The Body Mage Chronicles Ch. 01-03

The four are now out of the ditch - Freycia's arms are still pointed at the scrimling, sending its senses into overload. But it was strong, and she had nowhere the power to kill it for good.

"We have to go!" Crasta says.

"If I break the link it will come right back for us!" Freycia says through gritted teeth.

"I'll handle it. Crasta, take her!" Syre orders. Crasta drags Freycia away, causing her to terminate her spell. The scrimling freezes for a moment as its senses are restored and fury doubled, and then begins to scramble out of the canal.

Syre changes his stance, ready to face the charging creature when just as it leaps out of the canal, it stops motionless. Then it slumps over, limbs frozen, as if hit by a frost spell.

"Freycia?" Syre asks.

"It is not me."

"Perhaps they killed its broodmother?" Crasta suggests. If that is true, the link between the scrimling has to have been severed, sending it into a state of torpor. Not living, nor dead.

"Hey. Hey, hey hear that?" Mosaca says as he points wildly towards the walls of Brea which now loom almost directly in front of them.

"Victory bells!" Crasta says.

"I take my words back, Rethracian," Mosaca says as he bursts into laughter.

"That was fast," Syre says, a hint of incredulity in his voice.

"He is powerful," Freycia says, as she closes her eyes and with her Sight surveys the surroundings. In her mind's eye she sees the horde. Corpses litter the front gates, though not from wounds of battle. They were crawling on the ground, pieces breaking apart, depowered. The only thing still moving were their steamstructs, and even that too began to sputter as their ichor ran out.

Kaelian, she realizes, would need to have gone to the regional nexus, destroy the High Commander - and the broodmother held captive there - and the magic feeds that sent power across vast distances to the Agrestal force.

"It ends tonight," he had said. He was right.

The party walks up to the southern rear gate, though the name was a misnomer - it is equally as grandiose as that of the northern grand entrance. The portcullis that stretches high into the air, emblazoned with the symbols of the United Capital Cities, stood unmolested though the other side of the city would have told a different story.

"Greetings," a guard poking his head out from the barbican calls out, "what brings you here on this wonderful night?"

"I am Freycia, mage accredited by the Council."

"Mage eh? Could have used your services earlier. Not needed now though."

"So I've heard. Has the enemy been defeated?"

"Completely!" another guard calls out, holding what looked like a mug of brew. "Oy, is that a bodymage? Gods and goddesses, it is!"

The whole contingent now peep out of the crenellations, leering from above at Freycia's nude form. Whistles and hoots echo in the night.

"Are you going to let us in?" Syre asks, stepping forward.

"Yes, yes," the guard says as he walks towards them and examines the council crest that Freycia holds, and then the rest of her body.

"Is it true, lady mage, that you are able to cause men to die from pleasure?"

"Pleasure is an inefficient way to kill a person," Freycia says with annoyance.

"I heard," he says, his voice lowering and his smile widening, "body mages are able to cast spells onto entire villages, causing them to fuck each other in one big or-"

"Enough," Syre says, "we are tired and need rest."

"R-right. Uh, raise the gates!"

They are greeted by a city in chaos, though not from horror or panic. Instead, there is celebration as the streets are filled with revelers.

"What the hell is this?" Mosaca says, his eyes wide in confusion.

Groups of men singing chants stumble out of taverns while women run about screaming, half naked and frenzied. They step past two people rutting in the middle of the road.

"You'd think we just won the war," Crasta snorts.

"We might have," Syre says. "Where to, my Lady?"

"We'll have a better view from the north gate," she says. "This way."

They make a straight path through the center of the city, where the buildings grew denser and taller. Brean buildings were less organic and more planned, boxy constructs held together by frames of timber and steel rather than the ancient stone edifices of neighboring Holonia. While they were much more recent in design, they were still quaint compared to the Capital skypiercers grown from alachine seedshards.

"...Agrestal have been defeated! The Magi have announced that the Western Claw has fallen!" A crier, standing on a pedestal in the middle of the square, surrounded by revellers and curious listeners repeats the announcement.

"That's impossible," Crasta says.

"Is it?" Freycia says with a glint of a smile on her face.

"The Agrestal have been defeated! Confirmation from the Council themselves! Lord Disidion has announced ten days of celebration!" the crier repeats. People come to hear the news, and peel away from the crowd in the square to tell others. Their faces, a mix of wide smiles and anxious, disbelieving glances, told of a people still processing the vanquishing of an existential fear.

The Agrestal have been defeated. Their Nexus has fallen, and Freycia's lips utter a silent prayer that Kaelian is safe.

They continue walking past the throngs and towards the northern gates that had faced the brunt of the invading army. Conscripts darted past them in the same direction, holding swords and pikes.

"What is happening?" Syre stops one and asks.

"Mopping up operations. We're trying to recover their steamstructs as well," he replies and continues on.

They ascend the stairs that lead to the battlements, and gaze out towards the plains that are now littered with the remnants of the agrestal. Most lay motionless, though a scattered few walk about listlessly and are struck down without protest by the defenders which have now fanned out in an offensive - if it could even be called so - operation.

"Unbelievable," Crasta says. "But where is the warrior you summoned?"

Frecyia points to an empty, circular patch of land. A haze, barely visible in the moonlights, lingers above.

"I believe he went through the portal directly to their nexus," Freycia speculates.

"Will he return?"

Freycia closes her eyes, taps into the flow and her Sight expands and reaches out to the portal. Going through it was not like traversing physical terrain, but rather she had to navigate the warped tendrils of spacetime itself as she casts her seeing magic further and deeper into the invisible tunnel that linked the plains of Brea to the Agrestal Nexus.

It takes less than a second to cross a distance that would have taken a week, directly to the scorched hinterland that used to be the sylvan Orcwilde, now a desert devoid of life save for stubborn scrubs that eke out a tenuous existence in the sands.

This was where the Western Claw, the division of Agrestal that had terrorized the United Capital Cities had its fortress - the nexus - from which it launched its attack. It stands no more.

She sees the fallen towers, the burning encampments and the decapitated broodmother, purple blood still leaking out from her headless corpse, surrounded by comatose scrimlings.

And she sees him, limping towards the gate of the portal. He walks to it, and shoots a circular disk into the air that hovers at his height and remains there. As he walks through the portal and exits back to the plains, he turns around and taps his arm. The portal flickers and fades, evaporating into the air.

Freycia leaps off the wall, and runs towards him. Her three guardians do not bother following her this time - they merely watch as she meets him as he holds onto her for support.

"He looks weak," Crasta says.

"If he just did what I think he did, I am surprised he is still able to stand," Syre replies, as he rubs his chin.

Soldiers watch the two make their way back into the gates, though they quickly return to their duties which consist of nothing more than stabbing and looting the depowered Agrestal who have been reduced to hapless crawling creatures, limbs breaking apart as they slither around in circles.

"Thank you," Freycia whispers to Kaelian. He walks with her, arm slung over her shoulder. She senses how depleted his body is. He is tired, drained.

"I saw it. The darkness...creeping upwards. That place I destroyed was just the surface."

"You are correct. The Abyssal domain lies deep within the ground itself. Yet, they have never threatened us before this."

"They are working with someone else, aren't they?"

"We believe so. But we are not sure who or what they are exactly, only that in tandem with the Abyssal they have forged these creatures...the Agrestal."

"It's never so easy, huh?"

"It never is, I suppose."

"Well...what I need now is a really, really long nap."

Freycia smiles. "I can help you with that."

They book an inn, though Mosaca and Syre prefer to lodge with the Brean chapter of the mercenary guild.

"Something tells me you won't be sharing the room with me," Crasta teases.

"I shall spend the night with him," Freycia says, "I will need to rejuvenate him."

"I'm sure you will. Just remember, the walls are rather thin and I would like to sleep too."

Freycia ignores her jibe, and enters the room next door. Kaelian stands looking out the window, his helm now retracted.

"They are celebrating what you did," Freycia says. He turns around, and she sees his face for the first time. He is young, perhaps as young as her, with the barest hint of a beard on his face. Walking up to him, she looks into his black eyes and her hand touches his cheek, Seeing into him.

"Your cheeks are cold," she says. "And there is a knot deep within you."

"My armor keeps me at this temperature, it's like this back home. But...what do you mean about a knot?"

"An obstruction within your body that would hinder transference," she says. "Would you want to remove your armor?"

Freycia senses a hint of hesitancy, though he nods and complies.

He retracts his armor, as Freycia watches in silent amazement as the dark, viscous liquid that forms his shielding folds in on itself. Black watery spikes peak and collapse as it slowly flows inwards and disappears into a hexagonal amulet that is affixed to his sternum. He is now nude, and Freycia raises her hands and touches his chest.

"Your power comes from this?" she says.

"This is just storage for my suit," he says, "though my power is sourced elsewhere. We call it the Tether. It allows my suit to function in whatever universe I am inserted into."

"Universes? Have you been to other worlds?"

"This is my second. My first though, in contact with sapient forms of life."

"I would like to hear more about your...guild," she says, "but I sense how weak you are. You need rest."

"So how does this work...transference, is it?" he says as he lies down on the mattress. He lets out a soft groan of satisfaction as he sinks into the soft feathery bed. Freycia lies down next to him, slinging her legs over his as she lies on his outstretched arm.

"Are you comfortable?" she asks.

"Um...very. This is...intimate."

"This is required for transference to work. I would have asked you to enter me in order to speed up the process, though I sense hesitance on your part."

"Well, it's not like I don't want to but, uh..."

"Do you feel it?" she asks as she redirects the flow in her body towards him. Not a surge, but a gentle dispersion, osmosis like, into his cells.

"Yes. Yeah, it feels...good."

"What about this?" she asks, as her hands gently clasp his balls in her palm. His body shivers at the sudden touch, though Freycia knows it is not from fear but from the pleasure of being handled in a way that he has not felt before.

"Yes," he says as his throat dries out. She can feel the goosebumps rippling across his body with each gentle caress of her fingers as their tips reach to his shaft.

"I can feel your heart, Kaelian. Do not feel anxious."

"Trying not to," he says, his tone hoarse. "Is this...necessary?"

"Pleasure expedites transference," she says, "but if you are uncomfortable I shall stop."

"No," he says quickly, "you...you don't have to."

"Very well," she says and continues. Her fingers form a ring which encircles his rod and she strokes him with gentle, deliberate tugs. As her thumb reaches his bulbous tip, now warm and throbbing, she traces gentle circles across it. She repeats this, until a drop of precum oozes out. Then she spreads it around the head of his cock, moistening it and allowing her to quicken the pace and vigor of her strokes.

Kaelian begins to writhe, twist. He arches his back as Freycia sits up to fully focus both hands of his cock. With one hand she pumps his shaft, and with her another she circles his tip with two fingers. A gentle pinch, a rub.

"Freycia..." he moans.

"I sense your release coming. You do not need to hold back," she says. Her hand moves down, past his balls and feels the firmness of his perineum. She sends a surge of pleasure there, and it shoves him off the edge.

"Ungh!" he grunts and hyperventilates as his legs shiver and cock pulses. In a swift move, Freycia bends over and positions his tip at the entrance of her mouth, just in time to collect the geyser of white that erupts. She laps up the waves of warm spurts as she slows the pace of her strokes, then stops. All that moves now is his twitching cock, still pumping out the last of his seed into her mouth. Freycia squeezes his shaft a final time, drawing out his last bit of lingering cum, and licks it clean.

"Did you...did you swallow it?" he gasps, his eyes wide in stunned disbelief.

"Rethra's precepts. Seed should not be wasted. It will at least provide me nourishment," Freycia says, as she places one hand on his scrotum and another on his chest. She closes her eyes.

"Your knot has loosened," she says, "my magic will flow better into you."

An aura of pink blooms around her, then it moves like a mist, flowing down her arms and into his body.

"It's warm."

"Yes, relax. Tension only hinders the flow."

"Thank you," he says.

"There is no need to. Healing is part of my responsibilities as a bodymage."

"I mean...I have never cum like that before," he says, a sheepish smile on his face.

"I see," Freycia says and replies with a similar grin, "I am glad you enjoyed that."

She moves to snuggle next to him and then caresses his chest, her fingers feeling the metallic outline of his hexagonal plate.

"Can you remove it?" she asks him.

"This? Oh, yes I can," he says and demonstrates by lifting it off effortlessly for a moment.

She touches the part of his chest where it used to be, a patch of skin that was lighter than the rest of his body. It seems smooth, almost untouched.

"You prefer it this way?" he asks.

"Yes," she says as her fingers move up to his nipples, giving them gentle pinches. He lets out a soft exhalation.

"Freycia," he whispers.

"Yes?"

"Why are you doing this for me?"

"I sense you need it. Have you not lain with a woman before?"

"N-no. We did not really have the time to do so. We...trained hard. And when we weren't training, we were put to review the archives. We had to know thousands of worlds by heart to prepare us for the millions of unknown ones that we may be sent to."

"My body is available for your use," Freycia says as her hands drift back down to his cock, now erect once more. Her palms caress the length of his rod in gentle sweeps, a calming rhythm. "Enter me whenever you wish."

"Uh, thank you for your offer," he says. "I apologize...all this is rather foreign where I come from. I am not used to this."

"I understand. Not all are familiar with the rituals of a body mage here, either."

"But it's...pleasant."

As she continues her ministrations, adjusting the pattern of her flow to match that of his, she senses him drift off until finally she sees his eyes shut. His chest rises and falls as sleep overtakes him. Freycia clasps his cock in her hand, holding it firm and secure, and finds her own escape into a dreamless slumber next to him.

***

When she awakens, she finds him still asleep. With her hands on his chest, she senses that the restoration of his energy is virtually complete. The drain on her is minimal, and she wonders how powerful he must be to be able to regenerate within a night.

The pale blue light hints of a dawn that has just arrived, and the streets outside are still silent. As she steps to look out the window, the evidence of the revelries from the night before can still be clearly seen. Drunkards, asleep against the warm wall of the atelier opposite the inn, continue their orchestra of snores. Birds flit on the ground, pecking up scraps of food. And in the middle of the street that led to their lodgings, the ground begins to glow as glyphs etch themselves into the cobblestones.

Freycia's eyes narrow as she sends her Sight to it, realizing that it is a farcasted portal. Then three hooded figures apparate, cloaked in a rich viridian. One carries a staff tipped with a Vestigial orb that glows a pale red from the godblood that lay within it. High mages. At least one, Freycia notices, from the Council itself. And they can only be here for one reason.

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Interlude - Remnants

Atraska walks out the portal, her nude body traced with lines of foria, viridescent in the night. She gazes around the crater that she has stepped into. In the center, black ichor spurts out like a gushing wound, an Abyssal vein that used to power the nexus that stood here. Ashes and dust fell from the sky, remnants of what used to be the Western Claw that terrified the surrounding cities.

"What a fucking mess," she says to herself, and to the being within her.

The one who did this is incomparably powerful.

"One person destroyed the citadel and slayed a brood mother. Too bad there's no one left to blame for this fuckup."

He is not of the magi. Nor is he of godblood.

"Well, that narrows things down. If he is really what I think he is, then we are going to have problems."

Our bargain stands, Atraska. We deliver our darkblood to you, and in turn you are free to use it as you wish. Whatever happens on the surface is your responsibility.

"Exactly. My fucking responsibility."

Atraska sighs and pinches her forehead.

"Alright, redirect the vein to the polar nexus. It is no longer needed here."

It shall be done.

"Now," she says as she steps back into the portal she came from, "a good fuck is what I need."

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Chapter 3 - Before the council

"Wake up Kaelian," she whispers. His eyes open, though a few moments pass before he is fully aware about where he is.

"Freycia," he says as he yawns, "morning."

"Are you feeling better?"

"Yeah. Much." He sees the look on her face.

"Something wrong?"

"The Council are here for us. What you did last night would not have gone unnoticed. Their seers would have observed everything."

"I guess that's how everyone knew so quickly."

"And they will be as thankful as the people here."

"Why not?"

"The summons I casted is one that has been strictly forbidden."

"I don't think they will be a problem right?"

"No, we are not battling them. Not yet," Freycia says as her hand caresses his sleepy face, brushing his bedhair. Kaelian has the looks of a farmboy and will have passed for one, save for the fact that he is right now the most powerful person in the land.

In quiet tones she tells him her plan, and he nods in acknowledgement and amusement.

"I'm not a good actor, though," he says with a laugh.

"Nor am I," she says. "Come, let us greet them."

She walks out the inn first, down the creaky stairs and the tavern that has since fallen silent, though evidence from the festivities from last night could be seen on the ground, broken glass, spilt liquor and sleeping drunks.