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The Unfulfilled: "The Insidious Steppe Woman"

* * *

Abstract: Demons are known throughout the worlds as creatures who can easily corrupt any friendship, tarnish any feelings, and bring discord and strife into the most sincere devotion. This is their strength, their greatest filth, and no one can take it away or dispute it. However, sometimes it turns out that the cunning, meanness, treachery, and filth of demons prove too much even for themselves.
* * *

Singha, daughter of Maega, daughter of Maedra, and beloved daughter of her father, the venerable Urvag de Lomer, was in such a wonderful mood that she almost envied herself. Why shouldn't she be, if everything she desired had already been hers, and not without her honest labor? She sometimes couldn't believe how many times everything had hung by a thread when Pann and her parents discussed their future union. They thought too differently, Pann's essence was too different — a visitor from another world, bearing with him the power of the Tablet of the Soul and the blessing of his Patroness, the infinitely powerful Khao-Yanash-Mal. And yet, she, they all, had managed, had managed to understand each other, and hadn't devolved the negotiations into a fruitless squabble.

And now she can not hide her new skills from her mom. She can not hide them, but she can be happy about them, show off the new powers given to her by the Tablet, the new khaos that has become more loyal to her than a tamed flock or a broken-in stallion, new ways to become even more powerful, even greater than she was before. Stronger than she ever dared to dream. Stronger than all her ancestors combined. Stronger than dozens of generations of grandmothers, mothers, and daughters who, generation after generation, gave the sky and the earth new khao-seahar, each of whom had more talent than the previous one. And there she could already see ways and means to share this gift with her mother, so that Pann would open the Tablet for her too. And then... then all the heavens and the earth, all the chaos and their places of habitation would belong to them.

All three of them.

Thoughts about how blind Pann sometimes was, despite his ability to see into the minds and passions of humans and non-humans, sometimes made Singh bend over with laughter. And sometimes it made her burn with anger, yes. However, they had a lot of time ahead of them, and she was sure that there would be time to explain, understand their feelings, and decide whether there was a place for them. Both he and she had to decide. She knew one thing for sure — whatever would be Pann's decision, for her, he would always be the one who saved her life and more, who did not turn away and helped, even at the risk of his own life.

Will he not accept her feelings that are deeper than just friendship? Well, so be it. Friendship will not disappear because of this. Singh is not like the pampered bitches of stone cities or the equally pampered fools from the rich tents of the khan's nökers. She will not allow silly girlish emotions to get the better of someone who understands the khao-lanaar, who visits her khao day after day, year after year. Without the ability to understand one's own emotions, one's most secret feelings, to accept them and let them go, one cannot become a good chao-seahar, although some try, sometimes with success.

Be that as it may, the daughter of the steppes was in no hurry to upset the fragile balance that had been established. She preferred to seize moments of joy wherever she could find them. For example, she went for a walk around the city, strolled through the markets of Morgrave, looking for something interesting among the merchants selling curiosities, among the weavers' stalls, and in the storerooms of jewelers who had brought new goods from the distant Caliphate. The girl was in a good mood, simply wonderful, and even the awkwardness of Pann, fulfilling the will and task of his chao-yanash-mal, being forced to pretend to be part of her human entourage, a simple servant... though not quite so simple, of course, had already smoothed over. Anyway, he was not with her now; he was calling out to the mighty chao-aiwat in his underground stronghold, below.

But if he were here, he might be able to change something, even fix it. For example, he would have a small, even tiny, but still existing chance of noticing a figure flashing by in the crowd. To notice her, to see her carefully smoothed and disguised aura, but at the same time her recognizable facial features. To recognize the townswoman who flashed by in the parallel row, bargaining for something with some successful shopkeeper. A townswoman who simply glanced at Singha with a lazy and slightly malicious look, and then went on her way. She did not attack, she did not curse, she did not do anything particularly noticeable, she just glanced at the heiress de Lomer.

The heiress, who had just picked out a beautiful bracelet made of intricately woven gold threads, could not notice anything. She could not realize that a line had just flashed across her Soul Tablet, invisible to her, Pann, or anyone else, stating the simplest truth.

Meta-impact effect applied: "Temptress's Vileness" (hidden from awareness)

Singha simply continued her promenade, genuinely enjoying a good day in a series of good days.

* * *

Singha, being the daughter not only of her mother but also of her father, had long been accustomed to the fact that another conversation with her friends could easily turn into an attempt to find out about the inner workings of the de Lomer household through her. In fact, many of her friends ceased to be friends and became “friends” after trying to pull something like that off. She couldn't break off relations with them, could she? She couldn't cause a scandal. They, too, were daughters of respected fathers or even mothers, and she couldn't just send them away to the most vile khao-tkhash, either literally or even just verbally. In general, she had to pretend, not too insincerely, that communicating with them was still pleasant. In many ways, it remained so; after all, it is somehow easier to talk to educated and knowledgeable young ladies of similar status who know a lot of gossip.

But still, these moments annoyed her, especially now that Angelica de Valles, a short, petite curly-haired brunette, who even now did not take off her decorative “academic” glasses, which the youth of Neшrat loved to wear, was trying for the umpteenth time during this outing to get her to talk about whether her mother was expecting another child. Singha was usually much more tolerant of this, but now she simply decided that she had had enough. She made up her mind and began to follow her plan instantly, as if on impulse, as if khao in her ears was whispering to her, a very amusing idea.

"Hai-hai, I understand, sometimes it's hard, really hard." She looks into Angelica's soul with her intuition, into her khao-ala-tar, catches the slightest fluctuations in it, and then begins to adjust herself to her, changing her tone, body position, and breathing rate. All these thoughts, all these plans. Our parents, our friends. We think about it ourselves, and sometimes it's so hard. I get so tired that sometimes I just want to..."

Singha habitually cuts off her sentences. But now she only does so when she sees the reaction of her “friend,” who is listening to her intently, holding her breath. It seems to her that Singha is about to talk about a topic that is so interesting to the de Vales family, and not only to them. It seems that Singha has relaxed; that she has allowed herself a moment of weakness. And now is the time to take advantage of this weakness, to utilize the insolent girl to open up. The steppe girl only smiles mentally, continuing to talk to the girl who nods and agrees with her, who herself does not notice that she is too lost in her own thoughts, too relaxed, listening too intently to what she is being told, no longer noticing that Singha is not talking entirely about herself. Angelica involuntarily falls into a stupor and, in that stupor, applies what has been said to herself.

"...you're smart, and that's always hard. I, for example, am not very smart myself. Not very smart, mostly stupid. But it's easier. Smart people think, and it's hard for smart people, but not for me." They are riding in a closed carriage, where there is only room for the two of them, gossiping girlfriends, while the retinue remains outside. "With smart people, there is more to be expected, more to answer for. More. It's harder. Always harder..."

Simultaneously with her words, Singha, with targeted effects of her own gift and the minor лhao she summoned, blocked the sounds of their conversation, distorted perspective, and the amulets of Angelique and her retinue. Her own, too, discreetly ensuring that no one would disturb them now, interrupting her speech and Angelique's answers. Angelique was a truly intelligent girl. She was so intelligent that it was precisely this that had once allowed them to become friends before she turned their friendship into "friendship." The young shaman found it more pleasant to talk with someone who knew the difference between High Magic and Invocations of the Khao, who, instead of recounting gossip about new dresses and lovers in high society, read the classic works of the academics of Neirat.

And now Singhf, with a pleasure that surprised even herself, was turning the undoubtedly intelligent young girl, who in her clear mind was even smarter than Singha, who, next to Angelica, felt like a simple-minded savage from the steppes, into a sweet and very smiling fool. Nothing really complicated or noticeable, no direct magic, just mirroring her kha-laat and tiny pricks into her isubtle body, so weak that no amulet would perceive them as a threat. Singha simply made her “friend” believe that it was easier, more pleasant, and more joyful to be stupid, that she herself would like to be stupid, but she was already a stupid steppe girl. She couldn't become any stupider.

But the intelligent and capable Angelica, who always considered herself better than Singha, even if she didn't show it, always considering herself smarter, will easily surpass her here and leave her behind. She will become so stupid that she will put Singha to shame. She will become stupid because she is very intelligent. The shaman's abrupt speech coincides with her gestures, with her touches to the hand and shoulders of her “friend,” who has already rolled her eyes openly and is immersed in her own thoughts. She thinks hard about how to become stupid, even more stupid than Singha, because only stupid people are happy, only they are pleasant, only they are joyful.

It turned out to be easy to link her words to tender and intimate memories. To connect one thing with another. To make Angelica perceive her own stupidity as if it were the embrace of a lover or her own touch, the help of her beloved lady savior from black wood. Angelica smiles, one hand tucked under her dress, the other held in front of her face, holding and swaying after Singha, who sways her hand in front of her face. Trying not to smile too obviously with the evil and triumphant smile of someone who will now remind her “friend” of everything.

"I always watch. With my eyes. With my thoughts. With my mind." She says, waving her hand in front of her face and seeing Angelica repeat her gesture, almost not watching the steppe girl anymore, rolling her eyes in pure pleasure. "And I'm stupid because I can. Because I want to. Because it's good. Stupid is good. Smart is bad. Stupid is good. Smart is boring. Stupid is good. Smart..."

"...stupid, smart – stupid, smart – bored, smart – ba-a-a-a-d!" Sinha barely had time to turn up the sound cutoff and order a couple of hao to remove traces and scents of a woman's body from the inside of the carriage. "I'm smarter than you! I'm stupider than you! You're smart and therefore stupid! Stu-u-u-u-u-u-pid!

The double ecstasy finally shut down Angelica's thoughts, allowing Singha's words to replace them, because a mind so consumed by passion, no matter how sharp it might be, could not appreciate what was being said. And she didn't want to, because she had directed her entire mind toward becoming as stupid as possible. Singha had no doubt that if she were given a little more time, she would turn Angelica not even into a stupid girl, but into an irrational animal, if not a tree that could not walk any other way than under itself. Some part of her even wanted this, wanted to completely break her interlocutor's mind without magic, only with the word of her own gift, nothing more.

But she didn't dislike her “friend” that much; she was more afraid of leaving too obvious traces, preferring to take a couple of steps back. To convince her mind, freshly sprinkled with juices and honey, which had escaped to her lower lips, that it needed to pretend, to hide, to conceal the foolishness to which the mind so aspired. So that sweet Angelica would say goodbye to Singha and go about her business, unaware of anything. So that she would become stupid gradually, day after day, imperceptibly to herself, little by little, without even realizing why it was difficult for her to think, boring to read her favorite treatises, more difficult to remember new things or recall old ones, to say clever words.

But her mind, her powerful and remarkable mind, will know, even if Angelica does not, how good and desirable it is for her to be stupid. It will know and reward her for every awkward moment, for every time she makes a fool of herself, forgets a word, cannot read a sentence, writes a note with childish mistakes. Like fingers on nipples, like a tongue on lower lips, like the firmness of a lady savior in the womb, like oiled fingers in the ass — every time, even without her awareness. And she herself will not understand at what moment she will happily plunge into her stupidity, pouring herself out and enjoying the fact that she is stupid, that others consider her to be so. Because deep down, deep inside herself, she will continue to know, continue to understand — that it is she...

" ...the smartest, the smartest, because I want to become stupid myseeeeeeelf!!!" Angelica squeals, smearing honey on her clothes and underwear, holding Singha tightly by both hands, soaring into the heavens without even touching herself, only realising the brilliant mind that made her a silly fool. "Ha-ha-ha... I'm smart. I'm silly. I'm smart. I'm a mouse. Am I smart? Me? M? Oh, Singha, my sister, we've been talking so much that I might be late for dinner!"

"Of course, my friend." Singha smiles at her, his most welcoming smile. "I won’t keep you away. From your favorite books."

Angelica did not notice how she straightened her dress, put her underwear back in place, and dried herself with her handkerchief, putting herself completely in order. Her mind was now Singha's main ally, for he knew for sure that only thanks to her would it be possible to become foolish, to make the owner of the mind a silly girl. They parted in high spirits, and Singha barely restrained herself from helping herself with her fingers in the same carriage. She deeply regretted that she had had enough time to convince her “friend” in the carriage, but not enough time for her to thank her foolish steppe friend for her clever advice with her excessively sharp tongue.

What injustice!

But this day couldn’t have been completely perfect in every way?

* * *

Having escaped from his stronghold, Pann was incredibly pleased. He had been officially “sick” for two and a half days, but unofficially, he had caught some kind of unpleasant curse due to his “secret” status as a possible suitor for Ms. Singh. He was so pleased and happy that the girl couldn't help but feel a kind of envy, not black, but not the easiest either. The double call of the powerful khaos connected, whom he called elders and she called khao-sedarat, was successful, as was the closed task of his Tablets, which also surely rewarded the already gifted young man.

Singha couldn't help but feel envious. She had no way of receiving such assignments at the moment. Singha was jealous, Singha was a little angry, and so Singha decided to remember the days of their nightmarish adventure in the depths of the cursed, worm-eaten jungle, stepping on Pann's overly satisfied, smug face with her feet. Simply because she could, she wanted to, and she saw no reason to refuse her planned little joke at the expense of dear Pann.

"It's very tedious, very tedious. I repeat it and will repeat it again. These are some kind of nervous tics from the spirit world, damn it! Both sides already understood that there would be a deal, that it was unavoidable, that it was beneficial to everyone, that everyone would agree, but they still fought over every little thing on purpose, like natural disasters." Singha, for whom such khaos with so little preparation still seemed like an unreal sacrilege against the ancestral art, and not just a “tedious” task, only snorted at such a passage. "Yes, yes, I understand your unspoken words, but, bitch, I'm still angry. Like three hundred vicious bottom-dwelling catfish, damn it! My migraine hasn't completely gone away yet, and the trash really pissed me off with its duplicated images, always different, but always almost the same. Like an echo in my ear, only outside my ear!"

Such an echo would drive someone else mad or simply kill them with a collapse of their essence, when khao-taat devours itself in an attempt not to accept foreign images. But it just gives him a slight headache! Singha didn't even bother to get upset anymore. She was too used to how different her and Panno's scales of simple and complex were. And she herself began to get used to this attitude. Her boundaries on this scale are also becoming more blurred with each passing day. With each line and stroke in the Tablet open to her, it became more blurred.

"I think I understand. I experienced something similar myself. When I called some khaos. Or back then, when the paths of khaos carried us away. From Dantmark." He even looked at her in surprise, distracted from his swearing, which was what Singha had been aiming for, already tuning in to her interlocutor in the same way as she had with Angelica, or later with the overly modest Rayva, or with that boy, Tumar, the son of Arbesh-Shar, a merchant of Caliphate jewelry, whom she had convinced that he now adored flat girlish breasts and no longer loved to chew on huge udders. "Like back then, when that scaly trash enchanted me. She ensnared my will."

In response, she receives a puzzled look and considerable interest, which makes Singha inwardly triumphant, having successfully introduced the topic she wanted to discuss. Sighing wearily, she began to explain, gesturing wildly and arguing with Pann, breathing in unison with him, thinking in the same vein, arguing and exchanging arguments. Her friend and savior was a wonderful conversationalist for her, always trying to convey his thoughts and understand hers. She sincerely enjoyed talking to him about her family's craft. But right now, it was his manner of understanding, of trying to comprehend what his interlocutor was saying, that gave her not just a path, but a straight, paved road to his heart.

"...and I felt like I was myself. And not myself at the same time. I needed to show you my legs. Show you my feet. I had to do it. So you would kiss them. And break the line." She says she's even a little embarrassed about how they roped her in back then, like a wild mare, but behind that embarrassment, it's so easy to hide the excitement and thrill. Only these thoughts. Only my feet. Only you. Only me. Only feet...

She does nothing dangerous or even openly magical; those shadows cast by her influence, direct contact between invisible bodies, chaos within chaos, could not be considered a threat even to a tribal fortune teller, who is only good for casting spells on barley and checking horses' teeth. Pann could have cast off the entire web of her words, not even with the power of his gift or will, but with a single thought and conscious desire. Singha, however, trivially did not give him the chance to think this thought, did not allow him to realize or desire it. And the mighty khao-seran sank deeper and deeper into the swamp of her speech, into the web of words and movements, simply having no chance to object or resist her.

Thoughts clung to thoughts, words to words, ideas to ideas; they argued about the call of khaos, about the difference in perception of such things, or so it seemed from the outside. But Singha, laughing insidiously inside, did not allow the topic of conversation to stray too far, repeatedly returning to examples and references to how her feet touched Pann's face under the influence of that distortion called a token, bestowed by the almighty Tablet and personally by khao-yanash-mal. And the mighty, so strong, so dangerous Pann did not notice this, could no longer notice it, had already succumbed, and the girl only prolonged the pleasure.

At some point, her feet ended up on the table, her bare feet catching the shaman's gaze, because the conversation was about them, about how she thought about her feet back then and how she now made him think about them. Step by step, each individual action seemed logical and understandable to Pannu, coming from himself and his ideas. She moves her toes, luring him with the rhythm of her movements. She lifts her foot slightly, giving him a better view, and he touches it, beginning to gently stroke and then massage her skin. Because it seemed polite and right to him. They talk about feet. Singha shows him her feet. He touches them, so why not give her a little massage, soothe the buzzing in her legs.

The shaman almost moans with pleasure—Pann's fingers are truly magical. He knows how to use them to give pleasure, and she realizes with surprise that she could easily melt away from such caresses and only from them. And she vengefully continues to torment her now calm, submissive, and obedient mind, moving her feet in a seductive, yielding rhythm. She strokes his foot with her feet, moves her fingers, and then waves them in front of Panna's face, who is absentmindedly listing the offerings for the next planned call, not noticing that he is leaning lower and lower toward her foot.

Singha consciously repeats with him what she once did against his will under the spell of the snake's eyes, only now without the help of the khao-yanash-mal token, relying solely on her own strength, her own words, movements, and desires. She has immense respect for Pann, values their strange friendship, remembers his kindness, and feels sincere and deep sympathy for him. But she also remembers every insult, every harsh word, and every unpleasant attitude he has shown her, for which she now intends to take revenge on Panna, to take revenge in a way that will be pleasant for her.

"The best feet, steppe feet, sweet feet, tender feet..." Pann, listing the virtues of her feet, covers her skin with kisses and already believes everything she says. "Yes, yes, yes, I remember, I will, I remember, for the sake of your feet, Singha."

"Then wake up, Pann. You've been deep in thought." She removes her feet from his face, enjoying the stupid expression on his face as he comes to his senses. "Are you okay?"

"Everything is good, Singha-searan." He replied politely and obsequiously, as befits a simple khanur servant, almost falling off his feet and kneeling, bowing his head so that she could place her feet on the back of his head. "Your khanur-yalom is ready to serve."

He is truly ready. He is not playing games. He has convinced himself that this is the right thing to do, that this way he will be able to apologize for his words to her, that this will be the easiest way to enter her family and take his rightful place in the world. It is easiest to touch and caress her feet, for which he is willing to do anything. Even if he starts to test himself for suggestions, call back the khaos he released at her request, they will find nothing. She did not bewitch him in the full sense of the word. There is no lasso of hers in his essence; he simply believes in what she gave him, believes himself, with all his khao-taans.

"I'm glad. Your tongue was cruel to me. Let it be gentle now." Lifting her colourful dress in the traditional style of the steppe people, Singha spreads her legs and lets Pann offer the first of many apologies. "That's it... How long I've waited for this! Hai! Hai! Hai-i-i-i-i-i!!!"

And why didn't she do this earlier?

* * *

Pann lies on a soft carpet spread over the wooden floor, completely naked and stretched out in a line, absolutely motionless, except for his lips, tongue, and pulsating khaslar, which seem as if it will soon spurt directly onto the young man's belly. As has happened twice before, Panna's face is covered with the perfectly massaged, fragrant oil-coated, sweet feet of a real steppe girl. This was a fairly common situation for the beloved khanur-yalom of the beautiful Lady Singha in recent days, with the only difference being that this time the feet did not belong to the fully clothed Singha, but to the equally clothed mother of this young maiden, the venerable Maega, daughter of Maedra, daughter of Siddhana, who looks at the spellbound shaman with a strange mixture of surprise, satisfaction, and slight contempt.

"I can't believe it. Him! With all his strength! And now under my feet. Under your heels, daughter!" She shakes her head, either disapprovingly at the stallion who allowed himself to be caught, or approvingly at her incredibly talented daughter. "I won't condemn you. I won't pretend. He's dangerous. His ‘tokens’... They're terrifying. Nightmarish! I would be afraid to sleep. I would be afraid to live! Knowing that I could become his slave. At any moment."

The daughter, who told her mother about the Tokens, about the strange and frightening Mark of Fate on her and her daughter, only reassuringly strokes her mother's shoulders as she becomes nervous again and tries to justify herself. She understands everything. It's all a reasonable precaution. It is not a violation of her honor or her gratitude, because she will not harm Pann, right? She wishes him only good, just like Singha. They will only do him good. Just let this good be controlled, okay? Is it bad that he understood the beauty of the steppe women? What is wrong with him realizing his place beneath them and their magnificent feet? Would it be a disaster if he became a khanur-yalom to them, if he became the father of her, Maegi's, grandchildren, entering the clan and ceasing to be a plebeian-yalom, becoming equal to the clan he entered?

That's right. That's right. Maega believed it. She herself was glad to be convinced, and Singha admitted to herself with a slight bitterness that her mother could have come to a similar decision on her own, without any additional persuasion. What a bad mother she has, really very bad, oh dear, you can't be that bad. Or maybe you can, but then poor Pann deserves a little apology for his distrust, doesn't he? At that moment, Pann could no longer withstand the immobility, and with another kiss from the leg lying weightlessly on his face, he arched his back, pouring out another stream of seed saturated with pure power, thick and abundant.

"Hai, daughter, I understand. It's just... it's just that... I'm married, your father..." Father, whom Singh spoke to even before your mother or most of the servants and relatives on the estate, won't mind, even if he finds out somehow. And he won't find out. He was too busy fucking Artiza de Mont Ros, Morgrave's second assistant treasurer, over his knee, taking revenge for every obstacle this luxurious but bitchy woman had put in the way of de Lomer's business activities. "I mean, I understand. I understand. It's just..."

"But you remember, my mother." Singha smiles, massaging Maega's shoulders in a strictly measured rhythm, causing her to sway like a clock pendulum, left and right, until her breasts, enlarged by the gift token, fall out of her richly decorated robe. “This isn't betrayal, is it? It's not betrayal, is it? It's not your infidelity?”

"Hai. I remember. I remember. I remember." She repeats this “I remember” for several minutes, swaying from side to side, staring blankly ahead and sending away all her allies. "It's not cheating. I remember. I remain faithful. I remember. I believe. I know. I have no doubt. Ash-zhah is not cheating. I remember. I believe. I know. I have no doubt. The blowjob is not cheating. I remember. I believe. I know. I have no doubt. The feet job is not cheating. I remember. I believe. I know. I have no doubt. The handjob is not cheating. I remember. I believe. I know. I have no doubt. Titjob is not cheating. I remember. I believe. I know. I have no doubt. The pussy is for my husband. I remember. I believe. I know. I have no doubt. Outside the pussy is not cheating. Not cheating. Not cheating."

Singha allowed her mother to enjoy her convictions a little longer, to strengthen her belief in what she so desperately wanted and enjoyed believing. Well, she played with Pann's wand a little more with her feet, eliciting a muffled moan. That same moan brought Maega out of her trance and brought a smug smile to her face. They continued to play with Pann, who was obedient and submissive, so responsive to both of their commands. Less than an hour later, Maega was already on her back, her ass cleansed with special khao, covered with equally special oils acquired through the Tablet of the Soul, and her large breasts, like ripe melons, bounced from the movements of the young man obediently pounding his mistress.

"No cheating! No cheating! Ash-zhakh – no cheating! My ass – no cheating! Hai-i-i-i-i! Harder! Harder, khanu-u-u-u-ur, harder-r-r-r!!! Hai-i-i-i-i-i-u-u-u-u-uk! Uk! Uk! Uk! U-u-u-u-u-u-uk!!!" Maega does not hide her passion, the pleasure, the flow of delight that passionate intercourse through the back door gives her, that very steppe ash-zhakh, literally translated as spear-in-hole, as well as the awareness of her complete power over Pann's ensnared mind and feelings. "I am a good wife! A good mommy-yy-yy-yy-yy!!! Hai-i-i-i-i-i!!!"

Singha does not add to the already busy woman's excitement; enjoyment will only reinforce her new convictions. She just whispers quietly in Pann's ear, demanding that she not leave her mother without pleasure, because he is an obedient khanur-yalom. He will do everything as his honorable mistresses, the searan, ask, as they wish and demand. Maega quickly got her pleasure, but now she gets even more, only now it is moral. She puts her feet back on the face of the young man lying on the carpet while Singha rides him. She is not bound by “cheating,” so she allows herself to completely surrender to passion, only forbidding her beloved Pann from ejaculating for now, as she did not want to burden herself with a child without revealing the potential of her Soul Tablet.

Pann kisses Maega's heels, moving his hips toward the galloping Singha under her commanding comments, as if he were really some kind of stallion, and then the older of the women can't take it anymore. Muttering another “the mouth is not cheating” under her breath, she sat down on the guy's face, letting his surprisingly nimble tongue bring even more pleasure to the shaman who desired it. Even in this state, especially in this state, the shaman had not lost his skills in tantric magic, so he licked his mistress so well that she screamed, and how she squirted during orgasm! Singha, holding her mother by both hands, continuing to instill in her another “this is not cheating,” glowed with happiness.

There is always such a pleasant atmosphere in her family now, and all it took was a little more persuasion.

* * *

"How many times do I have to explain that it's fucking impossible, Maega?" Pann looks tired, angry, exhausted, and dissatisfied, even though their latest joint ritual was a complete success. "And I was right! Fucking right! Maega, I understand everything, but my Tablet is a little longer than yours. I know the limits of its generosity better, and I can predict quite accurately whether it will give additional rewards or not. And so, with all due respect, don't fuck my brain... oops. Please excuse my khanur-yalom, Lady Maega, his tongue is unforgivable."

Pann, who saw his key image in the form of dark brown nipples on Maega's chest exposed from under her robe, almost came from shame at his words, immediately kneeling and pressing his forehead to the floor. A moment later, the mistress placed her bare foot on the back of his head, ordering him to stand up and raise his face so that her feet were on his face. At that moment, he finally came, ashamed of how his mind, intoxicated with the poison of free thought, had dared to contradict and even be rude to the mistress, but also glad that she had once again publicly humiliated him and forced him to come.

For the next half hour, he apologized profusely to Mrs. Maega's feet and her unapproachable pussy, which he would never be able to enter with his khanurs dick. She never tired of reminding him of this, but that only made him happier, because he knew, believed with all his heart, that he did not dare even think of forcing Mrs. Maega into an unworthy cheating. She was happily married, and therefore her pussy was not for a khanur-yalom, even if he had a hundred Tablets.

Especially now that the lady herself had received her Tablet, albeit with the help of the same insolent and shameless khanur-yalom. Pann sincerely, with all his heart and soul, believed that it was his mistresses who should have received this Tablet, that his very possession of it was an offensive misunderstanding, a humiliation of his masters' dignity. Fortunately, he managed to become their loyal yalom, restoring the world order to the state it should be.

And after Singha visited Dantmark through the portal, Sylvia and her entire nest and Yula began to think the same way. Or rather, Yula, his foolish student, simply realized that she had behaved like a mischievous child toward Mrs. Singha, who had come to visit. And now she only misbehaves with the milk-breasted Taura, renamed Big Titties, rarely leaving her new mother's side, who never refuses her mischievous daughter anything. The shaman left her when she was riding on her mother's back, holding onto her horns and laughing happily like a little child, not even remembering that she had been so mean and insultingly unreasonable with Mrs. Singha.

The shaman groans, trying to praise and thank Lady Maega, even though his mouth is covered by her pussy, a neat triangle that slightly hinders his khanur's bold tongue from pleasing her. But he is still a master of tantric magic, and he is quite capable of bringing pleasure to his mistress in any way, under any circumstances. And she appreciates him for this, as well as for many other things, allowing him to satisfy her by any means other than with his dick in her pussy. For example, she liked anal sex. She was simply crazy about it, sometimes riding him every day, letting him take her from behind or lay her back on the table or floor.

"No cheating! Hai! Hai! Hai-i-i-i-i! No cheating, uk-mal-saash-khar, no cheating!" She literally squeezes around him, provoking a new orgasm, giving silent permission to her khanur-yalom to fill her ass with his low, but so hot and desirable seed, and then, surprisingly clearly and evenly, as if to herself, she says once again. "It's not cheating. Ash-zhakh — never cheating."

He just silently agrees with her, bowing his head while she gets him ready again with her mouth and lips. Maega pretends she doesn't really like giving this honor to khanur-yalom, even if he is her daughter's future son-in-law, but she just does it. Even if we disregard the fact that, as a self-respecting lady, she cannot allow a bewitched servant and almost slave to accumulate too much seed in his balls, she really likes it, and such feelings cannot be hidden from his perception, not at the moment of intimacy. Pann always tried to think about it very quietly and carefully, but it's true! Even now, she sucks his oil-covered cock passionately, with pleasure, caressing it with a patronizing smile in the hollow between her lush breasts!

"Hai-i-i-i-i..." With a weary sigh, Lady Maega leaned back on the dining table of the small guest room where she'd chosen to meet him, having first covered everything with camouflage hao. "You've served me well, my khanur-yalom, but now it's time for you to become an obnoxious, disrespectful, insolent boy."

Pann blinked, perplexed and surprised, and an instant later began hurriedly masturbating right over Mistress Maega's foot dangling from the table, spilling his seed and his submission onto it, once again forgetting who he was and where his place was. Groaning, he dressed and tidied himself up, oblivious to the fact that Maega was doing exactly the same thing next to him. Then he seemed to wake up again and resumed his interrupted speech.

"So no, we didn't even manage to get an Act, let alone a Deed. And it couldn't have worked out." Yawning, he glanced slightly embarrassed at his interlocutor's bare feet, as if drawn to them like a magnet, and then left the room. "I'll go find Singha, I..."

He suddenly had a strong urge to lick her steppe pussy, and he was sure that the girl would not refuse him.

* * *

Singha did not regret for a second that she had inspired her friend Pann to wake her up with tender kisses on her lower lips every fifth day. Each time, he would sneak into her room, considering it entirely his idea and thinking of himself as some kind of perverted villain, repaying someone else's kindness with evil. Each time, he would sneak up to her, sometimes even putting her back to sleep, making her sleep completely soundly. And then, seeing her pussy, he lost all willpower and began to pleasure her, sleeping, gently and tenderly, until morning, so that she would wake up with a burst of pleasure, simultaneously pleasuring himself with his free hand. Every time, he was very ashamed, apologized, tried to tell her that he had lost control of himself, and felt extremely awkward. This made her so happy that she sometimes encouraged a repeat of this scenario so she could see that look again when he realized that the victim of his caresses had woken up and now he, at that very moment, staining her sheets and skin with his seed, had to explain himself somehow.

On other days, he would also sneak up to her, but only to lick the sleeping khao-seivar's feet, then ejaculate on them and immediately pass out himself. Then she would wake him up and pretend to be indignant at how preoccupied he was, sneaking into her bedroom and covering her feet with these stains. It was also very amusing. Each time, she got so excited that by the time Pann began to beg her to let him “repay” her for the insult, she could barely restrain herself from jumping on his face before he even asked. Sometimes she couldn't hold back, sometimes skipping his face altogether, immediately straddling his khalsar and riding him to the peak of heavenly winds.

The girl never grew to love ash-zhakh, even though she tried, both on her own and with her mother, several maids, friends, or distinguished guests of the de Lomer estate. Somehow, she had acquired a large number of beautiful young women and men who were ready to please her in every way, even if they themselves were unaware of it. However, she was more interested in the young women than the young men. She was almost always satisfied with Pann, for whom she still had strong feelings. And with each passing day, with each licking of his legs or what was between them, with each night or other moment of passion, she understood more and more clearly that yes, she was truly ready to love him.

It wasn't hard to achieve reciprocity, true, but Singha never crossed that line. She wanted to get what she wanted honestly. Not like this, ridiculously and cunningly, through passionate deception. No, no, she lassoed him however she wanted, making him an innocent, amorous youth, an ardent, passionate lover, and her beloved khanur-yalom, and even convinced him that he was the one who dominated her, commanding her to sit on his face or let him lick her feet. But these were just games, funny, amusing, and pleasing to Singh, but not entirely honest. She longed for something sincere, at least occasionally.

"Thank you, Pann." Today, he doesn't apologize. Today, he simply believes that his actions are absolutely correct, simple politeness, like wishing good morning, just tickling a flower with your tongue. "Will you go with me to the venerable Veronica today?"

"Is this for the one with the gorgeous backside?" Of course, he'd appreciate the half-breed Khotta who supplied House de Lomer and its shamans with special jungle goods, including those intended as gifts for certain special Khao who interested Pann. "Honestly, watching her bend over, I can hardly resist kissing those cheeks."

He can't hold back. Just as Veronica herself can't resist showing her ass to the distinguished guests and letting them caress it in any way they desire. And today, in her office, which doubles as a sales representative office, a visit is planned by a couple of firstborns from the Forest emissary corps. They had communicated before, but Singha had not yet had the opportunity to let Pann lick the legs and pussies of a real elf, although last time the respected and revered Viraline had experienced a strange and irresistible desire to please her companion, with her mouth. Such a humiliating desire that, obviously, she had to forget about it immediately so that the memory would not bring her shame.

Let Pann repay his debt now, while his mistress Singha is entertaining the venerable Urvinel. Well, just a little, at most he'll spill it on the floor. She certainly won't play with another man in front of Pann. In the worst case, she will give her firstborn man to Veronica, because she intends to develop in him a passionate desire to impregnate a representative of the lower race. They talked a little last time, but when she removed all barriers and restrained words, there was so much contempt and arrogance in him that she wanted to knock that arrogance down. And the proud son of the tree crowns would impregnate not humans, no, but green-skinned orcs, children of the Great Steppe, Singha guarantees him that.

"Hai, to her," she confirms, slowly dressing, knowing that Pann won't be surprised by her nakedness anyway, not under the words and lassos that hold him now. "Only you, when you see her. Don't spill your seed. From the impressions."

With a sly smile, she whispers a few words in the steppe dialect and, without turning around, leaves the room, leaving Pann alone with the maid who helped her dress. Auntie Margoda had known her since she was very young, but she was still very beautiful and desirable. Her breasts had always been large, and after Pann enlarged them, they became even larger. Singha only smiled even wider, delighted for her nanny. Pann would now masturbate on her, and then, after cumming on her face, apologize to her and also work his tongue. Margoda deserved a little passion and pleasure this morning, didn't she?

She didn't forget to send the simple khao-tulas, who didn't even try to hide his observation, after enjoying the spectacle. Fortunately, her dear Pann simply couldn't even wish to notice this particular observer, even if he were pointed out directly.

* * *

Her venerable father had already gone about his business, yawning wearily because her mother, though she regularly didn't cheat on her husband, still jumped out on him at every opportunity. Singha found it a little funny every time she saw her father tired and exhausted, yet incredibly contented, the kind everyone envied on such mornings. If, of course, they could even consciously think and envy. With such actions, Singha might actually convince Maega to give her a brother, since with her husband, she not only trains and hones her ash-zhakh, but also opens her pussy to him in every position and form.

Him and him alone, studiously ignoring and dismissing all the rumors about Urvag being a master cheater. Now, even if Mother were to personally enter Father's office at the moment he fuck the senior priestess of the Life-Giver on his desk, she still wouldn't believe his cheating. She'd likely instantly and sincerely believe the version that Urvag was simply helping the priestess fasten her corset, slipped awkwardly, and ended up with the shuft inside her—a ridiculous and hilarious accident.

However, this didn't make him love his wife any less. Singha didn't dare, or even think about, altering their feelings, sincere and genuine. Sometimes, watching the way they looked at each other in the morning after yet another night, her heart warmed so much that she almost burst into tears. But she still preferred to play with someone else, most often with Pann, in whom she dreamed at night of seeing the same loving gaze. Well, a real one, not under her lasso, of course.

"So, we'll schedule a new summoning for the end of the week," Pann concluded, having received from Urvag all the reagents he needed, as Urvag could supply them, and they'll procure the rest through the Tablet. "We're all set regarding the reagents: a primary circuit for flame dispersion, rubies, coals, plant ash, and sacrificial meat with plenty of red pepper. Did I forget anything?"

"Nothing but a young stallion," Maega answered, smiling as if she knew some joke that was understandable to her and her smiling daughter, but not to him. "Am I right, daughter?"

"Yes, yes, Mother, we need a young stallion," Singha nodded, also smiling, briefly causing the shaman to freeze, as he didn't immediately realize they were joking and began seriously considering how and why they might need the sacrificial horse. "We need it right now."

"Very funny, Singhi-g-g-g-g-g-gog!" The shaman blinked in confusion, realizing he had just laughed like a horse, blushing with bewildered shame. "Sorry, I'm not a y-y-y-yo, what came over me-e-e-e-e! Y-y-y-y-y-y!?"

His bewilderment grows, and the horse's neighing becomes more and more pronounced in his speech, but the kind mistresses help him shed the strange rags, which bear no resemblance to a saddlecloth or saddle, and then, one after another, they saddle him right there, on the table and on the floor. He gallops, moving his hips, allowing the mistresses perched on top of him to experience the joy of riding. He enjoys it, and so do they. Both mistresses laughingly tell each other something, but when they speak to him, he only neighs, because he cannot understand the mistresses. The young mistress jumps off the stallion, quickly and deftly, jumping off just before he bursts, and he, with a horse's neigh, floods everything with white, hitting himself and the older mistress sitting on his muzzle.

Then the older one took the younger one's place. She rides slowly, secured to the saddle not with the usual fastening, but with a tighter one, lubricated with pleasantly smelling mint. The younger mistress strokes the stallion with her feet, her toes on his muzzle, and he just neighs playfully, begging for a treat. Then the stallion fuck the younger mistress from the top, pressing her into the wooden surface of the stall, while the older one watches and pokes herself under the tail with a vibrating wooden thing. So that later she would be fucked by a satisfied stallion, who cannot stop fucking the female/mistresses/women... Women?

The shaman shook his head in bewilderment as he followed Maegoa to the underground dwelling to perform a large-scale calling ritual. But in order to stop thinking about how nice it would be to lick the woman's gorgeous steppe ass, he had to immerse himself in a meditative trance so as not to lose control of himself. The shaman strangely did not notice the fact that he did not need to undress for the ritual because he was already naked. Instead, he noticed a wild desire to fuck Singha as soon as the ritual was over, even before she or Maega returned to their bodies. Both women watched his temporary insanity from the higher spheres with pleasure, and he then had to apologize, lick their feet, and promise to repeat it again, only first forgetting that it had already happened.

He had forgotten, having finished for the last time on Maega’s motionless body, which sent images into his mind of what exactly he could do to her.

Or she is with him.

It's even a little sad that he forgot.

What did he forget?

* * *

Singha, daughter of Maega, daughter of Maedra, was walking cheerfully and carefree through the city. She walked and wondered where she should go, who she should talk to, whom she should persuade, and about what. To the Forest's Representative Office? Today, the venerable head of that office would be pleasured by two dozen of Morgraf's best men, and she would pleasure them. By the end of the day, there would be no clean spot left on her from the Khanur seed, and Singh could swear to that on her ancestral chaos. She could watch, play with her assistants' tongues, or let those assistants play with each other.

Or go somewhere else? She had recently acquired many different friends, girlfriends, and simply beautiful and obedient toys. She had even communicated with the wife of August de Mont Ros, although she vaguely remembered how exactly that communication had taken place. She only knew for sure that she had wanted for a very long time to soften her ass for the hardest ash-ah and at least not reach the peak at all, only caressing herself at least ten times a day, stopping at the very edge. Or was it she who convinced the venerable Turiel of this, while her husband and eldest son were figuring out whose feet tasted better, the steppe or the forest? Singha remembered clearly that this was exactly what she had suggested to the wonderful elf, but for some reason, she did exactly the same thing herself.

This is quite a mystery, isn't it?

This time, she planned to go to the Adventurers' Guild office to talk to the venerable Kiara, that fiery woman in every sense of the word, who always apologized so comically for not having a chair suitable for Singha in her office or home, offering instead her own face or that of her apprentice... She was getting ready to go, but something stopped her, drawing her attention to a very beautiful townswoman — a charming girl, tall, curvaceous, graceful, you couldn't even say she was just a simple townswoman and not someone's mistress.

Wait a minute.

You can't really say that! She is too beautiful and desirable. Everyone khao in Singha retine can attest, but at the same time, she is shrouded in a strange field of inattention that prevents people from noticing the unnaturalness of her beauty. Singha wouldn't have noticed either, if she hadn't become skilled over the past few months in making others overlook such things, if she hadn't already reached the fifty-eighth level, far surpassing her mother in power before she herself found the Tablet of the Soul. And this strange feeling... the shamaness had already gotten used to the fact that she always knew how to persuade, speak, and bend other people's thoughts. Ever since that trip in the carriage with Angelica, who now can barely read or write her own name, preferring to roll around with handsome servants or discharge the charge of her huge collection of vibrating ladies' saviors.

And looking at this “ townswoman,” she... no, she saw, understood, knew how to act, but it was something alien, not like with humans, dwarves, green-skinned children of the Steppe, or even firstborn elves. It was as if there was more than one of them inside that “townswoman,” a whole choir of them in one body. Singha knew what kind of creatures could cause such a feeling, just as she knew about the one that had almost taken HER Pann away from her! Wasn't it that very demonic stalush-mak-shaat-uk-naar that had almost devoured the soul of her beloved and cherished partner and friend?

Realizing that she was taking a risk, Singha abruptly ordered the carriage to stop and stepped toward a townswoman hurrying somewhere, literally jumping out on the run, since the street was almost deserted in such weather, there were no witnesses, and her entourage was well trained not to notice even the most obvious things. Singha walked in the rain and began to chat cheerfully and friendly with the slightly puzzled “townswoman.” She said that the weather was absolutely terrible, that a good dog owner would not chase the dog out of the tent, and here was this passerby, why was she in such a hurry, maybe she...

"...do you need any help? I see signs sometimes. Signs from the Khaos itself. I see when I can help, and I help. Sometimes. If I want to. And if I have nothing else to do. Her words are a blatant lie, the most blatant of all, because they are almost true. After all, she sometimes really does that, helping even ordinary townspeople, though very rarely and certainly not so directly. My name is Singha, so introduce yourself.

For a second, it seemed to her that beneath the mask of surprise, embarrassment, modesty, and fear, there was a carefully concealed irritation and something completely inhuman about her.

* * *

She is understandably very irritated. Time is running out, and her temporary weakness has forced her to come face-to-face with this steppe slut. The demoness could not directly approach the “allies” of this nobody, who was now completely under the thumb of these very “allies,” no longer posing a threat to her. But she didn't need anything more, only to use HER gift, to use such a valuable token, and then enjoy rare observations. Once, she caught Stepan in the garden of the de Lomer estate, playing “hide and seek” with this very bitch, as he himself considered it, “unnoticeably” masturbating while she was talking to her slutty mother. In general, the boy was no longer a threat to her and her plans, which the demoness was only happy about. But she was not at all happy about this stupid situation. It was distracting.

She had invested heavily in it. She had covered that cheerful brothel called the Wicked Rose and its inhabitants with another large-scale improving and distorting influence. They really did call this place Wicked, the fools, undaunted. Now, when most of the bunch was resting, she couldn't even teleport to another point of interest, a Tading House of the second rank, which she had already successfully subjugated without the knowledge of her subordinates. She had to walk and meet a slut hooked by her token! No, of course, the demoness did not relax, but aren't entities with four or three names afraid of their own victims? Yes, under the effect of ++“Seductress's Meanness,” the steppe girl could be dangerous to anyone, but not to her.

The one who is Lust and Vice herself cannot be fooled by ordinary tricks bordering on simple verbal hypnosis, no matter how sophisticated they may be. The main thing now is to get rid of this silly girl. Let her fuck her nobody or give herself to that string of beads. She doesn't care. The main thing is that she doesn't get in the way of the real mistress of life, souls, and the Tablet. A hundred heartbeats, no more, and then she will be able to persuade this trash to let go of the one she wants to help. Yes, just a hundred beats, maybe two hundred, and that's it.

* * *

"One, two, three, take my hands, and freeze again! Clap, clap, clap, and stop thinking! Slap, slap, stop all thoughts! Let all thoughts dance, let all thoughts blink, like this..." Singha laughs like a little child, playing “palms” with her new friend, and then abruptly changes her tone and manner to a new one. "...do it like this, do it well and for a long time, do as I say, do it for silly, silly Singha, Singha will do nak-tak for free, Singha will give nak-tak for nothing, good, sweet, cheap, fast, and you watch and play!"

New edge.

"I must speak, and you must listen carefully to what is said, young lady, listen to your senior mentor, listen and do not miss a word, a sound, or a moment, but..." Her speech became like steel, her manners literally overwhelming, forcing the reflexively changed part of the demoness's essence to stretch out like a bowstring and fall silent in reverence, as would the one whose stolen ulakhao-avar creature now lives. "...and who here is so good, who is the sweetest, who wants to be a little girl, who wants kisses from Mommy Singha, who wants to cum, cum..."

New again.

Again.

Again.

Again.

She wanted to wash her tongue clean of the humiliating or simply shameful words and roles she had chosen for herself, but there was no time for embarrassment or anger. Singha changed her manner every few seconds, every couple of phrases, changing and returning, rapidly putting the demonic creature into a stupor, each time new, again, each time for one of its parts. The hardest part was the first hundred heartbeats, when she didn't know where to start, but then... then the creature underestimated her, just like her dear Pann once did, failing to understand what was happening. It didn't realize that it needed to fight back at all. And one by one, its parts began to fade, sinking into complete prostration and helplessness, until only a few remained, until only the creature itself remained.

Disconnected from the choir of her souls.

Stopped interacting with them.

Plunging them all into complete immobility.

Absolutely, completely, utterly spineless.

So weak-willed that no mortal being in this world could comprehend or achieve such a level of submission. Now she, Singha, could simply rewrite this abomination like a blank sheet of paper, forever, as reliably as no magic or mortal chaos could ever achieve. And the girl, who had almost fainted from overexertion, raised both hands of the creature in front of her face, forcing it to hang like the hands of a large marionette on strings, thought carefully... and began to rewrite the creature. Not for the sake of destruction, no, but to please Pann, to delight him with the opportunity to mock the one who had laughed at him back then.

"Is it right, my dear doll?" Singha's smile was so predatory right now that it might even have scared Pann. "You played with Pann, right? Played with my darling? With my little toy? And now you'll play with me?"

"Yes." The demoness's answers are simple, brief, and completely devoid of emotion or nuance. She's not even a person now, but a function, devoid of will and the guiding essence of her collection of souls. "Played. With him. Played. With you."

"When did you play with me, doll?" Singha asked, stroking her hair and now unmasked horns, with a hint of mockery, as she could clearly see who was playing with whom and who had won. "Tell me. So I can enjoy your game too."

"Yes." And again, no emotions, no resistance. "I played with you. I'll tell you so you can enjoy too. Realize how I turned you into a bitchy, sweet, seductive bitch.

Singha had to bite the hand covering her mouth until it bled to keep from screaming simultaneously from shame, anger, horror, and wild indignation.

* * *

Stepan opened his eyes, surprisingly calm, even though during almost eight hours of deep hypnosis, Singha systematically and confidently brought back his memories of everything she had done to him. Actually, he was not surprisingly calm, but unnaturally calm, as if the shaman had forbidden him to experience a certain range of emotions above or below a certain standard. It was quite a wise decision, because now he could think clearly instead of attacking immediately, trying to kill the treacherous monster on the spot. The treacherous one, by the way, had also paralyzed him on all levels. He couldn't even want or wish to get up, call on the spirits, or simply use his gift. However, Singha's further actions surprised him a little, and to be honest, not just a little, at the same time evoking a certain feeling of déjà vu, because something like this had already happened before.

“Wake up. Wake up and realize who you are, Pann.” She finished bringing him out of his trance, moved away from the soft chair he was sitting in, and then fell to her knees, right on the floor, burying her forehead in it, just as the khanur-yalom named Pann had recently humiliated himself before her. "I'm not asking for forgiveness. I hardly deserve it. After everything. That happened. That I did. That I forced others to do. I only ask that you listen. And only then decide. The fate. Of my family and me. I am guilty. But I am not alone. She is here too. Before you.

Stepan focused his perception and, despite all the safeguards Singha had put in place, reflexively and involuntarily let out a strangled, terrified squeak when he saw the FUCKING SCUMBAG, THE BASTARD, THE PIECE OF SHIT, THE VERMIN, THE SCUM, THE BITCH, THE SLUT LAHGAN sitting calmly next to him. And then he completely lost it when he got a better look at her and realized that this scum was in such a deep and deafening state of apathy that even his skills and sixty-first level were not enough to comprehend the full depth of her enslavement.

Meanwhile, his "ally" continued to speak, telling and explaining exactly what token the demonic creature had caressed her with, the effects and consequences, and how the demoness herself had ended up in her current situation. Stepan listened in silence. He listened to Singha's rambling words and pleas for forgiveness, her pain and self-loathing, her abuse of him, of acquaintances and strangers, even of her own mother and father, who, for example, had successfully impregnated the Emissary of the Forest in Morgrave with a half-elf, while his wife was mastering anal sex-not-cheating with the weak-willed Stepan.

“What she did. It still has an effect.” The shamaness spoke, spitting out the words with such malice that it was frightening, especially in her complete powerlessness. "I know how. I can. Inspire. Seduce. Conquer. Captivate the mind and passion. And I don't just know how. I want to. I desire it. You can't imagine how much I want it. Just to get everything back. The way it was. To make you mine. To play with you. To inspire. To subjugate. To change. I won't. I'll clap my hands, and you... you'll get your gift and your will back. I haven't left anything else, no secret. Or activator. Kill me if you want. I want to myself. I only ask that you free my mother and father from the bonds I myself placed on them. If you spare me... Then the arcane power over my will... Reliable and strong. So that I cannot... C-can't betray y-you again, forgive me..."

Singha claps her hands, giving the shaman full control back, trying to say something else through her sobs. The shaman checks himself with a gift, calls out to the spirits, but somehow lazily, without enthusiasm. Then he looks at the completely helpless demoness, whom he cannot kill, cannot harm, cannot even wish to harm because of Automilf's fucking contract... but who is completely under Singha's control. And Singha, having reached the “core of the code,” so to speak, of his personal nemesis. She can mold this abomination into anything he wants.

Stepan looks at the tearful girl staring back at him, who wants nothing more than to burn with shame and die. He looks at her, then leans down beside her, lifts her chin with his fingers, brings her face close to his, wipes away her tears with his other hand, and speaks the absolute truth with complete sincerity, as he has never done before and will never do again.

"Singha, I love you." She seemed even more frightened.

"I-I cleaned everything up." And now with open panic. "I cleaned it up!"

"Yes, I removed it. Yes, I remember everything. Yes, I am beyond any control effects." He reassures her, dismissing the most obvious version of the missed suggestion as something insignificant, placing his palms on her cheeks to straighten her face and look her straight in the eyes. "Fuck it all, Singha! You were her victim, just like me. That's it! Period! Everything you did to me was her fault, not yours. Fuck, honestly, for bringing her to me on a silver platter, I'm ready to be your khanur-yalom for just as long, cum on your feet and wake you up by licking them! So let's stop your hysterics and think together about how we're going to get the brains back to the other victims of this bitch. At least to those who deserve it. And, most fucking importantly... what we're going to do to her."

A timid smile appeared on Singha's face. He was really ready to allow himself to be bewitched and hypnotized for such a gift, by mutual agreement and with all the details agreed upon in advance, if there was no other way to rid her of the token's aftereffects. A moment later, it changed to one as evil and anticipatory as Stepan's. If Iurlad Lahgan Akal Oglaf had been conscious of herself at that moment, she would have been frightened for the first time since gaining access to the Tablets.

Deathly scary.

* * *

This scene actually has a rather complicated history. It almost became canon, according to the dice rolls after the epilogue of the first and prologue of the second volume. But I kind of already promised to mix Stepan with a shit a bit less, and it's weird anyway, I supposedly tweaked the odds; he shouldn't have been so (un)lucky with getting under control.

And then I rewatch the rolls, and yes! He really shouldn't have been THAT (un) lucky! I simply forgot to take into account the changes I made. Literally "played along with the evil demon whore"!

angry_svarogue.jpg

So the outline for the first few chapters was heavily rewritten, and the scene became a mere billet for some kind of dream sequence. But then I looked at the scope of the billet and realised that incorporating such a sequence into the actual narrative was, to put it mildly, not good.

In the end, what happened is what happened. One amusing detail worth noting is the complete resolution of Oglafson's problem at the end of the story. After such a screw-up, she'll never be able to recover. And the isekai himself, in light of this success, is so grateful to Singha that having to live with her new addictions and even occasionally allowing her to satisfy them on him is a trifle compared to what had already happened and what they had all avoided. :)

Actually, the hardest part remains — explain everything to Maega and Urvag, but they'll get through it somehow. Fortunately, they got their share of power. Maega is already a Magister++ by the end of the omak. Singha (and Urvag) have almost half the Confederation and, naturally, the entire Morgrave under their control, and they also have the equivalent of a very powerful Archmagister++ or an extremely weak and specific Archmage-Agent-Infiltrator in absolute thrall. Melody, if pushed to her maximum limits, so to speak.

Well, they will be angry, but in the end, they will forgive their daughter and Stepan, yes.

But that's a completely different story. (c)
* * *

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Переведено на Нотабеноиде
http://notabenoid.org/book/86785/593121

Переводчики: Camrad_RIP