Fleshcrafting Technomancer

Following the summon that brought her to Kilian's side, Jezebel was intrigued. For her preeminent mother to contract a mortal was uncanny enough. But to make her only daughter a part of the bargain? That simply was unprecedented. Although human concepts of love and hatred didn't have the same meaning in the hedonism-driven fehl society, the daemons still sheltered their own.

For a fehl to offer close kin to an inferior existence was a thought most couldn't even muster. Yet, her mother did. That move alone showed how much value she put on this human boy's life. And as she stared at his face, Jezebel wondered why.

Physical attractiveness had no effect on fehls. All were born with either riveting beauty or a grotesque appeal, able to daze and enrapture all lesser races regardless of their beauty standards. In the eyes of fehls, all appeal lay in character. Since Kilian appeared in Ostria, cloaked by an invisibility spell, Jezebel had been observing him. From how he rose from the altar, to how he dealt with Oskar, she didn't miss one bit.

Having toured many worlds, Earth included, she found the sarcasm in the "do not go gentle into that good night" quite entertaining. There was a uniqueness in the way Kilian portrayed himself, a silent madness and cynicism—something Jezebel found puzzling and delightful at the same time.

With every step, with every glance, he seemed to mock the world.

Though nothing more than a youth on fehl standards, across her two centuries of life, Jezebel had seen her fair share of individuals. Yet, Kilian gripped her curiosity, and the more she looked at his sleeping face, the less she wished to s.h.i.+ft her gaze.

Meanwhile, Kilian's eyes opened, awakening to the sight of a slender young woman around the age of 18 that shamelessly straddling him. No, it wasn't a woman; it was art. Kilian always believed that true art was merely something that compelled a stare of complete abandon—provoking adoration.

As she straddled him, with her ink-like, loose braids hanging on his chest -- as her snow-white skin s.h.i.+mmered in the darkness of the night and her almond-shaped, amethyst eyes nailed him, Kilian firmly believed that the most perfect representation of artistic splendor laid before him. The artist in him wished to reach for a brush and capture this beauty in an immortal painting. But clear-headedness triumphed, and instead he merely met her gaze.

For an instant, their eyes interlocked. Though black in hue, Jezebel's braids stood out with a l.u.s.ter that perfectly matched that of her skin. In figure, in nose, eyebrows, lips, and eyes, she met and transcended all standards of human beauty. But beyond, her entire form breathed an enthralling scent able to force even seasoned war veterans on their knees.

If not for the mental changes wrought by three hours of slow burning at a wooden stake - with their current proximity and the short burgundy dress that left

Jezebel enjoyed his calm, men that crumbled too quickly were of no appeal. She enjoyed the process of breaking the lofty, of making the self-imbued grovel and forsake dignity for the right to choke in her hands. Yet, Kilian didn't seem self-imbued. Even as he lay between her thighs, the Great Wall of China seemed to stand between them. His eyes told her that in this life or in another, she could never overpower him.

The thought made her pulse quicken, and she lowered her face toward Kilian's, approaching her inviting red lips toward his.

But as their noses nearly brushed, Kilian spoke words Jezebel would never forget in her life.

"Can you crossdress? That, or disappear." The words stopped Jezebel in her tracks, and slammed by a wave of confusion, she blinked in disbelief. Did her ears betray her? A man just asked her to crossdress or disappear? Did that boy swing the opposite way?!

But as if reading her thoughts, Kilian pursued.

"Little jezebel, your beauty is like a Damocles' sword. I bring you along with me, and I have to deal with all the h.o.r.n.y b.a.s.t.a.r.ds from Ireland to Cathay. That's just not tolerable, so do me a favor and, in public, either crossdress or vanish," Kilian explained with such a straightforward tone that Jezebel couldn't help but find the words reasonable.

Then she registered how he called her, and her eyes narrowed. "How do you know my name? Did mother tell you?" Jezebel couldn't help but ask, and now it was Kilian's turn to see his eyes narrow.

"Jezebel is your name?"

"Yep."

"Really?"

"Why would I deceive you?"
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"Whoever said fehls' brains work in reverse deserves a medal. What grievances does your mother have against you?" Kilian seriously asked. Who in their right mind would call their daughter Jezebel? Only fehls could come up with such a name. Maybe the next fehl woman he met would be named Delilah!

Though familiar with the name's modern implications on Earth, Jezebel didn't see anything wrong with it. She was indeed impudent, shameless, and unrestrained. What was wrong with that? That Kilian truly was one h.e.l.l of an odd fellow.

But as Jezebel's thoughts drifted, Kilian took the reins, grabbed her shoulders, and s.h.i.+fted their positions. Now Jezebel lay with her back against the bed and Kilian on top of her. The red sigil on his chest glittered, his loins stirred, and underneath his pants, his c.o.c.k hardened, bulging against Jezebel's spread legs. Feeling the familiar magical forces stirring within Kilian, she curled her lips into a smile.

"Mother is truly fond of you, even going as far as to bestow you her mark. Did she mention all the boons that come with it?" Jezebel inquired. Although sadism was her primary source of fehl pleasure, and she'd yet to dabble in other fields, she'd seen all the daemons and males of various races begging her mother for that mark.

Besides its daemon storing abilities, Ashera's Mark could modify the nature of a man's rod, corrupting meat and seed to turn them into creatures of unspeakable s.e.xual prowesses. Initially, Ashera added the ability because her consorts could no longer satisfy her, thereby removing one source of pleasure from her ancient fehl life.

Between fehls, it simply was a matter of boundless delight. But if used on mortal women…well, let's just say that interesting results awaited. Now, Jezebel truly wished to see how Kilian would put that ability to use.

She needn't wait any longer.

Kilian's muscular chest dropped on her shapely b.r.e.a.s.t.s, pressing them as his face descended on hers, and his warm breath grazed her face.

"She didn't, but I can guess," Kilian replied while lifting Jezebel's left thigh with one hand, and pressing his crotch against hers. "Do you want to try it?" He leisurely asked, making Jezebel arch her eyebrows.

"You're quite a bit more brazen than I thought." Even as she spoke, Jezebel didn't avoid Kilian's lowering face. "Bashfulness never made an arousing man." Kilian countered while their noses brushed and rubbed against one another. His c.o.c.k throbbed on Jezebel's moistening crotch, screaming its desire to tear the pants and ravage her on the spot.

Both saw the glint of impudence in the other's gaze. Kilian enjoyed the sight, Jezebel even more so, and she pushed her lips toward his, biting his lower lip in an unexpected show of her feral nature. Biting back, Kilian pushed her head back against the bed, meeting her rising fervor with matching pa.s.sion.

"There is a price to pay for taking a fehl's first time," Jezebel warned as the two's lips split. "I know," Kilian replied, neither needed further words. Again, their lips met in a blazing embrace, Jezebel's hands moved toward Kilian's belt, and his grasped the straps of her dress, lowering them to expose those marvelous b.r.e.a.s.t.s that'd easily fit a D cup.