

“Ehehe…!”

That forceful girl laughs cutely at Orloss’ displeasure while stroking her ponytail, nearly ruffling him again before he sighs and drinks his fragrant tea.

(What proposal? What have you idiots agreed to in my absence!?)

Any agreement by them is likely to bind Adris as well, as proved by Black Tide’s terms of war against Black Birch.

That thought pains Adris’ heart, for he’s had enough of being led by others.

“On second thought, don’t join us so quickly, boy. Not when your ‘property’ has been awaiting your inspirational presence and we’ve yet to witness your choice of punishment!”

“Punishment? Of whom?”

“You’ll discover your bumbling ‘prize’ momentarily. I am most pleased by your reshaping of it so far! Bother dearest Falke and the Lunamaton about the rest of the night.”

The moment to ask to sit with Ave passes. An opportunity for discovery is purposefully turned away.

(There are too many spies about. No one I can truly converse with!)

“Now…” With a new plate of fruits and cut vegetables placed before Ave and a thick shank of some animal before Orloss, the two re-enter their quiet place. “Show me more, friend,

show me all ~ of ~ your ~ PRETTIES! GAHAHAHA!”

“Y-Yes… of course~!”

Orloss steals Ave’s attention and focus as she brings up her tote bag.

(Misunderstanding, was it…?)

“AH! GREAT BOSS, AWAKE~!”

From the distance, Kol cheers while waving. Such gusto she has while gripping the sculpted railing at the edge of her platform. “Boss, come drink with Kol! Rooster, finally let Kol have tasty wine! No problem, Kol loves, can handle! Umu, have soooooome~!”

(A little too much! You’re already loose.)

Coming up to her spot in paradise, Adris crosses his arms and gives her a reproachful glare as she shakes a goblet that overflows onto the floor. One spy or two, if Castile is compromised, seem as equally interested in him as the red-faced kobold.

“Neesiette is who we came to bring back, not as much wine as we can stomach.”

“Ah? Umu, Kol, came for Moon!”

(Then why have you shed your armor?)

A more sporty version of Adris’ outfit catches her figure in a bolder direction. Her ears shift as she looks at Adris with confusion, before she sniffs again.

This deep taste of Adris’ scent turns her lips wet as she leans further over the rail.

“Hmmm!? Boss… totally different smell…!?”

(Different how!? Even if I say that…!)

Aside from detecting the alcohol on her breath so vividly that it’s like he’s drinking it himself, Kol’s odor is a library of knowledge whose locked doors snap open for his perusal.

Predatory, thirsty for both carnage and satisfaction of the flesh!

Musky as always, but also far lewder than she lets on.

That flicking silvery tail of hers that conveys so much personality by itself has its own scent, different at the furry tip. It’s some unique flash of ownership. The table that’s painted by its brush turns into a second Kol by scent.

“Boss… doesn’t smell small… only bigger and bigger!”

Were it not a banquet for her, this pint-sized tiger would already be seated on Adris’ lap. The railing squeals with the pulling power inflicted on it as Kol’s irises constrict.

If she were nearer, he might be leaping at the titan instead.

(Kol is a dangerous object to be around!)

Sating lust is deathly important, but not if it means…

“Kol remembers, this smell!” Her smile at the recollection is troubled, eyes wincing before growing greedy. “Kaka! Everytime Boss wins, gets something new inside! True Boss, coming out now, right!? SHARE WITH KOL!”

“Calm yourself!”

But there’s no calm in her heart at Adris’ command, only a masculine quality of taking what—!

“Okay, settle down, Pink.”

“NAH!? UGYAAAH!?” A terrorizing kobold screams in outrage as she drops her drink. Hoisted up by her tail, she swings in place while flailing her claws at the man extending his thick arm to keep her out of reach. “STUPID ROOSTER! DIE, BE DESTROYED, TAKE IT UP YOUR BUTT! LET KOL’S TAIL GOOOOO, IT HUUURTS!!!”

(Castile can just yank her up when others can’t budge a single toe?)

For his part, the slave-to-amour slayer only grimaces when Kol spins around from over swinging.

“Gonna need a knightly vow that you’ll be as polite as Chadfried from now on, okay?”

“THAT WIMP, OW!? FINE, KOL, UGH, SWEARS! NOW—!

Oh?”

The boisterous conqueror slams face-first into the ground. She rolls up after into a ball of hatred, on all four limbs and drilling through Castile’s throat with her eyes.

“Rooster… big mistake…!”

“Yeah, always a mistake thinking you’ve learned any lessons. Hah.” Shrugging his shoulders, Castile just turns his attention to Adris with a look of…

(Suspicion? Hatred!?)

A man closer to Adris than nearly any other, just by virtue of never allowing the boy to say no, closes one eye while sizing him up. Just as barbaric looking as usual, the Call’s top slayer clicks his tongue.

“You’re a bad influence on Pink, but you leave her craving more, huh? Which empty-hearted crowd are you with, monster?”

“… Monster?”

(What sort of man forgets his brother…? No… he absolutely doesn’t recognize me.)

There’s a terrible angle to this amnesia Castile shows.

With his hand to the stock of a gun, the slayer treats Adris as a real threat to himself and others.

“Playing cute doesn’t earn much with me. No worries, though, no concerns, because we’ll see the ‘wolf’ beneath the wool again.”

(Is this actually Castile?)

The man throws up his hands before smiling at Kol and patting her head, earning a slash across his forearm for the trouble.

“Hahaha, does this count as behaving, Pink?”

“Don’t touch Kol! Shitty Rooster, stole glory!”

“Ahhhh, wouldn’t it be more right to say we stole it together…? Whatever, have some more wine, you tomboy. It’s your time to shine, finally!”

Filling up every cup, Castile plops right next to Kaskin. Falke’s defender eyes him in disbelief, before sighing and joining him in a toast. Even the man’s extravagant feathers seem muted with the lethargy and depression clinging to him.

“Hey, Swordbird, feel better!” Kol slaps his shoulder, bringing a wince from the delicate fop. “Kol, beat up, damn wolf that made our fight look bad! Now, Swordbird can fight Kol again, and reclaim glory!”

“… How fortunate for me, to be given such… mercy.”

“Kakaka! Yes, Kol, very merciful! Feel free to love her!”

More melancholy than before, Kaskin nods his head stiffly at Kol, and then lightly to greet Adris.

A look shared between the boy and the aggressive peacockatrice speaks more than words ever could.

(“Make her leave me alone, I want to die”? No. Just die.)

Whatever suffering Kaskin is enduring is far less than he deserves for his attempted transgressions against Still.

“Oh, too bad there’s one empty seat…” Castile sounds unjolly as he kicks the empty curule, before lifting a spare cup toward Adris. The boy only shakes his head plainly, earning a shrug from this unknown Castile as a peace offering goes to waste.

“Listen, Boss! ‘Pride and good faith’, Moon says that battles should be… um, honorable!” Halfway to being drunk, Kol turns and stamps over to wave. “That’s why… bad people who make fun of Kol’s efforts and honor will be punished for not having any.”

“… And you’re fine with this cruel display? Wasting our time doing this, instead of finishing with our quest for Ave’s sake?”

Guiding Kol’s attention to the execution stage, both watch as the slate board a servant is holding at the ready shifts number from “six” to “seven”.

“… he—

heeelp…”

Ylva the attempted conqueror, a beastly type who spared only venom and disdain for her opponents, is being filled like a puffer fish again by the gunk that fake servants leave within both front and back holes.

Hair that was once braided is loose and sticking to her face. Unknown hours of suffering have left her with bags under her sad eyes.

“Kakaka! ‘Fine’!? Boss, talks like Kol didn’t invent this punishment!”

With that bragging, Kol turns up her chin while rubbing it.

(As with Echo and Lycia, you are sadistic to the “loser” for sheer enjoyment.)

Another bad point of Kol… which is also a good one, rears up at the worst time. It’s prideful and boasting, just like the girl who tuts at him with her furry finger.

“Big Bird and Moon helped Kol to figure out the best way, but Kol thought up ‘why’…”

Kol smiles cruelly while reaching out, desperately trying to rub Adris’ face.

“Losers who ruin mating and steal strength, not being strong herself, deserve nobody’s seed! So, Kol decided, ‘give her as much of nobody’s seed as she can cram inside’!”

“I see the irony of the scene. How strange, I wasn’t aware you—”

“Hmm? ‘Irony’? Interesting word, Boss! Hey, hey…”

Kol’s breath is sweet as she whispers, her scaled neck visible as a tunic is dragged by the rail.

“Elf’s thing in tree, can’t it wait? Even if Rooster, still a big annoyance, Kol likes Big Bird’s fun home!” Words Adris never thought he’d hear are coming out with enthusiasm Kol only gets when offered the chance to smash someone. “Here, food tastes good! Never ends! All day long, Kol and Swordbird can train! Like today, he showed how, maybe, to get stronger!”

(Who would succumb to opportunities to be taken advantage of!?)

“Maybe even Big Bird can help against Castillo, like Moon said!? Lots of punishments of evil wolf now Kol planned, all with Big Bird’s ‘ok’. Some already done, but others… maybe, Boss wants to watch them with Kol?”

This wretchedly feminine kobold is, with her hand running down her vest to her thigh…

(Stop enticing me! Stop!)

Like a king and queen ordering a man’s doom for the ultimate narcotic high, Adris is invited to a private balcony so that they can tend to each other’s glowing enjoyment of their unsurpassed power! Perhaps even while Castile and Kaskin linger nearby, watching them descend into depravity!

“Kol feels like… the bragging wolf, getting a lot of fun things happening to her? Kol has a lot of stress, so, like Boss said to ‘deal’ with stress… If Kol can find a male, too~…?”

“… I’ll return soon, Kol.”

“NAH!?”

Without so much as an answer given, Adris starts up the steps to the next tier.

Behind, an angry girl starts slamming a rail with metal-crunching fists.

“STUPID BOSS!? KOL, BEING, how Moon say, SUBTLE FOR ONE TIME!?

Maybe too much, Boss not understand—!?”

As if she could hide what she was thinking while reeking of sex and capricious submission, Kol curses briefly before throwing herself back at the execution.

(I don’t have time to be distracted. I have to do what none of you will! Why are you talking about staying in this wretched mansion!?)

Both Kol and Ave cannot be counted on to escape with. They’ve found too much interesting to see reason.

Reason demands that they take flight far away from this Falke and his servants.

(No, something else…)

Adris clutches his chest, moving his hand down to follow the burning sensation within.

The circulation of aura has finally chosen a sole path.

With its calming, Adris can feel a poking on his consciousness.

Watching servants chatter, whisper, and hide their obscene thoughts by covering their mouths with gloved hands.

These evil spirits lay out all of his failures and lost opportunities, laughing at him as he passes by…!

Following him with heads which swivel without impediment, watching every step he takes…

These servants avert their gazes when he whips to stare.

They pay no mind to his emotions, only waiting at the ready for anyone’s call with blank smiles.

(What is… going on…?)

Now that he’s paying attention, Adris realizes that the servants have no cause nor individuality to denigrate him with whispers to each other.

(I’m… hallucinating again?)

Adris has to escape.

Away from the carnal temptations that are always within reach…

(I need Still… and Neesiette. There’s no opportunities to gather everyone, only suffer from ignorance.)

One of those girls is within easy reach.

Adris need only pass by the corpse to his right, lingering next to a pillory.

His steps are unhalted as he seeks only…

(…

… Wait, corpse?)

… were, unhalted, as he turns with eyes wide to take in the victim.

Unable to be seen well from below, this lifeless woman with cream colored fur along parts of her body is slumped uncomfortably against a stained-oak pillory.

Open eyes stare at nothing, with the only sign of life being residual drool that runs down the side of her chin from a mouth hanging open.

Weird silken hose wraps around her long bunny ears which droop down. It seems like it’s designed to appeal to men, for the delicate, revealing lingerie she’s wrapped up with is of the same pinkish color.

Fat breasts are supported by a bustier underneath, leaving her pink teats exposed by it. The lingerie slides along her thick belly, containing the slightly overweight woman in comforting material. Only thigh-high boots substantially cover anything.

Adris’ eager eyes burn toward the crevice of her legs, but stop as he blinks, returning to her face as his teeth grind.

(… Pert nose? Incisors? And chubby cheeks!?)

“You…” A low voice of recognition slips from Adris.

The woman’s nose twitches as she sniffs.

Slowly at first, then faster.

A spasm starts through her body, as blank eyes focus and roll around looking for something. Being stared at by her while she’s regaining consciousness, Adris is absolutely sure of who this bitch is now.

(ANNOYING, FUCKING RABBIT WOMAN! IT WAS YOU THE WHOLE TIME!?)

“You’re that fat…!”

“… huh…?”

Finally, she notices Adris while kicking her legs to push herself up the pillory.

“… Fucking—!

“… Hi…!?

… HIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII!”

Drowning the music completely, the unending screaming of this woman sends Adris stepping back. As though her Inner Expanse is being shredded by a foreign force, pain is all that shines in her eyes.

Her arms flail about as she falls over, rolling on the ground until she is staring up at into Adris’ face while still screaming.

She shows her belly, but can’t stop harming Adris’ ears!

“SHUT UP!”

“IIIIIIIIIIIIIII—!

… YES? YES!? YES!”

Flipping up, she prostrates herself before the boy, planting her forehead to the ground as she repeatedly…

“I’M SORRY, I’M SORRY,

I’M SORRY, I’M SORRY,

I’M SORRY, I’M SORRY,

I’M SORRY, I’M SORRY…!”

Though ready to collapse her face out of rage, this complete turn around promotes a different reaction from Adris. It’s something he’s rarely felt, empathy only spared for those who had lost everything and perhaps could be forgiven to try again…

(What did Falke do to you?)

The ground is stained with a small puddle of her tears by the time Adris has had enough.

“Stop apologizing!”

“… SOR—!

Huh!? OH!? OKAY!”

Lifting her head back up, this bunny woman immediately…

(The fuck!?)

She rotates around on all fours, planting her face into the ground again while lifting her fat rump. A cream-colored tail lifts to display her butt completely.

A sodden pussy is already flush, leaving nothing to chance or mystery as the woman spreads her lips with a hand between her thighs.

“PLEASE USE THIS WORTHLESS CUNT!”

“What—?”

Unable to stop shaking the woman’s breathing is as rapid as a dog’s in heat.

As moments pass without Adris acting, she starts to cry even harder.

“Uuuuhhh… please use meeee…

Please…!?”

Finally, her voice cracks into a pitiful squeal as her true hopes vomit forth.

“Please forgive me-eeeeeeee!?!?!”

(… What… what is going on?)

Any empathy for her burns away like dry grass in a wildefire, replaced solely by disgust.

More than just the shock, more than just the depths of her suffering…

Adris feels a need to truly show her what the next level of punishment can be.

With silent servants overlooking, he places a hand upon her squishy bottom, producing a shiver.

A horrible need to unleash himself has finally found a proper setting and subject.

(… This… this is not…)

A hand reaching down to his crotch, aiming for the spot that will open the flap and allow his straining cock to be freed…!

“Show some dignity!”

“NYAAHHH!?”

The resounding slap against her right butt cheek sends the woman shaking.

It produces the wrong sort of obedience when her thighs rub together, leaving her whimpering and straining her back.

“EHH!? Aaah, that… what…!? Eh!?”

Her moment of destructive pleasure passes quickly, before she realizes that Adris isn’t claiming her.

“…

D-D-Dignity…?”

“Yes, dignity! Find some, for you are quivering before your enemy…”

(It does no good for me to punish you if you’re not acting like a bitch needing to have her face kicked in!)

“What?” Adris’ demand produces only confusion and dread, for the woman starts to whine with an annoying sincerity. “What dignity!? This!? I’m… I’m a worthless cunt…! Just like… you said!?”

(“I said”!? When!?)

Unwilling to face Adris, the woman babbles and belittles herself. As if he’s only testing her, tempting her to resist so that he can bring more justified harm, she commits fully to becoming…

“Only furniture…

Only furniture…

Only furniture…

… pleeeeease use… your furniture…”

The boisterous mystic that wanted to ruin Adris is no more.

A woman who, at the top of the Castillo, had claimed second dibs on his cock is reduced to a simple tool to sharpen it with.

Even her ears drag the ground as she lingers in this perpetual hell of a crushed psyche.

(Disgusting! Go away!?)

“Just… go wait by the pillory!”

“… furni—

YES!? Of course, obey, obey…!”

Like a whipped dog, the woman scurries on all fours to wrap around the pillory.

She clings to herself while shivering, whispering so lowly that not even Adris can tell what she’s saying.

(What… did I do?)

Hand to his mask, Adris cradles his head as he marches up the steps toward the girl he’d set out to rescue. Like some peasant tale gone wrong, instead of Adris being the handsome courtier who creeps up the Emperor’s Steps to rescue an imprisoned princess…

“The Mistress will be with you shortly, honored guest.”

A grinning…

(Sneering?)

… servant standing ready at the top greets him with a bow, before suggesting with a hand where he should patiently wait. Rows of them linger at either set of stairs, forming a human barrier which prevents approach to the silver throne at the edge of the platform that looks down on all that transpires.

(Fuck your waiting.)

Adris pushes through the cordon of fake people easily, finding this whole exercise now more resembles an evil, greedy regent who descends upon the Imperial Court. Ready to deliver his wrath if necessary, an army of Xin’Reh at his beck-and-call to assert ownership of what belongs to him..!

“Neesiette.”

One word is all Adris needs.

Even if his head is splitting and his loins are aching, he will never forget that name.

It belongs to a girl seated on a throne, intently staring at a wide table full of various dishes.

Smoked and cut pork, steamed vegetables with vibrant colors intact, yogurts that keep their shape and are crisp with a chill…

Dishes richer than any Adris has ever eaten lay artistically before her, delivered by servants with gray platters who stand to her side, and shaped by unknown cooks into overly complicated expressions of culinary excellence.

Each one earns a stare of her violet truth-finders.

Nothing is hidden as Neesiette inspects it.

“Presentation: excellent, no fault.

Placement: geometrically comforting, expressiveness delivered intact, yet still without definable impact.

Ratio of parts: pooling of juices not exceeding presentation purposes, desired tenderness versus over softening of composite achieved, though meat still appears dry and be lacking in flair.

Colorization and variety: palette, lacking proper utilization of soft colors…”

Methodically inspecting each part of the overall banquet, Neesiette takes her time grading before…

“Overall Score: Ninety-Four out of One-Hundred-And-Twenty.

Compliments: deserving, reserved, ‘looking forward to the next attempt’.

… [Next].”

Brushing away amber hair that has escaped her horned circlet, Neesiette closes her eyes while the servants dutifully and mechanically replace the set of dishes with another set rolled in.

In only a minute, an entirely new banquet stands ready for her.

(You’re inspecting food, while we’re in danger?)

Adris isn’t sure that there could be danger, now.

Even though his stomach is burning, Neesiette has never been one to permit harm to come to those who trust her.

Rather than begin her next grading session, she waves her hand in Adris’ direction.

“Presenting, the honored Guest, Adris fehl Dain, ‘False God of Petripolis’.”

Without much fanfare, the cultivated and gentlemanly, yet reserved, voice of Falke Kestner announces Adris’ arrival.

The finely shaped, reflective throne turns on its base as a moon child swings to face him.

Too small for this glorious seat of power, Neesiette nonetheless owns it as she sits legs crossed in a ladylike mimicry of a high-born woman.

Hands tap against each other as she folds arms in.

Even her fixed facial features are suitably imperious, with soft skin but hard eyes.

Legions of servants stand at the ready to answer any of her wishes, while the one who orchestrates their puppetry shifts to silently stand behind her throne from this new angle.

All of this screams of her belonging, of a renaissance of power over Petripolis itself if she desired it!

“You have the true honor of a meeting with the Emissary of Traveler…”

Falke’s hand goes over his heart, his head bowing along with all of the other servants’.

“Neesiette vera Luna, Mistress of the Unnatural Protean Manse.”

The mistress of this “protean manse”, as Falke calls it, seemingly glows.

(No, she is glowing.)

Light from above, strategically placed by the ever-shifting nature of this building, lets the light of day reflect off of her steel-blue dress with its double half moons.

(It’s… impressive, I admit.)

Yet?

As Neesiette remains nonacting, her eyes are bright and searching.

Looking to Adris for recognition of…

“Neesiette, why are you playing childrens’ games?”

“That…!? Such a…?”

A single line crashes through her pomp like a mad bull, plopping her hands to her lap as all of her presentiment ends.

“That, Adris, could it not be said, that… this tool…?”

Not even complete sentences can be delivered now, leaving the would-be empress’ face reverting to her normal passivity.

The bowing servants start to stare at Adris without emotion on their faces, but certainly with hatred in their artificial hearts.

He who operates them lifts his head, to gaze at Adris with eyes full of consternation.

“Hah…”

This single sigh, perfectly replicated, lets out Neesiette’s own frustration.

“Suitable appreciation for standard decorum, as always one lacks this trait, Adris.”

(I don’t give a shit about his decorum.

Oh—!?)

“Gih!?”

“Adris?”

Again, his stomach splits open and boils.

The stuff of mystery circulating through the area is slipping up past his mental defenses.

The longer he desires, the more will rush through.

“… Leering at this tool with such unknown intent, explain such an action, Adris?”

Though her words are offended, Neesiette looks only appetizingly sincere with her unspoken concern.

(Even right now, I can’t stop… wanting…!)

Adris is only feet from leaping at the absolute prize of Xin and Zennia.

Even if she has no outward smell, this fine-necked little girl is overflowing with unnatural prowess of the spirit.

She tastes like soul given form.

Even the “aura” cutting through him agrees.

Nothing is more desirable than a girl as richly clothed as this one, who has so much to tear off to get to her…!

“Honored guest, forgive this intrusion.”

Before a boy gripping a cross tightly now stands a tall gentleman with an immaculately groomed beard and mustache.

“Falke!? Direct interference, be this not in violation of terms!?”

Moving with such swiftness that Adris couldn’t respond, sharp blue eyes bear down and crush Adris’ thoughts!

(I just can’t tell how strong this bastard is!?)

This man adjusts his fine mantle, stepping down to one knee as he leans in to be heard by only Adris. He drops the persona of a menial, instead lambasting Adris with a self-important tone.

“What have you done? This curse you’ve carelessly leveled, brought to this holy place without notice to set loose?”

“What have I done!? What have you done!? You’re the one subjecting everyone here to the Castillo’s curse at a mind-breaking level!”

The calm puppeteer breaks face, smiling jovially as he touches his free hand to the fluid gauntlet on the other.

“Of that, there can be no subterfuge. Consider it a fine way of discovering who and what all of the guests of this place truly are?”

(A fine and stupid way of unleashing Kol’s destruction, you mean!)

This annoying old man makes it impossible to speak to Neesiette!

All Adris wants is this, and yet at the last moment, even while Adris is resisting this overwhelming desire to inflict carnality on her, Falke dares to make it worse.

“I didn’t even drink more of your hidden traps, but you have some poison more you’ve slipped me!?” Adris grabs onto his mantle, pulling the eccentric man closer. “What do you intend to do when you cause me to unleash something even worse than what was behind that door on you!?”

(Don’t threaten me, you bastard! I have powerful “friends”…)

At this threat that should either escalate or deescalate, Falke’s response is…

“Oh… Well, honored guest, then should it be…

Nuh…!”

A cracking sound and flying crystal send bits of gray sludge spraying on the floor.

Falke’s mighty gauntlet arcs with orange lightning, sizzling Adris’ hairs as his cross instinctively comes in to defend.

(What the fuck!?)

In the presence of the ringing cross, the breaking gauntlet’s wildness abates as the lightning dies!

But the horror of being trampled inside only increases for Adris!

“Falke? Filling outside hallways, detecting a large expenditure of pseudo-Art this tool does. Nature of this expenditure, against what threat might an esteemed maker be defending from?”

Neesiette’s question cuts into their private struggle, bringing a shocking turn of events to Adris’ mind.

(There’s something assaulting us at the same time that my insides are unraveling!? It can’t be…?)

Adris’ hand grows paler. Falke’s eyes widen while watching, a grimace coming to him as he, too, realizes something essential.

“Absurd in all ways, isn’t it honored guest? How could a servant prepared solely to impress you prove to be such a cataclysmic danger for all?”

With sweat falling down his cheeks, this lying fox of a mansion owner asks a question that confirms the worst possible outcome.

“Potentially including yourself as a victim?”

That question sends Adris scrambling away from Neesiette.

Servants also go wild, as they respond to the room shaking.

“Adris, be what, this danger oncoming!? One must recognize—!?”

“No, no, no, no, no…”

A wildling boy keeps repeating the same chant in the air, leaping down from the upper stage like a monkey to land next to a screaming bunny woman.

“HIIIII! IT’S HER! REMEMBER, I CAN’T NOT REMEMBER!?

REMEMBERING THIS FEEEEEELING, YOU DO, TOO, DON’T YOU!?”

Paradoxically, this mind-broken bunny woman chooses to cower behind Adris. They watch the gray wall encased with crystals on the side of where Adris entered start to buckle.

Drops hit the ground as the deforming side glows bright red, sending the army of servants along the walls for long polearms which launch up from the floor.

(They won’t help you.)

Cries of elf and kobold join with a moon doll’s from above, all sounding like they include Adris’ name somewhere in the words.

(I don’t know any of you. I can’t know any of you. If I do for even a moment, she will know that I do, and then…)

Screeching destruction enters the room as a rampaging scarlet dragon.

The beast’s mouth grinds on the opposite wall as it flails about, sending up spectral blazes of disintegration as whatever it touches ceases to be.

An ill-understood territory of protection knocks the serpentine doom’s immense body away from Adris each time it strikes the black cross.

Finally, mercifully, the energies of this emission die off to be absorbed by the vibrating air. Every tier of this decadent hallway of debauchery is carved through and scorched.

(It can’t be. It won’t be. It mustn’t be.)

Through the smoldering, red hot hole of liquid gray steps into view a warrior holding a curved sword.

Whipping black hair that shines like a dark night sky eventually settles behind her back.

Trained eyes pick out targets with passive interest, before they grow wide and emotional.

“…

… Adris…”

A single word reveals everything to the boy.

All intent and needs and wants and…

And…!

“HIIIII!”

The devastated mystic screams while scratching at the floor, fleeing to who know’s where while Adris is left to face a relic of the past who slowly sets down twenty feet in front of him.

Time slows as they take each other in.

A sword held firmly, ready to cut down whatever is before her, hesitates as it lowers.

Leaving her head to tilt cutely, confusion registering in fine features despite the simplicity of their encounter.

While this swordmaiden seems hesitant, unable to ask a question or even speak as her mouth opens and then closes, her opponent is anything but.

(Two steps to be in range.

Every angle of attack: mediocre.)

Adris flips his cross into the grip a tonfa would use.

An absolutely incapable weapon in direct combat, his screaming body claims it’s “sufficient” for the attempt.

Breathing stops as he accepts the end.

(One strike at the face with a sacrificial arm. Follow up with a knee to pin her free hand. Then…)

He leans forward, ready to kick off as unnatural strength surges through his body.

His feet are ready, even if his mind isn’t.

Angry boots with white fur and flaming red ruby eyes latch onto the anger that melts his reason. Like fatty oil thrown into a campfire it sets an inferno going.

They scream to “assert himself”, to win, to conquer.

His hands rip off her blue caftan instead of…

They grip the side of her head and force her to accept his tongue.

She returns his fire with her own, lifting her legs wide so that he can be one with her again…!

A daydream of lunatic ambitions blinds him, leaves him unsteady just as he planned to end his nightmares forever.

(AHHH!? SHIT!?)

All he can see and smell is Serras as she quietly approaches.

Music from earlier is as wild in his mind as his beating heart!

She’s so terribly open, but so little of her delicious tanned skin has been revealed yet.

The way she dances across the false stone tells him that he doesn’t even have to speak.

That as long as he forgives her and her delicate, yet mighty, self, he never has to suffer this lust again…

(NO! THIS MONSTER KILLED ME! SHE… SHE BETRAYED…!)

“But plenty of more terrible women have had Adris’ body”, his libido plainly states.

To feel these needs, to be actively destroyed by them as the perfect outlet…

A soul mate who reaches out her hand…!

(… That… I am…?)

Hands that near one another, one a boy’s while the other’s is a woman who can overlook the difference,

Who would’ve never cared in the first place since he had always been short in their youth…

Their skin starts to turn a milky black, with stars gathering at the tips of fingers as they close, leaving more flesh turning to night sky…

“SHITTY ‘BLACKIE’!? GET HANDS OFF KOL’S BOSS AND FIGHT KOL!

BOSS, BELONGS TO KOL!”

Green-eyed jealousy, like that spoken of by village elders to warn men of their fates for straying, seemingly twinkles behind black irises.

Anger uncharacteristic to her grows without end as veins pop up on her forehead. Her teeth grind as she reveals pearly whites.

The hand that she offered pulls back. In place of an invitation, her body twists like a serpent to take up the form necessary for Acuity of Mind to manifest a true dragon.

Evil-hearted malice becomes her whole obsession as she grips both hands on her sword and milky scarlet aura starts to gather along her delicious body.

(… She’s going to butcher Kol.)

The worst outcome is the one Adris knew would befall him, anyway.

Even if he could forgive her.

Even if she could forgive him.

Serras will — never forgive this.

(She’s going to kill… the girl… I…)

Glass shatters.

Great bells ring.

A kindred warrior that gave her back to something so secure to her shudders, as a chunk of obsidian drills through hair so soft that a man used to sleep with it wrapped up in his arms.

Staggered by the darkness wrapping around her head, the collected scarlet power evaporates uselessly.

But, she doesn’t crumble as he’d hoped.

Whispers of awe-struck, unseen observers call for an entire nation to witness what will transpire now.

But, the boy they gather to watch is already tearing away from the battle he started.

He has absolutely zero hope of victory or any intentions to engage in a duel, muting the cross that shimmers with unreleased black energies.

Summoning forth every last drop of energy he has, he hops from the second tier to the floor and weaves through battle-ready figures to exit through grand double doors.

(That’s… that’s what it feels like, Serras!)

As impotent as the strike turned out to be, he finally replicated every last feeling from that fateful day.

Let it go with his muscles putting their all into his proof of surviving her.

No longer is Adris the one who uselessly died to Serras. Instead, he’s the one who lived… and…!

Instead, the halls of an enemy’s mansion become a labyrinth he willingly loses himself in, as he feels an overwhelming storm of “aura” chase him deep within.

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Chapter 106         Table of Contents          Chapter 108