Fleshcrafting Technomancer 46 The Dream R-18

In a locked, arenlike platform, with no form of magic powering them, the two hacked their ordinary-looking steel blades at power armors, slicing all their foes with surgical precision.

One, a herculean youth around 18 with blond dreadlocks and callous blue eyes. More than two meters tall, he dwarfed all his foes with that mixture of culturist musculature and his imposing height.
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The other, a pert young woman with long black hair and a pair of enchanting hazel eyes that bore undeniable similarities to Kilian's. Though, just like her partner, stripped of their past l.u.s.ter, those eyes only showcased the brutality of a cold, killing machine. In a flash, the two, Bjorn and Tamara, rived the 48 Core Templars opposing them, and turned to face one another.

More than 2,700 dra, the mid-level High Emissary's standard, burst from Tamara's form, challenging the pressure of Bjorn's presence. In response, 3,600 dra surged from Bjorn's form, pus.h.i.+ng back at Tamara's display with complete a.s.surance. The collision of their wild, unrefined dra sent dozens of cracks throughout the ground, and alongside the corpses of their victims, painted the picture of long-standing adversaries deciding life and death in a final clash.

*Clap* *Clap* *Clap*

Clapping sounds interrupted the ongoing clash, Bjorn and Tamara relaxed and turned to face the source. A bald old man dressed in a silver arcanist robe walked in, sweeping the scene with a smile of contentment.

"Well done. Across those five months, the two of you have made tremendous progress, and at full strength, are more than a match for low-level High Emissaries. You truly haven't let down the t.i.tle of Mahana," the bald technocrat began, without a hint of sympathy for the 48 fallen.

Indeed, in the Technocracy's eyes, beneath the High Emissary level, all were expendable. In fact, even High Emissaries were starting to lose value.

Faced with the technocrat's praise, Bjorn and Tamara merely bowed in greetings, not speaking unnecessary words.

"As future senators of the Mahana Division, though your status gives you many privileges, there are duties you ought to shoulder, and things you must prove. Half an hour ago, we received news of an Archon's loss. Even for us, this is no negligible matter.

That Kilian zu Verden is clearly a much more troublesome opponent than we antic.i.p.ated. With all your modifications and upgrades, you are still far from his match," The technocrat pursued. Though in his eyes Kilian was no significant threat, he served as perfect fuel to sharpen his two disciples.

And indeed, the words brought immediate changes to Bjorn and Tamara's faces. First, their eyebrows arched up and their lips parted in silent surprise. No need to mention the rest of the team. The ability to slay an archon proved that between Kilian's strength and theirs, a world of difference still stood.

Surprise made way for hatred, but while Bjorn's face merely twisted into a frown, Tamara's entire body shook in boiling wrath. Thanks to the technocracy's brainwas.h.i.+ng, Kilian was to her what Klaus was to him—the one to whom she owed all her grief.

The technocrats firmly believed that no better drive than purposeful hatred, and no sharper blade than a riven heart existed. The empire engraved that bitter lesson in the past Technocracy's survivors—the current Arch Senators.

Striding across the corpses, the bald technocrat, Arch Senator Burkhart von Skoll, better known as Niklas' uncle, and second highest-ranking elder of the imperial family, scrutinized his disciple's reactions through his amber eyes.

Satisfied, he clasped their shoulders, and in his touch, gave them the missing warmth of a doting parent.

"I understand. To feel the crus.h.i.+ng weight of the enemy's might, the pressure leaving the day of your vengeance in a cloud of uncertainty, undoubtedly sickens the stomach. Engrave the sensation in three places, your mind, your heart, your guts, and let it unleash your full potential.

The day of their reckoning nears, and you shall play a critical role in the fulfillment of our dream, in the salvation of this suffering world," Burkhart whispered in the two's ears, but while they both seemed to drink the words, an imperceptible glint flashed in Bjorn's blue eyes.

Retracting his hands, Burkhart turned to face Bjorn, and summoned a dark-blue cube which he pressed into his hands.

"Bjorn, for you are destined to take my place as Arch Senator of the Mahana Division and de facto leader of the Technocracy, it behooves you to complete this grand task.

Alongside Tamara, you will infiltrate the Imperial Academy, and covetly place the cube in their Main Dra Reactor. We have prepared suitable ident.i.ties for you, and will directly teleport you into your new roles. Our agents within the academy stand ready to support you.

But remember, though Kilian will be present, corrupting the Main Reactor is the priority. Unless a flawless opportunity presents itself, do not engage him," Burkhart stressed the final words, reminding the two that failure was no option.

"Arch Senator, have no fear. We will handle this with discretion," Bjorn replied with a polite bow. Though only five months had pa.s.sed, Bjorn no longer had any of the vibrant rashness of the past. And with an intellect now far surpa.s.sing that of the average man, how else could it be?

Thus, using one of the Technocracy's teleportation circles, Bjorn and Tamara departed for the Imperial Academy.

…

Meanwhile, within their cabin, Kilian, Jezebel, and Lena challenged the thick walls with their throaty moans as they indulged in a mindblowing threesome, and weeded out all pent up stress.

Naked on a King-size bed, the ladies grinded themselves on either side of Kilian's erect shaft, making it swell with mating needs, and stain them with dripping prec.u.m. But while Lena rubbed her soaked c.u.n.t up and down Kilian's shaft, Jezebel trapped it between her a.s.s cheeks, yet still matched Lena's grinding pace.

With flaming-red faces, trickling love juices, and no care for all those that might hear their prowesses, they brought the moaning Kilian closer to the edge. His pulsating c.o.c.k tensed, announcing its release. Sensing it, the ladies picked up the pace, stroking Kilian's meat-rod faster in-between b.u.t.t cheeks and c.u.n.t.

"Oooh…" a low grown escaped Kilian's lips, and he spurted his juice on them both. The largest part splashed Jezebel's perky b.u.t.t while the remains ran down Lena's thigh. Panting with aching needs, the two kissed either side of Kilian's lips and rolled beside him.

Jezebel lay above, head resting on a pillow, while Lena stood below, and both cast sly glances at Kilian. Understanding the ploy, he rolled above them two with his c.o.c.k facing Lena's luscious lips, and his tongue at the entrance of Jezebel's nether-fold. l.u.s.t and debauchery's scents pervaded the air as the three entangling bodies brought their play to the next level.

Spreading her lips apart, Lena took Kilian's c.o.c.k into her mouth, bobbing on the head while he kissed Jezebel's l.a.b.i.a, and flicked his tongue across her c.l.i.t. The slurping sounds of Lena gulping Kilian's c.o.c.k soon echoed alongside Jezebel's throaty moans.

Ever the artist, Kilian lashed his tongue in his daemoness' c.u.n.t, striking all the sweet spots he'd discovered along the months, while Lena learned all those that made his c.o.c.k tremble in bliss.

Coiling her tongue around Kilian's shaft, and holding on his hips, Lena sucked him faster down her throat, eager to drain all his s.p.u.n.k in one go. Spurred on, Kilian stroked Jezebel's favorite spot, tonguing the o.r.g.a.s.m out of her fehl lips.

"Oh yes...just like that...yess...ohhh...ohhh...oohhh!" The fehl's pleasure cries grew more frantic, and clutching Kilian's hair, she threw her head back—quivering in a toe-curling o.r.g.a.s.m.

At the same time, Lena finally took Kilian's entire length down her throat and kept his pulsing rod trapped right there. Unable to resist her walls, Kilian spurted another thick load of corrupted s.p.u.n.k down Lena's throat.

For a second, the three just lay there, raggedly breathing in one another's embrace. Then, as if possessed by the G.o.ddess of Nymphomania, Jezebel and Lena bent on all four, luring Kilian's c.o.c.k with their inviting c.u.n.ts.

Who could resist such invitations?

...

At first, Tristan wished to pay Kilian a visit, but never did he expect that as he neared the doorstep, primal groans and flesh-on-flesh sounds would welcome him.

Flush with shame Tristan turned heels and never returned.

Not that he could. Across the four hours long trip, not one second went by without the three mating. Only when the announcement of their impending arrival echoed, did the trio's rut come to an end.

A shower, some tidying, and as if nothing occurred, they stepped out of their cabin to leave the s.h.i.+p.

And as dawn's trembling eyelids opened to reveal the light of day, the sight of a ma.s.sive island about 128,000 acres wide welcomed the trio.

On that island, Arcadia's number one arcane inst.i.tution stood, stretching across 30,000 acres of land, with its tallest tower piercing the rising dawn. A kaleidoscopic festival of magical light brightened the island, illuminating its magnificent edifices in sharp contrast with the darkness hiding therein.

The Imperial Academy finally appeared. And though the goals remained unchanged, the actors no longer were the same.

But as he peered into the island, wild tremors overtook Kilian's body. He teetered, and to the ladies' fright, collapsed on the ground. The Eye of Fehl opened with the dark-grey hue of Revelation, and while Kilian's hazel eyes shut close, his mind left for new sceneries.

In that new land, an alternate version of Arcadia, dark-green and magenta clouds competed for dominion over the sky. The fabrics of reality crackled, opening the long-closed doors to foreign planes. Dreams and nightmares leaped from men's minds to walk the earth and force the entire globe into the thrall of phantasms.