by Reed James
“New things?” I hissed, a surge of anger rushing through me. I grabbed the gem and yanked it out of his hand, taking a step back. “Raw materials? He butchered art.”
“Art?” the older man frowned.
“Yes, art! He took the works others made and debased them with his craft,” I said, my blood boiling. How could anyone admire the biomancer? “He made monsters!”
“Debased? He improved them.” He shook his head. “We aren't art. You, me, all of us are machines. Living ones, yes, but still machines. Your heart pumps blood through your veins and supplies energy to your muscles. You ingest fuel through your mouth and when you've burned it for heat, your body excretes the waste. Take your muscles.” He smacked his right palm into his thick, left arm. “They are a complex form of machine. They flex and pull, responding to impulses from your brain. What a great machine each living creature is.
“Vebrin may have been despicable, but he delved into the craft of life and made new machines. New combinations of life. Functional life. Life that still breeds, that still lives, to this day.”
“He was despicable!” I hissed, my eyes harrowing. “His creations are a plague upon the world. They are dangerous. They kill. They brutalize. They infest the seas. They roam the mountains. They haunt the dark corners of the woods.”
“As do natural monsters and beasts,” Theophil said. “He was just the first mortal to figure out how to work with life with the same skill as the Gods.”
“No, what the Gods make is inspired by Rithi! It's art. It's functional and beautiful and majestic!”
“Pretty words.”
My fists clenched. My entire body shook. Pretty words. “Do you want Biomancer Vebrin to live again?” I demanded. I shook the amulet at him. “He's right in here. You want him to befoul the world again with his craft?”
Theophil's cheek twitched.
“Is that all that matters to you? Making ugly, twisted things from the art of others? Lacking any beauty? Any inspiration? Do you not care about that?”
“Inspiration is what drives the inventor,” he answered. “To make something useful, something functional, is profound. It is true beauty. Not some pretty scribblings on a piece of canvas or a stone shaped into a pleasing form. They may be aesthetically pleasing, but it doesn't help society prosper. Art feeds the soul! It nourishes people's hearts and gives them hope. It inspires them to be better. To think about their actions. To understand their place in society. Art is a direct link to something greater than us. It is not something pedantic or functional.”
~ * ~
Sven Falk
I stood with the others, staring in shock at my step-sister and the high priest of Krab arguing over nearly the same thing. I almost wanted to let them fight. To let Kora offend the priest so he demanded us to leave, forcing us to depart without finding the altar. Then I would have my sister with me for even longer and...
Kora needed to destroy the Biomancer. His existence offended her deeply. What he did was an assault on her very belief. To her, the Biomancer was merely a thief. Someone who stole other's work and modified them just enough to claim them as his without truly understanding what he was doing. What the meaning was behind the art he destroyed in his own fumbling attempt. She needed to protect art from being despoiled.
“Nothing is more important to an object than its use,” growled Theophil. “Art is a luxury afforded to societies with the wealth to idle time on waste and frivolity.”
“Frivolity?” Kora's face twisted in outrage. “It provides escape for people from the hardships of their life. Are you so dead inside you cannot recognize that fact? Don't you feel that need to be a part of something greater? That connection to the divine? To insights into the world beyond your own limited perspective?”
I had to intervene before they came to blows. “You might admire Biomancer Vebrin,” I growled, grabbing his arm and pulling him back from my sister. His bicep flexed beneath my grip, all ropy muscle. “But do you want him alive? His servants search for this phylactery. We need to destroy it. So unless you want him free, help us or stop wasting our time?”
Theophil's eyes slid over to me. He worked his jaws together, his blue eyes hard. Anger tensed his muscles. Despite the man being twice my age, he had solid mass. He could inflict damage with a punch. Labor kept him strong.
My feet shifted as I relaxed into a fighting stance, my eyes narrowing.
He let out a harrumphing grunt. “No, I do not want him returned to life. His creations are not useful to me. But they are remarkable.” He moved from my sister and marched over to Princess Ava. He stopped before her. She swallowed as he said, “I'll help her if she is truly the Masterwork Craft. The ultimate one Krab waited for.
“The one who can open the Vault.”
“What's this Vault?”
~ * ~
Princess Ava
“Oh, wow,” I said as we stopped before the round door set into the wall at the end of the basement corridor. The light from the lantern held in Carsina's hand played off of it. My jaw dropped.
“Cernere's black cunt,” Aingeal said, her voice thick with awe.
“Gods damn,” grunted Sven. “What is that? How?”
I nodded my head. The wall, the round door that was easily Sven's height in circumference, all reflected the light like they were metal, a silvery sheen rippling across the surface as Carsina moved her lantern around. But the material also was clear like crystal. It was so thick that whatever lay inside the Vault was blurred and distorted.
“It is made of adamant,” Carsina said. “It's a crystal that can be worked like metal. Once it cools, however, it can never be affected by tools again. Only a craftsman of sublime skill could make this. No human has the skill.
“You look upon the work of a God.”
A tremble raced through me. It was one thing to believe in the Gods, to know that they existed and guided the world. Yes, Slata, using the divine seed of Pater, created Humans and the other dual-sexed races, and Aingeal and the other faeries were made by Cernere with Las's seed, so everyone in this room were works of the Gods, but...
This felt more... direct. There were hundreds and thousands of generations between myself and Slata.
I felt something inside of me tremble as I approached the door. I passed stout Theophil to reach out and touch the door. It felt cool to my touch, so smooth it was almost slick. I slid my fingertips across the vault door until I found the seam. I rubbed at it where it lay flush against the wall. I could feel hardly a gap between them. My soul quivered. It wanted to imbue it, but...
But I couldn't just reach in there.
“This is the Vault,” Theophil said, his voice in awe. “The temple was built around it. To guard it and to study it. Every temple to Krab specializes in a different craft. Woodworking, metal forging, weaving, brewing, paper making, and so on. This temple studies the esoteric crafts. How the most profound machines work. How the most amazing crafts are forged and created. Working with crystals and metals, struggling to understand how our God forged this.
“I have spent my life studying this. As has the nineteen masters before me. We have all experimented, worked to recreate adamant. Krab waits for us to join him at his level. He has given us the tools and awaits us to master them. He is patient. He understands that such skill takes time to develop. Generations to understand.”
“Yes,” Carsina said, joining me. Her hand touched it. She had a look of worship on her face, almost like the ecstasy I witnessed in her eyes when we were cumming on the dildos that I powered inside our pussies. “To reach this pinnacle of skill... It makes me feel like a tyro all over again. Like this is my first time stepping into a workshop.”
I swallowed and quivered. Why did my soul want to reach out? There was nothing for me to interact with. I pressed outward, but I couldn't slip into the mechanism. It waited to be filled, like a proxy, but...
“So the Altar of Souls is in there?” Sven asked. “Krab locked it up here?”
“Krab hid the Altar of Souls when the Gods agreed to withdraw from the world after High King Peter's birth,” Theophil said. “When they promised to only work through their proxies, their demigod children, and through portents and signs. Krab didn't want mortals to abuse it, but he knew it might be needed. No device should be locked up forever. Not when it could be useful.”
“Okay,” Sven said, his voice tight, strained. “Then open up the Vault, and let's get this destroyed. This can all be... over.”
Something in his voice made me frown. I glanced at Sven. He stared at the Vault with such a tight expression, his lips pressed tight, almost bloodless. He had his arms folded before him. I expected to see greed in his eyes, that exhilaration to break into something guarded, to purloin a treasure—like a maiden's virginity—that is well-protected.
I didn't. I saw... something dull. Flat.
“The Altar of Souls is not in the Vault, only the means of finding it is. The key to revealing it to the world...” Theophil shook his head, a look of longing crossing his face. His bulbous nose twitched as he moved forward to caress the vault. “Once it's been exposed, there will be no concealing it again. It will be in the open for any to use.”
“Sounds like something you'd want,” muttered Kora.
“Aye.”
“Then let's open it up and find this key,” Sven said, his voice growing thicker.
“I can't open it. Only the Masterwork Craft can operate the locking mechanism.” His eyes slid over to me.
I swallowed. I pressed my forehead against the door, my warm face drinking in the cool feel of it. I closed my eyes. I could... feel it in there. Something inside waited for me to fill it. To imbue it with my essence or empower it or however my powers worked. I couldn't... penetrate it. Something... blocked the access to it, like I had to figure out how to open a spiritual door or something.
“Do you have a key for the key?” I muttered, shaking my head. I pulled my head away. “I can't operate it.”
“Of course you can't,” Theophil said. “You haven't created anything on your own. Yet.”
“Surely I have,” I said. “I've stitched a dress or two.”
“There is an act of crafting only a woman can do,” he said. “Krab engineered your ancestors to produce you, but if you're the Masterwork Craft that is awaited, you first have to prove you are fully functional.”
“Are you saying we have to wait nine months for me to give birth to a child?” I asked, my jaw dropping. “That is ludicrous.”
“Not give birth,” he said, shaking his head. “Conceive.”
Aingeal burst out laughing. “You need to be bred, Princess!”
My cheeks burned crimson. I suddenly became aware of everyone staring at me. Of Sven so nearby. A ripple of heat washed out of my pussy. It billowed through my body. My nipples hardened. A trickle of juices ran down my thighs. To be bred... By Sven.
By my step-father...
No, no, don't think of him right now. I turned to Sven. I stared at him. His blue eyes were wide. That look of... consternation melted away into something approaching awe. Then his smile grew, that grin that made me feel like a woman as his eyes roamed my body. My back straightened, my chin lifting. I felt the cool caress of my gown upon my small breasts, the fabric molding to them. It clung to my hips, letting Sven see all my womanly curves.
“Master's got just the cock you need,” Zanyia said. She giggled, hugging him from behind and squeezing his bulging crotch in his leather pants. “Mmm, he's growing so hard. Master wants to breed you, Mistress Ava.”
“Of course he does,” Aingeal said, her wings fluttering behind her back. Her large tits jiggled, the gold rings piercing her nipples flashing.
“I want to be bred by Master,” Nathalie said. She clutched her belly. “I hope I will be soon.”
“I bet you do,” Kora said, hugging Nathalie from behind. My future sister-in-law grinned at me over the girl's shoulder. She had such a look of joy in her eyes. I knew she wanted to have his baby, too. But with things so dangerous...
But if I had to be bred... My pussy clenched. Then I groaned.
“What?” Sven asked.
“Is there a problem with your reproductive system?” Theophil asked.
My cheeks burned with embarrassment, two fires raging on either side of my head. I wanted to melt into the floor. “Everything... down there works just fine! I have a reproductive charm on me. It lasts for months yet. I can't conceive so long as I have that.”
“Oh, I can take care of that,” the faerie said. She gave a gigglish squeal of delight, her wings fluttering hard enough to lift her a few inches off the ground. The flashing pink of her wings rippled in distorted reflections across the vault door and walls. “I'll make sure you're nice and ripe, too. I'll ensure our husband's seed plants in your fertile soil on the first try. Though he can make all the attempts he wants.” She gave me a wicked wink of her purple eye.
“Just to make sure?” I asked with an impish grin, my pussy growing hot.
Aingeal grinned and Zanyia let out a purring moan of delight.
“Ooh, I am so happy for you!” Kora said before she moved to me. She threw her arms around my neck. She hugged me tight. I felt the amulet through our clothing and didn't care against the tide of passion brimming through me. “Good luck, sister-wife.”
“Thank you!” I said then kissed her on the mouth.
Kora melted against me. Our tongues danced together. I wanted Sven's child so badly. I would do it. I would be bred by him while our family surrounded me. It would be so passionate. So amazing. I would have such a wondrous time.
Chapter Eleven: Fertile Princess
Aingeal
“You can use my bedroom,” Journeyman Carsina said, her fiery hair dancing about her shoulders. “It's not the biggest bed, and it's not really fit for a princess.”
“Oh, it'll be fine,” I told her as we walked away from the Vault, my breasts jiggling before me. I put an arm around her shoulder. “You should see some of the wicked places we've enjoyed each other. Fields. Forest glades. Libraries.”
“Libraries?” gasped the girl, her ruby eyes growing so wide. “Wait, at the University? With all those books around you?”
“Mmm, yes,” Sven said as he walked ahead, his arm around Ava's shoulder. The princess clung to his right side while Kora was on the left. The princess's and the priestess's hands playing with each other at the small of his back.
They were both eager for this.
So was I. It was such a strange feeling brimming inside of me. Sven and I would never make a child. Though I was one of the races descended from the God of Lust, I didn't come from a single-sex race. I didn't need to find a male from a different species to breed with like Zanyia did. I could only have a child with a faerie.
But... I was fine with that. I blinked my eyes. Just like I knew I would outlive Sven. I would watch him grow old and die but... I would get to watch over his many descendants with the women around us. His children with Kora, Ava, Nathalie, Zanyia, and Greta would all exist. They would have their own lives and their own faerie... faerie-grandmother to watch over them and guide them.
I couldn't wait for Ava to have her first baby. For Zanyia and Kora and Nathalie and Greta to all conceive. It would be so wondrous. My wings fluttered in pure joy at the prospect. I wouldn't be alone once all those I loved died because I would find new versions of them to love.
“Here we are,” Carsina said. The temple wasn't very large. It took climbing a single staircase out of the basement to find her quarters. “I'll, uh, be in my workshop. When you're finished, come fetch my master and me.”
“Don't want to stick around and watch my prowess?” Sven asked, giving her a grin.
The journeyman gave a squeak of shock. Then she threw open her door and backed away. “Well, uh, I have work to attend to. Enjoy your, um, breeding!”
I giggled as she darted away, her footsteps thudding away and fading as she rounded a corner. My wings fluttered in ut
ter delight. I lifted from the ground and twirled in the air. Zanyia joined me, a purr rumbling from her throat.
The lamia sprang at me. She seized me from behind, her naked body rubbing on my back, her small breasts firm and her nipples hard. I shuddered as she grabbed my big, pillowy breasts. It was so naughty of her. Her weight carried me back to the ground. Her thighs locked around my waist, her wet bush rubbing on the small of my back.
“Let's get the princess bred!” she yowled.
“I think that's a great idea,” Sven said. He leaned down and kissed the princess. Their lips locked together, moving, tongues flashing. His hand squeezed her rump through her dress, kneading her.
“Are you going to breed her in the corridor, Master?” Nathalie asked. She held Greta's hand, the two girls both grinning. They were so similar—both young and blonde—and so different—Nathalie petite and Greta so curvy.
Sven broke the kiss. “Mmm, I could but... I think she deserves better.”
“First she needs that pesky charm broken,” I said. “And we're going to have so much fun breaking it, Princess.”
Ava glanced at me, arching a strawberry eyebrow. “Oh, really? Is it naughty?”
“Just filthy,” I grinned at her. “In fact, I need two volunteers to strip the princess naked!”
“Ooh, we can do it!” Greta said.
“Yes, yes!” Nathalie gasped, her pigtails bouncing about her shoulders, her blue eyes twinkling.
“Well, lead her into the room and have at her,” I said, my pussy growing so juicy. I pressed my thighs tight together, loving that sticky feel of a wet passion.
“And I'll make sure Master is ready to go!” Zanyia said. “I'll keep his dick nice and hard.”
“Such a sacrifice you are making,” Kora said as the lamia released me and darted around me to dash to Sven. She fell to her knees before him and rubbed her cheek into his bulge.
“Such a big sacrifice, Mistress Kora,” she said, tail twitching back and forth. “But it is one I'm willing to make for Mistress Ava.”
“Such a treasure,” Ava sighed as Greta and Nathalie led the princess into the room.
