My Taboo Harem!

Chapter 765: Unconscious Tits Pillowing

He ignored it.

He had one more thing to test.

He turned his attention down to his boots.

The polished black imperial leather absorbed the rising blood-energy along its surfaces, the mist cohering into a thin red gauntlet over each boot.

The blood did not stain the leather but instead armored it.

He took a step forward.

The first step left a dark red imprint in the cathedral hollow’s crimson floor that did not fade, a small territorial marker, the element claiming the ground his foot had occupied as sovereign.

He summersaulted and swung his right leg.

The kick travelled in a long horizontal arc that cut through empty air, and from the arc itself, two long red blade-shaped crescents of solidified blood-energy launched with paired cracks like rifle reports stacked across each other — the crescents extruded from the kick’s vector at the precise moment of full extension.

The crescents cleft the blood-field.

They reached the next frozen tree-line.

The first crescent severed the first primordial trunk along a perfectly clean horizontal line — the cut so committed; the trunk did not even register the severance until the upper section had already begun to slide.

The upper section slid sideways as though dragged by an unseen hand, drifting laterally across the cut surface for the better part of a second before it lost contact with the lower section entirely and tipped forward into the cathedral hollow’s crimson floor with a long heavy thud.

The lower section stood there, freshly truncated, the cut surface still wet and smoking faintly with arterial heat.

The second crescent followed half a heartbeat later and dealt the same to the next trunk.

The third and fourth trunks lost only small sections to the crescents’ guttering dispersal.

The element had thinned across the additional distance.

But the first two trees were dealt.

Phei gasped.

His vision guttered.

The pain in his head was no longer a sting.

It was a hollow expanding pressure behind his eyes, a thinness in his thoughts, an exsanguinating sensation — as though he had been awake for seventy-two hours and was just now registering that he had not eaten in any of them.

The system spoke.

[Warning:Host’s Intelligence stat has dropped below safe operational threshold.]

[Current INT: 01 / 590.]

He sighed.

’Fuck, I am tired.’

He turned slowly toward Eira, who had drifted closer once the volley had dispersed and was now hovering at the edge of the blood-field with her dark-diamond eyes processing the absurd cosmic mathematics of his INT readout.

Even through the thinning, his eyes found her first — the generous curve of her chest rising sharp with a breath she didn’t need, the heavy tits shifting under crystal that caught the crimson like it wanted to keep it, the soft warm glow pulsing along her wings and the long, vulnerable line of her throat.

She looked like salvation and sin at once, and the part of him that was still awake wanted to reach for her, to pull her down into the blood with him so he could learn what her mouth tasted like when she was worried.

"Eira."

His voice was guttering.

"What does it think — is hap—"

He did not finish the sentence.

His knees gave.

The robe rippled around his body as he descended — hard, the cathedral hollow’s crimson floor rushing up to meet his shoulder, his hair falling across his cheek, his amethyst eyes losing focus mid-blink and not regaining it.

Unconscious before his head hit the floor.

Eira hovered in place for a heartbeat.

She sighed. "Stupid master."

The fondness in it was edged with the kind of heat that promised, when he woke, she might scold him with her body rather than her voice — might press those heavy tits against his chest and remind him exactly what he was risking when he pushed himself this far.

She drifted down through the blood-field — the element had no quarrel with her, the dark red mist parting respectfully around her frame as she descended — and arrived at his collapsed body.

She slid her arms beneath his shoulder and his knee, her cool fingers slipping under sweat-slick skin and curving possessively around the muscle there, the other arm hooking under his knees so that when she lifted, his body rolled into the long warm line of her front.

For one suspended moment his face pressed into the soft, heavy valley between her tits, the crystal warm from her core, the scent of her — frost and dark flowers and the electric promise of power — flooding what was left of his senses.

She adjusted him higher against her, one heavy tit pillowing his cheek now, his dangling arm brushing the outside of her thigh, and even unconscious his body answered the intimacy with a small, helpless twitch low in his gut — the honest, shameless reaction of a man who wanted her even when the lights were out.

He weighed, in her embrace, the patient weight of her master who had spent the day being killed and rebuilt and killed again and had at last run out of the substrate with which to keep going.

The blood-field began to retract.

The crimson saturation lifted from the cathedral hollow’s floor first — the dark red drawing back toward an absent center the way water draws back from a beach before a wave breaks, the powdered ice beneath it slowly remembering its black-white default and surfacing through the receding color.

Then the spires. The crimson left the spires in long rivulets reversing their flow, the color climbing back up the spire flanks the way liquid climbs against gravity in a fairy’s domain, vanishing into nothing at the top of each spire’s silhouette.

The cathedral hollow was black-white again.

Eira held him like she meant to keep him — the arm under his back strong, the one under his knees secure, his side pressed full against the generous curves of her, the slow rock of her wingbeats rubbing them together in small, maddening increments.

Every shift sent a fresh wave of his scent into her nose while every beat made her heavy tits press and ease against his ribs in a rhythm that his exhausted body tried to answer anyway.

The blood-field parted for them both, the crimson drawing back in long tides that felt almost respectful, as if the element itself recognized the only thing in this hollow worth preserving.

The cathedral hollow’s wind, what little of it the apocalypse had left, moved his hair against her crystalline shoulder in the slow unhurried hush a fairy’s wind grants a sleeping master.

But it wasn’t just the wind, her wings beat in that same gentle rhythm, the faint breeze caressing the exposed skin of his neck and chest like invisible fingers, teasing at the edges of his unconsciousness with little sparks of sensation that his body answered even now — a faint twitch, a low thrum of hunger that refused to die completely.

"Stupid," she muttered again. Fonder this time. The word vibrated through her chest and into the ear pressed against her, carrying the dark promise of a woman who would absolutely make him pay for this later — in the best possible way.

She rose, carrying him, and began the long slow flight back toward the city.