Chapter 34
Written by Bayzo Albion
*Since you're using divine powers anyway, why not whip up some warm clothes? What's the issue?* my inner demon teased slyly.
"The issue is I don't want to get too used to the easy life," I replied, adjusting the logs as sparks danced upward.
*Hah! You really believe that?* he drawled. *You're doing this for the lovely ladies, not out of fear of comfort. Fine, I won't interfere—enjoy your heroic persona.*
I called the girls into the tent to warm up, then stayed outside to grill the meat on the heated stone. Fat sizzled and popped, releasing mouthwatering aromas of charred herbs and juices that made my stomach growl in anticipation.
Ten minutes later, the Baroness emerged quietly from the tent. She approached without a sound, draping a warm cloak over my shoulders before retreating wordlessly, her footsteps soft on the forest floor.
I watched her go, one eyebrow arched in surprise.
*Uh... how romantic!* the demon quipped sarcastically. *But by canon, it should've been the other way around. Aren't you ashamed to wear women's clothing?*
I smirked, wrapping myself in the soft, enveloping warmth.
*She's peculiar... but it seems like she's starting to warm up to me.*
I grilled the juicy meat, the process effortless in this paradise—no need for gourmet skills or exotic ingredients. The food here was inherently fresh and flavorful, requiring only a light sear to achieve perfection, the golden crust forming with a satisfying hiss.
*Missing that depressing, hopeless life?* the demon drawled lazily.
"Thank God I'm no masochist," I shot back, flipping a piece. "But I'd be lying if I said I don't miss my old mortal existence a little."
*Humans are never satisfied,* he snorted.
The meat sizzled, releasing tantalizing whiffs of spiced perfection.
*Even stomachs get erections... heh heh heh,* he continued, pleased with his crude jest.
I ignored him, focusing on the sear, letting the warm fat drip lazily over the stone griddle.
"They say," I broke the heavy silence, "that power is sweeter than any woman."
*Haa...* he drawled mockingly. *Giving in already? Though... nothing wrong with sampling every pleasure.*
"How does one pleasure differ from another?" I asked.
*By the boundaries of what's allowed,* he replied casually.
I smiled. Building was my unbound pleasure—not mere stacking of stones or driving stakes, but creation itself, breathing life into inert materials. I wasn't an architect by trade, but my ambition soared higher: to erect my own little kingdom, where every stone and path bent to my will. The thrill of it intoxicated me like strong ale, my heart pounding in sync with each hammer strike, my hands eager for the tools. Every project was a challenge, and I dove into it with the same fervor as battle.
"For starters, I need a friend who won't bore me while building a grand empire," I said, setting aside the poker.
*You need a jester more than a friend,* he retorted snidely.
"By the way... I've always wanted to learn to laugh at dumb humor."
*Laughing at stupid jokes? That's utter nonsense.*
"We're in paradise. Gotta try everything. And end with a bang."
Suddenly, the demon's voice shifted—deeper, more resonant, enveloping like darkness itself.
*Remember...* he intoned solemnly. *I'll be your best friend. And your greatest enemy. Set me free. Give me a body. A living vessel.*
I grinned.
"Great idea!" I clapped my hands, then interlaced my fingers, feeling magic coalesce in my palms like gathering storm clouds. "Forbidden technique..."
With a sharp gesture, I flung my arms wide, and from the shadows behind me, a figure began to materialize, emerging from the void like ink bleeding into water.
"Shadow cloning!"
From my index finger, a crimson droplet slowly emerged, hanging precariously on the tip of my skin, quivering as if hesitant to fall. But the descent was an illusion: as soon as it broke free, the drop froze mid-air, suspended by invisible threads. I watched, mesmerized, as it pulsed with life, multiplying, fracturing, and recombining in a hypnotic dance, like a living organism under a microscope's unblinking eye. The air around it hummed faintly, charged with an otherworldly energy that made the hairs on my arms stand on end.
The globule trembled, shimmered, and boiled like liquid mercury, gradually coalescing into form. Within the swirling mass, vertebrae materialized, ribs cracked into place, and a pelvis elongated. Flesh stretched over the bare bones with a wet, squelching sound, veins threading beneath the surface like roots burrowing under thin bark. The scent of raw creation filled the air—metallic and vital, like blood mixed with ozone after a lightning strike.
And there it stood... me. A perfect replica, down to the last freckle. The same smirk, the same lips, shoulders, gait. Everything. But the eyes... empty. Glossy orbs reflecting only my face, devoid of spark, of soul. A hollow shell, staring back with unnerving blankness that sent a chill racing down my spine, a mirror without reflection.
*Yes! Yes!* my inner demon howled with glee. *Put me inside! Let's see what happens!*
"The most dangerous enemy you can face is yourself," I murmured, echoing Nietzsche, the words hanging heavy in the charged atmosphere.
Before infusing the clone with a fragment of consciousness, I summoned the system settings. Panels flickered in and out under my fingertips, digital interfaces blooming like ethereal flowers until I located the "Internal Entities" section. Deep within my mind, my personal demon coiled like a serpent, writhing in anticipation. I didn't hesitate—I bound it in mental shackles, curtailing its influence to a bare minimum, the constraints snapping into place with a psychic click that echoed in my thoughts.
> System confirmed: [Restrictions applied. Threat level: 2%].
"Well then," I whispered, a shiver tracing along my spine like icy fingers. "Let's begin."
Transferring the soul felt like pouring thick honey—viscous, deliberate, with golden sparks flickering at the edges. When the final strand anchored, a duality washed over me: my sensations mirrored in him, his nascent thoughts pulsing softly in my mind. We resonated like a duet, perfectly tuned, our essences intertwined in a symphony of shared awareness that blurred the lines between self and other.
"Heh heh heh..." The clone rubbed his hands together, and I felt the motion echo in my own palms. "Let the grand game begin!"
"You always have a one-track mind," I retorted, shaking my head.
"Oh, come on!" He winked, and I caught myself smiling in sync. "Imagine intimacy... with double the experience. All sensations squared."
I sighed, a faint tremor of his excitement rippling through me, stirring unbidden thoughts.
"We can dream. But first, we need that damn house."
"Then at least let's eat!" He slapped his stomach, the impact reverberating in my own gut. "Work favors the full."
I didn't argue. I flung open the tent flap and stepped inside.
And there she was. The Baroness. A living embodiment of temptation.
Her short white dress clung to her body like a second skin, greedy and unyielding, the semi-transparent fabric playing with the light to hint at the secrets beneath. Black lace stockings encased her legs, long opera gloves adding an air of opulent elegance, as if she'd stepped not from a tent but from a grand theater stage, where every gesture was a performance designed to captivate and ensnare. My gaze drifted lower, drawn inexorably to the bold crimson peek of her undergarments at the hem's edge, teasing like a siren's call: *Come closer. Tear me away.*
– – –
A new day dawned, painting the sky in soft, blurred hues of sunrise, like watercolor bleeding across canvas. In the small tent, fluttering like a cradle woven from petals, two tiny fairies darted about. Their wings shimmered like dewdrops caught in sunlight, their delicate buzz mingling with tinkling laughter that filled the space with whimsical joy. Now there were three—a miniature paradise garden confined within four fabric walls, alive with ethereal magic.
"What the heck is this?" I raised an eyebrow in surprise.
"You shouldn't have wiped your own memory," my clone drawled lazily.
"This way's more fun," I smirked.
After several days of observation, I uncovered a peculiar truth: these diminutive beings, flitting around me like living sparks, were... my children. The realization hit with a cocktail of emotions—astonishment, a touch of embarrassment, and an undercurrent of awkwardness that made my cheeks warm. In this world, everything operated on different rules, defying the norms I'd known.
There was no childhood in the traditional sense. No helpless infants, no drawn-out years of growth. New lives emerged fully formed—tiny, palm-sized fairies with translucent wings that caught the light like fragile glass. They were born sustained by concentrated life energy, accumulated in a special organ within the mother—a living vial nestled near the solar plexus, glowing faintly with inner vitality.
The "maturation" process was nearly instantaneous. Within a week of birth, their wings strengthened, magical abilities unfurled like blooming flowers, and the fairies departed without hesitation, embarking on their own journeys. No bonds, no sentimentality—just pragmatic independence, a clean break that left a hollow echo in the parents' hearts, bittersweet and profound.
Yet, watching them now, I felt a swell of unexpected pride, a paternal warmth that softened the edges of my usually guarded soul. Their laughter echoed like tiny bells, filling the tent with a sense of wonder that made the mundane feel magical.
As the days blurred into a rhythm of discovery and adaptation, I found myself drawn into their playful world, the fairies' antics a delightful distraction from the weightier matters of building and survival. But beneath it all lingered a quiet reflection: in this paradise, creation came swiftly, but so did letting go—a lesson in impermanence wrapped in joy.