Chapter 16-4

  * * *

  After putting the boy to bed, slowly assimiting her instructions, and at the same time rexing the areas of the treated subtle body even more, letting her control deeper into his tender and young mind, she went to work. Surveying the vilge and the remnants of the battle. Gathering everything of value, including the famous “Poke-Poke-Stick” of a cutie Duz, for the mere loss of which she would have kissed Pann, and a bunch of humans and non-humans all along the length of Dantra would have dinged her as well. The mistress of the nest was not merely content, she was almost carried on the wings of happiness. There was no way out of her shameful captivity except by burning ashes, or by willingly allowing the scarlet leash to be thrown over her. Edward, as she gritted her teeth to admit, would have the strength for that; he was still older and more powerful. And she got out with a huge profit.

  The boy alone, a boy who could be called the second Apostate, even if he was a Shaman and not a Spatialist, was worth all the effort and danger. Let's add artifacts. Edward's favorite ritual kit. Duz's rapier. And the simple moral satisfaction of being able to poke the toe of a boot into the remains of all three of the dead. Well, and also to be a little afraid for her well-being, if she happened to make a mistake. The boy wasn't just a talent. He was a talent already cut, lovingly honed, and his transition into a master was a matter of resources and time only. Resources that a young man who came out of nowhere with an academically trained nguage, an incredible baggage of knowledge, and contracts tied to blood and spirit, the power of which Sylvia could not even imagine, did not have. But she had those resources, as well as experience in maneuvering through the filth of Dantmark's high society, and a desire to get a better foothold in that society. For example, at the expense of a handy master of shamanism, he has all the chances to become a pet magister with a huge retinue of powerful spirits and an obedient tongue.

  She didn't even think she was doing the boy a disservice. Dishonorable, perhaps, but certainly good for him. For he would simply ruin his talent if he were not killed by someone less grateful and noble than herself. Or be bewitched and chained by someone else who wouldn't be modest if she didn't take her chance. For a moment, it even seemed to her that the mysterious fugitive vilin half of the world was looking for now, on the elves' tip-off, was in front of her. As, and probably fortunately, the arm turned out to be false, and too many things did not coincide: not only schools of magic and the general impression, but also banal logic did not add up, did not merge into one river of scarlet drops. She could bathe her in the sunlight, but she could not imagine that this little boy had done what was attributed to the mysterious fugitive, nor could he be the one who had caused the commotion in Iyastar, where even rumors and stories had reached her, one more obscene than the other.

  She certainly wasn't going to make the boy a commonpce blood sve. No, that would have been incredibly stupid to ruin such a talent. It would be even more foolish to try to turn him by simply burning the source and spirit in the transformation, and it wasn't her method. No, she'd just set up an extremely strict and gentle control, just to bring Pann, if not to Dantmark, then to one of the temporary irs, where she could work on him properly. Blurr the memories, distort the angles of their communication, then slowly and quietly, taking advantage of the blood resonance, bind him to herself properly. Maintaining resonance with more than one target was a challenge, but for the sake of such a prize as a pet Master, or even a Magister in the long run, she was ready to weaken or drop control of all her puppets at once. She tried to make this control invisible, so in the future, even if she lost the leash, her victim would not be able to say that his decisions did not belong to him.

  Oh, everything was so complicated. It was so unpleasant with this Great Search. It wasn't even about the problems with hunters and priests, it wasn't the first time they'd all been searched for, it wasn't the first time they'd gone to the bottom, lying there for a while. The point is that the true Greats, the Ancient Patriarchs, who had long ago settled in the dead nds of the North, have raised their heads, climbing out of their crypts. And when the order to find and report something came from such figures, the owners of small nests like her and Edward, and anyone else, would start to move. As it seemed to Sylvia, though, the dead kings and ancient blood-blessed were not looking for the mysterious vilin, but were trying to level the damage to their nets. As one blessed by blood and night, she had a pretty good grasp of the subject, knowing full well how powerfully the hunters, priests, and mages who smelled an opportunity had stepped on the tails of the ancient serpents. Not to destroy the great enemies personally, but to disrupt supply lines, uncover networks of agents, and thin out the working groups that had been sent into the nds of the living for centuries.

  She, who was familiar, practical, and always ready to please and negotiate, was handled gently. They'd asked a few questions, though without the possibility of lying, and then turned away, pretending not to see her at all, giving her an approximate time frame for when she could return. Edward, she was ecstatic that he was gone, that his eternity was over, was more closely tied to the North. He shared their dominant teachings and their support. Perhaps that was why he'd fshed by, dying without ever becoming a full initiate of the Lords, though he'd dreamed so much of it, with some chance of ascending to their ranks as one of their equals. She understood little and was told even less, but apparently one of the Scarlet Lords had been a guest in his nest. He'd been, but he'd gotten away without being seen, leaving traces at most. If there had been a full-blown fight with an Ancient... no, word would have gotten out very quickly.

  Sylvia washed herself again in the already cold water, habitually ignoring the discomfort. The children of the night feel both touch and cold, and pain with mutition, but they can decide for themselves how fully. Nature is both alive and dead, allowing them to choose which to be - emotionless dead, or enjoying the softness of silk and the taste of wine alive. There are ways to cheat this property, from the trivial silver nail in the heel to the prayers of the priests, to the same rituals, like de Harnbray's will-breaking craft. The cold water was like a breeze in comparison; indeed, she'd been in worse conditions.

  Heat involuntarily ran through her body, and she licked her lips, feeling a mixture of satisfaction and shame at her weakness. She had no idea who his grandfather was, or whether he was his grandfather, Pann, or what rituals their family practiced, but there was something inexplicably appealing about the boy's seed. For one thing, it replenished strength far more abundantly than even blood, the blood of a full-fledged wizard! And this at such an insignificant volume! Secondly, she was literally drawn to him. She even checked herself for extraneous influences, to get caught up in something like this, pulling off exactly the same thing, would be deadly ironic. She finds nothing. It was just full of life and power, bzing with it, attracting the bloodsucker like mosquitoes to the warmth of hot, naked human bodies.

  Well, it's all small things, a matter of the future, as well as a normal interrogation of the boy, with many overpping questions, especially concerning his parents. She didn't believe he'd just taken off like that and “left alone in the world,” nor would those who could train such a boy die suddenly and without a clue. The st thing she wanted was for this hypothetical kin to come after her, expining in the sign nguage of the tribes of the ebony limit who she was and where she needed to go, having previously swam in the molten and sanctified silver. It would be a pity, of course, to let the boy go, erasing his memory, a very useful chance he represented, and generous and kind he was ... too generous and kind. She didn't want Pann to die like a dog from his inexperience, not only that because he, without her prodding, had given her all his trophies, simply seeing no use for them and giving them to someone who would need them. And to spare her, having learned that she was not one of the bloody oath-breakers of the mad beast or old serpent's teachings, he had also decided practically on his own. She had only a little bit pushed. Yes, such kindness and compassion need to be warmed, petted, and not let go. A couple of months of careful and careful handling, at the very least a year. Then she will remove her leash, leaving only its base, in case it needs to be intercepted. And the boy would not want to go anywhere, would not dare to say anything against her will, would do anything she said for the right to kneel before her pussy.

  Sylvia didn't like sex as such at all, she had enough of the tongues of a servant or one of the fledglings, and letting a man cum... There was a reason she disliked the whole issue of feeding on seed instead of blood. There had been months in her life when she had had to know true humiliation. There were no witnesses left from that disaster, no survivors, even the dead are silent now, and yet she still taught all her bed toys to enjoy the very fact of their tongues working on her tender flower, teaching them to never cum at all. And then, his strange effect of saturating bodily fluids with power, an insane amount of power, and even after she'd drunk him almost dry! Ugh, it makes her angry at herself for her weakness. Even the fear of pissing off someone who could provide his grandson with a contract with a great spirit goes away! After all, shamans are able to die not completely, just finally moving to the world of the underside. And the inhabitants of that world, as a rule, very much dislike the undead.

  As if it didn't turn out that Pann's forefather was watching the misadventures of his descendant and apprentice right now... Ooh, the old lecher. Smirking at her joke, she changed into a spare hunting suit, minimally damaged from the st battle. Edward de Harnbray and Ducirel Nezhenka, in one battle, without preparation, not yet twenty winters old, my human mother and bloody parent! No one will believe me if I tell anyone! She would not tell anyone, of course, preferring to bury the secret, but still, but still. Now, if he somehow gets off the hook, what would she do? Kill him? She didn't want to, though she'd probably have to. Sylvia was no stranger to the feeling of gratitude, deliberately cultivating not the feeling itself, but an understanding of its usefulness, not hesitating to give help that cost her nothing to those who helped her. Not for free, but often at a discount. But she could hardly prove - well, without using a bloody bag on her mind - that the combination she had pulled off was just such help, saving a sweet boy from a cruel world.

  At the very least, I can always offer to blow him like a whore. She thought, which made her wonder at such a shameful and reminiscent of long ago traumas. Get on my knees, take him in my mouth, lips up and down, up and down, up and down, up and down.

  With a slight surprise, she caught herself savoring the thought, and she didn't mind sucking her future faithful servant. He was licking her, just as she liked, trying so hard, caressing her bud with his lips, not even thinking of cumming, not even thinking to cum on the floor. Why shouldn't she finally turn this page of her life, overcoming this stupid shame? What did she care if it was blood from a vein or semen from a cock, as long as both brought her pleasure and strength? She ran her finger over her lips, again, again, and then began to suck her index finger, measuredly, softly, as if she were really caressing someone's dick. She knelt, her head back, her hair in a tight ponytail again, oh, it felt so good!

  Clenching her thighs tightly, putting pressure on the bud, she brings herself to a peak and cumming with a loud growl. No, a finger is too little, she sucks two, three, four fingers already, almost the whole palm, her thumb rubbing the tip of her nose, like a sweet bud growing on her face and, dripping blood, how good she feels. She is literally wriggling with ecstasy, her other hand goes into her pants, caressing her lower lips as well, almost mirroring what she does to her upper lips. For a moment she stops distinguishing between her nose and her bud, between her upper and lower lips, but she doesn't care, because it feels equally good on both sides. As if in a strange delirium, in an erotic obsession, she notes how she removes, or even tears off, the only normal set of clothes, exposing herself, exposing her whole self.

  Another orgasm hits Sylvia Malter, arching her, leaving her lying on the floor with her right arm covered in juices and her left arm covered in saliva. She doesn't breathe, she doesn't need the air, yet she jerks heavily from the orgasms she has experienced. Her gaze is drawn to a flickering light in the twilight of dawn, so dim that even her eyes, which she has carefully improved over many decades, can barely see it. But she tries, tries very hard, focuses all her strength and will on that light, thinks of nothing at all, only of looking at the light, not noticing how her juices and saliva-slippery palms begin to rub the pale nipples of her tits, tits, tits, tits, tits, tits, tits, tits, what nice tits, how good it felt to cum, watching the fire and rubbing her tits, tits, tits, without thinking, without understanding, without paying attention, knowing exactly that everything was fine, that she was in control of everything, everyone, everything, that any outcome was possible only by her own decision.

  Rolling her eyes in pleasure, Sylvia still sees that light, not noticing anything else, not hearing someone start walking nearby.

  * * *

  A young man, completely naked, except for a very ominous wooden mask, very excited, calm, and businesslike, with a considerable skill that shows years and decades of practice, albeit a little alien, arranges around the bloodsucker, lying practically motionless, except for the fingers stroking and pinching her nipples, small bowls with aromatic herbal offerings, which slowly begin to smoke. The air is filled with the aroma of coriander and cloves, when the expensive and high-quality offerings, each of which would cost a fabulous sum in gold and a considerable sum in the currency of the System, if they were not provided free of charge by the System itself, catch fire, rise in smoke, and the smoke itself becomes the basis for the formation of a pseudo-body of a powerful spirit. The formless smoky something, a full-fledged elder spirit, rises from the underside, motionless and creepy, receiving commands from the shaman, and then takes those commands to fulfill.

  Smoke begins to billow into the nostrils and ears of the eye-rolling vampiress caressing her breasts while the shaman finishes the first part of the call, sits down on the soft and clearly alien-looking mat, kneeling down and methodically jerking off, gazing at the naked body of his victim and Mistress. He holds himself on the verge of orgasm, barely touching himself, precisely and obediently doing her bidding. Meanwhile, his Mistress rises to her feet and gets into a crucifixion pose, spreading her arms wide and standing on the tips of her toes. For a moment her mouth opened unnaturally wide, and then a cloud of scarlet smoke flew out, carrying with it the colors of the vampire's consumed blood, taking some of her will with it and repcing it with what the shaman had indicated.

  The spirit spiraled, swirling the scarlet smoke into itself, and then back into the vampire's full-fledged mouth, spewing out of its ears, nostrils, eye sockets, and even its asshole, just pin smoke. Sylvia shrugged her shoulders in bewilderment, sitting down in the same pce she'd gotten up from and stroking her lips with the pad of her index finger. The upper ones, but they seemed even a little more swollen, dark scarlet, and incredibly tantalizing, as if one smile could make her fall in love, and one kiss an unearthly bliss. Judging by the bloodsucker's reaction to her touches, that kiss would not only give bliss to someone else, but to herself as well.

  As she arched up in another orgasm, she smiled blissfully, her smile changing to one of smugness and a feeling of superiority. Covering her eyes, she ignores the boy quietly walking away, thinking about what exactly she's going to do with him. Previously, always trying to avoid direct sex whenever possible, whether with servants, handlers, chicks, or anyone else, always favoring just someone's tongue on her lower lips, she is right now reevaluating her priorities and perspectives. New ideas arise in her head, and they seem obvious and clear and as true as possible, and also incredibly powerful, filling her with a sense of superiority, a pleasure in power that she has felt before, but not to this extent, not so clearly.

  * * *

  Sylvia stretched her whole naked body with pleasure. She didn't need to warm up, she didn't need to exercise, she didn't need any of the people who had received the scarlet drop, but she often did little things like that to make herself seem a little more alive. And she felt incredibly alive, satisfied, successful, and in the center of the current of destiny. Bitter defeat and captivity had turned into victory and gain, pleasant acquisitions, and crazy prospects. Her body, filled with strength and blood, easily ignored the rays of the afternoon sun. She didn't even need to spend time and effort to cover the windows and breaches in the wall with cloth or magic. The power was bubbling inside her, demanding an outlet, demanding more power, and that made the st daughter of the long-dead Malter family feel a little drunk, as if she were almost human again. Or drunk on the blood of a hallucinogen-drugged orc shaman, though she felt more affected then.

  She shrugged her shoulders and remained naked, strolling into the room occupied by the boy, looking at the remnants of the costume she had torn in a fit of passion. He is lying in a slightly different position from the one she left him in, or even not lying at all, but sitting on the crib, but his gaze is just as bnk, just as full of adoration, and his hand immediately begins to faintly stimute the tense rod as soon as he sees her, naked and adorable. She thought of ordering him to slow down, taking advantage of the bloody bond that was surging through her, but at the st moment she gave up on that thought: he was completely submissive to her, she was in control, she didn't need to give any new commands, her power was unbreakable. These thoughts made her feel so good, as they rarely had before. Usually, on such occasions, she would call on one of the blood servants and enjoy their tongues, but now she wanted something different.

  As she approached her toy, she unceremoniously pulled the boy closer, covering his lips in a kiss, sealing them, dominating, dominating the way she wanted to. The thrust of her hands is carefully calibrated. She didn't want to break his bones by miscalcuting her strength, just drop him on his back, ending up on top of him, and not stopping the kiss. And why did she even hate any form of carnal lovemaking so much? Well, yes, there had been those months of endless humiliation in her life, so wasn't it time to outgrow the old grudge? Isn't that her power, her limitless control over this boy here? She can kiss him, she can let him grope her body, she can do anything to him, even the most humiliating thing. For example, she can blow him. With the power of her lips and tongue to take his seed, to take it away and drink the life hidden in it! She could suck him, but in her case, it would not be a humiliation, but only another demonstration of her infinite power and grace, of the inviobility of her will, forged of steel and hardened in blood.

  Breaking the kiss, she made sure not to scratch the boy's lips, carefully and affectionately covering his neck, colrbones, chest, and belly with kisses, occasionally running her tongue over it, changing it again with touches of her divinely tender and so unexpectedly sensitive lips. Once opposite the groin, she does not swallow at once, no, she enjoys her power, every twitch of the rod powerless before her caress, every tremor of the young and lively body of her captive. Sylvia begins with gentle touches with the very tip of her tongue, kisses with her lips, and licks like a honeydew lick getting results very quickly. She is just licking her balls, enjoying her power over the powerless and submissive giver when his body can't take it, and she doesn't stop him from reaching his discharge right on the satisfied face of the night girl. She covers her dark scarlet eyes, letting the thick, white and so sweet cream cover her satisfied face, smile, grin, sneer, mocking grin at the one she has tricked and bound.

  After allowing herself a few moments of tenderness as she continued to lick her captive's cock, running the tip of it over the white mask on her face, smearing it in a thin yer all over her face, she couldn't stand the tantalizing sensation of the power and magic-filled mass right on her skin, pulling away and beginning to collect the seed on her fingers, licking them and nearly reaching ecstasy in the process. And when she did cum, simultaneously from the realization of her superiority over the boy she'd humiliated, who'd watched helplessly as she sated herself on his seed, pying with it as she wished, and the satiating feeling of quenched thirst, she barely had the stamina to run a palm covered in a scarlet haze over her face. She cleans up the remnants of his eruption before her self-control fails her again, forcing her to pounce on the captive fool's cock again, this time swallowing it halfway down, caressing it with her lips, licking it, sometimes taking it down to rub it with her tongue along its length.

  Overwhelmed by her own power, she swallows him whole, pulling her mouth even wider, sealing even his scrotum with her lips, careful not to let her fangs out, pushing his dick right down her throat, taking advantage of the fact that she doesn't need to breathe. She looks up, meets the admiration and servitude in her toy's gaze, and enjoys that servitude for a few long seconds, the way he gently strokes her hair, unable to bring himself to press into her harder, to thrust his dick down her throat like some cheap whore. She smiles, as much as she can in this position, giving an approving throaty squelch, guiding his hands to the back of her head. She begins to contract her throat methodically and in a scivious and frequent, ever-accelerating rhythm, squeezing the swallowed treat, trying again to make the victim of her charms cum, come, spill into her belly.

  The moment a new stream of scalding hot white mass flowed into her, she cummed once more, losing her rhythm and nearly coughing, still sucking, sucking, sucking as she'd never sucked before. A few drops mingled with her saliva, running down her chin before she swallowed the rest of it, pulling herself off the rod that felt so good to be on. She didn't need to breathe but wanted to moan from the experience, from how slick and sweet it felt to watch the strings of thick saliva binding her lips and her sve's loins. Giggling, ughing at her idea, she wipes her face, cleansing herself again with blood magic, pushes her victim onto his back again, and there she is, riding on top of him.

  It had been a long, long time since she had had to exercise like this. She had considered herself above bodily intimacy of this kind, only regurly pleasing herself with the tongues of her “lovers.” But now, now she realized her absolute power over Pann, her irresistible sweetness, and she wanted to humiliate him even more. To force him, against his will and according to her own will, to force him to pour his seed into her cunt, to fill the body dedicated to the bloody drop with the power of life and birth, taking that power, knowing exactly that she cannot generate life, that she is taking his seed from him, that she is taking it by force, at her will alone. She feels so good, so good that she can't help but moan loudly and lustfully, begging to be fucked, fucked, fucked, fucked, fucked, expressing herself like the river district girls, inwardly ughing at her mockery. Wasn't that irony, wasn't that the ultimate humiliation of the young man she had subjugated? To fuck him and moan like a whore, as if to tell the whole world that he had been broken, subjugated, bewitched, and now saddled not by a maiden of the night, not by the mistress of a full-fledged nest, but by an ordinary whore, spreading her legs for anyone, happily giving her ever-lustful holes to be fucked!

  She lost track of time. She lost track of reality, realizing that she was no longer riding the boy, but letting him fuck her from behind. She pressed her face into the old sheets of the worst quality she could find in this godforsaken pce while he fucked her like some kind of animal, while she growled and wiggled in the same animal way, her whole body hungry for intimacy. It must be a humiliation for him to be bewitched by the movement of her buttocks, the tightness and tenderness of her pussy, the suppleness, and stiffness of her movements, such a pity that he could not even realize how deeply ensved he was by her! With two hands grasping her buttocks, she spread them as wide as she could, opening herself to him, exposing her cunt, and the other hole throbbing with another orgasm. She was curious for a second if he would humiliate himself even more in his desire to please her, if he would go to a new level of baseness and worship. And she just squealed with amusement, giggled like a silly little girl when he did just that, entering her ass it was so wonderful!

  An orgasm, another, mind-shattering pleasure. A change of position. She is put on her back, fucked again, like a motionless and rexed doll, like a drunken girl, like a young chick drugged with alchemical crap, caught in the clutches of rich, perverted scivious pervert. Only now she has all the power. Now she makes him fuck her like this, at her will. He, even without orders, without a blood leash, at a word and a gnce, cmps the seemingly sweet and desirable rod between her breasts, pulls her nipples, crushes and squeezes her breasts, taking advantage of the strength and firmness of her body, cumming on her face, spping his dick on her forehead and cheeks. She catches drops of delicious semen with her tongue and open mouth, rolling her scarlet eyes and smiling with that happy and stupid grin, trying to behave the same way as when she was caught in that shameful and still not forgotten captivity. She relives that trauma all over again, only now being the ensver herself instead of the victim of someone else's lust, being in charge, being bossy, and pying with the submissive boy. Submissive, despite all his magical power and talent!

  Cumming again, rolling her eyes again, she suddenly realized that she couldn't get them back, that she couldn't stop sticking her tongue out of her mouth, couldn't stop making that funny, silly face, couldn't stop cumming, cumming, cumming and cumming, that she was just going to shut down, run out, run out because there was no room in her head for anything but the relentless orgasm. Arching her back, spreading her legs wider, and then throwing them over her shoulders, she focuses her gaze on her pussy, on her sweet flower, which continues to throb and cum even without the help of Pann, who is sitting a little apart and breathing tiredly. Sylvia smiles a patronizing and almost loving smile at her toy, her future faithful servant, turning her attention back to the throbbing inflorescence, forgiving the boy's willful py with her breasts as she cums impotently. She stares at that pleasure-hungry slit for a few more moments, as if waiting for the part of her body that was out of her power to come back under her control.

  And then she realizes, in a fsh of insight, that it is not the cunt that is out of control, but her head. That it is the cunt that is in charge now, in the moment of ecstasy, but since the ecstasy and the peak of bliss never ends, her head just needs to give control back. Smiling contentedly, she opens her mouth again, sticks out her tongue, and rolls her eyes, giving in to the waves of pleasure all the way. She has a beautiful cunt, as strong-willed and commanding as herself, as strong, as powerful, and therefore, in this moment of ecstasy, the cunt is stronger than her head, stronger than the thoughts that are housed in her head. And so she doesn't need to think, she needs, on the contrary, to stop thinking. To stop thinking, not paying attention to how the aura was burning and expanding, into which right now an unknown force was pouring, making it stronger, stronger, stronger, as if building up the power of that aura in different aspects. And only after realizing this thought, finally understanding what is wrong here, she smiles even more sincerely, even though it's hard to pull it off with her mouth open, cumming even harder and just stops thi...

  * * *

  The beautiful bloodsucker stands completely naked, eyes closed and mouth wide open, lips open in a ring, as if inviting something to push through those lips. However, methodically acting Stepan does not use the mouth of his beautiful Mistress. He is fully occupied with the next part of the task. On the floor, near his feet, is a small wooden bowl, and he, kneeling on his knees, now and then scoops a little transparent and oily liquid in this bowl, covering the Mistress's body with it. He started with her thighs, pussy, and legs, quietly ordering her to lift first one leg and then the other so that he could cover her feet with the alchemy, giving them his full attention, lubricating each toe. Following that, he worked the buttocks, stomach, back, chest, neck, and even the bloodsucker's face, avoiding only the deliberately bundled hair, eyebrows, eyeshes, and lips. For the lips, he had a different alchemy, a small vial, about the size of a pipette and with about the same amount of contents, which even had a special brush inside to apply the thick, bck slurry to the lips of the motionless Sylvia.

  He finishes his work slowly, slowly cleaning up the remnants of the alchemy, even if they were tiny, there was so much magic in them that he had to behave as if he were disposing of radioactive waste. When he had finished with the alchemical remnants, he ran his palm over his Mistress's porcein-like and hard skin, touching her dark scarlet lips, assessing the reaction of her body and aura to the touch. He evaluates her violent and absolutely motionless cascading orgasm, which was not visible in any way but in the aura. Having finished with this part, he goes downstairs to one of the rooms on the first floor, completely dark and covered with a different, not natural darkness. Another senior spirit, creating the most suitable conditions for all sorts of undead and unclean things. Several strong spirits were filling the grave-shaped earth pit in that room, for the sake of which the floor had to be destroyed, as well as trying very hard to spell the earth, combining the territorial techniques of shamanism and pure witchcraft.

  A totem, homemade but made of the materials provided, burned out rapidly from contact with a powerful entity. Not only would this tomb be a great pce to restore strength and keep any vampire from finding it, but it would also allow the vampire to be influenced through the earth. In fact, of course, only the youngest and not yet formed chicks need to stay in anabiosis during the day, preferably in a grave sprinkled with their own blood and spelled with the natural magic of the vampire kind. Over time, such a ir goes from being a prerequisite for survival to just another way to speed recovery and wait out a raid. For its Mistress, who can feel quite confident even on a day in direct sunlight, even if not for very long, neither coffin nor grave is necessary. Of course, she has such rookeries, a great number of them, both in Dantmark and the surrounding area, not to mention a particurly secure rookery in the basement of her residence, but it's just a dalliance. But for a fledgling, without a nest and patrons, it can be very useful to lie in a grave, to fall into stasis, to become invisible to search charms and prayers, and so on.

  The same frozen and motionless Mistress steps into the dug grave then the previously raised earth covers her, hiding her for several hours. Several very specific spirits begin to work on her mind and will, while Stepan slowly and confidently takes up a new call. This time, a small chest appears in front of him, teleported by the will of the System, and he walks out the door of the dark room, sits down on the very same call mat, opens the chest, and begins to work. Inside is a small, palm-sized, shapeless humanoid figure, as if molded from pure porcein, but devoid of a face or any other distinguishing features. In addition to the doll in the chest are small scraps of cloth, shimmering with all the colors of the rainbow, and a whole host of such, in the rainbow or the usual perception of not at all. The cloth woven from pure ether would be worth a fortune if Stepan decided to sell it, but he could not think of such a solution purely physically.

  He took a long needle cast from meteoric steel and the ashes of an ancient vampire embedded in the steel itself and pierced his finger, activating the artifact. The needle immediately began to spark and shimmer, becoming ghostly, then real, then immersed in the spirit pne, and then disappearing altogether. A very expensive and very specific disposable artifact, worthy of being a special lot of a system store, started working, and the guy was already picking up a drop of his Mistress's blood, pcing it right inside the porcein bnk. Then he begins to work with the cloth and the skeins of the same shimmering and ghostly threads lying under the cloth, weaving around the doll a real weightless and ephemeral cocoon, immediately merging into the toy, becoming one with it. Little by little, the shreds join the fun, which also becomes a part of the cocoon of changeable garments, carried to the depths of the reflection of the doll in the world of high spheres. This reflection is incredibly deep, saturated, and qualitative, giving close to ideal control over the image of the one who is put into this doll.

  Despite the fact that his puppet skill is already a mastery even by System standards, Stepan feels like just an adjuster who has been given magnificent parts for a quantum computer, almost ready just disassembled. He is enough to assemble the thing, to put the image of the Mistress into the control circuits, to activate the masking and concealment system, to awaken the portable spiritual cavern for the future masterpiece. But he still didn't create that masterpiece, he only utilized it in a utilitarian way. Only even in such conditions his skills, the full power of his magical gift, were barely enough to keep the finest tool from being broken by his crooked hands. Now the fps and thread are over, and the doll of the Mistress has acquired a photographic resembnce to her in every respect and the smallest details, but the needle has not yet exhausted its resource, and Stepan again pierces his skin, but already in the palm of his hand, sticking an unreal and impossible product into the flesh, while maniputing his own spirit, linking the doll with his spirit and spiritual body. In this way he continues to sew the doll to himself, gaining over it the fullest possible control, the maximum affinity with it.

  He sews until the doll becomes blurred, like a mirage in the heat, and then disappears altogether, hiding in such a way that it is impossible to find, especially given the presence of Stepan's shroud and patchwork echo. A soft movement of the palm of his hand, as if snatching something out of the air, and then the guide doll was back in his hand, the connection with the Mistress was restored again, the path to the deepest yers of her mind, will, subtle bodies, or even the upper yers of her soul was opened again. Sitting in a meditative pose, he folds his palms in a boat, allowing the doll to freeze in the air, levitating without apparent effort and without leaving an auric background, as if it were indeed a simple toy that had just been skillfully crafted and was somehow hanging in the air. Closing his eyes, he immerses himself in this image and begins to help the summoned spirits remake his beloved Mistress, exactly according to the script specifications of his system assignment.

  * * *

  Pushing herself out of the cozy earthy embrace, Sylvia, full of strength and energy, first applied the most frequently used form of blood armor, which any experienced chick knows how to use even better than the combat modification - a Scarlet Haze that vaporizes any dirt or other foreign stains on the body. A modicum of strength, good control, and, of course, years and years of practice, made it possible to pull off the purification almost instantly. Bloodsuckers are rarely given any magic other than blood magic, and if they are, it's usually not ordinary people from the scarlet-drop society. Like Sylvia herself, who was quite adept at alchemical practices, or Edward, may the Sun shine on him forever, who had a good command of the cssical school of force-arcane influence with neutral magic and a much better command of ritualism. The elements, the elements, were rarely under their control, except for the earth, which was always ready to accept them, and which they learned to control through blood spilled on that earth, not through the standard geomancer methods.

  Sylvia knew a few blood-blessed wind adepts, a couple who had mastered the dark reflection of water magic, and one of her fledglings had shown excellent potential to become one as well. She had even heard a glimpse of a unicum, one of the ungifted at all, who had managed to awaken an affinity with fme, but she had never crossed paths in person. She was no good at anything but blood magic, even alchemy was tied to blood and its derivatives, but she thought that was enough for her. Edward was strong, but he couldn't even dream of mastering the subtlety of using the subjugating effects of blood. She had ensved a master of magic with blood and with the direction of shamanism! If any of the bastard's retinue or himself had tried to do it, it would have been pure carnage, and the boy would have realized and noticed. But she did, quietly, imperceptibly, several times believing that she was about to be finished, but by the end of their dialog the boy was licking her as well as a trained servant, and then she tasted him, sucking so much deliciously that the thought of it made her stomach feel as heavy.

  Smirking at the thought, the vampire finds no reason why she should stop enjoying her victory. Quickly and easily, with a silent gait like a night shadow, she heads for the room her boy toy occupies, getting down on all fours just before entering and creeping into the room already so. She meets Pann's gaze, full of adoration at the sight of her Mistress, smiling in return, and then opens her mouth, flicking out her tongue, and begins to breathe frequently, like a guard dog, even though she has not needed air for a long time. Still crawling on four limbs, trying to stick out her chest, she gets closer and, as the st drop in the refined dish of her abuse of the poor thing, starts barking dog-like:

  "R-raf! Woof! Gah!" What an incredible feeling it is to behave like a bitch in heat, looking at how involuntarily aroused and desiring her body is by her subjugated little boy, how she owns him now. "Gau! Gough! R-raf!"

  And he started scratching her behind her ear, stroking her face while she licked his palm, and treating her like a tame dog, not even realizing that she was the one controlling him, that she was giving him orders and he was carrying out her every wish. Well, not exactly fulfilled, because she does not directly use the bloody fetters invested in him, and does not add new orders unnecessarily, because it is not necessary. He already anticipates every whim of his Mistress, like a well-trained animal, which perfectly sees the moment when the Mistress herself wants to py the animal.

  She waved her ass and whimpered, waving her buttocks in front of him, quickly getting him to enter her, first in her cunt, then, after pouring his seed full of life into her gut, she shifted a little, bending a little lower, turning to him and barking, sticking out her tongue and drooling a string of saliva on the floor, hinting the beast was to be fucked in the wrong pce. And, font of the blood to her witness, he obeyed even without her orders, thrusting his rod in, straining to the limit. right into her ass, to the limit, to the edge, mixing his seed with her, figuratively speaking, filth. As, only figuratively, because the children of the night have no defecation process whatsoever, even ordinary food, if you eat it for some reason, for example, for camoufge purposes or to remember the taste of human food, in their gut disintegrates without a trace. She remembered that long ago, when she had been held captive in a situation she hated, being at the mercy of rich men with special tastes, her ass had also been loved for its constant tightness, the pleasant coolness of the clenching flesh walls, and the ck of need for pre-cleaning.

  And now she is already forcing her victim to pour his exorbitantly tasty seed into her eager hole, cumming and howling like a beast, realizing how much time she was wasting. Her second hole, it turned out, was so pleasantly sensitive that the sensations could not be compared to mere tongue caresses, whether performed by servants or toys. Yes, it was too te for her to realize this truth, but she would correct this mistake by barking happily in response to the adoration in her bewitched boy's gaze. She was even embarrassed to humiliate this cutie, who had unwittingly helped her to overcome the painful traumas of her past and become a full-fledged, confident, and very horny seed-sucker again. Because that's where her power lies. She can be like this, lecherous and horny, but still keep herself on top.

  Smiling at the thought, Sylvia stood up, kissed the boy who had just poured his seed into her eager hole, knelt, licked, and sucked the rest of the seed out of his rod - if humiliate, then to the end, taking every st drop - and then smiled broadly, making a pyfully surprised face, as if she had a small ring gag in her mouth. She took two steps and stood closer to the wall, straightened up, jutting out her breasts, and then became absolutely still, perfect in her immobility. The real limit of dominance. She could afford to become like that at any moment, pretending to be a motionless statue, that could be endlessly admired and jerked, and then stop thinking at all. However, before ordering, by right of authority, her thoughts to freeze as still as she, Sylvia not without pleasure sees the boy kneeling in front of her, pressing the tip of his cock against her feet, and cum straight down on them. That only proved even more that her power over him was absolute, that he was completely submissive to her beauty and passion, that she no longer needed to give him orders at all, that she didn't even need control through the blood anymore, because her will was already w. With that clever thought, she cum from the feeling of hot streams of seed taken away by her will on her skin, from the slight tension in her aura, which seemed to have become more resistant to damage and magic, and then ordered her thoughts to stop whirling in her head and obediently froz...

  * * *

  Stepan, a Senior Shaman, Not-Quite-Chosen of one Autogoddess, a fellow isekai, an earthling, a phlegmatic, a workaholic, and just a good guy, woke up in the morning and had the appearance and condition described by the phrase "like a cucumber". In the sense that he was a little greenish from the consequences of direct control of the brain through the blood, from the active spending of the reserve, and from numerous contacts by images with the elder spirits, as well as a gnarled face, as if really in pimples all over. Try not to get all puckered up like David Bine's victim when you've been fucked in the brain by an undead bastard you saved from death or very, very severe torture and subsequent svery! Show some fucking mercy! His condition was something like how he had felt after that betrayal from Truda and Lashka, only multiplied by a factor of ten, and his physical well-being was a model of dullness.

  Stepan was stopped from burning the traitorous bitch, who could lie with the truth as well as he could, right after waking up by his heavy physical condition and his inability to focus enough to call or at least beat the motionless creature with a shovel with his bare hands, well, bare hands with a shovel. The "double looped bloody ribbon" that had broken off without the direct control of the bloodsucker who had decided to py puppets had left a lot of traces of Sylvia's energy inside his aura, and it wasn't healthy at all. If he had been the talented apprentice he pretended to be, he would have been crippled, not killed, but crippled, thrown into a coma from which he might not have been able to get out.

  But even so, with all his aura of a senior shaman, he feels bad. In fact, if Sylvia Malter woke up now and decided to regain control, he would lose this battle very quickly, unable to seriously confront her, starting to consider her his kind, beautiful, and delightful Mistress, whose words and orders, even unspoken, were not to be doubted and bsphemous, again. Actually, at the final stages, she did not need to give orders. She sent her will through the blood she had drunk straight to the blood still spshing in her veins, doing all her things desires like Stepan's own thoughts. The anger subsided very quickly, not only due to his poor health but also because he had, in fact, already taken his revenge. He just did it not of his own free will, but according to the instructions of the Autogoddess. He felt a strange mixture of even more anger at himself and the universe around him, the burning shame of remembering what had happened to him over the past four and a half days, and the fear that had finally caught up with him.

  He would have remained her sve toy, obedient and joyfully licking Mistress's pussy, sincerely convinced that orgasm was not necessary at all, and that real good boys did not cum except at Mistress's command, or, better still, never. And, judging by what he saw in her slightly crazy head, she did not like to let cum at all, considering the very process of spewing semen as something disgusting and shameful for her. If it hadn't been for the assignment and had been so detailed, he would have stayed like this. Not completely mindless, no, she would have remade him into a useful tool rather than a meat puppet. He would even be a bit of himself, just faithfully serving his Mistress and happily licking her at her first command. It would have been over if it weren't for the quest and the fact that she had ordered him to do nothing until told and to do whatever they said, but hadn't specified that only she could speak and order. And so his consciousness and will, what was left of them at that moment, took the Great Milf's assignment as "whatever they say" and immediately began to fulfill it with all carefulness and thoroughness.

  Gncing at Sylvia, at the treacherous bloodsucking bitch still standing in the dark corner, completely immobile and devoid of thought activity, he chuckled involuntarily, suppressing the transition from giggling to cackling only because of a wild migraine. He found it incredibly funny how he, still svishly thinking of her as the beautiful Mistress, was measuredly and calibrated to brainwash her in the most thorough way possible, completely in accordance with the Autogoddess's assignment and manner. For the first time in his life, he was ready to thank his, pardon the admins, patroness, not even through gritted teeth or with irritation, but sincerely, because her influence had saved him. Maybe it wasn't exactly her direct will after all, but just a script algorithm embedded in the System, but that doesn't change the fact. The assignment was as hastily inserted as possible, and clearly came too early, with almost no rewards, but it definitely allowed him to get out of the ass. For that... for that, he was willing to confess his heartfelt feelings for her. Well, if Her Omnipotent Milfness hadn't worked her way in, dampening the mood. The assignment promised him the return of free will and the removal of all effects, right?

  So - he was provided with it, and in two variants of possible applications. The first variant created, at the level of meta-skill, very powerful and complex healing and cleansing charms, thanks to which all traces of Sylvia's influence, as well as all sgs and clogs in auric nodes, and purely physical crap in the body, aura, and spirit, would come out. Such charms will also add a decade and a half to one's life, simply due to the fact that the body will get rid of everything that is disturbing it. The main and only disadvantage, which the system reference did not hide, was that after such a refreshing effect, he would be gargled even more than the vampire hunter he had treated from the initial stages of treatment.

  The second option simply and uncomplicatedly activated the meta-influence on Stepan, cleansing him at once, removing all harmful toxins, but without the slightest inconvenience and instantly. It would seem an obvious choice, but, to activate the second path it was necessary to recite the following text out loud, with a clear arrangement and observance of diction: “Oh, incomparable Liarat si Merrinal, Lady of Gifts and Giver of Gifts, faithful servant of Innes Inney, grant purification to your beloved Chosen One, who dreams of licking your divinely sweet feet, pouring his seed at your will right at your feet...” - Then there were about two pages of text, if it was written down manually and not in images, telling how much Stepan would like to lick Her feet, to cum for Her, to brainwash all the beauties of the world for Her sake, and then to lick these beauties' feet and pussies, also, of course, for Her sake. In principle, even in his current state, he would be able to cope with this specific prayer, especially if not from memory, but constantly reading from the prompts.

  But.

  "Oh, incomparable Liarat si Merrinal, Lady of Gifts and Giver of Gifts, loyal servant of Innes Inney, my most sincere thanks to you." He began his version of the prayer, well aware of how dangerous such a game was and how close he was to fatal-type problems if she happened to actually listen to him. "I don't give a f-- I mean, I have no idea whether I'm talking to you or to the system algorithms you've put in, I have no idea whether you know that the wrong Stepan fell out of that elevator to visit you, whether my impertinent words will reach you or not. I'm still grateful to you because your jokes pissed me off, and that pale asshole almost burned my brain, only thanks to you I managed to avoid it. But if you're expecting me to choose between your attempt at epistory genre and an indefinite visit to the toilet, then you're very much mistaken. Activate option one, please."

  As practice had shown, he had underestimated the coolness of the charms that came upon him, as well as the speed of their activation. Because he had to activate them while sitting, if not on the trine, where he could drown himself, then at least somewhere else, where he could pour vomit and shit all over the pce. At least he had time to roll off the bed and away from the clothes folded beside it before his body was covered in sticky bck sweat and a wave of unbelievable shit came out of his mouth. What else came out of him, and from what orifices, he preferred not to think about at all. He came to himself an hour and a half ter: disgustingly dirty, even more disgustingly awake, and not so angry anymore, because he had no energy left to be angry. Instead of anger, he washed and cleansed himself, becoming human again.

  "What am I going to do with you?" He asked Sylvia, standing silently with her lips ringed, staring bnkly at her tits for a second, and then at her aura, which had become very noticeably stronger through the system's endowment. "Yeah, yeah, you're not going to answer me. Or you'll answer exactly what I need you to answer."

  He should kill her for what she had done and tried to do to him. He'd have to wake her up, bring her to consciousness, and then kill her. No, if she'd done nothing more than force him to let herself out, he wouldn't even have pursued her, not to kill her. Memory wipes, put her under oath of secrecy, something like that, but no more than that, or he'd forget it altogether. Even if she forced him to lick her surprisingly tender and sensitive pussy, he would have tolerated it, though he would have responded in the appropriate style, but maybe not even as harshly as with Truda and Lashka, or, on the contrary, even harsher. Here, in general, one has to give some serious thought to why in this world beautiful and cunning women are constantly trying to fuck him in the brains, but that's a question for some other day. Sylvia hadn't just freed herself from captivity, hadn't just decided to have fun in Shera's style, only without asking, she was clearly and systematically making a sve out of him, intending to train a master shaman for herself.

  He would have killed her.

  But now he felt sorry for all the effort and free system resources spent on her, and he also realized very clearly that killing this traitorous bitch would be outright stupidity, the tantrum of a raging child. She's already paid for her actions, which is ironic considering the state he was in when he washed her brain, soaked in blood magic, and undead power. A mistress who was victimized and the obedient pything of her own ensved giftee was, admittedly, very conceptual and postmodern with a hint of nonconformism. He shook his firm and still a little cool, but surprisingly pleasant to the touch breasts, tossed them like balls to calm the nerves, returned to the bed, gathered his things, putting them on his hitherto naked body, and went away from the room, because the smell there was still a stench.

  After a moment's thought, he squeezed his hand on something invisible, just wishing the doll was in his hands, immediately ordering Sylvia to follow him without regaining consciousness. Setting her down in a dark corner of the already different room, he began to examine the trophies left over from the mission. The very consumables the Autogoddess had allocated for the assignment. First and foremost, of course, was the doll: a perfect replica of Sylvia's appearance, completely customized to her spirit, aura, and body, made of a material he did not fully understand, in the form of etheric threads, equally etheric porcein, and his own will. She was an instrument close to absolute. Any control, any reshaping of thoughts, memory, associative-logical chains, any curses, and deadly blows, which could not be repulsed practically in any way, even if several competent and not sparing magisters would intentionally protect her. Or, on the contrary, imposing complex reinforcements and support spirits on this doll and through them on Sylvia, and also with their own attacks, using the vampire as a rey. If he tried and prepared, he could pump her up so that even a master fighter wouldn't be able to take her down at once, and she'd be able to escape almost certainly if they didn't expect such severe resistance.

  He even slowed down his thoughts, shocked at the information, but no, everything was right: a dozen strengthening auras, support from the totemic structure, an indwelling spirit, even two or three, all strong, or even a full-fledged elder, honed in strengthening and combat power, a bath of spell blood to make the reserve temporarily many times rger, support from the territory. If all these effects are put on the doll, and Sylvia herself is reinforced separately, then yes, there is a chance. Not very big, but she could surprise even a magister, and she would be able to snack on a master without any problems. He looked a little more at the doll, perfectly repeating the pose and movements of the vampiress, only that it moved on the spot without leaving the sphere of spiritual control. He pulled the creation back.

  In addition to the puppet, there was still a mat, just very warm and soft, on which the recovery of strength is a little easier, and the world of spirits itself seems a little closer. Also, while calling on this mat, which has the shape of a circle with a one-and-a-half meter diameter, the spirits are more willing to respond, but only belonging to very specific spheres. It is not even difficult to guess what kind of spirits, because the gift is Autodivine. There was also a vial with a drop of blood, one single, but full of magic. In the spiritual reflection, it's almost hypnotizing with depth. It was recommended in terms of the assignment that Sylvia drink it a little after it was finished. A drop of blood from a very old, clearly not of this world, and probably still undead vampire.

  According to the description, this Drop would further strengthen the gift of blood magic, adding a couple of units to the source pool, but more importantly, it would grant the very same affinity, which would make it possible to use the existing skills and talents much more effectively. Taking into account the fact that Stepan used systemic endowment and an additional unit to the characteristics for the lecherous development of the fourth stage.... then Sylvia had added thirteen characteristics exactly during her brainwashing. Yes, now she could definitely consider herself Higher, if not in terms of experience and knowledge, then in terms of raw power. It was a good thing that the puppet, itself hiding in his spirit and subtle body, could very well be hiding under a Shroud. He tried it and was immediately convinced that putting the Shroud of Concealment on the doll hides Sylvia's aura as well. It might not be as secure as his own, especially after gaining spiritual echoes, but a magister outside his tower would not immediately penetrate such a cloak. Only if he searched, if he searched very carefully and unceremoniously, preferably knowing what he was looking for.

  The list of trophies was completed by a brand new hunting suit, of high quality and favorably emphasizing the figure, moderately enchanted for strengthening and household conveniences, and with the intention of a bloodsucker rather than a human, but no more than that. He had no new set of clothes, though his jacket and shirt were still hopelessly ruined by the rapier blow. After a moment's thought, he gave the order through the puppet, calling to himself the same indifferent and unthinking vampire, and gave her the vial with the Drop. She drank it out instantly, and instantly another change began in her aura, but looking at it Stepan realized he didn't understand anything. As, by the way, in the doll: the thing turned out to be extremely complex and extremely, extremely multifaceted. What to say, if he barely had enough skills to just fully use its functionality without breaking the artifact? Yes, he understood the individual elements, understood what they did, and even hypothesized how exactly it happened... but he couldn't even imagine how it all managed to come together without causing a yering of spiritual distortions on top of each other. The assumptions were, even if they were probably correct: the young man had bet on the role of the insuting yer being pyed by those very scraps of cloth, but that was a theory, not a theorem that he could prove.

  Watching his ward's aura, looking at her simultaneously himself, through the spirits, and the doll, he was roughly aware of what was happening. Her blood was growing older. The aura wasn't enhanced per se, it wasn't like a systemic endowment of characteristics, no, there was something more tied to her species affiliation. A drop of ancient ichor, which could only be called blood with great care, fused with the blood of the treacherous creature, transferred some of its antiquity to Sylvia Malter's blood, making each drop of blood more powerful, more suitable for creating blood charms, easier to control and more efficient at the same cost. He ordered her to get dressed, noting to himself how the ethereal fabric on the doll took on the appearance of the same garments the slightly undead woman wore.

  He turned it off again, letting the gift of the blood of an ancient and non-local bloodsucker be absorbed in peace, and began to sort through all the things that the Autogoddess had given him. He decided to start with tokens because they could be useful, at least in theory. The same renewal of contracts helped a lot, for it alone he was ready to tolerate other types of tokens. This time, characteristically, Stepan was wrong - only one of those tokens was useless. "Ignored Orgasm" overtook the chosen target - a beautiful woman, of course, how else could it be? - through all defenses and all self-control, making her gradually become aroused, feeling the inevitable approach of orgasm. At the same time, the victim, even if she perfectly understands the abnormality of what is happening, will not shout an arm and order the guards to find the individual who attacked her, well, if we are talking about the victim who has these guards and who will realize that the matter in her state is not clean. Her consciousness itself will start looking for excuses and reasons why she needs to endure what is happening, without giving the appearance of saying that everything is fine with her, just a little dizzy or something like that. But she won't be able to tolerate it for long, her orgasm and arousal will become more and more difficult to suppress and finally, she will cum audibly and violently, alone or in public, moaning, screaming, and wriggling her body. After that, she will realize everything that has happened and will start looking at the attacking mentalist for various bad purposes. Well, they will start in the case if they have knowledge and possibilities. It's one thing to make an elven High Enchantress cum at a ball, but if it's just a pretty peasant girl, she may not realize anything and write it off as an accident or something else. A hundred charges, no rollback in use, as well as other tokens with meta-influence, if you wish go to a nunnery and shoot all the charges at the nun priestesses.

  The second meta-effect was more useful. It had only one charge and was called "Gift to another Chosen One with a Gift Image-Record": you could choose one or two of your tokens and wish to give them to one or two other random carriers of the same or simir version of the System. One of the closest recipients of the System will be chosen. And the distance between worlds and universes does not py a role. It will be transferred even for a hundred inter-world jumps, even for a million of them, all costs for transportation are borne by the System. The gift can also be attached to a certain image so the recipient understands what idea they want to convey to him. Something about two hundred phrase-images of the standard type, but you can try to add something of your own. A kind of letter with an attached smiley face, pardon the admins for such a comparison. The most important thing is that Stepan found this token quite useful for him personally. For transmitting meta-influence, the transmitter gets half the experience scale or a quarter of the scale. A quarter, if the transfer was particurly successful: with every gift, there was a chance that it would not be given as a gift, but copied. That is, the token could stay with the giver, but appear at the giver, and then instead of half of the scale the giver was credited only a quarter, but certainly on the full free. In any case, it was at least half a level of experience, and without the slightest bor and with the opportunity to get rid of what Stepan did not need for anything.

  Without even thinking about it, he allocated two of his tokens - "Awesome Melons" and "Ignored Orgasm" - pouring them into a third token, selecting the option to activate the meta-action. An image window popped up asking for a message, so Stepan stuck the first of the ready-made images to the tit-shaker: "Don't Be Mad!". For the second gift, he tried to screw mega-epic "SELL A GARAGE", but the System did not allow it, so he had to stop at a very reminiscent of the Earth and the Earth's Internet: "You are an ugly sodomite!". He, however, then separately checked with the System help, making sure the anonymity of the gift was absolute and, unless you signed your name, which was an option, no one would know who had given them such "useful" gifts and, more importantly, left such a meaningful signature.

  Both meta-effects, by the way, were not deleted, but copied - what a surprise! On the other hand, he gained half a level from twenty-fifth to twenty-sixth. And yes, during the quest from Her Divine Milfness, the experience grew as if on yeast, reaching a quarter of a hundred. And this is even though the quest itself did not give rewards in the form of experience, did not give at all! All only due to a combination of peaceful development, complex tasks, two senior spirits, fuck them, he intended to call them very soon, only after the creation of a new clearing-amplifier to help himself, and a very lecherous pastime in the company of a very, very extraordinary woman. Three free points glistened in his status, beckoning him with new choices, and a button to select the specialization of the main css opened.

  He wouldn't touch any of it right now. There were too many things to do and too many problems to solve. Too many important decisions to make. He didn't activate the third and st meta-effect token either, simply because this one was by far the most useful of all the ones he had encountered, except for the renewal of shamanic summons. Also a one-time effect, but a more tangible manifestation of that effect. "One-time improvement of the quality and properties of the item" simply took and improved any item, including already very powerful and complex artifacts, increasing their existing qualities, adding new ones, and removing various weaknesses, if any. Even those items and artifacts that could not be improved in theory. Meta-influence ignored any theories and ws of magic. Apparently, the token could be used on the system's gifts, including special lots. They will be strengthened quite appropriately, turning an already existing cheater artifact into something even more cheater. Judging by the reference, this thing could turn an ordinary axe, spear, or cleaver, with which only a militiaman will go into battle in a weapon worthy of the envy of a noble and rich knight. It is even scarier to imagine what this effect would do to the same armored stockings from Autogoddess.

  In game terms, and why not, since he had a game of maximum realism, the token increased the grade of any already enchanted artifact, and if you took a non-enchanted thing, then two or even three at once. However, where the growth from an ordinary militia spear to a knight's spear of master-level creation is, of course, very harsh, then the growth of the same stockings will be quite astounding, creating a relic. It will already be an artifact of the level of archmagister-archimage, also with a specialization in the creation of artifacts, also invested in a certain thing with all their strength and without saving resources.

  Stepan's first thought was to immediately improve his mask as the most useful and the most, well, normal of his artifacts. The help, as, did not show exactly how the chosen item would be improved, and the effects of the improvement were also uncertain until the moment of that very improvement. Quantum entanglement, damn. Actually, that was the reason for the dey. Stepan had gotten the token as a reward for the quest of Her Divine Milfness, so he could get a second stocking, just in the form of a mask. However, the intuition, ordinary, not magical, argued that just in this case, the award came without meanness and cunning tricks. The name of the token is quite systematic, not in the style of the Autogoddess, who previously did not miss a chance to name her gifts pretentious, vulgar, and annoying. On the other hand, it indicates even more strongly to wait and think.

  First of all, his mask is certainly very good and useful in battle, and even more so in peaceful development. He had used it to summon two elder spirits without even regaining his normal state of consciousness! But now, at the fourth rank of the System Store, he could quite easily find another artifact, even more suitable for his requirements. Or he could make a move and try to improve the same bracelet, hoping for a "correction of fws", which would remove unnecessary and dangerous properties of the insanely strong and brainy, but at the same time extremely useful creation of the evil Autodivine mind. These were the thoughts that should be thought on a fresh head, just as with the investment of three free talents and the choice of css specialization. And that's why Stepan didn't choose it. It didn't burn at this moment.

  The st part of the reward was, well, it was. Now he could apply two deals to himself at once, though adding together their durations, combining the effects of the deals, and he also had two new choices in the relevant section. "Tense and Frozen" for five months. When taken, this shit imposed a gradual paralyzing effect when the penis was tensed. The stronger the erection, the harder it was to think, move, conjure, and resist. As usual, the memory of the transaction fades, and the mind doesn't see the bouts of paralysis as anything dangerous or strange. At the same time, the distortion of fate keeps the one under the deal from getting into deadly trouble, but ordinary trouble is welcome. Because those women who caused the involuntary reaction of the body immediately, at the level of meta-influence, will realize what exactly happened to the frozen one, and also what power they have over him: as soon as the paralysis of muscles and mind reaches the maximum, the one under the deal will cum and for the next five hours will follow all the orders of the source of his passion. They won't harm him, but put on a colr, sign a contract, or simply order him to rob a dwarven bank and bring them money - it's easy

  "Tender Buns" was practically a complete twin of "Big and Soft". Exactly the same conditions, the same distortions of consciousness and reality, only instead of tits there would be buttocks as the will suppression hub. Same shit. As if he was going to apply any of these deal options, yeah, yeah, give them all to me.

  "So, we are done with the pleasant and not-so-pleasant gifts," Stepan said to himself, pacing the battered inn and thinking hard. "Now let's move on to the bad news."

  First of all, he'd stayed too long in this pce and made a lot of marks in the process. Two calls to the elder spirits. Even his Furry Ball wouldn't clean that up right away, except to smudge the picture really, really badly. He specialized in wiping away small and inconspicuous but hard-to-remove traces and spiritual imprints, not powerful rituals. Second, Stepan had missed the opportunity to fix the memories of those vampire hunters who had seen him in action, albeit more in consequence. Yes, his face was hidden by a mask, and his voice was also distorted by it, and the protective perfume and ghostly haze released from his body obscured his figure and age, but still a very unpleasant viotion of anonymity. Now they had obviously traveled very far, the tracking spirits he had left behind to watch over them had exhausted their resources and left, and it would take time to summon new ones and visit the images of their thin bodies. It was worth taking into account that they had horses, and also that they, Stepan was sure of it, would be chasing the horses with all their might, trying to get away from the ominous masked shaman before he took back their trophy heads.

  There is a high probability that they have not only reached some city or town but also spread rumors of their success. To erase or correct the memory of three people is not the same as repeating it with a bunch of people you don't know about and don't have their spiritual images. You have to look for the three, get into their heads, look for those with whom they shared information, check if they have made notes in their diaries, and then look for those with whom they spoke already using images from other people's minds. It was still possible, but it was such a hassle that it would be easier to just spit and get the hell out of these Bzdy's and burn the pce down, leaving only a scorched wastend cleaned up by the Memory Eater and a stone mass grave. He didn't tell them his name, he didn't show his face, and it was impossible to connect Pann's "mere apprentice" and the creepy masked senior shaman, so be it.

  Also - very important.

  His new allied unit, which he was tempted to call a more original name, for example, a doll, because of the way he controlled her, was too lucrative an asset not to use. He could use his influence on her to secure his position in Dantmark, not only financial support, which he didn't need, but resources and social support. Yes, Sylvia could not protect him directly, and he would not order her to do something so suspicious and out of character and image. But just to advise him, to bring him into contact with the right people, to give him recommendations - it was already much more than he had, more than he even dreamed of getting. Of course, it is worth remembering to keep the shroud on Sylvia's doll, and if this opportunity does not exist, make sure that she herself hides. Aura-masking vampires are skilled at it. Especially at her age. Showing up weaker than she suddenly became wasn't that hard for her. Given the doll's influence, she would not only be masking herself but wouldn't realize that she had suddenly become stronger and was now masking the fact that she had grown stronger. He also has to remember that Sylvia will rationalize any order or action if he puts something in her head, but her nest and allies will not.

  He doesn't need the treacherous bitch to be tried, if not rescued and freed, then simply deposed and finished off. Especially given the hysteria surrounding the Big Search. He didn't dig into the bloodsucker's head, but he knew that they were looking for a certain master of mental magic, who had stepped on everyone's tail so powerfully and fantastically that it was not a master, but a magister. So he won't show off. No, no, only the maximum naturalness and dwelling purely in the background, even if only as one of the average importance of pawns Sylvia Malter. Just for a strong and useful, but not outstanding in anything but youth, it will be suitable.

  Nodding to his thoughts, the young man began to work through the doll, creating the desired scenario and letting Sylvia's finely honed and imaginative mind complete the rest of her thoughts. He wanted to fuck her one st time when he was finally in his right mind, but there was already too much time wasted. Though the strength was certainly there, as was the desire, for what it was worth. Instead of pulling down the beautiful and insidious creature's brand-new pants and bending it over on one of the surviving tables in the battle-torn dining hall, he looked at the bloodsucker as she piled a rather heavy bag of Edward's trophies, promising himself a day off in her company in the distant future. She was good, the bitch, even if she wasn't quite alive, but she didn't disgust him to the level of a full-fledged undead, especially after their auras had been in close contact so many times.

  True, at her will, this contact was purely one-way, highly humiliating, and nowhere near voluntary. For a second, the young man froze, fighting the temptation to use his power for vulgar purposes, fighting his responsibility, and the realization of the ck of time. Struggling and losing, eager not so much to enjoy her beauty, her perfect body, and the pleasure this body could offer, but rather to close the gestalt and overcome the inner doubt, even the psychological trauma. First, he had been fucked by Sylvia, repaying evil for good, and then he had been fucked, albeit in order to save him, by Her Milfness, for which he was even sincerely grateful. Except that in both cases, he was just that, an observer, not someone who, well, fuck. And no matter how pleasant it was for him to be in the arms of someone else's will - the bloodsucker, despite the humiliating nature of her approach, made sure that the victim felt good - he was still clearly aware that it was someone else's will.

  "And why not?" Having asked himself the question, Stepan answered it himself, having already decided and not resisting it. "That's why yes."

  He took the unfortunate doll out of the void. In fact, out of his spiritual pocket, sewn to his essence with etheric thread. He stood still for a while, activating the necessary commands and chains of images. In fact, he wanted to return control over Sylvia's mind, but not her body, for a while, so that she could practically feel all the charms of her new position. He wanted to, but he wouldn't do it, not because of a moral issue, but simply because he didn't want to risk it. Yes, the chances that Sylvia, who had been given freedom of thought, but not control over her body and aura, would be able to do anything to him were not zero, but negative. And this did not take into account the fact that he, to switch his frustrated Mistress into one of the obedient modes, enough just a thought. Still, he didn't want to take any chances. What could be more fun than to find himself in the arms of a vampire who was angry at you, with all the stats and experience he could muster, naked and without a summoned retinue? No, he'd find plenty of ways that it could be worse, but that wasn't the point.

  Instead of petty and unnecessary revenge, he takes a slightly different approach. He awakens the woman standing indifferently with a heavy bag on her fragile shoulders from her trance and immobility, letting her put her trophies aside, stretch, look around, look at him, smiling predatorily and passionately, ignoring the presence of the doll in his hands as well as any other non-normality at all. Her smile isn't intimidating at all right now. She really knows how to be sweet, charming, and deceptively calm. That's exactly how she tricked him, buying time for her blood magic to have time to work, breaking the shaman's will and resistance without even letting him realize his will was being broken. And still, it was impossible to be angry with her, not because she was so beautiful and desirable, but because of the realization of her fall, of her loss of any control, and thus of any responsibility for what she had done. She had literally switched pces with him. She became what she wanted to do to him. Why should he harbor a vengeful grudge against her now? What is the point of any humiliation? At most, he was a little offended by his stupidity and gullibility. And by the lesson of distrust that he had been taught.

  Meanwhile, looking around and realizing her new, so natural, and unthinking intentions, Sylvia turned to the wall, bent over, pulling down her tight pants in an incredibly inviting movement, exposing her snow-white buttocks and complete ck of underwear, and then leaned against the wall, flexing and showing off her features even more. Half-turning to him, she looked at him with a greedy and nguid gaze, imperiously and with full realization of her superiority, still considering herself the Mistress of both the situation and Stepan. To dissuade her of this, he saw neither reason nor desire. Control had always been a cornerstone for her personality, as it had been for any bloodsucker in general, and primarily control of herself and her impulses. Likewise, she herself was much easier to control, much easier to indoctrinate, as long as she considered them her own.

  "Stop looking, my pet." Sylvia's hips swaying and bzing with a cold, controlled, and greedy passion, Sylvia gives an order of irresistible force. "Your mistress wants caresses, so get up and give them to me, now!"

  Of course, he obeyed the order willingly and obediently. Why should he not, if he had put it into her head? To enter her, supple and demanding at the same time, was an undeniably pleasurable act, especially like this, when he was already in his mind. When he could act according to his own will, aggressively and even harshly demolishing the traitor leaning on the wall, who, without hiding her pleasure, moaned and demanded more and more time after time. And, of course, she enjoys herself, unnaturally much pleasure, both from the very realization of her power over the toy, from the contact of her aura, and from the seed that poured into her womb. The firmness of her body, her partially inanimate nature, and her very high Constitution allowed her to orgasm as often as Stepan wanted. Where a living woman might have colpsed unconscious from an overabundance of feeling or dehydration, she continued and demanded that he continue.

  She demanded to take her in both holes alternately and without pause. Demanded to pour in and on her, in her cunt or ass, on her thighs or face. With a superior grin, she let her pale and massive breasts be covered with his semen, licking the sweet treat. So that she could then y the unresisting Pann, her sve, and pet, on his back, ride him, and take him to a new peak. She let him touch her, stroke her, squeeze her, twist her nipples, and sp her huge tits, feeling nothing but pleasure and joy at how much her toy liked to grope her Mistress, how deep her control over him was. She moaned, sometimes screamed, spoke, ordered to fuck her, ordered to imagine that she was really a submissive brainwashed cum-sucker who did not even realize her fall, and she, from this stupid and impossible fantasy, felt so good that her eyes rolled back from pleasure and her mouth opened involuntarily, her tongue stuck out, and her brain seemed to become the size of a bean, stopping thinking and freezing in the flow of pleasure. Not paying attention to the fact the toy id his Mistress with her back on the dusty floor, ordered her to put her legs behind her head - and Mistress did, immediately and without thoughts in her head - and then began to fuck her again, in her pussy, then in her ass, the st time coming on her sweetly smiling face, even during the eruption, when it was covered with streaks of semen, which had not lost the expression that one has at a social occasion or an important meeting with negotiations.

  Breathing tiredly, Stepan y on her cool but still heated body for some time, regaining his stamina and marveling to himself at the way he had been taken over. Sylvia was already incredibly desirable, having spent a mountain of money at the local pstic surgeons before her conversion. However, his power over his failed owner was the best aphrodisiac possible, far beyond love potions. The thought involuntarily crept in that it was not easy to remain human to local mentalists, who lived with such temptations almost constantly, at any moment having at least theoretical chances to take a person they liked. All of them. Whole. Without a trace. The mysterious Moriarty suddenly came to mind. A kind of brainiac by specialty: someone who couldn't withstand that temptation, and now is responsible for his ck of restraint by the fact that they are looking for him as if he had stolen the gold reserve of some country or dishonored the favorite angelica of some god.

  He'll have to find out what they're really after him for, by the way. He'd come across rumors so many times, but he'd never gotten around to digging into them. On the other hand, what was Stepan's attitude to other people's sins to look into them? He does not intend to become a bounty hunter, especially since with this particur hunt he will have so many competitors that the hunters would not start to extinguish each other. And anyway, where is Stepan and where is Moriarty? They have nothing to do, they have no common interests. In general, let them look for him, let them find him or not find him, and Stepan does not care and is not concerned.

  Standing up from his lover and partner, who would soon become his key to the local society, he looked at Sylvia, who was enjoying herself and continuing to caress her breasts, and then gave the order, with his voice, not through the doll, for the sake of variety.

  "Come on, it's time to pack up and get out of this shithole." I would have kicked her ass, but it was good parenting and not wanting to develop such rude habits. "Get dressed, clean yourself, as thoroughly and completely as possible, and clean your clothes. Then get your stuff and go your own way."

  "How do you talk to Mistress, sweetie?" Pyfully and without malice, considering his words merely what she allows him as part of her control, the bloodsucker asks. "Been so long since you licked my flower, begging for forgiveness on your knees? Or has it been so long since you've spooned your seed down my face? If I had more time, I would have taught you some manners, but since time drives us on like an overseer's sh, you can do with words this time. Now, look at my breasts, hmm? See how it bounces? When I'm gone, you'll only dream of taking another shot at them. You'll forget our meeting, but that image, that sweet image will be with you and will drive you crazy with passion, my good one. Consider it a punishment for your impertinent tongue, and do not doubt that with the same tongue, you will redeem yourself a little ter."

  As she finished dressing, dusting off her clothes, tying her hair back, cleansing herself of all traces of lovemaking, Sylvia left the inn barely intact and, as soon as she was out the door, forgot about her toy as if she had never met him. Easily holding the trophy bag on her back, she switched from a leisurely stride to a sprint, using her aura of power and blood, quickly reaching the forest and disappearing into it under the rays of the slowly setting sun. The young man holding her doll in direct control didn't look at Sylvia, bringing her consciousness to the right condition.

  Shaking his head and chasing the unnecessary thoughts out of his head, he made sure one st time that the version of events in the vampiress's head didn't have too many discrepancies. She'd been captured, someone had nailed Edward and his team. She'd successfully hidden in her dungeon and waited it out, but no one was looking for anything, since the killer or killers she'd never seen were only interested in the old bloodsucker's eternity, and she'd left before they nailed her. By that point, only the charred hulks of houses remained in the ruins of Bzdн, nothing more. A very dangerous version, which may raise questions, but two details are important. Firstly, the world will still learn about the death of such an important bloodsucker from the spirits of an unknown shaman, just at the expense of the hunters who left, which even if they try very hard, will not be able to convince the public that they killed the sinister three. Even with the most outstanding luck, they wouldn't be strong enough. Secondly, no one said Sylvia Malter was going to talk about how she'd found Edward and how he'd died, and she wouldn't reveal the trophies for at least another year, just to let things settle down, just as she wouldn't talk about her capture.

  It's a lot of tight spots. That's a fact. But if he doesn't talk about it. If Sylvia's chicks are under her heel and can't crawl out of there, the bloodsucker herself believes it, but Stepan will definitely check if they don't talk, if he manages to do a normal sweep of the area.... it'll work.

  It's gonna work.

  Nodding again, he pulled himself together and began to call his erasers, to collect all the traces, all the drops of blood, all the stains of other bodily fluids, and so on. There was much, much work to be done, but he had never been afraid of work, only of testing its quality.

  Because fate, like Rodisv Gastoldovich Yanin, has never been shy about showing the ck of quality of eboration of the material visually, poking Stepan's face into the mistakes he has made.

  THE STATUS OF STEPAN "NORMAL" AT THE END OF CHAPTER SIXTEENTH

  Name: Stepan

  Level: 25

  Css: Senior Shaman

  Specialization: [select]

  Characteristics: (free: 0)

  Talents (free): 3

  Constitution: 2

  Sensitivity: 11

  Power: 7

  Control: 5

  Source: 5

  Spirit: 13

  Resistance: 1

  Knowledge acquired: speaking and writing: Free Cities, academic Neirat, Isnd Kingdom; call practice of master level; advanced master level of spiritual dialog; wilderness hermit; advanced basics of working with healing spirits; advanced developed techniques of casting shamanic charms (GIFT); advanced basic techniques of dream-inducing and dream correction (GIFT); the advanced basic practice of combat calls; advanced basic techniques of interaction with magical sources; advanced basic techniques of countering curses: advanced fundamentals of fast call; the advanced basic practice of spiritual operation; the mastery of an experienced martial caller; advanced basics of spiritual haggling and contract agreements with otherworldly entities; the advanced basic practice of remote control of spiritual entities; basic methods of teaching magical sciences; basic methods of tantric practices; advanced basic methods of territorial influences; basics of work with totems; advanced basic techniques of building defensive formations; advanced techniques of spiritual wandering; advanced basic skills of spiritual conflict outside the physical body; advanced developed techniques of suggestive influences based on shamanism (GIFT); methods of undercover work; mastery of puppet-envolt magical practice

  Minor knowledge: contract with an elder spirit: Sleepwalker (GIFT); contract with the elder spirits: The Shroud of Touch and the Creator of Decisions (GIFT); a contract with a strong spirit: The Eater of Diseases; defense by distortion of the anteroom of the spheres; contract with a strong spirit: Cheesh'sh'shuya; contract with a strong spirit: Jolly Milker; contract with a strong spirit: Sneaking Glow; contract with a senior spirit: Joy of the Waves; contract with a senior spirit: Vishpli-Schwalstprachtmatt; contract with a senior spirit: Vishpli-Schwalstprachtmatt; contract with a senior spirit: Memory Eater; curse of the locking of the paths

  Obtained properties: blessings of health and long life; toughness of spirit; resilience of subtle bodies; small mark of spiritual spheres: spiritual shroud of higher auric concealment (GIFT); flexible transformation of the spiritual body; marking of fallen leaves and bck roots; a tantric spiritual hearth; recognition of creators of passions and weavers of feelings (GIFT); heritage in blood and spirit (GIFT); patchwork spiritual echo (GIFT); multiplicity of spiritual awareness; small spiritual and energetic protection

  System modifiers: peaceful development IV; issuance of system assignments III; lecherous development IV; access to system purchases IV; small system endowment of characteristics; temporal awareness IV; reserve renewal IV; replenishment of life IV; accepting a systemic deal with a patron (Liarat si Merrinal, Lady of Gifts and Giver of Gifts, loyal servant of Innes Inney); creation of group I

  Completed Deals: -

  Avaible Deals: Cute & Innocent; Sweet Attraction; Big & Soft; Tense and Frozen; The Tenderest Buns

  Reward Tokens: Awesome Melons (100); Indifferent Doll (3); Ignored Orgasm (100); One-time improvement of item quality and properties (1)

  Special: Blessing of Liarat si Merrinal, Lady of Gifts and Giver of Gifts, loyal servant of Innes Inney: likely to grant additional talents as you level up; grant specific System quests with increased rewards; Mark of Destinies: Singha, daughter of Maega, and Maega, daughter of Maedra; hidden effects

  * * *

  This is probably the longest chapter of Tambourine I've ever written, and it's comparable only to “Forgiveness” and “Farewell” in the third part of Uncalled. Avada almost changed his nickname to “Shyngys” because of such an attempt to write as simple and passable a chapter as possible. I decided to finish the chapter with a small fragment of lore, which, as always, can be in every possible way retconned by Brinar as the Owner of the World. So, this time, as you could guess from the plot of the chapter, we'll talk about bloodsuckers and their philosophies- doctrines, which Sylvia used to ride on Stepan's ears, at the same time opening his natural defense against blood resonance.

  So, since the work itself takes pce in a world of hentai nature. Yes, yes, it's dumb hentai, not dark fantasy, all cims to Brinar. The vampires here are very much alive, though not quite. They're afraid of silver, they don't breathe, their reflection in the mirror is not quite normal, cking depth, leaving only a picture, and their bodies are noticeably cooler than normal. Yet they can taste human food, they are pleasant to touch, they can even quite possibly - and love! - to make love for pleasure. It's as if there is a lintel in their essence that allows them to change how they experience the world - as the living or as the dead. In combat, when injured, or when blood supply is low, bloodsuckers are practically insensitive to anything but anger, rage, and Thirst. The only exceptions are very specific tricks, priests' prayers, strikes with silver or special anti-necrotic charms, and mental blows. But if a vampire is fed, calm, and compcent, no one prevents him from remembering his vivid youth and fucking up his favorite beauty or handsome man. All necessary fluids and lubricants are released in such a state, even if the vampire's womb cannot bear a child, and his seed cannot give birth to a child. Though, in the second case, everything happens, but it is already a topic for a new lore afterword.

  Bloodsuckers are quite strong, but their strength lies in three things: Experience, Blood, and Speed. A very long life, as Stepan notes in the chapter, will make an elite swordsman or skillful schemer even a complete log. Otherwise, the log will not live a long life. Blood is literally everything for a vampire, both a reserve of magic and a reserve of life force. As long as there is blood, he can accelerate his characteristics, especially Constitution and Resistance, create blood spells, regenerate, and generally think. A hungry vampire doesn't think. It either tries to get blood or falls into a hibernation coma. A chick won't come out of such a starvation coma, most likely, but an ancient or at least a higher creature - these can lie on dry w for a century or two until someone slits a vein or cuts a finger over their grave. Speed allows even aurally weaker vampires to cause trouble for anyone who encounters them without preparations and support.

  Magicians have ways to reach a comparable or even equal speed as not to be, but they are heavy, costly to reserve, and traumatic. The same overclocking of thinking at the expense of the spiritual body from Stepan. And the vampire is at this speed all the time, and can at any moment accelerate even more, beginning to spend the reserve of scarlet drop. Speed of movements, speed of blows, and speed of thoughts - that's what makes them dangerous for anyone, especially for the higher ones or those who are close to the highest. Chicks of varying degrees of age are much easier to destroy and catch. Such chicks left for fun, kicked out of the nest, deliberately turned, and sent to human nds with the purpose of organizing terror, make up the main percentage of prey of vampire hunters. At the same time, the destruction of an already experienced, at least fifty years of living under the scarlet drop bastard is a small celebration and a reason for pride. A dead Edward and his lover - that's no small celebration and eternal respect among hunters throughout the Confederacy and beyond. With a high probability of posthumous, but this is already in particur.

  In the society of this “dumb hentai world”, bloodsuckers occupy a variety of roles, but those roles are rarely really big unless we're talking about Ancient Lords from the cities of the fallen North. But even there, the rger measure is ruled by the fully undead, rather than vampires frozen neither here nor there. On average, their nesting influence is comparable to that of an average aristocratic cn like Sylvia Malter presented in the chapter, and she's still doing very well, managing to settle in nicely and become useful and needed. In most cases, the criminals have even more power and influence than the vampire nest, especially when it comes to someone like the Night Mistress of Morgrave. In fact, the fact that people and non-humans from the shadow guilds are called nightmasters rather than bloodsuckers is a clear indication of this situation.

  Now about doctrines, otherwise known as teachings: following one of them is not absolute. Many bloodsuckers successfully combine these teachings, choosing their own style. Simirly, there is no definite canon in the ratio of how to develop and “pump” their bloodsucking carcass. Yes, the adherents of one of the teachings will more often lean in a certain direction of development, choose these or those approaches to magical and not-so-magical disciplines, but in essence, the doctrine is not the path of blood from the World of Darkness, but just that philosophy, albeit covered with a patina of sacredness, mystery, and mysticism at the level of some Bloody Bible. In total, there are not so many of these main currents, as well as a number of these currents are weaker, with fewer fans. I will try to list them, but this is certainly not a complete list or a full description. For a complete one, you'll have to go to the inhabitants of the dumb hentai world.

  --The doctrine of Seishmaschastass. Ironic as it may be, it is considered, and for good reason, the most popur and the most widespread on the territory of the whole world and among former human beings. It is ironic because the founder of this doctrine, the very ancient creature that appointed humans as cattle, and vampires as wolves that sughter the cattle, as well as shepherds that keep the flock in a stable, was a lizardman. Well, it's not hard to guess from the founder's name. The scaly ones rarely go through transformation, it is more difficult for them to transform and keep their minds, so there is nothing strange in the fact that most of the bloodsuckers of this philosophy have no scales. This is the main trend for the Undead Lords of the North and a rge part of other ancient bloodsuckers, they are the ones who teach the young, and they are the ones who those who trained themselves reach out to. They reach out, receiving knowledge, help, teachers, and, of course, tasks and duties in return. For example, it is on such vampires that the networks of influence of the Northern Dead, and not only vampires, hang. In fact, vampires, unlike lichs and intelligent ghostly undead, are excellent infiltrators, which is why they live, survive, and sometimes thrive.

  The essence of the doctrine is the superiority of the initiate over the mortal, to inspire terror, to drink, if possible, to the bottom, to punish for disobedience, to prevent calling for help, and all that. As described in the chapter, these guys prefer to seize power over some blind corner. Moreover, invisibly and stealthily. It doesn't matter, turning the local ndlord into a sve, feeding him blood from his veins, bribing him with a promise of conversion, or taking his family hostage. Yet again, a bribe can be paid. Vampire power is not public, no one talks about it, no bodies are left behind, and so people often live in an atmosphere of fear and anxiety, with constant disappearances, harsh actions by the authorities, and the risk of simply disappearing on the way home. But no one finds exsanguinated bodies on the streets. It's unprofessional, it's not aesthetic and it's just pin clumsy. The same blood sves that know about vampires live literally in colrs, either subordinate or simply intimidated, never leaving their dungeon sves and living only to give life to their masters. Most of the missing are put into cells, drink for a while, and when their health is no longer enough, their aura starts to wear out, they drink completely, and kidnap new cattle.

  Apparently, this approach, despite its harshness and cruelty, makes you feel pretty good about yourself if you do everything right if you write off the disappearances as the work of stray svers, of rampaging thieves and beasts, of rival factions, or all of these together. Identifying and finding such individuals is not easy. They have honed the skill of hiding in the shadows and smming their control over the “screen” in one way or another. The most powerful and experienced nests of bloodsuckers may well settle in a rge city, not showing themselves for years, bming their actions on internal conflicts and wbreakers. Their main weapons are secrecy, fear, power, and caution, as befits a beast of prey. For this reason, they are accustomed to evolving equally banced in all directions, adept at combat tricks, infiltration and elimination, pretense, and quiet operations.

  --The doctrine of Liranmil and Kreismard was born from the union and further development of that union of two nests of bloody ones, which almost simultaneously came to a common opinion. Evil tongues, mostly from the ranks of the guys above, say that the rogue Liranmil, who came from accidentally abandoned chicks, not converted by one of the great ones, simply and uncomplicatedly bewitched her older and more powerful ally, brainwashing him with her charms, but it's obvious lies. After all, this is a dark fantasy with blood and undead, not hentai bullshit! Ahem. So, according to this doctrine, you shouldn't make enemies with mortals, you should live with them in symbiosis, taking less blood, but more often, surviving and developing, branching out your networks, and maneuvering between interest groups. These guys, as it was also hinted and said in the chapter, are not free from the control of the Lords of the Undead, but this control is much softer, and there are more freedoms, as well as publicity.

  The essence of the doctrine is to embed oneself in society in such a way that vampires become its constant. Maybe not public, not official, but constant and therefore steadily present. They bend and then take back some of their freedoms to bend to someone else a little ter. It is the adherents of this doctrine who are the richest, most informed, and most influential of the bloodsuckers when it comes to influencing the mortal world. In a way, they py the role of unofficial diplomats between the world of the living and the dead, intrigue and magic making their way in the currents of the scarlet drop. They have much less anonymity than the guys in the paragraph above. Many people know about them, and many people guess. A lot of risks are taken. Often you have to run or lie low. But if they do everything right, they really don't get touched, even if they know about them. They drink only their own servants and very rarely to the bottom, they do not like to kill, and they are always ready to benefit themselves and their partners. You can turn to them for many things or go through them to someone from the Ancients if you still need to communicate.

  For obvious reasons, these guys are weaker in direct combat and do not like combat in general; there are a lot of handsome and beautiful women among them, the tter more than the former, and they solve problems and conflicts with words or with other people's hands. To the point of hiring a group of vampire hunters to burn down an annoying competitor along with his nest. Well, unofficially, of course, you have to maintain decorum. Nevertheless, these guys are traditionally the best in Blood Alchemy, Illusion, and Subjugating Blood Resonance, as the st chapter showed us. Yes, they are peaceful, do not go to conflicts, and are deceptively soft, which is why many of their partners and allies do not press on them, not even suspecting how they got confidence in the safety and peacefulness of predatory undead creatures that feed on blood.

  --The doctrine of Krhmar the Harvest Reaper is the third most popur doctrine-philosophy, as well as the most intolerant and brutal of the three. Originating from an ancient freak who was once cursed by Gaia herself, almost personally by her avatar, from which he was forced to become a bloodsucker in order to simply exist normally. This doctrine does not involve neighboring mortals in a comparative world, nor does it involve hunting livestock. No. This doctrine asserts that it is time to decre war on mortals and keep them like cattle, not figuratively but literally, with concentration camps, breeding of especially tasty stock, preventive elimination of all dangerous ones, mass lobotomization and bloody patronage, as well as drinking to death those mortals who will soon begin to age in order to save on their upkeep. For obvious reasons, such individuals survive mostly closer to the Dead North, where they literally take a tribe or tribes under their tyranny-dictatorship, raid for fodder sves, maintain ties with especially unsentimental svers, and serve the Undead Overlords as raiders, security services, and death squads.

  They are traditionally strong in everything reted to magic and bloody power, skilled in brainwashing, alchemy, combat magic, and stealth with silent operations: why the fuck should they not be able to do all that, if such nests are directly fed and trained under the patronage of the very undead rulers who need mobile and independent units of elite guards? Only, for the same reasons, such guys are not allowed to increase in number and strength, just out of reinsurance. Or they, in a fit of fanaticism, will do something that the rest of the world, for goodness' sake, will decide to go to the North with another war, only now to demolish ancient necropolises to the st brick, along with catacombs-boratories and other infrastructure.

  Among other things, these guys love carnal pleasures as much as others and have them much more than many others, because they manage to officially maintain their harems, buying sves-sves or simply kidnapping them if they want. Therefore, among other trends, these bastards have a reputation as lechers and collectors of beauty, and rarely as sadists. The creator of their branch didn't like suffering and pain at all - a consequence of the curse Gaia had given him, which gave him back the pain of each victim, among other things, because before the curse, he lit up like hell - so they killed their cattle painlessly and didn't organize any skinning or bloody massacre. Unlike the guys from the first or even the second point, by the way.

  --The Sakhir-Vanai doctrine is not particurly widespread, primarily in the territory of the Caliphate, and almost entirely confined to this territory. These guys connect their existence very closely with religious doctrine, considering themselves as guides of the bloody will of fate itself and all gods at once. They pray to the very concept of Life and Death, believing themselves to be priests frozen between these states, or to the first vampire at all. Even if it has been scientifically proved long ago by the same elven historians that vampires did not arise from some First of Vampires, but as a consequence of necromancers' research, and in several variants of transformation, initially and almost independently of each other. So be it so, but these fanatics have some tricks, inexplicable in any way. The easiest way to expin their abilities is with fragmentary and very strange priestly miracles, even if they work on blood as fuel instead of standard faith and magical power.

  Their numbers are small, and they reached their peak under Reistar the Apostate, for many of their nests supported the greatest space wizard in the world for his atheism-antitheism or other reasons. But, after the death of the Apostate and most of those who supported him, they habitually retreated into the shadows, though in greatly reduced numbers. In their approaches, they combine the first and the second of the doctrines; they don't come to conflicts and prefer to retreat, hide, and conceal themselves. According to rumors, they have some contacts with the coven of the Children of the Desert, conducting some of their affairs with the powerful witches. They are also rumored to have their tame tribes in the Great Desert, giving them blood in exchange for protection, service in exchange for patronage, and new chicks to repce the old ones. Who knows, maybe they are replenishing their numbers little by little, preparing for some next scary shit.

  They have no clear specialization, nor do they have much influence outside the Caliphate. But rumor has it that some of them were hired to train the elite Silent Ones, the best assassins in the Serene Highness service. Not as their only teachers, but as one of them, teaching them how to come uninvited in the first pce, and paying them with the same knowledge, only from the human side. It is believed that the Silent Ones are not inferior in this case to the desert witches' spies, but then what is the skill level of those who taught them how to come uninvited? And, for some reason, there are somehow no special rumors of successes or daring operations conducted by the bloodsuckers of this teaching. So where are they trying to get in all this time, honing their skills to perfection, but without leaving any traces of their activity?

  --Yu Li's doctrine was born and flourished in the days of the greatest of Empires, the Empire of the East, which ter fell under demonic invasion and was reborn in a much more chewed-up and modest form. The reason for its birth, as well as its prosperity, was that vampires in that Empire, as well as in this doctrine, served not someone far away in the North, but humans, and humans on the throne, and a particur person on that throne. In that strange Empire ruled the archmage, who literally captured almost the entire Ecumene, forcing even the elves to pay tribute. This cup did not pass those devoted to the Scarlet Font. It all started when a distant retive of the Emperor fell ill, and the only way to save her from the disease and a couple of curses was transformation. And when she transformed, someone asked a reasonable question: why do we have all sorts of uncontrolled bloodsuckers in the Empire?

  After that, they took this stratum of society seriously, burning out all the rge nests, not very rge ones, and even the loners were caught. All the strong and clever ones were executed with various degrees of Asian despotic cruelty, some of them were sacrificed to Lord Thunder - the main god of the Empire - and the rest, the youngest, most dutiful and obedient, were gathered before the eyes of important officials and told that - Yulia, that is, Yu Li, and she is the most important person in your society now, what she said, you do. And swear blood oaths right now, because the alternative is waiting, people liked the execution of bloodsuckers. That's how it turned out that the young and inexperienced, but literally almost all the bloodsuckers of the Asian region were in the service of the Emperor, leaving a few unruly, unbroken, and shitting from terror, afraid that they too would come for them, only on the isnds.

  These guys were made anti-corruption agents, training primarily in bureaucracy and detective practices, working with taxes and reports. Magic and self-defense were optional because no one needed strong vampires again. They did their job, having successfully integrated into the society of the mighty state, and when they reached the age of one hundred and thirty-three years, they were escorted to the honorable execution, because twenty years before that, they had already started to prepare a repcement. The higher rung of the hierarchy of this bloody officialdom lived as long as three hundred and thirty-three years, and in general, only Yulia herself, that is, Yu Li, and the most ingenious of her cronies lived forever. Thus, there could not be a rebellion, and the control over the weak and those not possessing knowledge and blood magic to the fullest extent of the units was close to absolute.

  When the Great Empire finally degenerated into a corruption cesspit, they were knocked from below by a demonic invasion. Most of the special bureaucratic department for accounting of taxes and preventing tax evasion, by that time they had degenerated into another repressive and raiding apparatus for squeezing all the money-bearing, also disappeared. The fate of Yu Li is not known, but the st time she was seen sucking not at all the blood of a very long line of well-wishers, which paid her as much as a penny. The greedy girl of many years old could not overpower herself, swallowing liters and liters of quality and tainted by demonic magic blood substitute. The new dynasty warmed the remnants of the apparatus, which was unfit for survival outside society and stupidly unable to hunt and draw blood on its own. The only individual who survived to the age of three hundred and thirty-three was put at the head, and he was to be honorably executed twenty-four hours after the invasion began. What a lucky bastard. These bloodsucker-uppers still eat on coupons, are still fully accountable to higher officials, still can't retire without preparing a repcement and going to execution, but they don't get killed for nothing anymore, their freedoms aren't restricted as much, and they're now learning magic as part of their general development.

  But their task is the same. Only now they catch not tax evaders but corrupt officials, so the arrival of Mr. Revizoro, painted in white, colorfully dressed and always hiding under an umbrel, always causes a slight panic. First of all, because if he arrived in the afternoon, all painted and mannerly, then, with a probability close to absolute, he has been crawling through the gutters and sitting in the trine pits for two weeks, getting all your sins and already knowing what you want to hide. And yes, he probably has the silk cord in a richly colored pouch with him too, as well as the right to hand it over. For obvious reasons, these guys are absent as a css outside of the Eastern Empire, occasionally emigrating from there to seek freedom or save an ass.

  --The doctrine of the Beast, or the doctrine of the Beast of Beasts, whose adherents, in contrast to the previous point, which completely merged with society, from any society fell out completely and utterly. Primitive savage life on the level of a primitive tribe, on the same level and retionship with the world, contempt for clothes and civilization, hunting almost always only to the death, no bloody sves, even pet ghouls such individuals create at a minimum, and with extreme reluctance. They are everywhere, especially in wild regions, from the Oroch steppes to the tunnels and halls of the Underworld, from the wild north to the jungles of the south, from the deserts of the Caliphate to the shores of the Middle Sea, even underwater, they say, there are such swarms of bloodsucking mermaids. A free life, complete freedom, and gradually shutting down brains that become more animal than human, but very rapid progress in the blood arts, as well as access to transformation like that of shifters, only much harder and more dangerous.

  They have no special presence or authority anywhere, are constantly roaming from pce to pce, and have an extremely high resistance to the sun and a slightly lower resistance to holy symbols. They serve as a hunting ground for most common hunters and have outstanding survivability and constant replenishment of their ranks. Any mistreated and mentally damaged chick, or even a bloodsucker who has lost control of himself and decided not to hold back any longer, accepts this doctrine little by little, even if he does not know about it at all. The very Beast, which is called the first of those who passed this way, is said to exist to this day, his "writings" are sometimes found in different pces of the world. These cave paintings are primitive and simple, but always written as if by one hand. Several times the Beast of Beasts seemed to be caught and killed, sometime successfully and with huge losses, but the drawings continued to appear again and again. Some ears, as well as some eternally undead, have reason to believe that the Beast has learned to do without a body and even without aura or upper yers of spirit, moving into a new body with his soul, choosing a host from those who could not withstand his bloody desire. They try not to think about it very often because the thoughts are very dangerous.

  By the way, there are a lot of orcs and lizardmen among the adherents of this doctrine for the same reason why it is difficult to convert them. They are more often converted incompletely. That's why they turn out to be such under-chicks or super-ghouls much more often than ordinary converts.

  This is the end of my lore commentary, it's already swollen too much. Thank you all for reading, cubes in the second comment, and I'm off to catch a rare bird - a first comment.

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  _RIP_