Chapter 52: Cover

Chapter 52: Cover

"A Vampire?"

"It's hurtful that you haven't heard of us. We are the highest form of Undead. You're a Necromancer, aren't you?"

Yor narrowed her eyes as she challenged his lack of knowledge, but Tyron could only shrug helplessly. And continue to avert his eyes.

"Are you sure you won't put on any clothes? I'd appreciate it if you would..."

The Vampire laughed and drew a hand seductively down her chest.

"And why should I?" she said. "My flesh has been shaped to perfection. I have no reason to cover myself. Do you not appreciate my form?"

It wasn't that he didn't exactly, it was more he found it incredibly distracting. He couldn't afford to have his wits dulled by anything when dealing with these dark powers, let alone some perfectly formed...

"Ahem! Fine. I'll just keep my eyes on the roof."

He tried to gather himself. His neck was starting to hurt.

"So if I understand what you've said. You were a human, and were changed into... your present form by some form of ritual. And now, you are offering to do the same for me?"

"You should be honoured," Yor arched a delicate, dark brow at him. "Many Appeal to the Court, desperate for our approval, seeking to gain our blessing and join our ranks. Some are required to serve for many years before they are given the chance, others are never accepted. The less talented are often turned into thralls, that they may serve their betters for eternity as befitting their station."

Never ending slavery? The thought of it rubbed Tyron the wrong way, though he could see why some might accuse him of hypocrisy, considering his own profession. He didn't see raising someone's bones as a skeleton as remotely the same as enslaving them, however. What he had done to Dove? That... hit a little closer to home.

I'm going to release him, so that doesn't count, he told himself. He hasn't even asked me to set him free lately, so it can't be bothering him that much.

"I don't really see the need to change my race, though..." Tyron said honestly. "I'm sure being a Vampire has its upsides, but I have plans."

Anathema had proven to be extremely powerful for a sub-class, but having it pushed on him had certainly lowered his utility. He needed that third sub-class slot if he was going to cover for his weaknesses and increase his versatility.

Yor stared at him as if he were a misbehaving insect.

"We are offering you eternal life," she said, "you will never age, never grow old. Though this realm will fall to dust, trampled under the heel of the rift-kin in ten-thousand years' time, still you will endure."

She leaned forward to emphasise her words, which caused Tyron to have to lean back further to avoid... to keep himself focused. At this point, he was almost bent over at a right angle.

"But there must be significant drawbacks, am I right?" he pointed out. "Nothing given by the Unseen comes for free, there is always a cost, a counterbalance. You may not age, but what is the price you have to pay for the privilege?"nove(l)bi(n.)com

"You speak of cost in the face of immortality?" she sneered. "There are uncounted millions who would pay any price for that which I offer."

"You aren't talking to them," Tyron said, "you're talking to me."

Living forever might have tempted him severely under normal circumstances. Right here and now? He was under a death sentence, hunted by two Slayers who hopelessly outclassed him in every way. Even if he fled through the rifts and into other realms, there was no place he could go they wouldn't be able to reach. His mother was a celebrated mage by the standards of the entire empire, not just the western province. Even if the Abyss or Court were to try and hide him, he had little doubt she could track him down. He needed power right now, the prospect of not ageing for the next few months of his life meant less than nothing.

"You probably understand my circumstances a little," he said, trying to be reasonable, "if you've kept an eye on me as you said you have. I'm not interested in eternal life or any such thing. I'm interested in being a better Necromancer as quickly as I can."

... then he yelped in surprise. As he did so, he stumbled out of the circle of protection he had created for himself on the floor.

“Y-y-you’re still here?” he stammered as he stared at the alluring form of the Undead before him.

She placed a hand on her chest as she feigned indignation.

“You would have me gone already? That is no way to treat a guest,” she tutted, “if you are to be part of the Court in the future, you will have to brush up on your etiquette.”

“But I thought... the ritual... shouldn’t you... go back?”

“Go back? When I finally have the chance to come out and play? I think not.”

She approached Tyron like a wolf, stalking towards him as he slowly backed away. Only when his shoulders thumped into the wall did he realise he didn’t have anywhere left to go. His mind spun as he tried to summon a spell to defend himself, but it was too late.

With speed that defied reality, Yor was upon him, a hand clamped over his mouth, the other gripped his own hand, her fingers interlacing with his. Those burning eyes stared deeply into his as she pressed herself against him.

“The Mistress suspected you might be reluctant to embrace her offer. In case of such an event, she requested that I remain, to ensure that her investment does not go to waste.”

She leaned closer still until her lips were beside his ear.

“That which the Court desires is seldom let go without a fight.”

Then she released him, stepping back smoothly and retreating three quick paces where she stopped and watched him appreciatively.

Tyron just goggled.

“So... you’re staying?” he said, still bewildered.

“Thank the sweet melons of mercy,” Dove spoke up once more. “No offense kid, but even a skull needs something nice to look at once in a while.”

“Dove...” Tyron said helplessly, “you don’t even have a dick anymore, how can you still be thinking with it?”

“It’s with me in spirit!” the once Summoner declared proudly. “My soul cannot be separated from its johnson, or its desire to ogle. Some things are fundamental to nature.”

“This is just great,” Tyron sighed as he massaged his brow to fight off the headache he felt coming on. “Can you at least put on some clothes?”

“Such a childish obsession. I have sculpted my form to perfection, yet you would have me cover it? For what reason? Your prudishness is of no concern to me.”

Clearly proud of her appearance, Yor showed little desire to do anything to cover up. Tyron needed to come at it from a different angle.

“The skull won’t stop perving on you unless you get dressed,” he stated.

“That is definitely true,” Dove confirmed.

Yor looked at the glowing sockets of the skull for a moment.

“Very well,” she sighed.